Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Why would I choose to kill myself?"

Wen Jueqian stared at the little glowing orb floating before him, his voice tinged with obvious confusion.

The orb flickered, its voice cautious: "Because your fiancé Wen Yanxu fell in love with an omega and broke off the engagement with you. In despair, you chose to end your life."

"That's not who I am." Wen Jueqian frowned slightly. "I wouldn't off myself."

The orb got anxious, its glow brightening: "I am System 99. It was only because I detected that your despair levels, Host, were off the charts that I urgently bound myself to you!"

It added: "Don't you love Wen Yanxu?"

Wen Jueqian didn't answer.

He lowered his eyes, silent for a few seconds, then spoke: "But I wouldn't end my life just because I lost someone I loved."

"It's not just about losing love!" the orb said urgently. "You lost it all. The Lingjing Era you founded went bankrupt, your family cut ties with you, and your best friend died in an accident because of you. That's why you chose to..."

It watched Wen Jueqian's expression darken, its voice trailing off until it wisely shut up.

Ten minutes earlier.

Wen Jueqian had been testing his company's full-immersion game, *Floating Life Realm*. After eight hours of deep linking, his consciousness hadn't returned to his body like it usually did. Instead, it had been yanked into this space.

Then, this little orb of light calling itself "Redemption System 99" had dumped a massive amount of information directly into his mind.

What surprised him first was the tech itself. As far as he knew, even the Federation's most cutting-edge research institutes hadn't managed to force large amounts of information into a human consciousness.

Then came the actual content.

A passage of text flashed through his mind:

Wen Jueqian casually ripped off the court seal on the door of the Lingjing Era building.

The front reception area still had the "waystation" design from the game, except the long wooden table was covered in dust, paper lanterns hung crooked, and the hand-drawn map of the Central Continent on the wall had been torn apart by someone, leaving only scraps.

Anything valuable had been cleared out long ago.

The elevator was out of service because the fees hadn't been paid, so he had to take the stairs up to the fifth floor.

Back when *Floating Life Realm* first launched, it had been wildly popular. At its peak, it had over a hundred million casual users and over ten million hardcore users globally. Lingjing Era had moved into this building full of ambition.

The high-security door to the fifth-floor database stood wide open. The servers that had once packed the room had been hauled away long ago. On the other side, the warehouse door had an old mechanical lock, still intact.

He pulled a key he hadn't used in ages from his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and with a click, the door swung open.

Though it was called a warehouse, it was really just a storage space for "souvenirs" that weren't worth salvaging.

Wen Jueqian picked his way around the clutter and headed for the corner.

There sat a game pod covered in a dust cloth. He yanked the cloth off, not bothering to avoid the dust that floated through the air.

The blue game pod had sleek lines, intact wiring, and even 1% battery power left.

This was the pod that had been his from the first batch Lingjing Era had bought. As technology advanced, this model had long been phased out, but Wen Jueqian had still brought it along when they moved.

He stared at the pod that symbolized the beginning of Lingjing Era for a long time, then sent one final message to Wen Yanxu:

"After you left, I finally stopped being afraid of you leaving, and I no longer had to desperately try to keep up with you."

Then he lay down inside.

The moment his consciousness entered *Floating Life Realm*, the pod's last bit of power died.

In the history of full-immersion technology, this was the most dangerous forbidden act. Once your consciousness is uploaded, if the full-immersion device is forcibly powered off, there's a 99% chance of brain death.

Wen Jueqian didn't get that 1% miracle.

————

The text cut off abruptly.

Wen Jueqian held himself back from recalling more of the implanted content.

This passage, which read like a prophecy, made him uneasy instinctively, but he quickly pulled himself together.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

The text predicted he'd die of brain death in the game pod. Wen Jueqian had indeed been yanked into this space during a deep-link session. He laid out his terms to the nervous little orb in front of him: "If you want me to believe you, then let me out first."

System 99's glow dimmed for a moment: "Host, I don't have enough energy to come to you directly right now. I pulled your consciousness in while you were logging into the virtual world. Once I build up more energy, I'll come find you directly."

