Chapter 30: That Unlucky Star Pirate Part 2

She pretended to know nothing as she rose and offered the wine cup to Wei Heng, head bowed subserviently and extremely respectful. Wei Heng ended the call, took a sip of wine, and his breathing finally eased. Just then, urgent footsteps sounded from outside the door.

The one who pushed the door open was Wei Heng’s assistant minister, whom the maid had seen a few times. She knew him to be steady and composed, never hasty in speech, but today, his expression was unusually tense as he entered.

“Eldest Prince!”

The assistant minister’s voice was tight. He started to speak but noticed the maid in the room, his eyes immediately alert.

Wei Heng saw his panic and waved the maid away, then sat down with his wine cup.

“You are always steady in your actions. What could make you so flustered?”

The assistant minister still did not speak. Only after the door closed did he say urgently, “Your Majesty summons you to the palace!”

At this time?

Wei Heng reflexively looked out the window, a flicker of glee crossing his heart. Father Emperor’s condition had worsened recently—could it finally be—?

He stood abruptly. “What’s going on?”

The assistant minister shook his head, showing no glee but deep worry.

“This subordinate received no details either, but I heard Your Majesty met a guest from outside the palace tonight, and they have not yet been sent out.”

A guest from outside the palace?

At these words, Wei Heng’s heart sank.

“What does that guest from outside the palace look like? Male or female?”

The assistant minister continued to shake his head. “This subordinate knows nothing about it.”

These were turbulent times, with the sovereign gravely ill. Everything was like an arrow nocked and ready to fly—poised to unleash earth-shaking consequences at the slightest variable.

Wei Heng recalled that fruitless communication from earlier and glanced at the minister’s expression. A chill crept up his spine.

A full 148 hours.

Even a civilian spaceship would take only about twenty hours to jump from the remote Ninth Star System to Scepter Star. If he had truly slipped the surveillance and returned to Scepter Star…

Wei Heng closed his eyes briefly and thought no more.

“Is the aircraft ready?”

The minister hurriedly replied, “Everything is prepared. We can depart immediately.”

Wei Heng tilted his head back and drained the last of the wine from his cup. His face darkened as he left the study.

In the shadows of the corridor, a maidservant knelt halfway on the carpet, watching the two men’s hurried departing backs. She slowly lowered her head.

Under the artificial night sky, the Imperial Palace sprawled like a massive structure on the spine of a crouching beast, exuding an eerie aura. After disembarking from the aircraft, Wei Heng was led by an attendant deep into the grand hall. He noticed that every servant passing by wore a joyful smile, as if some great fortune had befallen them.

Wei Heng’s heart sank even deeper.

After passing through three layers of stringent guard inspections, Wei Heng finally stepped into the rear hall. Before he could make out any figures, a hoarse yet unusually booming laugh pierced through the layered curtains and struck his ears.

It was Father Emperor’s voice.

At that moment, a medical officer hurried out from behind the curtains. Spotting Wei Heng, he froze for a second before shouting, “Eldest Imperial Prince!”

Before he could finish, the Old Emperor’s voice followed, still laced with lingering mirth but carrying an undeniable urgency. “You’re here? Come in!”

Wei Heng forcibly suppressed his churning emotions, took a deep breath to steady his slightly ragged breathing, lifted the heavy curtain, and strode inside.

“Father!”

Behind the curtain, under the dim, soft glow of the lights, the Old Emperor was not lying prostrate on a sickbed as Wei Heng had imagined.

The elderly alpha reclined on a wide armchair, a thin blanket draped over his knees. His face still bore the ashen pallor of prolonged illness, but his sunken eyes now flickered with an extraordinary, almost scorching light. Even the pheromones around him had surged to life, like embers reignited from dead ashes.

What made Wei Heng’s pupils contract sharply was the person sitting quietly on the step right beside Father Emperor’s armchair, mere inches away.

The man had an upright posture and wore a simple yet finely made dark casual uniform, almost entirely shrouded in the heavy shadows cast by the curtains.

He sat with casual nonchalance, one arm propped on his knee, brushing against the Old Emperor’s dangling robe. Hearing Wei Heng’s footsteps, the man casually lifted his head.

Under the dim lighting, a face that Wei Heng would recognize even in death gradually came into focus.

The scar on his left eyebrow, like a crescent moon cleaved by a blade, stood out starkly in the flickering candlelight. It was an exceedingly vibrant and flamboyant face. Even with the broken brow, it lost none of its handsome allure—only imprinting itself more deeply in the memory.

The world believed only omegas possessed such vivid, striking features, but reality proved alphas could as well.

His dark eyes shifted slightly, appraising Wei Heng from head to toe. The chill in the palace suppressed all pheromonal stirrings. The man let out a soft hum and curved his lips into a smile Wei Heng knew all too well—one tinged with mockery.

“Long time no see, Big Brother.” His voice was low and steady, as if merely commenting on the weather.

Wei Heng’s pupils contracted sharply.

The man who had vanished three years ago now sat unscathed at Father Emperor’s side, his posture intimately familiar, as if he had never left.

Wei Tingxia.

…

Meanwhile, in the undeveloped star system.

With the Bug Mother pierced through its vital point, the insect swarm began to scatter in frenzy. Some even dissolved on the spot into sticky, blood-scented transparent goo.

