Little Pink Starfish

“It’s Ning Jiayi—”

That was the first thing Su Liang said to Lu Taipan after waking up.

By the time he finally detached from “No Name’s” memory, it was already the next day. When Su Liang opened his eyes, he found himself lying inside the top-tier medical pod at Snake Den’s facility.

Although the unexpected spiritual link with “No Name” hadn’t caused substantial physical harm—something confirmed by both machines and the Snake Den medical team—the special kind of psychic shock still took a heavy toll on Su Liang.

Reality and the girl’s memories kept entangling in his mind. He could feel a sharp, rhythmic pain pounding at his temples. Even though he hadn’t suffered any physical trauma, when he tried to lift his hand, he could still vividly feel the cold, piercing restraints cutting into his flesh and bone—like he was still nailed to the metal frame, treated like a specimen.

Calm down—

I’m awake now.

Su Liang kept repeating that to himself over and over.

He wasn’t “No Name.” He had only mistakenly stepped into the girl’s past.

But no matter how clear-headed he was mentally, his body simply wouldn’t obey.

He was still trembling all over, teeth chattering, body convulsing nonstop.

He tried to take deep breaths to calm himself, but the lingering terror and agony in his spiritual sea still overwhelmed his body. He sobbed uncontrollably, his lungs so tight it felt impossible to breathe.

“Don’t be afraid, you’re back. I’m here.”

Lu Taipan held Su Liang tightly in his arms.

He whispered gently and over and over beside the boy’s ear, even though just a few hours ago—when Su Liang had yet to wake—his aura had been so violent and cold it terrified even Xue Yinheng and Black Mamba, making it impossible for anyone to approach.

The Alpha’s eyes had been dark and lifeless. This was a man who could normally go days without sleep and still command troops with ease. Yet after one night of waiting by Su Liang’s unconscious body, he looked utterly drained by stress and fear.

But in front of Su Liang, he softened his voice. Deep and gentle, he remained the reliable and powerful master of Snake Den.

His cool, crisp pheromones enveloped the youth like icy fire, seeping into his skin, gradually consuming the fear and panic.

Su Liang’s tightly wound body finally began to relax slightly.

Lu Taipan’s presence was a powerful anchor—stabilizing his chaotic mind and pulling him back into reality.

It took a long time for Su Liang to calm down, and even then, it was only through sheer force of will.

He had to stay pressed close to Lu Taipan, drawing on the man’s potent Alpha pheromones and powerful mental presence to keep himself functioning.

The boy’s face was pale, his gaze unfocused as he spoke—he looked terrible and heartbreakingly fragile. But no one blamed him.

Because in a way, Su Liang had just experienced “No Name’s” entire past firsthand.

When he had helped rescue those Omegas from Zone 48, Su Liang had already thought what they endured on the “Farm” was a living hell.

But it wasn’t until he glimpsed the truth behind high-ranking Omegas—what they really went through—that he realized how horrific it all truly was.

In comparison, low-ranked Omegas might have actually been “lucky.”

Yes, unlike low-rank Omegas who were forced to breed like livestock, high-ranking Omegas didn’t produce children—but their fates were no less tragic.

Everything about them was cultivated solely for the sake of their glands.

To promote optimal gland development, the “Farm” injected them with all kinds of drugs. The side effects were brutal, but no one cared—as long as the Omega lived long enough to differentiate, it didn’t matter if they died shortly after. Once the gland was extracted, they’d be discarded anyway.

To the Farm’s operators, these Omegas weren’t people. They were just gland incubators.

The gland-stimulating drugs shattered their nervous systems, making their senses hypersensitive—their bodies hyper-reactive.

To these Omegas, the hum of the life-support system sounded like shrieking. The cold nutrient fluid slicing through their throats felt like blades. The feeding tubes burned like molten lava, corroding them from within.

Fearing they’d harm themselves, the Farm restrained them in cramped tanks.

Later on, when the drugs caused more intense reactions, they’d even amputate their limbs—just to prevent them from tearing out their own tubes during the spasms.

Everything was for the glands.

“I… I only got to keep my body—no, ‘No Name’ got to keep her body—only because Ning Jiayi thought limbless ‘incubators’ were too ugly… not to his aesthetic.”

After telling Lu Taipan and the recording Viper everything he’d seen in No Name’s fragmented memories, Su Liang finally broke down.

“They said…”

To preserve gland vitality, the gland was removed while still conscious.

They felt themselves being cut open, their glands carved out, and then their bodies—still alive—were processed into raw materials.

Medicines to enhance ranks. To boost mental power.

And this… this happened again and again in No Name’s memories. She saw her friends taken, experimented on, and turned into the very medicine pumped into her own body.

Now Su Liang understood why “No Name” lost her mind every time she was awakened.

No one could endure that and remain sane.

For them, true mercy would’ve been going completely mad.

—

A long night passed.

Eventually, under the effect of sedatives, Su Liang finally fell asleep.

