“Bring the defendant, Kolia, into the court.” The presiding judge of the Imperial Planet Supreme Court wore glasses, her hair tied in a meticulous bun. Beneath the golden Imperial emblem, her gaze followed the prisoner being escorted by the bailiffs.
“Bailiff, remove the defendant’s restraints.”
“Next, verify the defendant’s identity…”
The gallery was packed. Gu Lingzhou sat in the last row by the door, wearing a mask and cap. A few people around him noticed something unusual, sneaked a few glances at him, then pulled out their phones and carefully typed away, avoiding his line of sight.
“…The court finds that the defendant, Kolia, disregarded planetary law, illegally organized 131 people in drug trafficking and homicide, and intentionally deprived others of their lives, resulting in the deaths of at least 256 people. Her heinous actions have violated Articles [X] and [Y] of the Imperial Planet Criminal Code. The facts of the crime are clear, the evidence is sufficient, and she shall be held criminally liable for involvement in organized crime and intentional homicide…”
Just as everyone believed Kolia’s crimes were undeniable and the case would end with her sentenced to death, the defendant interrupted the presiding judge. Instantly, the tiles beneath Kolia’s feet became the center of attention, countless gazes piercing toward her like physical projectiles. The families and friends of those on the death list glared at her viciously, nailing the woman to the spot.
“Your Honor, I did organize these people, but…” Kolia curled her lips, raising her voice: “Has any victim come forward to testify that I personally killed them?”
Gu Lingzhou frowned, the space between his brows creasing into a deep furrow. His pitch-black pupils fixed on his grandmother’s profile. The woman who had murdered his parents wore a faint smile. All the victims’ families in the courtroom erupted in curses, the noise like a bustling market. The presiding judge had to bang the gavel for silence.
“You killed your son and daughter-in-law, and murdered 254 alpha citizens—what else can you possibly argue?!” Someone shouted in the silence, and the court erupted again.
The defense lawyer wiped the fine sweat from his forehead. Money was hard to earn—this case was destined to lose, and it had landed on his plate. “I believe my client has the right to—”
“Fuck your rights!”
Lawyer: I’m crying…
“Order!” The court fell dead silent. The presiding judge drew a breath, her sharp eyes sweeping from behind her lenses. “Call witness Wen Lan to the stand.”
At the name, Gu Lingzhou sat up straight. He hadn’t expected Wen Lan to be among the witnesses. The deputy general walked in gracefully and took his seat in the witness box. Many recognized Wen Lan’s face; all eyes followed him—except Gu Lingzhou, who glanced once and then returned his gaze to Kolia. A crack appeared in that usually jade-like, dignified face. Kolia pressed her lips together, staring at Wen Lan.
“…I am Wen Lan,” Wen Lan began at the presiding judge’s signal. “I am a victim. Six years ago, Ms. Ke sponsored my admission to the Imperial Military Academy under the guise of financial aid. As a poor orphan, I was naturally grateful. But the following year, Ms. Ke demanded that I undergo a gland surgery as repayment for her kindness. I was only nineteen then.” He lifted the hair at the back of his head, revealing the horrifying scar to everyone. Gasps echoed one after another. Someone’s phone flash hadn’t been turned off—it lit up briefly.
“Defendant Kolia, do you have anything to say?”
Kolia braced herself against the table, forcing down the disbelief in her eyes. “Mere verbal testimony with no substantive evidence proves I threatened you into surgery. Wen Lan, think carefully.” She spoke through gritted teeth, her eyes like blades ready to slice the flesh off the man before her.
Wen Lan ignored her murderous glare and curved his lips. “I have no substantive evidence—you destroyed it all. But as a witness, sending you to death is easy enough.” He smiled with relief. The nineteen-year-old boy who had fought back desperately only to be beaten nearly crippled looked at the smashed phone before him, terror and shock intertwining. The demonic woman had bent down and laughed like a ghost, giving him three days to reconsider.
Now, that same woman stood opposite him, and he finally had the chance to get revenge. He would watch her die. “Kolia, did you think I should be dead?”
The thunderclap exploded in everyone’s ears. The first raindrop fell, followed by more. Kolia said nothing. Wen Lan burst out laughing: “Hahahaha—I have no substantive evidence that you cut out my gland back then. But your recent attempt to hire someone to kill me—I’ve already sent that evidence to the police. You probably haven’t had time to check yet, have you?… Oh, since all your men have been arrested—how pitiful.”
Kolia’s pupils contracted sharply. Her lips twitched as she barely restrained herself, forcing composure: “Heh, I never hired anyone to kill you.”
Wen Lan prepared to leave. He glanced at the gallery and immediately spotted the person in the last row by the door. Even though only one pair of eyes was visible, Wen Lan knew it was Gu Lingzhou. His gaze shifted beside him—and instantly, a wave of indescribable disappointment washed over him.
“Hey, are you still alive?” The bruised and swollen young man lay on his back, his eyes swollen into slits. He strained to look through the wounds at the person running toward him against the light.
So beautiful—that was his first impression. Was that person an omega?