The fleet landed, crushing another field of corpses. The crunch of splintering arthropods echoed across the planet.

A man with a scar slashing across the left side of his face didn’t wait for the fleet to fully land. He leaped down impatiently and hurried into the mountain of corpses and sea of blood, rummaging frantically, his fingers trembling nonstop.

Many others were doing the same.

The Deep Blue Fleet wouldn’t have survived to this day without Yan Xinfeng’s leadership. If he died here today, everyone could look forward to starving.

Half of their urgency stemmed from reverence for their leader, the other half from worry for their own futures.

Scarface grew more panicked with every flip. He could already picture Yan Xinfeng’s corpse before him.

“Screw this!”

Scarface cursed loudly and hurled his shock gun to the ground.

A week ago, the leader had left the base—what they thought was a routine patrol. They hadn’t paid it much mind. But a full week passed with no word. Then came a set of coordinates with a message: Come quickly and collect the bodies.

As second-in-command, Scarface felt like he was dying the instant he saw the message. Ignoring verification, he rushed the fleet to the coordinates. Upon entering the atmosphere, they witnessed that scene.

“Collect the bodies” spun and screamed in his mind. Scarface reeled, seeing no hope of survival.

“He’s a perfectly fine alpha—cunning, capable, practically able to ride roughshod over the emperor. How does he let some omega bewitch him, rush off here to die like a fool? Is he nuts?”

He paced in circles, raking back his hair, still unsatisfied. He continued, “In my book, Wei Tingxia’s a menace too. Is that what a proper omega acts like? So seductive and deranged—whoever gets with him ends up dead! Are these two lunatics gonna die together here? I’m done. How did I even end up following him into this mess? Look! Just look!”

Scarface wasn’t originally from the Deep Blue crew. He’d been the leader of another pirate band. Yan Xinfeng had eyed his turf, beaten him three times, and he’d fallen in line. That’s how he started working for him.

So he was even more loose-tongued than most—blurting whatever came to mind, often getting beaten for it but never changing. Life had been rough.

“It’s fine, brothers,” Scarface said, hands on hips, exhaling. “If Yan Xinfeng’s dead, he’s dead. Not much loss for a guy whose brain got scrambled by an omega. With me here, we’ll still eat just fine!”

His words landed, and everyone’s movements froze.

A younger kid stared blankly at Scarface, lips quivering as he raised a hand. “Knife Bro…”

“I know!” Scarface waved him off. “It wasn’t easy making this call, but for the brothers, I’ll make the sacrifice. You all—”

“Knife Bro!”

Interrupted, the kid grew frantic and pointed hard at his back. “Yan, Yan…”

His voice shook; he couldn’t get the name out. Scarface, pained by it, slapped his hand away.

“Yan Xinfeng’s name that hard to say?” As he turned back, he added, “Like I said, no need to search. He’s definitely with that lunatic—”

He turned, and his words cut off.

Someone emerged from the Bug Mother’s lair.

The gore splattered from the Bug Mother’s explosion had congealed into disgusting gel on his body—reds, yellows, whites all mixed in a spectacular mess.

Yan Xinfeng, whom all thought surely dead, dragged this coating of carrion out of the cave, step by heavy step. Fresh gashes flipped open on his face, blood streaming. His eyes were dark and sunken, post-battle killing intent lingering, like a demon crawled fresh from hell.

The rampant pheromones of a top-tier alpha after battle crashed down like an overwhelming sky. The younger kids and betas paled instantly; even the other alphas struggled, bodies instinctively assuming defensive stances.

Clang! He casually tossed aside a chunk of mecha wreckage used to pierce the Bug Mother’s shell. Yan Xinfeng released his grip, planted his feet before Scarface, and smeared the gel from his hand all over him.

“What about me and Wei Tingxia, huh?” he asked, voice hoarse with the tang of blood.

“Nothing,” Scarface swallowed hard. “You two are bedmates, in the same boat, live and die together—the model couple of the universe. I bow to you.”

Badmouthing him and his omega to his face, only to find him alive—it felt like seeing a ghost in daylight. Scarface piled on the praise, hoping to dodge a beating.

Unexpectedly, Yan Xinfeng actually laughed.

This man who had just hand-stabbed a Bug Mother to death let out a guttural chuckle from his throat, as if expending his last strength.

His gore-smeared palm slapped heavily onto Scarface’s shoulder. Yan Xinfeng bent forward, shaking with laughter. On the white fabric at his waist and abdomen, a glaring red stain rapidly bloomed and spread.

At that point, the younger kid edged closer cautiously, peering around anxiously.

Finding no trace, he asked in a trembling voice, “Leader, where’s Mr. Wei?” The kid got along well with Wei Tingxia and was full of worry.

“Him?”

Yan Xinfeng straightened, most of his weight still on Scarface, the thick blood scent almost tangible. He pondered a moment, then cracked a vicious grin across his mangled face.

“Mr. Wei… ran off.” He drawled it out, each word laced with ice. “I’d like to know too—where the hell he’s running to.”

With that, Yan Xinfeng finally peeled away from Scarface and staggered toward the warship. The crowd held their breath, following silently, not daring to exhale.

Yan Xinfeng stepped onto the warship deck, then paused abruptly. He turned, looking down imperiously at them all.

“News of my survival,” he commanded gravely, brooking no dissent, “not a word to anyone. Let them think I’m dead. Understood?”