Jing Xi’s combat power was known to be overwhelming—anyone who challenged him in a duel was basically asking to be humiliated.

In that fleeting moment, Li Bo suddenly recalled something Huang Hao had once casually mentioned to him six months ago.

Plenty at headquarters viewed Jing Xi as a rival. Huang Hao had been one of them.

Obsessed with beating Jing Xi, Huang Hao had shadowed him for two whole months, recording his every move.

In the end, he discovered the odds of defeating Jing Xi in combat were essentially zero—unless it was during Jing Xi’s susceptibility period. That raised the probability by a measly 0.5%.

But Jing Xi wasn’t entirely without a weak spot.

Because he had no friends, Jing Xi rarely touched ball games that required sparring: tennis, badminton, table tennis.

Especially table tennis. Huang Hao swore he didn’t even know how to serve.

“How about it? Decided?” asked Pei Zhenyue.

Li Bo hesitated for a beat, then said, “Fine. Let’s play table tennis.”

Table tennis?!

The officers present thought they misheard.

Two generals wagering an entire sector—decided over a ping pong match?

That was absurdly reckless.

A buzz of whispers spread through the hall.

“This is Major General Jing’s weak spot.”
“Not exactly unfair. No one wants to just give away prime territory.”
“If that’s the contest, the outcome’s certain.”
“Li Bo even won the military’s ping pong championship three years ago.”

Pei Zhenyue, who’d watched Jing Xi for years, naturally knew this wasn’t his domain. Jing Xi lived too ascetically—outside of missions and training, he had no “hobbies.”

“It’d be better to use one of the official training disciplines,” Pei suggested.

But Li Bo refused to back down—any of those and he would surely lose.

“You’re really choosing this?” Chi Yao, who’d been silent until now, asked mildly.

Li Bo’s gaze was sharp. “If you won’t play, fine. I’ll give you White Bear Sector instead.”

Now that was intriguing.

Pei Zhenyue’s earlier condition had been: duel again—if Jing Xi lost, the wager was void.

But Li Bo said: if you don’t want to, I’ll still give you another territory.

Magnanimous on the surface. But something didn’t smell right.

By the original bet, Li Bo owed Cetus Sector, period.

Hearing the murmurs, Chi Yao chuckled, “Honestly, table tennis isn’t very… graceful. Choose something else.”

Not graceful? That reason baffled everyone, including Pei Zhenyue.

The more Jing Xi resisted, the more convinced Li Bo became.

“There’s no contest more fitting—it’ll settle things without bad blood.”

Chi Yao nodded slowly.
“Alright. I just hope you won’t regret it.”

A chill ran through Li Bo’s chest.

Why was Jing Xi looking at him like that? With this much confidence, when he was supposed to be blind‑sided by his weakest game?

Trying to mask unease, Li Bo said lightly, “Lose or not, it’s nothing to regret.”

Chi Yao’s smile widened.
“True. One Cetus Sector’s nothing to you, after all.”

Even Pei Zhenyue couldn’t read Jing Xi’s intentions anymore. Those eyes—smiles concealing knives, brimming with something savage.

But wasn’t he the one about to be beaten?

When Chu Xiao’s group finally snuck up to the meeting hall, it was empty.

“Over there!” a beta squadmate pointed.

Chu Xiao saw the cluster of officers heading into the training facilities—toward the ping pong hall.

“Ah, post‑meeting recreation?” Chu Xiao guessed, leading his team to follow.

Inside, Chi Yao and Li Bo faced one another from opposite sides of the table.

“One game, winner takes all. Who serves?” Pei Zhenyue asked.

“Let Xiao Jing serve,” Li Bo said smoothly.

A terrible disadvantage for a novice. Probably an instant loss.

The gathered officers were already pitying Jing Xi.

Whispers sparked in the stands.

“This is too much.”
“He knows Jing Xi can’t play, and still made him serve.”
“Ugly move.”

