After the Second Legion evacuated the starship with the bruised and battered Meng Zai, Yi Lian escorted Li Xiao and Jiang Hao back to the Third Legion’s dreadnought.

Along the way, Yi Lian kept replaying the recent events in his mind.

The surveillance screens had mysteriously gone black. By the time the feed was restored, Meng Zai was lying on the deck half-dead, and Li Xiao had returned shortly after.

There is no way that was a mere coincidence.

It seemed the relationship between Li Xiao and the Meng family wasn’t nearly as amicable as the rumors suggested.

Outside, eight legions had converged to surround the Iron Tigers. Countless warships hovered over Sector 7 in the northern region of N1926, blotting out the sky in a massive, endless metallic canopy. Even if the Iron Tigers claimed the title of the universe’s number-one star pirate syndicate, they stood absolutely no chance against an onslaught of this caliber.

Keeping Li Xiao’s mention of the hidden armory in mind, Yi Lian took the initiative to deploy a reconnaissance team, radiating outward from Sector 7 to conduct a thorough sweep. However, his men faced constant obstruction from the Meng family. The Zheng and Qi families actively assisted in blocking his path, while the Gao family maintained their perpetual posture of detached neutrality—refusing to embroil themselves in partisan struggles even if the sky were to fall.

His wounds freshly bandaged, the adjutant returned to the bridge. “Sir, if this keeps up, even if there is an anomaly out there, we won’t be able to get anywhere near it.”

Yi Lian turned his head slightly to look at him. “How are the injuries among our brothers?”

The adjutant’s expression flipped between rage and profound grief. “Three dead, five severely wounded. They probably never dreamed they would fall at the hands of their own compatriots!”

Yi Lian’s hand clamped down hard on the armrest, a flash of bitter sorrow piercing his eyes before he snapped an order to the reconnaissance frequency: “Keep maneuvering against them. Record every single detail. Even if we can’t secure first-hand data, we cannot let them act this flagrantly!”

The reconnaissance commander: “Understood!”

Inside the dreadnought’s quarters, Li Xiao shed his soaked garments and tossed them into the dryer, leaning against the adjacent console to review the backed-up data from the floating archive.

The planetary serial numbers listed on the cargo manifests aligned flawlessly with the Raven syndicate’s attack targets that Jiang Chi had investigated. In fact, two planets the Ravens had raided just days prior were explicitly detailed on the manifest.

Wei Feng had stated that the blood was “their” tool to instigate warfare. That neatly explained why those thugs had so flamboyantly hosted their murderous games, aggressively broadcasting the efficacy and properties of the blood.

First, it was designed to bait the Raven syndicate’s attention; second, it lured unsuspecting, wealthy elites into the snare.

But the blood’s purpose likely extended far beyond merely instigating a border conflict.

In his previous life, the Meng family had weaponized an inter-species conflict to trigger a full-scale civil war. Countless citizens across populated planets launched anti-government demonstrations, demanding the impeachment of an incompetent monarch and the establishment of a new ruler.

The Meng family had driven the Royal Court to absolute ruin, only to intervene in the nick of time in the guise of saviors. They hadn’t even needed to exert much effort on public relations; once the civil war was quelled, they naturally became the champions of the populace. Supplanting the Li royal bloodline was merely a matter of time.

The Hidden Dragon, the Qilin, and the Iron Tigers were all savage hounds long bred and kept in the dark by the Meng family, unleashed without a shred of mercy to slaughter the citizens of Danse whenever the narrative demanded it.

Compared to organizations like the Hidden Dragon, the Raven syndicate served a far more calculated purpose.

The Ravens acted simultaneously as the Meng family’s shield and a deliberately nurtured fuse. The Meng family needed to entice the Ravens into setting fires across the sectors. Once the conditions matured, the Mengs would ignite the grand blaze themselves, shifting the entirety of the blame onto the Ravens.

This was likely one of the primary reasons why a third-rate star pirate outfit like the Ravens could remain active in the Southern Cross sector for so long.

Yet, a massive logical fallacy remained.