It seemed to sense Wen Jueqian's wariness, and its voice got a little whiny: "Host, I'm a system from the Redemption Department. In the Small World Administration, our department is the most humanitarian. I really wouldn't hurt you."

With that, before Wen Jueqian could respond, the whole space started collapsing, and he felt a violent sensation of falling.

————

"Consciousness link disconnected. Welcome back to the real world."

The Holo-Pod's mechanical voice announced.

The pod's lid slowly opened, and the light made him squint.

Wen Jueqian was extraordinarily handsome—the kind of striking, cold beauty that was almost aloof. His brow and eyes were finely drawn, his nose straight, and his whole face had a detachment that seemed untouched by the world. Yet his lips had a hint of pink that softened the distance. Just out of the game pod, his lashes still had condensed mist on them, and he looked exhausted.

"He's out! He's out!"

"Oh my god, eight hours and forty minutes!"

"You're finally out!" Qi Yi strode over, his voice barely hiding his lingering fear. "If you'd been any longer, we were about to bust the pod open."

As CEO and an A-grade alpha, Qi Yi had always commanded a strong presence. His brows were knit tight now, and his pheromones were leaking unsteadily, carrying an agitated pressure that made the nearby employees even more nervous.

Wen Jueqian pushed himself up against the pod wall and sat up, saying, "I was thinking about game improvements after logging out and didn't disconnect in time."

Qi Yi frowned at him, clearly not buying it: "Eight hours is the limit. No matter how urgent the improvements are, they can wait until you're out."

After such a long deep connection, Wen Jueqian's consciousness and limbs felt sluggish. As he stepped out of the pod, he momentarily lost his balance. Qi Yi's hand caught him in time, firm and controlled.

The discomfort quickly passed. Once Wen Jueqian was standing upright, he immediately pulled his arm back.

"Boss Wen." His secretary, Zhou Jing, hurried over, holding up a light-brain device with its screen lit, showing a call in progress.

"Chairman Wen is very worried about you."

Wen Jueqian glanced at her, a hint of mild reproach in his tone: "Why did you let him worry?"

He took the neural device and stepped away.

Qi Yi gestured for the gathered employees to disperse. As the company's Chief Producer, largest shareholder, and chairman, Wen Jueqian was the pillar of the entire Lingjing Era. Now that he was clearly unharmed, the tension in the room finally eased.

"Hey, A-Xu."

The other end was silent, only the sound of gradually steadying breaths.

Wen Jueqian softened his voice to reassure him: "I'm fine, don't worry."

A few more seconds of silence.

Then the other side spoke, his voice low and gentle, still hoarse from the lingering tension: "I'm almost at your company. Come down in a bit; we're going to the hospital for a full check-up."

Before Wen Jueqian could respond, the call ended.

Wen Jueqian looked at the darkened screen, knowing there was no room for argument.

He returned the neural device to Zhou Jing and turned his head to instruct: "Notify the planning, programming, art, and operations teams. Meeting tomorrow at 10 a.m. in the main conference room."

Zhou Jing didn't dare look at him, quickly jotting notes on her tablet.

Wen Jueqian then turned to his assistant Zhang Xin: "Send me a copy of the beta testers' feedback report once it's compiled."

Zhang Xin nodded in acknowledgment.

Wen Jueqian raised a hand, pressing his fingertips to his temples, his expression betraying a barely concealed weariness. After a moment, he lowered his hand and spoke in a normal tone: "I'm heading home to rest."

Before leaving, Wen Jueqian looked back at the game pod he'd just used.

The blue game pod sat there, its exterior gleaming like new thanks to meticulous upkeep.

This was the one.

According to the information the system had fed him, this was the machine he'd been connected to.

He'd chosen to end his life where his career began.

He stared for two seconds, then turned and pushed open the testing center door.

The corridor was quiet.

He walked on, thinking back to the so-called "Salvation System 99" and his own "death."

Nerve damage and brain death from unexpected factors during consciousness upload—this was the biggest hidden danger of holographic technology. The Federation had been working on this problem for years, but progress was slow.

A 0.001% accident rate seemed incredibly low, but for a user base of hundreds of millions, it added up to a massive number.

