Chapter 101#

Distant Star Reflection 09#

Omega triggered responses came from two sources: external changes and psychological fear and pressure.

First, this place was pristine—no external stimuli. Second, Tan Per simply arrived at the cathedral’s entrance, was asked one question about characteristic values, psychologically nothing qualifying as pressure—if claiming the eternal day deity was frightened by the holy city’s arrangement, Yu Feichen had never heard such absurd jokes.

In conclusion, the person tried using triggered state to evade issues. Yu Feichen couldn’t be bothered. Not only couldn’t be bothered, but reached over, taking the milk cup beside Tan Per and drinking several sips.

After drinking, watching Tan Per’s teardrop mole against morning light, he considered how to deal with the Pope next.

—Suddenly sensed something amiss. He noticed Tan Per raising a hand, wrist placed horizontally shielding light, his body reflexively sidestepping for cover.

“Tan Per?” Yu Feichen furrowed his brow, patting his cheek.

Tan Per shook his head, not quite alert, fingers gripping his sleeve.

Regardless whether previously feigned, now genuinely triggered. Yu Feichen scanned the area and nearby attendants, removing his overcoat, covering Tan Per: “I’ll take him back first.”

The secretary wanted helping support, but Tan Per reflexively retreated toward Yu Feichen, not letting him touch, leaving him heartbroken. He could only follow behind, fabricating for the general’s guards: “Bishop Tan Per has post-electric-trauma aftereffects. It’s acting up now. Very dangerous. Our duke must take him back first.”

Guard: “But the Holy City medical facility is just one thousand meters away.”

“Not that! Is our duke the type kind to rebels?” The secretary replied with righteous solemnity, flexibly dodging the guard: “He’s taking advantage of the moment—to return and interrogate the rebel names list for the Pope. Well, I can’t waste more time. I’ll grab a shared shuttle—Little Si! That’s not the duke’s car!”

Guard muttered: “But the Holy City prison is two thousand meters away.”

Meanwhile, General Ashley just finished a communication, standing up suddenly: “This… this beast!”

Composing himself, he continued roaring: “Does he think being alpha among heirs makes him remarkable!”

An aide softly said: “Seems rather remarkable. But General, his driver took your airship.”

General Ashley nearly couldn’t catch his breath.

“Hope the general brought heart pills,” the secretary muttered from the co-pilot seat. Finishing, he looked back at Yu Feichen and Tan Per: “Well, Duke, care to explain Tan Per’s ‘aftereffects’?”

“I’d like a raise,” the driver said while piloting. “No other meaning. Just feels my fleet commander position is precarious.”

“Granted,” Yu Feichen had nothing to explain, sensing eternal sleep flower scent no longer required proximity to perceive. Yet the secretary and driver showed no reaction—oblivious betas.

And this triggered response differed slightly from before. Developed… exceptionally calmly, not desperately seeking proximity, simply quietly clutching his overcoat as if it replaced this living person.

Yu Feichen watched flatly, thinking: If you insist embracing my coat through triggered states, hold it forever then.

The secretary appropriately handed over his terminal: “Duke, in the hidden contacts section are some secret group chats. Inside are some secret materials. Don’t ask why a beta has these—basic managerial competency.”

“You can get raises with Little Si now,” Yu Feichen accepted, though he didn’t immediately look.

Instead, he turned the terminal face-down, regarding Tan Per.

Tan Per’s features weren’t omega-soft, his profile icily clear like transparent ice, slender fingers embedded in black fabric, seemingly easily breakable.

—Like crystal easily shattering.

Yu Feichen steadily watched Tan Per. He wondered why Tan Per hadn’t told him that value. If he did, what consequences?

Only two possibilities.

First: their values truly didn’t match. He spoke giving him another alpha, but if it happened, he might… not do that.

Second: their values matched. Then choose marking or not.

Neither consequence was clearly better or worse—each had its complications.

Now Tan Per refusing to listen or look meant: you choose.

Yu Feichen slowly fidgeted with the handcuff on Tan Per’s wrist. He always examined his inner self only facing the moment.

If Tan Per were alpha, or beta, then however many partners he wanted mattered not.

But he was omega.

If I’m alpha, and you happen to be omega, why would values mismatch?

Yet by what right did he think this? Except several worlds of brief encounter, could there exist something transcending world rules between them?