The Viper recording the details didn’t even dare glance at Lu Taipan’s face. Even through layers of inhibitors and mental restraints, the oppressive force leaking from the man made their knees weak, their breath stifled.

Soon after, everyone—medical officers, Vipers, even the AI—quickly evacuated the room.

Only Lu Taipan and Su Liang were left.

Even the air in the room felt heavy and cold.

Lu Taipan held Su Liang tightly in his arms. Once the boy was asleep, the man no longer needed to suppress himself. He bit down hard, the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat.

“Su Liang.”

He gently kissed the boy’s forehead and brows, his soul tormented by heartbreak and fury.

Even asleep, Su Liang’s face was filled with panic. His delicate brows were tightly furrowed, tears still lingering at the corners of his eyes.

Maybe, in his dreams, he was reliving those horrific memories again—memories that had already shattered No Name’s mind.

Yet Su Liang still fought to stay sane.

Looking at him, for the first time in his life, Lu Taipan felt truly powerless.

He couldn’t ease Su Liang’s pain. Couldn’t shield him from this mental torment.

In that moment, he wished he was the Omega, and Su Liang the Alpha—then maybe, just maybe, he could offer Su Liang the same kind of mental comfort.

His communicator blinked.

The only person who dared contact him at this time was the medical officer.

Lu Taipan sighed and painfully set Su Liang down.

But just as he was about to leave, he felt his sleeve tugged—

The unconscious Omega clung to him like a drowning man grasping a lifeline, crying softly, trying to keep his Alpha’s scent close.

Lu Taipan had never known Su Liang’s sleeping face could break his heart like this.

“Good boy. I’ll be right back.”

Knowing Su Liang couldn’t hear, he still whispered into his ear.

He took off his uniform jacket, carefully folded it thickly, and tucked it into Su Liang’s arms.

Watching the boy instinctively nuzzle into the fabric and breathe in deeply, Lu Taipan’s heart finally steadied.

Only then did he leave the room, face expressionless.

Outside, the Beta medical officer was waiting.

His face looked just as grim. He had been caring for Su Liang’s body for some time now, and had only just begun to relax when Su Liang was sent back to him unconscious. Even in front of the Snake Lord, the doctor struggled to stay calm.

Especially after learning what Su Liang had experienced—he was in agony for the boy.

“There’s no precedent in the records for what happened to Young Master Su Liang,” the doctor began. “His spiritual power directly linked to No Name’s shattered mental sea… and attempted to repair it. But in the process, he was pulled into her broken consciousness and forcibly shared her mental resonance.”

He pinched his nose, sighing heavily.

“Ordinary mental resonance would be one thing. But… according to old descriptions from Galeya, ‘Sigmas’ can directly witness another’s soul—and relive their entire past.”

The medical officer looked seriously at Lu Taipan.

“What Su Liang experienced may be even worse than we thought. He’s likely suffered serious spiritual trauma. But his rank is too high—our equipment and medication won’t help. Especially since he’s in the final stage of differentiation. His mental sea was already unstable…”

Lu Taipan cut in coldly:

“Tell me how to make him feel better.”

He added, “Don’t worry about his differentiation or Omega status. He’s… in pain.”

At the end of that sentence, the usually composed Snake Lord let slip a rare note of helplessness.

“But I can’t help him at all.”

The doctor fell silent for a moment.

“If Su Liang had already fully differentiated, then a strong enough mental shock during marking could cancel out the residual trauma from the resonance. And afterward, your link with him could rebuild his mental sea’s defenses.”

Lu Taipan frowned tightly. “He’s not developed yet.”

“Correct,” the doctor said. “Young Master Su Liang hasn’t completed his differentiation. However…”

The elder Beta hesitated. But facing the dangerously unstable Snake Lord, he had to offer his suggestion.

“If you can refrain from finalizing the mark, then… you might try maximum pheromone release.”

Lu Taipan narrowed his eyes. “Maximum release?”

The doctor nodded grimly.

“Yes. You’re an Alpha—and one highly compatible with him. In theory, your pheromones could stabilize his state. But you must not mark him. Young Master Su Liang is too unique. His gland sac isn’t fully developed. If you knot with him, your level of Alpha could truly hurt him.”

Lu Taipan fell into silence.

The doctor’s face was solemn.

“Forgive me, but given some of your past actions… I believe this will be an incredibly difficult test. High-level AO attraction is nearly impossible to resist. You’ll have to suppress your deepest instincts. If you’re not sure, we can consider other methods to help Su Liang’s mental sea—”

“No need.”

Lu Taipan interrupted.

The doctor froze.

“As long as I can make him feel even a little better… that’s enough.”

The moment he finished, a voice called out anxiously from the room.

“Mr. Si? Where are you?”

The usually gentle and composed Su Liang, just from Lu Taipan’s brief absence, already sounded on the verge of tears.

Without hesitation, Lu Taipan turned and rushed back into the room.

The metal doors slowly slid shut behind him.

The doctor stood outside a while longer before leaving, expression deeply conflicted.

He honestly wasn’t sure—if the suggestion he just made was right… for either of them.