Countless experts predicted the Federation would fully enter the virtual era within ten years—provided this safety issue was resolved.

And now, some unknown entity with technology far beyond the Federation's current level had told him: you will die in the game pod—by suicide.

Rather than suicide, Wen Jueqian suspected he'd been forcibly fed suicide commands by some entity with the same technology as System 99.

Before he could reach a conclusion, the elevator arrived at the rooftop VTOL pad.

A silver-gray aircraft sat waiting. Its streamlined body was understated yet refined, the surface coating casting a subtle metallic sheen in the sunlight. This was the Lingkong Group's latest civilian luxury aircraft, with an interior the size of a small room. Leather seats surrounded a retractable table, and soft ambient lighting cast a warm glow over the cabin walls.

The aircraft door slid open as Wen Jueqian approached. The moment he stepped inside, a force pulled him, and he fell onto the rear seats.

An alpha's bone density and muscle mass were higher than a beta's—simple physiology. So when that body pressed down on him, Wen Jueqian simply shifted into a more comfortable position.

Wen Yanxu grabbed his chin with one hand, forcefully interlacing the fingers of his other hand with Wen Jueqian's, pressing it against the seat in an inescapable grip.

Those ice-blue eyes stared at him as he gritted out: "Do you know how worried I was?"

"After the game ended... mm..." Wen Jueqian started to explain, but his lips were silenced by a kiss before he could finish.

The alpha's kiss was forceful, lingering and grinding against his lips until he was finally satisfied and pulled back.

Wen Jueqian caught his breath and continued: "After the game ended, I was thinking about improvements and didn't notice I hadn't exited deep link."

"The limit for deep link is eight hours," Wen Yanxu said, staring at him. "Anything over that is dangerous. For safety, you connect for at most seven. How many times have I told you?"

Wen Jueqian didn't respond, just raised his free hand to gently cup Wen Yanxu's cheek, like soothing a stressed beast.

His tone was casual: "Zhou Jing was making a mountain out of a molehill. She reports every little thing to you."

Wen Yanxu bit Wen Jueqian's neck in a mildly punishing way. It was Wen Jueqian's weak spot—his body trembled, and he instinctively tried to pull away, but was pressed down even harder.

Wen Yanxu's voice was muffled: "I should have her report your daily schedule to me—who you met, whether you ate on time, whether work is wrecking your health."

Wen Jueqian chuckled softly and turned to look at him: "Having Secretary Zhou report is too much trouble. Why don't you just come be my secretary yourself?"

"So, Secretary Wen?"

Wen Yanxu looked up, his gaze landing on Wen Jueqian's face, and finally a smile reached his eyes: "Can Secretary Wen be your legal husband?"

"Secretary Wen can't." Wen Jueqian met his gaze. "Only Wen Yanxu can."

Wen Yanxu was momentarily stunned, then took his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the diamond ring on his ring finger.

The aircraft's engine hummed low.

Wen Jueqian leaned against Wen Yanxu's chest, listening to his steady, strong heartbeat, and suddenly remembered what the little light orb had said.

"Your fiancé Wen Yanxu fell in love with an omega and called off the engagement."

Ridiculous.

==========Author's Note: ==========

Shameless plug for a new story:

Xia Mu was the fiancé of the Lu family's eldest young master.

A few years later, Xia Mu's marriage partner had changed. On the wedding day, Xia Mu was pressed against the vanity mirror, Lu Yanze's kiss landing on the back of his neck, his arms encircling his waist with a bruising force.

"Sister-in-law, when you schemed to provoke me back then, you should've known this day would come."

The little beast he thought he'd tamed tore away its indifferent, gentle mask, revealing nothing but obsession and madness beneath.

Xia Mu had taught Lu Yanze greed and longing, and now he had to feed that hunger with his own body, satisfying him for a lifetime.

Xia Mu got what he wanted, securing his position as the lady of the house, with no possibility of escape.

1. A spicy tale of a delicate top and a domineering bottom, featuring taboo romance, forced love, and more.

2. 1v1, both pure, weak top and strong bottom, two people tangled in love and hate, a HE where they're bound together even unto death.