Chapter 55 Feigning Death

Chapter 55 Playing Dead

“Ah! Finally back at the military academy!”

Ji Anzhi lay in his cradle and sighed. During the two-month holiday, he had traversed the entire star system. Though current technology eliminated physical discomfort, it did nothing to alleviate his profound mental and physical exhaustion.

Xiaoxue, by contrast, had adapted remarkably well—even the plant it tended had grown lusher and greener, making Ji Anzhi feel like the only one struggling to readjust.

After resting briefly, Ji Anzhi retrieved his belongings from his Spatial Bracelet and returned them to their usual places around the room. Before leaving, fearing a break-in that might expose something suspicious, he had stored all his manuscripts and personal effects inside the bracelet—preferring to lose them himself rather than have them vanish without his knowledge.

Once tidied up, Ji Anzhi recalled that classes wouldn’t resume until the day after tomorrow. With no urgent matters pending, he decided to disguise himself and make another trip to the black market—he needed to acquire certain items.

Ready at last, he headed to the port and boarded a starship bound once again for Scott Star’s black market.

Given last year’s incident—and now fully aware of the value of those three Mech Energy Tanks—Ji Anzhi had prepared far more thoroughly this time. He even wore his combat suit, enabling immediate hemorrhage control in case of enemy contact and effectively preventing gene leakage.

Upon entering the black market, Ji Anzhi made his way to a familiar small shop. His voice, distorted by a modulator, emerged as a mechanical monotone: “Three cups.”

The disheveled man behind the counter glanced up at the figure completely shrouded before him and bluntly declared, “Out of stock.”

Ji Anzhi produced a prepaid Star Card and said, “I believe you still have stock, don’t you?”

Seeing the card placed on the counter, the man realized his visitor was no helpless lamb to be fleeced. He picked up the card to verify the balance—it matched precisely the standard black-market price for the materials included in the “three cups” package.

Recognizing that his counterpart had come fully prepared, the man clicked his tongue in annoyance. He retrieved a metal box from a cabinet behind him and set it down on the counter.

“Everything’s inside. Check it yourself. All sales are final,” he stated.

After confirming the contents were correct, Ji Anzhi slipped the metal box into his Spatial Bracelet and calmly recited the card’s password: “Last six digits of the card number.”

Then he turned and left. The moment Ji Anzhi disappeared from view, the man pulled out a communicator and reported, “Suspicious target spotted. Sector 12, at the entrance. Fully clad in black, head-to-toe coverage.”

The communicator crackled back: “Received.”

Ji Anzhi had originally intended to visit several other shops to procure contraband—but he sensed someone tailing him. Regardless of the tracker’s motive, Ji Anzhi knew he was in trouble.

He decided instantly to change course, heading straight for the massive, chaotic, densely packed trading center. His plan was to cut through its heart and reach the slums on the black market’s periphery—there, he’d lie low for a while.

Blending into the crowd, Ji Anzhi regretted not having purchased a disposable synth-mask earlier. His current disguise lacked facial coverage; exposure would be catastrophic.

The trackers noticed Ji Anzhi veering toward the congested central zone and immediately called for reinforcements, tightening surveillance.

As more and more eyes locked onto him, dread intensified. Ji Anzhi drifted slowly through the center, searching for an opening to slip away—yet they were steadily closing in.

He shifted tactics. Deliberately approaching one tracker stationed along the route to the slums, he triggered instant alarm—the tracker, convinced he’d been discovered, braced for sudden assault or an energy bomb.

Yet Ji Anzhi walked past as if utterly indifferent, just another anonymous passerby. The tracker grew even more suspicious—he was certain the man had something up his sleeve.

One meter.

Two meters.

Three meters.

…

Ten meters passed—still nothing. Just as their vigilance began to slacken, preparing to resume pursuit, the unexpected struck.

The tracker who’d brushed past Ji Anzhi suddenly sensed something wrong. Those nearby felt it even more acutely—a sharp, pungent stench so acrid it provoked visceral revulsion. Simultaneously, they registered their own pheromones spiraling wildly out of control.

The next second, the tracker’s pheromones erupted into full-blown frenzy. In an area with few alphas, such an episode might have remained manageable. But they stood at the epicenter of a teeming crowd. One alpha’s pheromonal explosion triggered an immediate chain reaction: nearby alphas—and those who’d just passed by—began exhibiting erratic symptoms, their pheromones leaking uncontrollably.

Within seconds, over a dozen alphas were thrust into pheromone frenzy. The overwhelming surge acted like a provocation to those now gripped by irrational, feral rage—and brawling erupted. More and more alphas were drawn into the chaos, including other trackers. In under a minute, the situation spiraled completely out of control.

Meanwhile, Ji Anzhi seized the opportunity and sprinted toward the slums.

