Bright sunlight bathed the lush garden in golden light, as radiant butterflies flitted from flower to flower. Each bloom, an exquisite treasure worth a fortune, shimmered like polished diamonds under the sun’s glow.
A tall floor-to-ceiling window separated the garden from a long corridor, the kaleidoscopic flowers beyond ignored by the two men standing in tense silence before the glass.
An elderly man with jet-black hair stood rigidly, his features lined with displeasure. Beside him, a middle-aged man with graying temples exuded calm indifference. Neither spoke.
After a long pause, the old man finally broke the silence, his tone probing. “He’s… still like that?”
The middle-aged man nodded lightly. “Still the same. He doesn’t want to stay here.”
The old man’s brows furrowed deeper. “And the person he mentioned? Have you found anything?”
“No,” the other man replied slowly. “There are plenty of people with that name, but none of them match. Besides, he also said that the name might not even be real.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the old man snapped, his voice tinged with frustration. “Does he think this is some kind of riddle?”
The middle-aged man shrugged, his tone casual. “If we’re not looking at names, then the parameters narrow. A powerful support-type ability user, an Omega, likely above B-level—maybe even A-level. There aren’t many that fit. If I had to guess, someone from the Federation seems plausible. There’s one person who—”
“Enough,” the old man interrupted sharply. “We don’t need to concern ourselves with the Federation. They have no reason to be involved with us.”
The middle-aged man chuckled faintly, brushing his chin with his fingers. “Still, it’s a pity. That person was the most outstanding support-type ability user I’ve ever encountered. If they were still active, perhaps we could’ve brought them into our fold.”
The old man scoffed, his expression full of disdain. “An Omega is an Omega—pampered and fragile. No matter how talented they are, they’ll never amount to anything.”
“You’re underestimating them, Father,” the middle-aged man began, but his words were cut short by the sound of hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor.
“Master! He’s gone! That young master—he’s missing!”
“What?!” the old man bellowed, his face contorted with fury. “I knew it! That brat’s just like his mother—always running off before his wounds are even healed! Seal the estate! He can’t have gotten far! I’ll personally—”
“Wait,” the middle-aged man interjected, reaching out to stop him. His voice remained calm. “Why bother? You know as well as I do that we can’t keep him here.”
The old man glared. “What do you mean? After all the effort to bring him back, you’d just let him escape?!”
The younger man met his father’s anger with measured indifference. “Even an unsteady fledgling eagle won’t stay confined to a cage, Father. Let alone one whose wings are already spread. He’s far beyond that now.”
The old man’s fury simmered into a reluctant scowl, and he muttered under his breath, “Fine. Let him go, then. If he can’t survive out there, he’s not fit to carry the Ji family name anyway.”
——
Elsewhere, in a private hospital suite, the sterile walls glowed under soft white light. The faint hum of medical equipment filled the quiet air, as layers of electronic security scanned every individual who came near.
Ji Tingyan stepped down the pristine corridor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor. He stopped outside the only room on the floor, peering through the reinforced glass window.
“Has he woken up?” he asked.
The doctor by his side answered, “He briefly regained consciousness this morning but fell back asleep shortly after.”
“Don’t disturb him,” Ji Tingyan instructed coolly. “Notify me when he wakes up.”
The doctor nodded. “Understood.”
Ji Tingyan gave one last glance through the window, his gaze settling on the pale figure lying motionless on the hospital bed. Ji Mian’s dark hair framed his face, contrasting starkly with his pallid skin and closed eyes. Without another word, Ji Tingyan turned and walked away.
—
Not long after Ji Tingyan left, another visitor arrived.
Ji Cheng stood outside the room, clutching a fruit basket in his arms. His expression was hesitant, almost guilty. “Can I go in and see my brother?” he asked.
The doctor nodded, allowing him entry after a quick security scan. As the electronic door slid open, Ji Cheng slipped inside, the door sealing behind him with a soft hiss.
The faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, sterile and unpleasant. Ji Cheng wrinkled his nose, mumbling to himself, “Why does it still smell so bad in here? Couldn’t they make it smell like fruit or something? Maybe it’d help Ge feel better.”
He shuffled over to the bedside, quietly setting the fruit basket down. His clumsy movements made just enough noise to rouse the man on the bed.
The sound of Ji Cheng’s voice pierced through the silence like a sharp needle, waking Ji Mian from his shallow slumber. His body was still heavy with pain, but the worst had subsided. Only his temples felt as if they were being crushed by a heavy weight, dull throbbing pulses that reminded him of the excessive mental strain he had endured.
—The side effects of overusing his psychic energy.
“Brother! You’re awake?”
The excited voice was almost too much for his sensitive ears, sending a sharp sting through his head.
Ji Mian kept his eyes tightly closed, his voice cold and devoid of warmth. “Shut up.”
Ji Cheng immediately fell silent. After a few seconds, he whispered, “Brother, I’ve peeled some fruit for you.”
He extended his hand with a rare, expensive fruit in it, something not even found on E-13. There were many more in the fruit basket he had brought, but Ji Mian didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he silently endured the aching pressure in his temples.
Noticing that his brother’s face looked unwell, Ji Cheng hesitated for a moment before putting the fruit down. “I’ll call the doctor in…”
Ji Mian’s voice cut through the air sharply. “You dare?”
The simple words froze Ji Cheng in place, making him unable to move. He could only sit there, staring blankly at his brother for a few seconds. Then, in a hushed voice, he said, “Brother, I’m sorry.”
The tension in the air seemed to thicken as Ji Mian’s calm words hung between them.
“Really?” he responded without much surprise.
“Then, after you leave, contact a place for me.”
Ji Cheng hesitated, his voice wavering, “But—”
“I don’t have a communicator. You’ll use yours,” Ji Mian cut in, his tone devoid of any warmth.
Ji Cheng paused for a moment, realizing the truth in his brother’s words. He was left speechless for a second before asking, “So, where should I contact?”
“Seventh star system, E-13 planet.”
Meanwhile, Ji Tingyan hurriedly returned home, quickly changing clothes before heading out again.
Behind him, a woman came rushing after him, her bold makeup and the strong scent of perfume trailing in the air. She was the current mistress of the household—Ji Cheng’s mother, Liu Jing.
Liu Jing called after Ji Tingyan as he descended the stairs, “Aren’t you staying for dinner? I made your favorite—”
“No,” Ji Tingyan interrupted, his tone firm.
However, he still turned around for a moment, his gaze fixing on her. He reached out, gently caressing her cheek with his fingers, as if touching something precious to him.
Liu Jing could smell the faint fragrance of a perfume she wasn’t familiar with, one that wasn’t the kind she usually wore. Yet, despite the unfamiliar scent, she smiled sweetly, an expression that was warm and accommodating.
But Ji Tingyan suddenly withdrew his hand, taking a step back, his eyes scanning her from head to toe with a focused intensity.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
Liu Jing stood frozen, confused by his actions. She couldn’t understand what she had done wrong.
But as she thought about his earlier expression, she clenched her teeth and turned toward the study.
The study on the second floor was Ji Tingyan’s private domain. Liu Jing was usually not allowed to enter, but today, as if driven by some unseen force, she used a spare magnetic card to unlock the door.
The room was furnished luxuriously, cold, and rigid—just as Liu Jing had always perceived Ji Tingyan. On the spacious desk, there were piles of documents. Liu Jing walked closer, only to find a photo frame.
It was a small silver square, positioned just to the right of where Ji Tingyan usually sat. As she lightly touched it, the small square suspended in mid-air, spinning once before projecting a faint image.
The image revealed a woman who resembled Liu Jing but was far more beautiful. The woman smiled gently at the camera.
Liu Jing didn’t seem surprised that this photo frame was here, but she stared at the woman in the image with a clear, simmering jealousy in her eyes.
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