What made the Raven syndicate qualified?

Why would a third-rate star pirate syndicate be handpicked by the Meng family to serve as their ultimate scapegoat? Did the Ravens truly possess that kind of leverage?

If the Meng family’s strategy had succeeded in his previous life, they would have inevitably dragged the mastermind into the public square after the war to absorb the populace’s absolute hatred, allowing the Mengs to stabilize the political landscape more efficiently after taking over.

But when the history books mentioned the catalyst of the war, they couldn’t possibly write that a petty, third-rate pirate gang had triggered a total galactic civil war. That would sound entirely too flimsy, lacks narrative conviction, and would make the early Meng military appear utterly incompetent.

The Meng family would never allow any dirt to splash back onto their own prestige.

Recalling Wei Feng’s mention of the Royal Archive, Li Xiao fell into deep thought.

The Royal Archive kept detailed chronicles of major historical events, but these were typically restricted to macroeconomic and national levels; petty brawls or localized conflicts between two distinct species wouldn’t be cataloged there.

It seemed that upon his return, his first destination had to be the Archive.

The dryer chimed. Li Xiao pulled his garments out, just as 09’s listless, exhausted voice crackled in his ear.

【Master… I am incredibly hungry.】

Li Xiao: “…”

Li Xiao glanced at 09’s power matrix. It utilized a Type-384 military energy crystal. Changing into his clothes, he said, “I’ll feed you once we return to the capital. Endure it a bit longer.”

09: 【Endure for how many days?】

Li Xiao: “We should be able to return tomorrow.”

The Yi family held no strategic advantage in the operation to purge the Iron Tigers; to prevent their treachery from being exposed, the Meng military would bound to throw everything they had into blocking the Yi forces. Even if military-grade hardware was uncovered, the Meng family possessed ten thousand excuses to deflect blame.

However, to Li Xiao, the immediate tactical outcome mattered little. The time to haul in the net had not yet arrived.

For now, preventing the Meng family from securing administrative jurisdiction over the Tianjiang sector was sufficient. The mystery surrounding the augmented humans remained unresolved; destroying the Meng family too prematurely might allow hidden adversaries to slip through the cracks.

Exactly as Li Xiao had anticipated, the Yi family couldn’t get anywhere near the Iron Tigers’ hidden armory. The Meng military’s subsequent field report claimed they had merely uncovered roughly a hundred high-imitation X066 composite laser rifles.

When they finally touched down on Planet Tianjiang, it was 6:00 AM local time.

The moment Li Xiao disembarked from the dreadnought, he spotted a crowd of exchange students gathered not far from the tarmac.

“Brother!” Da Bei broke from the crowd and sprinted over. “You’re alright! You worried me to death!”

Li Xiao responded evenly, “I’m fine.”

On their way to the concourse, Da Bei rambled incessantly about the developments of the past few days. Noticing that Li Xiao seemed somewhat distracted, he feigned casual curiosity to test the waters: “Brother, after the Iron Tigers took you, what exactly did they make you do?”

Before Li Xiao could open his mouth, Jiang Hao stepped between them, draping an arm over Da Bei’s shoulder to seamlessly nudge him aside. “You can just ask me. I was with the Big Brother the entire time.”

Da Bei asked curiously, “Was it very perilous?”

Jiang Hao nodded with absolute gravity. “We almost had our fingers chopped off. Those are star pirates, man. Seriously vicious.”

Da Bei listened intently throughout the walk. The moment they returned to their quarters, he immediately composed a encrypted transmission and fired it off to Chief Attendant Liu.

At the Royal Palace, Emperor Li Ji reviewed the reported details, his face darkening as he turned to old Liu. “Go and bring him back.”

Old Liu bowed respectfully. “Understood, Your Majesty.”

Back at the transit terminal, Meng Tao spotted Li Xiao entering just a few paces behind the group, his fury reaching a boiling point where he nearly lost his composure and screamed.

Even his father’s entire legion had been mobilized, yet they hadn’t managed to dent a single hair on Li Xiao’s head? Did this guy have some kind of absolute invulnerability buff active?!

