Chapter 39: An Absurd Conversation Part 1

Capital Star.

When the encrypted message arrived, Wei Shu had just left his private laboratory. The alloy door locked behind him, muffling a series of faint, utterly miserable wails.

“The Border Military District reports that the Second Highness brought back a star pirate from outside.”

“A star pirate?”

Wei Shu paused in the middle of removing his gloves. “What’s his name?”

The subordinate checked the encrypted message and reported, “Yan Xinfeng.”

Wei Shu had never heard the name. In his mind, an unknown name meant the person had no influence and wasn’t important, but there were still a few points worth noting.

“Is he an Alpha or an Omega?”

The subordinate replied decisively, “Alpha.”

Interesting.

Wei Shu leisurely completed the disinfection process for his gloves and strolled to the large one-way observation window. The cold laboratory lights reflected in his eyes, tempering those amber pupils into a pair of emotionless glass beads.

He asked, “Do you think my second brother is good-tempered?”

The subordinate hesitated. “The Second Highness seems reasonably even-tempered…”

Wei Shu smiled.

The cold, mocking laughter echoed through the not-so-spacious room. The subordinate’s shoulders trembled involuntarily. His nearly 1.9-meter height suddenly seemed hunched and small.

He was an Alpha too, but Alphas differed from one another.

From the moment he started following Wei Shu, the subordinate realized that this Third Prince was not the idle prince rumored to indulge in academics without vying for power. He was a venomous snake, cloaked in a dull, harmless skin, lurking beneath dead branches and rotten leaves, ready to strike with dripping venom at any moment.

The subordinate was a soldier who had been to the battlefield and had many lives on his hands, but even so, he still felt nervous and fearful in Wei Shu’s presence.

On one hand, it was because of the power Wei Shu represented. On the other, it was because of Wei Shu himself.

You never knew if his smile at you in this moment meant satisfaction with your actions or if he was planning for you to never see tomorrow’s sun.

“Compared to big brother, second brother’s temperament is indeed mild.” Wei Shu’s fingertips idly tapped the cold metal doorframe, a hint of amusement flashing in his narrow eyes. “Wei Heng is too impatient. He always thinks that as long as Wei Tingxia disappears, the throne will fall into his lap.”

Wei Shu continued tapping the doorframe idly, a trace of laughter flickering in his narrow eyes.

“Back when Wei Tingxia fled, wasn’t it him who sent people to chase and try to pin him down and kill him outside Capital Star?”

Before his words finished, a researcher in sterile clothing hurried out from the side corridor, a floating light screen in hand rapidly organizing a new data report.

“Your Highness, there’s new progress on the Transformation Drug.”

At those words, the subordinate immediately held his breath and instinctively stepped back, trying to retreat silently before touching on more taboos. However, as Wei Shu reached out to take the light screen, he casually lifted his arm and precisely blocked the subordinate’s path.

“You listen too.”

The Third Prince’s voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable coercive force.

The subordinate froze in place like he had been nailed down, head bowed, motionless. Cold sweat had already quietly soaked through the inner layer of his uniform.

The researcher understood and reported clearly and rapidly, “Currently, after completing three standard treatment courses, the drug shows significant transformation effects on A-Rank and lower Alphas. The subjects generally exhibit clear Omega traits, including but not limited to initial development of the reproductive cavity, pheromone profiles shifting toward Omega characteristics, and some experimental subjects experiencing periodic heats. The conversion rate for Betas is even better, with over 79% of test subjects successfully completing gender transformation.”

Wei Shu asked, “And above A-Rank?”

“The effects… are less than ideal.” The researcher’s voice sank slightly. “A-Rank is a significant dividing line. Alphas beyond this level have pheromone traits that trend toward extremes, more aggressive and rejection-prone, with drastically reduced compatibility to the transformation agent. The success rate for A-Rank and above experimental subjects is only 32%.”

This result did not exceed Wei Shu’s expectations. He nodded silently.

Seeing no rebuke, the researcher perked up and continued, “Among the Alphas who have received the drug, the mortality rate for A-Rank and below is controlled at 37%. For A-Rank and above,” he paused, a hint of undisguisable excitement creeping into his tone, “the mortality rate is still as high as 89%, but compared to the previous 100% fatality rate, it’s a huge improvement!”

As he spoke, a proud smile appeared on the researcher’s face, and he gripped the screen tighter. He was genuinely thrilled with his experimental results.

On the other side, the subordinate’s back was already drenched in sweat.

He did not have that hobby of dissecting people and reassembling them. Hearing these numbers only made him realize he was touching the filthiest side of the imperial family, and everyone who had seen this side before was either in a high position or couldn’t even be found in bone fragments.

The cold observation window glass reflected Wei Shu’s impassive face, starkly contrasting the researcher’s fanatic gaze.

“Improvement?”

After a long silence, Wei Shu finally spoke, his voice like metal scraping over ice, betraying no emotion.

“A 32% success rate and a whopping 89% mortality rate—that’s what you call improvement?”

His gaze shifted from the light screen to the researcher’s face. It was not accusatory, yet more chilling than any scolding, as if appraising a tool about to be scrapped.