Yu Feichen opened the other handcuff end, examining it, considering whether locking his own wrist. Finally he gently, gently closed it. The lock’s decisive click remained crisp despite gentle movements.

Yu Feichen tossed the cuff half onto Tan Per, watching that wobbling teardrop mole, thinking: If another alpha existed, go to the sanitarium for life.

Though currently that possibility looked small.

“P-P-Duke,” the secretary’s voice trembled. “Y-Your gaze is frightening. Perhaps you should visit the medical facility first?”

Strange. When the duke heard speech, raising eyes toward him, his gaze remained characteristically calm, as if previous moments were illusion.

Yu Feichen: “What does my pheromone scent smell like?”

Secretary: “?”

“Sorry, Duke. We betas don’t merit sensing your pheromones,” the secretary said.

Driver interjected: “Neither do you.”

“Why not me?”

“Only compatible omegas can smell it,” the secretary displayed gossip expression. “I heard previously a Landon lord’s partner fooled him, saying your pheromone was durian. That lord felt sad until deploying to war when his partner confessed the prank, revealing your scent was now’s most fashionable cedar among nobility. The lord happily won that battle.”

“I know someone,” Yu Feichen said, “you’d certainly be good friends.”

“But you become adult in a day. Even starting pheromone production, it’s lighter than full adult state,” the driver added.

Yu Feichen lowered his gaze toward Tan Per clinging to his overcoat, though foreseeing the most troublesome situation gradually approaching, he curved his lips slightly.

He took the terminal the secretary provided, ignoring several disreputable titles, clicking a proper file named “Understanding Your Omega.”

The driver’s piloting skill wasn’t superior, but smoothness sufficed. The shuttle glided into the Landon family’s private estate in the capital—where Yu Feichen first awoke. Sentries guarded the entrance. The grounds held the family’s private soldiers, obeying only Duke Landon’s commands.

Disembarking, Yu Feichen simply didn’t let Tan Per struggle walking—wrapped in the overcoat, he picked him up.

“Not staying in your beloved abstract room?”

“Not staying.” He had the secretary open an unused guest chamber.

The sensation door slid. Strange environment and light made Tan Per reflexively shudder, finally showing the triggered omega appearance expected.

Yu Feichen set him on the sofa, leaning to check his pupils.

Still alert. Less than three days to the twenty-five boundary. For other omegas, probably collapsed under catastrophic triggered terror, yet he maintained the appearance of near-normalcy.

—Just reluctant parting with that overcoat.

Eternal sleep flower scent drifted faintly between them. Not quite fragrance, difficult describing through olfactory sensation alone. A sense of imminence-yet-distance—making one feel serene yet elusively elusive, as if caught one moment, lost the next.

He’d finished thorough education. This indeed was the world’s “pheromone.” Different-gender attraction symbols, governing all special responses.

This world lacked eternal sleep flowers, yet Tan Per’s pheromone remained it because when they entered this world, they merely borrowed surface forms. All forces composing this body remained their original selves.

Yu Feichen’s fingers traced Tan Per’s cheek, asking: “What does my pheromone smell like?”

Tan Per watched him, contemplative, seeming to want yet not want speaking.

Yu Feichen said gravely: “Can’t lie to me.”

Between them existed biological suppression. When alpha truly demanded answers, omega’s instinct compelled truth.

Ice-green, glassy pupils half-masked by fine lashes, showing faint bewilderment, Tan Per looked up at Yu Feichen, softly exhaling syllables.

“…Eternal sleep flowers.”

Yu Feichen froze.

“Impossible,” Yu Feichen said.

With this statement, Tan Per’s eyes suddenly cleared, as if just realizing what he’d said.

Every minute facial change registered with Yu Feichen. From this reaction, he knew—probably true.

The supreme deity lying in Twilight Temple’s crystal coffin, soaked in eternal sleep flower scent was one thing. But his entire life had zero connection to this plant.

Tan Per smiled slightly, softly saying: “You’re paradise’s child. Why couldn’t your soul carry eternal sleep flower’s imprint?”

Before Yu Feichen could pursue, Tan Per said: “What about mine?”

Yu Feichen watched him steadily: “You guess.”

Tan Per furrowed his brow, arms holding the coat tightening.