Meng Tao’s glare carried an intense, physical weight, but Li Xiao simply treated him as invisible.

Considering that the students had just survived a high-profile hijacking, the military administration intended to arrange a comprehensive medical evaluation for everyone at the local facility.

Taking advantage of the roll call, Lin Zhou intentionally shoved past Meng Tao, striding aggressively toward Li Xiao with a sneer packed with thinly veiled malice. “Well, it looks like those star pirates treated you remarkably well. Unlike the rest of us, who were locked in a tiny room fearing for our lives. What kind of methods did you deploy? Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Li Xiao stated calmly, “Fearing for your life over a triviality like that? Your psychological fortitude leaves much to be desired, Senior.”

“Keep acting tough.” Spotting the other students looking over from the periphery, Lin Zhou let out a greasy laugh. “You didn’t happen to deploy a honey trap, did you?”

A few augmented human students nearby let out vulgar, suggestive chuckles, while the ordinary students’ expressions turned thoroughly unamused.

Lin Zhou’s insinuations were so flagrant—was this not outright harassment?

“You’re taking this way too far! Li Xiao was taken by them precisely to protect the rest of us!”

“It wasn’t easy for everyone to make it back alive. There’s absolutely no need for this!”

“Lin Zhou, you seriously lack any basic decency!”

Lin Zhou scoffed, entirely unperturbed. “Otherwise, why on earth would those bloodthirsty pirates let him off scott-free? He obviously cut some kind of unsavory deal with them behind closed doors.”

“Unsavory?” Li Xiao looked at him, a mild smile playing on his lips.

Lin Zhou sneered, “Do I really need to spell it out so clearly for you—ugh!”

Before Lin Zhou could finish his sentence, a precise kick sent him crashing hard onto the deck. His fractured ribs, which hadn’t fully mended from their previous encounter, snapped once more. He writhed on the floor for several seconds, unable to stand. Spotting Li Xiao stepping closer, he lashed his leg out in a desperate sweep aimed at Li Xiao’s ankle.

Li Xiao, his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets, executed a clean, effortless stride to evade the strike. He brought his boot down firmly onto Lin Zhou’s chest, the toe of his shoe tilting the upper senior’s chin upward as he murmured with pointed intent:

“Only those devoid of any systemic value resort to utilizing their bodies to execute transactions. Since Senior Lin is so thoroughly versed in the mechanics, it seems you’ve done it quite frequently. I wonder what exactly you bartered your body for?”

Hit squarely in his deepest insecurity, Lin Zhou’s face flushed a violent crimson. He lunged his hands up to push Li Xiao’s foot away, but Li Xiao kicked him back a fraction of a second faster.

“My apologies, I have a slight germaphobia.” Li Xiao looked down lazily at Lin Zhou as the upperclassman was pulled up frantically by his lackeys. “I dislike touching filthy things.”

Having finished transmitting his message, Da Bei noticed a crowd converging around Li Xiao once more. He sprinted over, calling out loudly, “Brother, the transport vehicle dispatched to pick us up has arrived!”

Under the collective gaze of the terminal, Li Xiao turned and walked away without sparing a single glance back.

Unable to swallow his humiliation, Lin Zhou wrenched himself free from his friends’ support and bolted after him. “You defamed me! This doesn’t end here!”

He had barely taken two paces when his vision blurred. A hand shot out from behind, clamping around his throat like an iron band. Jiang Hao’s completely emotionless voice vibrated right against his ear:

“The Big Brother explicitly stated he doesn’t like being touched by you. Are you deaf?”

Lin Zhou’s heart leaped into his throat, absolute disbelief freezing his mind.

Jiang Hao was clearly walking ahead alongside Li Xiao just a second ago. When on earth did he loop around to my rear?

Is this kind of kinetic velocity for real?!

The surrounding students and military personnel witnessed the exchange, their expressions turning increasingly cynical as they looked at Lin Zhou.

It was always these half-baked, mediocre hotheads who caused the most absurd drama.