Chi Yao shrugged off his officer’s coat and slung it on the railing, fingers loosening his tie. Holding paddle and ball, he smiled:
“Before we start—a disclaimer. I don’t know how to play standard table tennis.”

The crowd: “…”

Then why do you sound like you’re boasting?

Pei Zhenyue: “…”

If you don’t know how, why the hell did you agree?!

Chi Yao smiled at Li Bo.
“If my technique’s lacking, please forgive me.”

Li Bo loosened his wrists with a cold smirk. “No worries. This game isn’t about strict rules.”

“Good. Then I’m at ease,” Chi Yao said.

The AI referee launched the match.

Chi Yao cradled the ball, bent low, eyes sharp.

He tossed it up—and smashed.

Thwack!

The ball pinged straight into Li Bo’s forehead—dropping him to the ground.

The orange ball rolled away uselessly.

Chi Yao straightened. “Oops. My hand slipped.”

His tone was arrogant, void of apology.

The officers all winced in sympathetic pain.

This is ping pong? More like discus throw!

Pei Zhenyue: “…”

This vengeful brat—why did he like him so much?

Groaning from the knock, Li Bo rubbed the swelling lump on his brow.

And everyone’s eyes were… peculiar.

“The hell,” he snarled, but forced calm. “You’re new. Dropping your paddle is normal.”

Chi Yao’s grin deepened.
“How understanding you are. Don’t worry—this time I’ll hold on tight.”

The AI ruled point to Li Bo, since no return was made.

Now his serve. He bounced the ball a few times, glaring at Jing Xi’s ever‑composed face. That smug calm drove him mad.

He served hard.

The ball rocketed over—and straight for Jing Xi’s face.

Gasps erupted. Playing dirty!

But in the blink of an eye—there was only a blur.

The next instant, Li Bo howled in agony.

The replay showed: just as it was about to hit Jing Xi’s face, Chi Yao struck—it ricocheted off the table, then back, smashing into Li Bo’s cheek.

All within 0.3 seconds.

A flawless smash. Brutal. Unstoppable.

The officers were thunderstruck. So he could play.

Three volleys later, Li Bo’s forehead, both cheeks, and mouth were swollen; two teeth loose.

Overmatched and bloodied, snarling through the pain, he refused to quit.

“Again!” he roared.

But Chi Yao’s lopsided smirk never faltered. “I’ll give you three days. I expect Cetus’s transfer papers on my desk.”

Li Bo swayed on his knees, barely recognizable.
“Rematch!” he demanded hoarsely through blood.

Chi Yao only laughed, smooth as ever, throwing on his coat and walking off.

Pei Zhenyue, seeing Jing Xi disheveled yet composed, long hair swaying, while Li Bo knelt in blood and sweat, felt… proud.

Even in his weakest game, Jing Xi utterly crushed an opponent. Peerless strength, ruthless dominance—there was no second like him in the Empire.

“This was already unfair to Xiao Jing,” Pei Zhenyue said coldly. “No more rematches.”

Li Bo exploded.
“He wasn’t playing! It was all attacks! How can that count?!”

“AI judged it counts,” Pei snapped. “You’re a general and can’t handle a simple game loss? Pathetic.”

Humiliated, Li Bo suddenly unleashed his alpha pheromones.

The air reeked sour, like spoiled liquor.

The other alphas grimaced, some collapsing under the oppressive force.

“Enough!” Pei Zhenyue barked.

But Chi Yao stood, unfazed in the ethanol storm. His eyes glinted cold.

“…That’s it?”

And then—a faint sweetness drifted into his senses.

Cool, like mountain spring, yet searing like flame the moment it touched his core.

A fragrance that both burned and refreshed, lingering like wild grass after fire.

Chi Yao’s chest thudded hard, a tremor shooting through him.

That scent… achingly familiar.

---

Author’s Note:

Chi Yao: Hm? That smell… no doubt—it’s my wife.