Yet Yu Feichen lifted the coat’s collar. Tan Per grabbed it, fabric sliding through his fingers, escaping his hands.

Yu Feichen extracted the garment inch by inch from Tan Per’s embrace.

Then tossed it onto the distant bed, separated by a wide corridor.

Deprived of pheromone comfort, Tan Per’s eyes suddenly became fragile, like a deer cornered on a cliff edge. First reluctantly watching the distant coat, finally raising eyes toward Yu Feichen.

Already in triggered state’s final phase, collapse’s edge, this added uncertainty and anxiety—yet through extraordinary will, looking at Yu Feichen, he maintained trembling quiet and clarity.

At this moment, a deity’s gaze could break believers countless times.

Yu Feichen extended his hand. His thumb’s pad gently wiped the corner of eye threatening tears. Only when Tan Per actively leaned toward his palm did Yu Feichen lean down, drawing his body close to Tan Per.

Tan Per embraced him, hesitated briefly, then lowered his head, burying in Yu Feichen’s neck.

Fearing everything external, unable containing inner anxiety—triggered manifestations.

Developing attachment to alpha’s pheromone—heat cycle’s precursor. Alpha’s scent could soothe all fear, but gradually dragged omega toward heat’s abyss.

Though he wasn’t yet fully adult by a single day, his pheromones had formed nonetheless.

After roughly twenty minutes embracing, Tan Per’s state visibly stabilized. He released, pushing Yu Feichen away slightly.

The push lacked force, but Yu Feichen sensed the use-and-discard attitude. He said with cold mockery: “Seems you’re salvageable after all.”

Finishing, he withdrew halfway. Indeed, just five minutes later, Tan Per entered half-triggered state.

“Y-you… come here,” he said.

But like inhibitors shouldn’t be overused, pheromones had withdrawal effects. Intermittent pheromone contact only made next triggered state more intense. Even embracing wouldn’t help—through cloth, Yu Feichen clearly felt Tan Per’s accelerated heartbeat and trembling body.

He rose, opening the low-temperature case storing inhibitors, retrieving medication. Icy pale-blue solution gradually drew into the syringe, the slender barrel immediately frosting.

“I never encountered such worlds before,” Yu Feichen said while drawing solution.

Tan Per watched him, warmly peaceful. Standing at collapse’s edge, yet remaining deity-like. After all, Yu Feichen thought, countless world religions rarely lack divine suffering narratives. Seeming required prolonged cruel torment showcasing divine compassion for mortals.

The syringe filled. Yu Feichen sat beside Tan Per, facing him, very close—like a soul confessing before divine statues, speaking: “…dislike it greatly.”

Not this type alone. All types—worlds where human will yields to unreasoning desire. Including lust, including greed, including killing. He knew the deity understood.

Yet the deity didn’t express agreement.

It accepted the syringe, another hand gripping Yu Feichen’s right—fingers slightly cold, grip light yet resolute.

“The wealthy rarely hoard. The faithful fear no trials,” it whispered.

Yu Feichen clearly heard his chest’s heartbeat pounding. Steadily watching the deity’s placid face, yet sudden tsunami rose internally, glimpsing an abyssal chasm.

Sometimes he felt it trusted him too much.

Yet other times felt it understood him beyond self-understanding.

Those things he never liked. Multiple times he’d walked edges but never approached. Not from inherent abhorrence of surrender and indulgence, but because he’d known—always known himself never kind. Once falling into abyss, he’d sink deeper than anyone. Into endless darkness.

So he evaded. Evaded as if truly cherishing worldly precepts.

The deity’s fingers gently soothed him, slender joints so easily broken.

“If you fear something, speak it,” it said warmly, fearless. “Let me face it with you.”

Yu Feichen remained silent long. It unbuttoned two buttons, taking the syringe in hand, slightly tilting its neck, the sharp needle penetrating skin, preparing to inject.

Its wrist was gripped, halting completely. Skin punctured, blood trickling.

It raised its head. Yu Feichen’s dark pupils showed no emotion. He pressed the deity’s hand down, withdrawing the needle.

The syringe clattered to floor, pale-blue liquid slowly seeping into carpet.

Yu Feichen leaned down, teeth tips biting neck skin, slowly rubbing a few times, drawing the traced blood into his mouth.