Meng Tao watched Li Xiao’s departing figure, a profound sense of unease settling deep within him.

It wasn’t his imagination; the current Li Xiao was a universe apart from the low-profile, compliant persona he had initially adopted. It was as if Li Xiao no longer felt the slightest necessity to waste energy humoring them.

What changed?

Meng Tao harbored an incredibly ominous premonition.

When Li Xiao stepped out of the transit terminal, Chief Attendant Liu was already waiting beside the vehicle.

“Your Highness.” Old Liu gestured to open the passenger compartment, signaling for him to enter. “His Majesty requests your presence for a meal.”

Li Xiao offered a faint nod, sliding into the royal-issue hovercar.

Jiang Hao and Da Bei were escorted back to Li Xiao’s residential quarters, while old Liu brought Li Xiao directly to the grand sovereign hall.

Inside the dining hall, Emperor Li Ji was listening to a field report regarding the frontline operations.

“Not a single high-ranking member of the Iron Tigers was captured alive?”

The intelligence officer lowered his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. According to data verified by the Second Legion, the pirate command element attempted to flee in a shuttle during the blockade. The vessel sustained a direct missile strike and crashed. The military executed a rigorous sweep of the crash site and confirmed zero survivors.”

Li Ji was about to speak further when his peripheral vision caught Li Xiao entering. He waved his hand, dismissing the officer.

“Have you undergone the medical evaluation?” Li Ji asked, his face a mask of absolute stoicism as he watched Li Xiao take a seat to his right.

Li Xiao: “Not yet. Uncle Liu mentioned you were anxiously waiting to dine, so I came over directly.”

“…” Li Ji cast a fierce glare toward old Liu.

Old Liu rubbed his nose and lowered his head, executing a flawless impression of a decorative pillar.

The dynamic at the dining table was far quieter than Li Xiao had anticipated.

The two brothers ate in absolute silence, neither showing any inclination to initiate conversation. Every member of their core family of four possessed a profound affinity for spicy cuisine, so even the breakfast spread featured a jar of premium chili paste. Yet, despite it being his preferred flavor profile, Li Xiao found the meal utterly tasteless. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the small pastries he had pilfered from his Little Lion.

Once sated, Li Ji set his coffee cup down. “You’ve had your fun. When do you intend to head back?”

Here it comes.

Li Xiao mused inwardly that this confrontation was indeed unavoidable. He laid his cutlery down. “Head back where?”

Li Ji: “Go back to wherever it is you came from.”

Li Xiao met his sharp, piercing gaze, his voice turning cool. “Aside from this palace, I have no place to go back to.”

Li Ji shifted his eyes away. “I will grant you whatever allowance you require. Rest up today, and depart tomorrow.”

Li Xiao: “This is my home.”

“Are you deaf?” Li Ji snapped his eyes back to Li Xiao, his gaze darkening significantly. “I am telling you, I do not wish to see your face anymore!”

Li Xiao let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Even if I reside here, you possess ten thousand ways to avoid seeing me. Isn’t that exactly how it was in the past?”

Li Ji: “The past was the past. The present is the present!”

Seeing that Li Ji refused to yield a single millimeter, Li Xiao nodded, rising from his seat to depart. “Clinging onto a place where I’m unwanted is indeed meaningless. Since you refuse to acknowledge me, I shall head to Shengya.”

The moment the words “Shengya” slipped past Li Xiao’s lips, Li Ji’s brow twitched violently. He slammed his palms onto the table, surging to his feet as he roared, “I just retrieved your pathetic little life from the brink, and you turn around to go court death?! Do you truly believe that little boyfriend of yours is dependable?!”

“It beats staying here and inviting disgust.” Li Xiao looked askance at him. “Since you no longer intend to recognize me as your brother, then whether I live or die has absolutely nothing to do with you, does it?”

“As long as the royal blood flows through your veins for a single day, I have a duty to govern you!” Li Ji’s voice escalated by an octave. “Aside from Shengya, you are free to go wherever your heart desires!”

