Yuan Hong being a tough nut to crack was tomorrow’s problem.
Zhang Yunli had snagged a large flight vehicle and hauled the whole group of Omegas out for a fancy buffet to celebrate.
Fu Mingyuan tagged along.
A bunch of young, energetic college Omegas—cute ones, refined ones, pretty ones—let loose like this? No one could relax.
He was there to foot the bill and play bouncer.
Everyone except him was chowing down quietly; the other sixty-four were buzzing louder than a flea market. Forget Zhang Yunli, who usually buried himself in academics—the gunfire-hardened Mu Chenxing felt like his ears might bleed.
But it didn’t stop him from eating.
Buffet!!!
Over a hundred Alliance-style dishes, soups, desserts, and snacks laid out before him!!
Mu Chenxing wasn’t about to skimp on himself. He piled his plate high and sampled everything: meats, seafood, veggies… Once he polished those off, he hit the booze section, picking one by one in order—
“Xingxing, you’re drinking?!” Tong Xiao, passing by, slapped a hand on his arm. “You’ve got class tomorrow!”
Mu Chenxing blinked, glancing at the cup with just a sip left at the bottom. He pointed to the label on the booze table: “It’s juice. Cailin Melon Juice.”
Melon. Juice.
He wasn’t an idiot—he had eyes. No way he’d mix that up.
Tong Xiao: “…Cailin Melon is a Huanyang Star specialty. It’s a self-fermenting fruit, so the juice is basically natural booze. One flavor, one kick—super pricey!”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Damn, so I’m chugging pure natural monkey wine in the Alliance world?
He’d picked it because the cups were small and the liquid scant—figured it was premium stuff.
He eyed the cup again, hesitating. “This stuff isn’t that strong, right?”
Tong Xiao: “Hard to say. Varies by flavor and ripeness. But none are weak… How much have you had?”
Mu Chenxing thought back, honest: “Seventh cup.”
Just two sips each!
Seeing Tong Xiao’s shock, he mumbled defensively, “Looked expensive. Figured I’d get my money’s worth.”
Tong Xiao: “…Principal Fu’s footing the bill. Doesn’t cost you a single Alliance Coin!!”
Mu Chenxing felt guilty: “Maybe I’ve got a iron liver?”
Tong Xiao stared for two seconds. “Does this restaurant feel comfy temp-wise to you?”
Mu Chenxing got it, face falling: “Kinda hot.”
He’d blamed the rowdy excitement for his dopamine rush.
Tong Xiao patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Teacher Zhang can get you excused.”
“But that Teacher Yuan wants you after class, right? You gonna make it?”
Mu Chenxing: “…No way. I won’t sleep till dismissal, will I?”
“Hard to say.” Tong Xiao shook his head with a sigh, plate in hand, and walked off.
Mu Chenxing touched his feverish cheeks.
Back home, he could knock back half a jin of baijiu with the guys and stay sharp. Now…
Whatever. Food first.
Mu Chenxing quit talking and kept sampling, snapping pics as he went—planning to look up the winners later and dodge the duds.
He ate fast. By the time he was stuffed, the dizziness crept in slow, like motion sickness more than a buzz. Suspiciously convenient.
No biggie. He set down his utensils, leaned back in his chair, and gave his roommate a last will: “Drag me home gentle, yeah? I’m fragile.”
Tong Xiao: “…”
Mu Chenxing’s eyes slid shut.
Not passing out, but head heavy, feet light, thoughts sluggish, eyelids leaden. Better to slump than stagger and cause trouble.
He caught his roommates’ helpless gripes, folks checking on him. Word of the accidental Cailin booze had them cracking up, snapping pics—he sensed people swapping spots beside him.
These little punks. Gonna drill ’em extra later, Mu Chenxing thought fuzzily.
His mind drifted; the noise faded.
Then he felt himself lifted.
One on each side, a tad shorter than him. Voices said Tong Xiao and Tao Xirui.
Mu Chenxing relaxed—
Cool Silk Thread coiled his ankle, chilling his brain awake a notch.
…Cool Silk?
Pei Yao?
Before his fog cleared, the thread slithered away. Mu Chenxing blanked for seconds, then sank back into semi-coma.
When awareness returned, it was dead quiet.
Mu Chenxing stared at the familiar pink bed canopy overhead for seconds, then propped on the bed edge, draping over the side to peer out.
Curtains mostly drawn, blocking harsh sun—room dim and still. Only his seat occupied, clothes looking like one of Xia Xia’s jackets.
Head still spinning, Mu Chenxing half-dead-draped over the edge and wailed: “Xia Xia, I’m dying…”
Chair scraped. The seated “Xia Xia” stood—
“You’re taller—” Mu Chenxing froze.
“Little Xingxing.” Cool fingers ruffled his hair. The man leaned in close, grinning: “Away a few days, and you pine yourself sick, drown sorrows in booze?”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Feebly: “What’re you doing here?”