Deep in the alley, an overturned trash can spilled foul water. Flies swarmed, rotting meat embedded in the mud, quietly waiting to decompose—and in the midst of that decay, it encountered the most beautiful flower in the world.
To fertilize this flower would make his death worthwhile. Wen Lan watched the person crouch down, quickly assess his injuries, stand up, and call for help on the phone. His eyes, which had been ready to close forever, now wanted to open wide—but his swollen eyelids wouldn’t cooperate. He could only peer through the slits at that beautiful, kind-hearted stranger.
Shi Yuxing waved his phone in front of the young man’s eyes and called out to him: “Are you still awake? What’s your name?”
“Mm… wu…” Wen Lan desperately wanted to tell him his name, but the blood clots pressing against his vocal cords blocked his voice—only a simple syllable escaped. Shi Yuxing caught it. “He says his surname is Wu, but his speech is unclear—he might have hit his head… Yes, and there’s extensive soft tissue damage. I don’t dare move him recklessly… Okay, I’ll wait for you to arrive.”
Wen Lan desperately wanted to say he wasn’t surnamed Wu, but no sound would come out.
Shi Yuxing hung up and visually assessed his injuries again. “Sorry, I didn’t happen to have my medical kit with me today, or I could have bandaged you up. Don’t worry—the medics will be here soon. You’ll be fine.”
As he said, the wailing sirens grew closer. Shi Yuxing said a quick goodbye and ran out of the alley. Wen Lan’s raised fingertips fell back helplessly. He closed his eyes and lost consciousness completely. From that moment on, this person he’d spent less than ten minutes with became his reason to live.
Wen Lan’s gaze met Gu Lingzhou’s—those black-and-white eyes looking at him flat and indifferent.
Why… Why, after going through so much pain, wasn’t I the one chosen? Wen Lan clenched his molars. To Gu Lingzhou, he just seemed inexplicable—first searching for something in his direction, then the light in his eyes dimming, followed by resentment.
But he didn’t dwell on Wen Lan’s hateful glare for long, because the presiding judge’s next words reached his ears.
“Defendant Kolia, we have solid evidence of your attempted murder-for-hire. Additionally, we have received new information—another victim has regained consciousness…”
“Ah, Tang Jue has woken up and provided us with more complete evidence. Not sure if Kolia will get life imprisonment or the death penalty. Execution would be letting her off too easy, but letting her live? Hmph—people like her never repent. They only resent being caught and hate themselves for not hiding better.” An Bao spoke as if the hospital room were his own home. Tu An poured him water and peeled an orange for him, meticulously removing even the white pith from each segment.
Shi Yuxing frowned. “I suggest you don’t throw away that white pith.”
Tu An’s hand froze mid-air. “Huh?” He turned to look at Shi Yuxing, who explained: “That’s the key to eating oranges without getting heatiness. Plus, the pith helps clear meridians—buying it separately costs over a hundred per pound.”
“Ah!” Tu An looked at the orange, then at the few yuan worth he’d thrown in the trash, a little devastated. “I’ve been throwing it away all this time. No wonder good medicine tastes bitter.”
An Bao took a sip of water and set down the cup. “No wonder, sister-in-law—you’re a doctor, you know so much.”
“You’d know too if you scrolled through more marketing accounts.” Shi Yuxing twitched the corner of his mouth—he’d actually learned that from a marketing account himself. Glancing over, he saw An Bao flipping through documents. “Officer An, forgive me for saying this, but police work should be done at the station. Why do you keep coming to Tu An’s hospital room?”
An Bao stood up. Tu An looked at him longingly. Officer An said: “On the way…”
“On the way?”
“Yeah. Your Imperial Hospital received a patient with only half a body left early this morning, didn’t it?” An Bao looked at him.
The hospital group chat did have a message from the ER sent in the early hours, but everyone was used to such things—few had replied. Shi Yuxing had seen it when he woke up but hadn’t thought much of it. “Something like that. Probably just a midnight car accident.”
“No. Not a car accident.” An Bao walked up to him. He wasn’t much shorter than Gu Lingzhou. Shi Yuxing tilted his head up slightly to meet his eyes. An Bao continued: “I was planning to tell your husband about this, but no harm in telling you first.”
“What is it?”
“There was a fisherman. He and his friend stayed up late fishing at a reservoir. They hooked a severed hand and nearly scared themselves to death.”
Shi Yuxing furrowed his brows, not quite understanding. “A murder case?”
“Nonono. Let me finish. After they hooked the hand, the friend went back to the car to grab his charging phone to call the police. Then he heard a scream. The witness said he saw a pair of eyes as big as a human head disappear into the water. The one left by the reservoir had about half his body bitten off.”
At this, Shi Yuxing shuddered, horrific images flashing before his eyes. He swallowed hard. Something surfaced in his mind—like heavy fog slowly releasing what it had been hiding. He ventured: “Bitten? Bitten by what—a crocodile or—”
“We checked the cut on the severed hand. It wasn’t knife marks, nor did it look like the bite of a large carnivore.” An Bao cut him off, gave an enigmatic smile, leaned close to his ear, and whispered the two words that were just about to leave Shi Yuxing’s lips—
“Zerg.”
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