Li Xiao: “I need to look up certain historical files. Grant me administrative clearance to the Royal Archive. Once I finish my research, I will depart immediately and stay out of your sight forever.”

Li Ji narrowed his eyes slightly. “What exactly do you intend to look up?”

Li Xiao: “My friend’s species possesses certain historical conflicts with other factions. I wish to investigate the underlying truth.”

Li Ji frowned. “Denied!”

Li Xiao pivoted instantly to walk away. “I’m heading to Shengya.”

“Get back here!” Li Ji barked, calling him to a halt.

In a battle of who possessed a lower bottom line between the two brothers, Li Ji suffered yet another catastrophic defeat.

Li Xiao successfully secured clearance to the Archive, albeit restricted to a tight window of three days.

The Royal Archive was divided into a digital matrix and a physical paper repository. The clearance Li Ji had granted was strictly for the general paper records section; higher-level classified files remained inaccessible.

With only three days on the clock, Li Xiao practically lived within the Archive, emerging exclusively to eat and sleep.

The homeworld of the Bique species was located on Planet Min M336 within the Southern Cross sector. He initiated his search by dissecting major historical events across the Southern Cross sector spanning the last century, intending to document every single scrap of information concerning the Bique species, no matter how trivial.

He read continuously for two full days, yet he failed to uncover the words “Bique species” even once.

09: 【Master, Song Jin sent you another transmission!】

At 09’s prompt, Li Xiao pulled himself out of his stupor, massaging his temples. He checked the time; it was 3:00 AM.

Song Jin: 【Uncovered anything?】

Li Xiao transmitted back: 【Zero progress. How are things on your end?】

Song Jin: 【I am personally escorting the tissue sample for evaluation. Still en route.】

Li Xiao sat up a fraction straighter: 【Heading to Planet Snow?】

Song Jin: 【Yes.】

Within the Shengya Empire, aboard a high-speed transport vessel bound for Planet Snow, Song Jin sat by the viewport, reviewing the encrypted reports forwarded by his personal shadow guard.

The Danse legions had fully withdrawn their forces from N1926. Sector 7 had been thoroughly obliterated, and the Iron Tigers’ primary headquarters was leveled to the ground. Uncovering further physical evidence there was now entirely impossible.

His terminal vibrated, and another line materialized within his visual interface.

Li Xiao: 【If you don’t return to the Academy soon, you’ll become a high-school dropout.】

Song Jin: “…”

Song Jin replied: 【You speak as if you haven’t dropped out yourself.】

Li Xiao: 【My elder brother is sweeping me out the front door. I have indeed dropped out.】

Visualizing the exact expression Li Xiao would wear while uttering those words, Song Jin couldn’t resist a soft chuckle.

【My kitchen will always reserve a space for you.】

Li Xiao fired back a “goodbye” emoji.

Jiao Bai knocked on the compartment door and stepped in, addressing Song Jin: “Your Highness, we are preparing for planetary descent.”

Song Jin minimized his terminal and strode outward.

Planet Snow was a vast, blinding expanse of white, subjected to perpetual snowfall throughout the four seasons. It had once been a thriving tourism planet, but was later secretly converted by Lin Quan into a mega-factory for the manufacturing of Super Omegas. Currently, all civilian flight paths were deactivated, transforming the planet into a specialized sanctuary for Super Omegas.

Stepping out of the transit terminal hangar, Song Jin spotted a familiar, imposing figure waiting in the distance. He accelerated his pace to greet him: “Father.”

Song Zheng was well into his sixties, yet his physical appearance suggested a man barely in his early forties. He shared a fifty-to-sixty percent facial resemblance with Song Jin, possessing a tall, erect posture. His eyes still retained the unyielding aura of a supreme commander, though seasoned with a deep, grounded gravity that only decades of experience could cultivate.

Song Zheng pulled his youngest son into a brief embrace, his gaze sweeping over the silver ring glinting on Song Jin’s ear tip. “Evicted by your brother again?”