The remaining trackers surmised it was Ji Anzhi’s doing. Such pandemonium was ideal for escape—and they couldn’t abandon their comrades. The number available for pursuit would inevitably dwindle.

The lead tracker clicked his tongue in frustration. They’d been operating undercover here for half a year, screening suspects. Dozens of targets matching the profile had resisted arrest during that time—he’d endured this scenario dozens of times, yet it never ceased to be a nuisance. Fortunately, several betas on the team remained unaffected by pheromones; otherwise, they’d merely be retrieving corpses.

The lead ordered the betas to rescue their teammates. As for the others? They weren’t exactly model citizens—no need to waste effort. The remaining operatives were to scour the area for traces of the suspect. Since their cover was blown, they’d proceed with open arrest.

“All remaining personnel—pursue the suspect with maximum force. Keep him alive.”

“Understood.”

Ji Anzhi raced full-tilt toward the slums. His best chance now was to vanish there. The slum district was lawless and disordered, streets a tangled mess. Prostitutes and hoodlums lurked everywhere; in remote corners, recently deceased corpses lay exposed.

Though no tracker had caught up yet, Ji Anzhi knew they wouldn’t relent. They’d certainly search here. Returning to the military academy’s star today was impossible—he’d need to remain hidden at least one full day to confirm true safety.

Weaving through filthy, haphazard alleys, Ji Anzhi racked his brain for evasion strategies. To hide within the slums, he’d have to reveal his face. If the trackers were military personnel, that would be tantamount to walking into slaughter. Yet avoiding the slums entirely meant crossing the outskirts—an even more conspicuous target.

As he strained to think, Ji Anzhi spotted a remote, pitch-black dead-end alley. It was littered with corpses—over a dozen bodies strewn across the ground. The stench was suffocating; flies and mosquitoes swarmed thickly. Most victims were emaciated males. Nine times out of ten, this was the result of internal slum conflict. Judging by the blood, they’d died recently—likely within the past two to three hours.

A plan crystallized in Ji Anzhi’s mind. He hurried into the dark corner, stripped off all his clothes, and stowed them in his Spatial Bracelet—leaving only his shorts. He rolled on the ground several times, then drew a dagger and hacked his long hair into a ragged, uneven stubble. Scooping dirt from the ground, he rubbed it into his hair and face. After thorough application, he roughly wiped it off using a scrap of clothing torn from a corpse. Then, with the dagger, he sliced a small piece from one corpse and smeared the fresh blood across his face. He stripped the oversized outer garment from a corpse deeper in the alley and donned it himself.

His former aristocratic sensibilities prevented him from stripping the corpse’s pants. Instead, he lay down beside a pile of grimy debris—and, with minimal effort—dragged two corpses atop himself to conceal his lower body.

Due to chronic malnutrition among slum dwellers, moving the bodies posed little difficulty.

The entire process took approximately two and a half minutes. Ji Anzhi was now fully disguised. He turned his face toward the mottled wall, closed his eyes, and attempted to steady his breathing—though he failed to achieve the desired effect.

This drug would plunge the body into a minimal life-support state—effectively simulating clinical death. Its duration: eight to ten hours. But side effects were severe. Without timely restoration of blood oxygen levels, consequences ranged from mild dizziness and headaches to deep, irreversible coma.

It was a complete gamble with his life.

Twelve seconds later, the drug took effect. Ji Anzhi’s breathing gradually slowed, becoming so faint it was nearly imperceptible. His heartbeat decelerated, sustaining only the most basic bodily functions. His skin temperature dropped steadily due to reduced blood flow—only his core temperature remained normal.

The trackers arrived at the slums. The district sprawled vast and utterly unstructured—more labyrinthine than any maze. Finding someone here was harder than enduring an estrus cycle—but they had no choice but to continue searching.

The lead spoke into his communicator: “Conduct a thorough sweep of the slums. Leave no area unchecked. Perimeter teams—scan the outskirts meticulously for any suspicious traces. Understood?”

“Understood!”

Trackers combed the slums exhaustively. Though their attire adhered to the black market’s principle of discretion—concealing identity—their powerful, imposing physiques starkly contrasted with the slum’s “original inhabitants,” who cowered fearfully in their ramshackle dwellings.

When they entered the dead-end alley where Ji Anzhi lay disguised, they were first overwhelmed by a nauseating cocktail of pheromones—sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty—all concentrated in the unventilated space, layered thickly by blood residue. Add swarming flies and mosquitoes, and the two men nearly vomited.

But they were seasoned operatives—they didn’t actually vomit. Their discomfort stemmed primarily from the overwhelming concentration of alpha pheromones. Gritting their teeth, they inspected each corpse individually—though the inspection was crude and cursory: kicking each body a few times to check for response, then glancing briefly at appearance and build to assess match potential.