Mu Chenxing eyed the tube, reached—
Pei Yao dodged, offering it again with a grin: “Feeling rough, huh? Lemme feed you~”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
He chomped the nozzle and sucked.
Twenty-thirty milliliters? Gone in a slurp.
Pei Yao blinked; Mu Chenxing released, flopping back on the bed.
“What med is this…” Pretty tasty, though.
Pei Yao glanced at the empty tube, then the shameless Mu Chenxing, lips curving as he tapped his brow: “You chug mystery meds? Gutsy.”
“Yeah? If you brought it, what’s to worry?”
Pei Yao’s half-retracted finger paused, voice still laughing: “Admiral status makes you that comfy, huh.”
Mu Chenxing clutched his head, eyes shut: “Not about that… Why’re you here?”
Pei Yao gazed down: “Dropping hangover cure. Don’t wanna miss afternoon training.”
Then: “So what’s it about?”
Mu Chenxing: “…C’mon. I’m wrecked—still training? How’d you know?”
Pei Yao: “Yuan Hong’s my teacher too.”
Mu Chenxing met his eyes.
“He ran our comp training back then.”
“Oh.” No wonder Fu Mingyuan picked Yuan Hong—comps under his purview. “Sounds pro. I’m good then.”
Pei Yao low-laughed: “Test projects still ahead. That confident?”
“‘Course.” Chat had dulled the throbbing. Mu Chenxing sat up on the edge: “Just dropping meds?”
Pei Yao: “Obviously.”
Grinning sly: “What’d you think I wanted?”
Fingers grazed Mu Chenxing’s cheek, rubbing lightly.
Mu Chenxing: “…Gonna die without the grease act?”
Pei Yao: “What’s ‘greasy’?”
Mu Chenxing dead-fish-eyed: “This. You. Now.”
Pei Yao dawned: “Oh. Like it?”
Mu Chenxing rolled eyes: “Meds delivered. GTFO.”
Pei Yao tsked: “How’re you so immune?”
Mu Chenxing: “Toss some salt with the oil, at least.”
Pei Yao laughed again, pulling a pack: “Your salt.”
Palm-sized flat box, semitransparent—grains of treasure-blue inside, like blueberries.
“What’s this?” Mu Chenxing leaned in.
Pei Yao: “Chika Mountain specialty Flowrock Fruit. Just back from there.”
…Souvenir.
If the Admiral brought it, had to be fire.
Mu Chenxing bolted up: “Wait, lemme brush.”
Pei Yao: “…”
By the time Mu Chenxing brushed and washed up, Pei Yao had vanished.
Mu Chenxing blinked—then heard Tong Xiao and crew outside.
He paused, checked time—nearly one.
Next instant, dorm door opened.
“Huh? You’re up?”
“Lucky I brought porridge.”
Mu Chenxing wasn’t hungry yet, quizzed last night quick, took the porridge.
“What’s that?” Tong Xiao, handing it over, eyed the desk box.
Mu Chenxing, unpacking the to-go: “Chika Mountain Flowrock Fruit.”
Three sharp gasps.
Mu Chenxing puzzled, looked up: “What?”
“Real Flowrock Fruit?”
“Grows in volcano magma!”
“If legit, that pack buys a top-model flight vehicle!!”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
“Fake, right?”
“Yeah, normies never even see it.”
“Who came? Scamming you with that?”
Mu Chenxing quietly set porridge down, grabbed the box, divvied berries.
Tong Xiao’s crew didn’t buy it, just toyed with theirs.
“Which dumbass scams with berries?”
“Lame lie—too easy busted.”
“Flowrock’s jet-black blue, glows red in dark, tip has—holy shit.” Tong Xiao checked Holo-Screen, then his berry, glaring at Mu Chenxing: “Real?!”
Mu Chenxing, inspecting one, popped it and nodded mid-chew.
—Sweet with a tangy edge, bursts fragrant. Yum.
Xia Weizhen and the others gawked, firing up Holo-Screens to scan pics.
“…”
Tong Xiao set his down gentle, lunged to pinch: “Spill! Who gave?!”
Mu Chenxing: “Some greasy middle-aged Alpha.”
Instantly, Cool Silk Thread snaked his ankle, prodding calf.
…Streetlight Bro’s lurking the ceiling crawlspace now.
Xia Weizhen and crew piled on.
“No way, Alpha?!”
“When’d you bag a sidepiece?!”
“Flowrock? Rich dude—we’d know him!”
Mu Chenxing: “…You have.”
All three: “Who?!”
Mu Chenxing: “Association dinner guy. Donated ten thousand Alliance Coins—Teacher Pei.”
Three: “…”
“No shot.”
“Ten K? Can’t afford Flowrock.”
“Yeah, Principal Fu’s stingier? Wait, no—more generous.”
Mu Chenxing: “…”
Fine. Now the guy’s not just greasy—cheap too.
Eheheheee
Thnx ya for the chappiieee~