“…Am I truly that weak?” Song Jin released his old man. “How do you look even younger than before? Did Papa utilize some kind of advanced black technology on you?”

Song Zheng chuckled, guiding him toward the vehicle park. “Residing without a care in the world naturally preserves one’s youth.”

Song Jin teased, “Shifting the entire political burden onto Brother’s shoulders certainly qualifies as residing without a care.”

Song Zheng: “…”

Song Zheng took the wheel himself, driving Song Jin toward the Super Omega Research Institute.

Along the way, Song Jin summarized the core findings of his investigations over the past two months: “The biological tissue sample obtained from N1926 this time indicates, based on preliminary pheromone trajectory analysis, that it is a product of genetic cloning.”

Song Zheng kept his hands relaxed on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “Decades ago, Lin Quan explicitly stated that it was impossible to extract active components from cloned templates.”

Song Jin mused thoughtfully, “Meaning, the individual orchestrating the current operations isn’t utilizing the same generation of maternal templates as Lin Quan did?”

Song Zheng: “Merely a hypothesis.”

Song Jin’s mind immediately flashed back to the words Wei Feng had uttered. “Someone mentioned that a century ago, the Bique species split into two distinct factions. The elderly and weak remained in Bique Town, while the faction possessing superior physical frameworks migrated elsewhere.”

Song Zheng: “That specific species harbors entirely too many anomalies. It is a magnet for catastrophe.”

“Someone else said those exact words to me before.” Song Jin thought of Li Xiao, his fingers subconsciously drifting up to touch the silver ring on his ear.

Without a framework of absolute power to defend it, possessing exceptional gifts only amplified one’s peril. An ordinary man carries no guilt, but harboring a jade treasure invites ruin. That absolute truth had remained unyielding since ancient times.

Song Zheng caught his movement, inquiring with feigned nonchalance, “I heard from your brother that you’ve entered matrimony? Without a single word to your parents?”

Song Jin leaned back comfortably against the seat, propping his chin up with a casual hand. “I assumed a divorce was imminent, so there was no necessity to mention it.”

Song Zheng: “The earring was a gift from him?”

“Yes.” Recalling the day Li Xiao had proactively held his hand, Song Jin let out a pleasant, humming chuckle. “He surrendered his entire family heritage to me. I’ve never encountered anyone who loves me quite as intensely as he does.”

Song Zheng found it rather amusing. “He did indeed surrender his family heritage to you.”

Song Jin stiffened slightly, sensing a layered undertone to his father’s words. He straightened up, asking, “What do you mean?”

Song Zheng: “If my visual assessment is correct, that specific artifact belonged to the Danse Prince, Li Xun. During his youth, he traveled to Shengya for academic research, and I interacted with him for a few months.”

“Prince Li Xun?”

Song Jin activated his terminal, accessing the Royal Classified Database to execute a search on Li Xun’s personal Dossier.

Li Xun was Li Ji’s uncle. If he were still alive today, he would be 59 years old. The files indicated he possessed a thoroughly wandering disposition, enjoying academic travels across various sectors. Even Shengya’s intelligence network had found it exceptionally difficult to track his coordinates, leaving his documentation remarkably sparse.

Song Jin expressed some confusion: “Does Danse tradition dictate that an uncle’s personal artifacts be inherited by a nephew?”

Song Zheng: “Typically no, though elders gifting jewelry to the younger generation is common enough.”

Song Jin remained puzzled. “The records indicate he deceased thirty years ago. Li Xiao wasn’t even born at that time.”

“Then the details remain ambiguous,” Song Zheng stated, steering the vehicle into the institute’s underground parking complex. “The Danse royal lineage wears their specific ear ornaments from infancy; they do not readily part with them.”

Parking the car, Song Zheng caught his youngest son looking over with eyes gleaming with intense curiosity. He offered a light laugh. “As for why he chose to gift it to you… you should probably demand an explanation from him yourself.”

Song Jin: “…”

Deliberately leaving me hanging. He resolved to interrogate that rogue named Li tonight.

Taking the lift to the second level, they entered the largest research facility operational on Planet Snow.