Upon seeing Ji Anzhi’s physique, the two trackers moved to flip him over for closer inspection. But the moment their fingers touched his skin, they recoiled—the temperature was unmistakably that of the dead. His dust-caked, disheveled hair, blood-and-dirt-smeared face, and garments crawling with flies and maggots rendered it inconceivable that this could be the suspect they’d pursued mere minutes earlier.

They reported the alley cleared—no target found—and moved on to the next sector.

Three hours later, every sector had been searched—yet no trace of the suspect remained. The outskirts likewise showed no sign of suspicious activity. Still unconvinced, the lead ordered a second sweep. Again—nothing.

With no alternative, the lead conceded defeat. After all, the black market operated under the tacit approval of numerous powerful factions—and even though they’d been dispatched by the military and the academy, excessive action was strictly off-limits.

The lead filed his report for the day, leaving only one or two lookouts to monitor the slums. If no trace emerged within five hours, they’d withdraw to rest.

So, in that filthy, corpse-strewn, fly-swarmed dead-end alley, Ji Anzhi lay quietly on the ground, no different from the dead...

...

Night

Ji Anzhi groggily opened his eyes, his head throbbed as if pierced by needles, making it impossible to think. It took him a few breaths to remember what had happened that day. He wanted to retrieve a muscle stimulant from his Space Bracelet, but as he was, he couldn't even control the muscles in his hands. The drug's effects had lasted longer than he had anticipated.

He'd been in a death-like state for close to twelve hours. If he'd stayed out for another hour, he would never have woken up.

Now, his temperature was almost the same as the corpses around him, and his skin had turned purplish-red from lack of oxygen.

Ji Anzhi gasped for air, trying to get enough oxygen to jumpstart his heart, get his blood flowing again, and restore his normal body temperature.

After a few dozen breaths, Ji Anzhi finally regained control of his fingers, but it wasn't enough...

Putting up with the gut-churning stench and the sickening feel of maggots crawling on his face, Ji Anzhi forced himself to keep drawing breath. Just when the cold air felt like it was scraping his lungs, he finally managed to move his hands.

With great effort, he retrieved the Space Bracelet pinned beneath him, found the muscle stimulant, and swallowed it. Fearing he might lose consciousness again, he chose a fast-acting drug with minimal damage to his body. Its only drawback was the pain—excruciating pain.

A pained groan echoed in the dark. Cold sweat soaked through his coat, beading up and dripping from his hair onto the filthy ground. Ji Anzhi uncontrollably bit his lip.

Blood mixed with sweat dripped onto the ground, where in time it would blend into the dark brown muck.

He had to stay conscious, he couldn't afford to pass out again...

With this thought, Ji Anzhi endured the pain for over ten minutes. Gradually, the agony subsided, and his complexion regained its rosy hue, though bruises inevitably covered his body.

Particularly in areas that had been compressed, such as his lower limbs, many were on the verge of necrosis. Had he not woken up, he would've been looking at two weeks in a med-pod.

Ji Anzhi lay on the ground, gasping for air. If conditions allowed, he would have passed out the very next second.

But he couldn't. So, staggering, he struggled to his feet. Several times, his limbs refused to obey, and he collapsed onto the corpses nearby. Feeling the texture beneath him and assaulted by the intense odor, Ji Anzhi finally couldn't hold back and vomited violently.

"Ugh..."

All that came up was clear stomach acid, and by the end, he was even vomiting blood. Ji Anzhi knew he had to stop; continuing would cause serious problems. But his body refused to listen, and he kept retching until his once-rosy face turned deathly pale. Only then did he manage to stop.

The whole ordeal had nearly short-circuited his brain, but he still remembered not to leave behind any genetic traces. He put on gloves, retrieved a gene-dissolving spray, and with unsteady hands and feet, set the timer before staggering away.

After he left, the spray activated automatically. Any genetic material it touched would dissolve and disappear. Visibly, the corpses, including their bones, turned into putrid liquid.

But this was the slums near the black market. Who would notice? And even if they did, could they report it?

Life without value was treated with such contempt.

Leaving the dead-end alley, Ji Anzhi found a secluded, abandoned house to sit in and gave himself a shot of stimulant.

He couldn't return to the military academy yet. Moreover, the port on the Military Academy Star closed at midnight and didn't reopen until 7 a.m. Even if he wanted to go back, it was impossible.

Ji Anzhi hastily cleaned himself up, took out the box he always kept as a backup disguise from his Space Bracelet, and put on the prepared long, straight black wig inside. He changed into a plain black maxi dress and a pair of eight-centimeter thick-heeled high heels, paired with realistic silicone breasts. He was confident this disguise wouldn't raise suspicion.

After dressing, Ji Anzhi walked around the room several times to adjust. The stimulant was effective; he didn't feel his legs go weak midway.

Once accustomed, Ji Anzhi draped a black hooded cloak over his figure, put on a mask, left the slums, and returned to the black market.