The excitement on the researcher’s face froze instantly, turning pale. Fanaticism gave way to overwhelming terror. His knuckles whitened from gripping the light screen so hard he nearly crushed the fragile device. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“What about the undifferentiated population?” Wei Shu changed the subject, and the icy pressure vanished abruptly, as if it had never existed.

The researcher stiffly swallowed, clutching the virtual light screen. “We’ve achieved a 96% success rate, even more pronounced in those under 16.”

Wei Shu asked, “Compared to three years ago?”

The researcher no longer dared mention improvement. He could only manage, “Much more stable, and easier to control the direction of differentiation.”

Wei Shu nodded faintly, his gaze drifting into the void as he sank into his thoughts.

The researcher held his breath, thinking the suffocating interrogation was finally over and he could retreat quietly, when Wei Shu’s voice rang out again:

“Three years ago, I took a dose of the agent and used it on a 17-year-old male with a high chance of differentiating into an Alpha. Later, that male mysteriously vanished the night before his coming-of-age ceremony, disappeared for a full three years, and reappeared still as an Alpha…

“What do you think happened?”

17 years old, coming-of-age ceremony, disappearance, three years.

These four words together clearly pointed to another member of the imperial family surnamed Wei.

This was a complete royal scandal, not meant to be known by outsiders. The researcher panicked and bowed deeply, wishing he could curl into a speck of dust, his chin pressed tightly against the cold collar of his sterile suit.

“P-Perhaps because the technology three years ago wasn’t mature enough, the subject only manifested partial Omega traits, and the differentiation process ultimately remained Alpha…”

He explained frantically, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Wei Shu remained silent, his fingertips tapping lightly on the light screen with a rhythmic, almost inaudible tap-tap. The sound was like an icy second hand ticking on the researcher’s fraying nerves.

“Is that so?”

After a long while, Wei Shu finally spoke, his tone still flat and emotionless, yet carrying a crushing weight.

The researcher seized the last straw, jerking his head up with a desperate will to survive blazing in his eyes. “If Your Highness can obtain that person’s blood! Just one sample! We can analyze the exact reason! We’ll definitely find the issue!”

He nearly shouted it, his voice echoing through the empty observation area with a shrill, all-or-nothing desperation.

Silence.

A long silence.

If the researcher had held any pride or joy before, it was now utterly exhausted, leaving only endless fear and panic.

He could barely control his legs, on the verge of kneeling. Images of the lab’s experimental subjects’ horrors flashed before his eyes over and over.

“I’ll find a way to get his blood.”

Wei Shu’s voice was like an Imperial Edict of pardon. The researcher broke free from abject terror, realizing his trembling hands could no longer hold the screen.

“I understand! We’ll do our utmost to speed things up and not let you down!”

“Any other issues?” Wei Shu asked.

The researcher wanted to say no, but there was a problem that had reached the point of no return. He mustered his last shred of courage and spoke in a mosquito-like whisper:

“Y-Your Highness… The number of A-Rank and above Alphas in the lab… isn’t enough anymore. We… need more…”

A-Rank and above Alphas weren’t stray cats or dogs even within the Empire. Most were conscripted into the military, and the rest were in mid-to-upper society, considered rare commodities.

Even someone of Wei Shu’s status found it hard to obtain sufficient resources.

Wei Shu did not respond immediately. He paused briefly, then shifted his gaze from the light screen, drifting slowly and very naturally toward the person behind him.

“How is he?”

Those three light words exploded like thunder in the subordinate’s ears!

The subordinate jerked his head up, color draining from his face, eyes filled with utmost shock and disbelief, pupils contracting sharply from sheer terror.

He instinctively looked at Wei Shu, searching that mild yet icy face for any trace of a joke.

But what met him was the researcher’s appraising gaze.

The researcher scanned the subordinate’s sturdy physique with a professional, picky eye, then nodded firmly:

“He’ll do. Excellent constitution—perfect experimental material.”

The subordinate felt a chill surge from his soles straight to the top of his head, his limbs freezing instantly. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Even his thoughts stalled.

His last memory froze on Wei Shu’s face.

Wei Shu tilted his head slightly, a curve lifting at the corner of his mouth. That smile even seemed somewhat mild, like a false ray of winter sunlight.

Yet deep in those amber eyes lurked a chilling, inorganic indifference.

Yan Xinfeng left the mecha debugging bay and saw someone waiting at the door.

He quickly returned to the pilot seat and messaged Wei Tingxia via his light brain.

[I feel something’s off.]

The light brain was quiet for two seconds before receiving a reply: [What’s off?]

[Lin Wensi,] Yan Xinfeng sent. [I keep feeling his gaze on me is strange.]

Wei Tingxia replied: [What’s strange? He finally wants to beat you up?]

Yan Xinfeng stopped typing and thought back carefully. Lin Wensi’s gaze did have a bit of that vibe—disapproval, condemnation, and a faint disgust, as if Yan Xinfeng had done something utterly shameful in his military district.

He restated his point: [I really feel it’s off, and he’s right outside the debugging bay now.]

[Then I can’t save you. Don’t break him.]

Heartless Omega. He had said all sorts of wonderful things before, claiming responsibility and protection, but now this was his attitude. Sure enough, once you had someone, you stopped cherishing them.

Yan Xinfeng scratched his head, tossed aside the light brain, and carefully reviewed his actions over the past few days from memory. He didn’t notice anything wrong.