White-coated laboratory personnel passed through the corridors from time to time. Upon encountering Song Zheng, they merely offered polite nods and warm smiles, their demeanor entirely devoid of rigid or tense formality, treating him more like an esteemed elder.

Song Jin stopped before a specific laboratory module. Through the transparent glass reinforced partition, he spotted his papa, Shen Shinian, actively delivering a lecture to a group of students.

Sensing their gaze, Shen Shinian turned his head slightly, flashed a hand gesture signaling them to wait, and returned to his instruction.

Song Jin settled onto a long bench outside. “Papa is still as occupied as ever. Didn’t you advise him to pace himself?”

“Advice is futile,” Song Zheng noted, his eyes softening as he observed his partner through the glass. “Besides, I quite admire the focus he displays while working.”

Song Jin: “…” Dispensary of romantic affection directly to their son. Is having a spouse truly that extraordinary?

Fifteen minutes later, Shen Shinian stepped out of the laboratory, instinctively fishing a slender cigarette from Song Zheng’s pocket to place between his lips. Before he could even enjoy a single draw, Song Jin smoothly snatched it away, snapping it in half with a single hand before tossing it into a disposal drone.

Song Jin: “Smoking is prohibited.”

Shen Shinian expressed thorough dissatisfaction. “I am your father.”

Song Jin didn’t bother engaging in the banter, handing over the container housing the tissue sample. “The biological sample I mentioned to you previously.”

Shen Shinian gestured for the father and son to follow him. Reaching the terminus of the corridor, he swiped his terminal across the biometric scanner, granting them entry into his private laboratory suite. He first extracted the blood vial from the container to initiate a diagnostic run.

Song Jin hesitated for a beat, then fished a compact vial from his pocket. “This requires an evaluation as well.”

Shen Shinian accepted it and popped it open, revealing two strands of hair. “Sourced from a location distinct from the container?”

Song Jin shook his head. “I wish to run a genetic kinship matrix verification between these two strands.”

Shen Shinian narrowed his eyes slightly. “Does that little boyfriend of yours possess an illegitimate offspring?”

Song Jin: “…”

“I absolutely forbid it,” Shen Shinian snapped, slapping the vial onto the console. “Forcing my son to assume the role of a stepfather? Out of the question.”

Song Jin maintained his patience to explain, “One of the strands indeed belongs to him. As for the other… I will enlighten you once the diagnostic metrics are finalized.”

Executing a DNA sequencing profile was an exceptionally elementary task. Before the lunch hour arrived, Shen Shinian tossed the finalized report directly before Song Jin.

Leaning against the console, Song Jin reviewed the data, his mind plunging into an absolute stupor. If this evaluation hadn’t been personally conducted by his father’s own hands, he would have fiercely suspected the report was a total fabrication.

That Wei Feng was actually Li Xiao’s biological father?! Has the universe gone completely insane, or have I?

Song Jin remained silent for a long duration before turning to Shen Shinian. “Papa… would it be possible for you to execute the verification sequence once more?”

Shen Shinian countered that running it a hundred times would yield the exact same metrics. “Whose hair did you procure?”

“A…” Song Jin’s cognitive faculties experienced a brief short-circuit, suddenly completely at a loss for words. “A passerby?”

Shen Shinian and Song Zheng exchanged a brief, puzzled look. Their youngest son’s boyfriend was a Danse Prince—a fact that had already been verified across multiple intelligence channels. Why on earth would Song Jin suddenly desire to test his DNA against a random individual?

Song Jin flipped through the pages of the genetic report, his thoughts a chaotic web.

Wei Feng appeared to be barely in his early thirties, which could potentially be attributed to an exceptionally youthful aesthetic, but the man was definitively an Alpha—a parameter Song Jin could absolutely never misinterpret, and the report firmly validated that fact.

Did that imply Li Xiao was a child engineered via genetic synthesis utilizing the DNA profiles of the late Danse Monarch, Li Su, and Wei Feng? That concept crossed entirely into the realm of the absurd.

Meanwhile, at the Danse Royal Palace on Planet Tianjiang.

Li Xiao sat buried beneath a veritable mountain of physical texts, deep in research.

He had modified his analytical approach, having previously inquired with Wei Feng regarding the approximate timeline of the Bique species’ rebellion. Yet, when searching for records corresponding to that specific era, he discovered a matching void.

The historical existence of the Bique species appeared to have been completely, systematically erased.

Could it be preserved within the classified archives?

What sort of catastrophic event could a species possessing such minimal galactic presence possibly trigger to warrant inclusion within the crown’s most classified archives?

His terminal vibrated, a dialogue window materializing within his field of vision displaying an unregistered communication code.

【The Adesai Trading Corporation was officially liquidated nine years ago. Its primary majority shareholder was Lin Zhi, a member of a branch faction of the Lin family.】

The Lin family—the exact clan Lin Zhou belonged to. They existed entirely as dependents of the Meng family, functioning as their most fiercely loyal hounds.

Li Xiao transmitted back: 【Dig deeper.】

【Understood, Your Highness. Please ensure your absolute safety.】

The moment he concluded the transmission, his terminal vibrated once more. A message from Song Jin popped up.

【Does the Danse network infrastructure grant access to Star Wars?】

Star Wars? The holographic game?

Li Xiao rarely indulged in gaming. Seeing Song Jin inquire specifically, he conducted a brief network query before replying: 【Yes.】

Moments later, the other side forwarded a set of login credentials.

Song Jin: 【I’ve established an account for you. Inform me before you log on when you possess a window of leisure. I have uncovered certain developments.】

Li Xiao: “…” Utilizing a game interface to discuss intelligence?

09 chimed in: 【This specific methodology is exceptionally resilient against signal interception, offering vastly superior security protocols compared to direct comm lines.】

Li Xiao: “…” It was truly a rare phenomenon for these two to align so perfectly on a tactical front.

Refusing to squander a single shred of his remaining archival window, Li Xiao logged into the interface while consuming his mid-day meal.

Star Wars was a fully immersive holographic simulation game supporting massive categories ranging from mecha combat and desolate planet survival to fleet tactical engagements. Each major category branched into numerous gameplay modes. If one synchronized their neural pain-reception matrix, the simulation parameters mirrored actual combat flawlessly, making it immensely popular among the youth. Many military academy cadets even utilized it for routine operational drills.

Logging in with the credentials provided by Song Jin, Li Xiao found himself standing in a starkly cyberpunk, derelict streetscape. Numerous players had congregated beneath flashing neon signs, their individual gear configurations increasingly high-end.

Beside a nearby abandoned atmospheric shuttle, several interactive displays flickered, showcasing user interfaces for various operational modes.

He navigated to his contacts directory, discovering a single ID: The Cat Don’t Eat Fish. The status indicated active synchronization—almost certainly Song Jin.

Li Xiao tried toggling his visual perspective to an external, third-person overview. Right in the epicenter of his field of vision, a small, dark silhouette materialized. It was thoroughly round and covered in fluffy fur, resembling a bipedal plush toy.

Upon closer inspection, he managed to discern that it was a lion possessing a remarkably feline facial structure.

Hovering directly above its head was an ID of disastrously archaic, edgy proportions—This Rogue Isn’t Too Cold.

“…” Li Xiao swept his gaze across the endless expanse of tall, exquisitely rendered avatars in the distance, then looked back down at his own short, round, charcoal-colored furball framework. He was struck with absolute disbelief.

This couldn’t possibly be his designated avatar framework, right?

A sudden flash of light materialized beside the charcoal ball, and a pristine, snow-white Persian cat emerged, standing at an identical height. The artistic style was hilariously synchronized.

“Old Song?” Li Xiao offered a tentative greeting.

The Persian cat raised a soft, fleshy paw, planting it squarely against Li Xiao’s fluffy belly to give it a vigorous, enthusiastic squeeze. “As expected, it suits you flawlessly.”

Li Xiao: “…”