Chapter 104#
Distant Star Reflection 12#
Not until Yu Feichen suspected Bai Song had hung up did a faint pleading voice transmit.
“…Give me a hint?”
Yu Feichen considered: “Find me several documents. Handle the rest yourself.”
Bai Song, replacing Bishop Kayan’s identity, held certain authority within the cathedral and the Holy City bustled these days—many opportunities available.
First, he wanted Tan Per’s universal language materials—ideally the complete system. Tan Per’s original was forcibly deleted, yet the cathedral might secretly retain backups. Second, research and data related to “snowmen”—an odd natural phenomenon appearing both on his airship and coincidentally evaporating the empire’s sole emperor. Suspicious indeed.
Bai Song obediently accepted the task. Yu Feichen returned to the secret group chat, planning to review materials.
Messages scrolled rapidly.
“Omega saying ’no’ means ’no’? Brother, you’ve got issues.”
“Agreed. Haven’t recognized omegas’ lying nature—not a mature alpha.”
“Here we go again. You alphas can’t keep your word, always blaming omegas.”
“Nonsense, like you’re not alpha.”
The boring topics held no interest. After skimming the documents list, he opened an e-book: Triggered and Frenzied: Two Extremes of Fear with a black bracket: [BANNED].
Time was limited. He only read omega-related sections.
The book stated: contrary to common belief, omegas were internally devoted, characterologically stable entities. Their fear stemmed from unpredictable external worlds, uncontrollable fates, decisions they couldn’t make.
A triggered omega becomes trapped in their life’s most terrifying memories, biological fear and psychological despair overlapping. The only escape was self-destruction. Some omegas succeeded—permanent unconsciousness.
Below were omega testimonies.
Yu Feichen felt no interest in their fears. Examining his own past, he found nothing worth fearing. Fearful people crumble easily.
Reading those characters, he pondered another question.
Could the eternally-existing supreme deity truly experience such fear as the book described?
If fearing precarious fate, flowing blood, they couldn’t be called divine.
Yet if their life’s destiny truly shone like that sun, why would the deity’s eyes show such death-like stillness after physiological triggered response faded?
He hadn’t been afraid then, Yu Feichen knew.
They seemed only… sad.
The shuttle slowly entered the estate. The grounds proved as fortified as the secretary promised. After Yu Feichen personally cleared entry, the cathedral’s shuttle was permitted through.
—Yet the priest was left in the reception room first.
Yu Feichen alone pushed open the bedroom door. The light was dim and soft, yet Tan Per hadn’t slept.
Golden hair lay casually scattered. He wore a white silk shirt with courtly soft pleats at the cuffs.
The door sound didn’t startle him. Tan Per glanced at Yu Feichen, then his gaze returned elsewhere.
The person was online.
Inconsistent with technology levels—civil networks here functioned extremely limitedly. Yu Feichen suspected he searched for information like “how to become beta.” Drawing closer, he discovered he’d misjudged the deity. Using Landon’s account with an affected internet name, they browsed the knowledge library’s “Answers Section.”
Simple retrieval couldn’t meet all needs, so the cathedral added “Answers Section” where people with questions or life troubles could ask, awaiting clergy responses.
Tan Per paused under an urgent medical query, typing an answer—yet the send button remained grayed out.
Landon’s account wasn’t clergy. Tan Per’s original account had been deactivated.
Tan Per stared quietly at that gray button option, eventually slowly deleting his answer.
Somewhat darkened, Yu Feichen thought.
Yu Feichen’s fingers rested on Tan Per’s shoulder: “How are you?”
This person attempting saving others was in circumstances of utter self-preservation.
“I slept a while. I’m fine now,” Tan Per said.
Yu Feichen absently played with his hair. But Tan Per seemed not to notice, returning gaze to screen, asking while looking: “How’d it go?”
Yu Feichen didn’t answer, changing from playing to pulling. Tan Per finally responded, raising hand to open Yu Feichen’s fingers.
Yu Feichen got his desired response, smoothing the disheveled hair, saying: “I told the Pope without you I’d die. He agreed reconsidering your verdict—provided a blood sample proving you’re truly my omega.”
Tan Per clicked the screen dark, looking at him: “You could completely issue special pardon after becoming emperor.”
Getting feisty now. Yu Feichen remained unmoved: “Isn’t it you yourself who enjoys watching me choose?”
The world’s most tedious thing was multiple-choice questions. If anything more tedious existed, it’d be multiple-choice questions immediately showing correct answers after choosing wrong.
Yet he chose correctly. The Pope wouldn’t let Tan Per reach the mining star alive. But he didn’t say this, merely smiled.
“Why would I grant special pardon to a completely triggered omega?” Yu Feichen told Tan Per. “Increase Landon’s sanatorium income?”
Tan Per furrowed his brow: “You could—”
Yu Feichen: “Could what?”
Tan Per said nothing.
Yu Feichen found this few minutes’ Tan Per particularly amusing. Losing the throne hadn’t been a loss.
“What could I do?” he said. “Tell me, bishop. Otherwise I’ll post to the Answers Section.”
Ask how to exempt omegas from complete triggering.
Tan Per ignored his comment, returning to the subject: “What do you plan next?”
But Yu Feichen was never one to answer after asking. Especially when a certain bishop wanted observing, didn’t move, yet wanted controlling.
“Why not think how you’ll handle it, bishop,” Yu Feichen said coolly. He’d blown cool night wind along the shuttle, his throat inevitably slightly hoarse. “If this also requires watching me choose, then after choosing you can’t have a single word of opinion. Just now was first time—forgiven.”
Tan Per not only said nothing but didn’t look at him. Yu Feichen didn’t continue, worried about triggering the bishop into agitation. Omegas had this downside—couldn’t afford tormenting.
He softened his voice: “The marking still there? How do you feel now, can we take blood?”
Tan Per: “Yes.”
“Then I’ll have them come over.” Yu Feichen placed his overcoat on Tan Per’s shoulders, buttoning it. Texting the secretary, he continued: “They won’t enter. I’ll extract personally. I’ll open a transparent window on the side door showing part of it. If affected, you can avoid looking there.”
Tan Per seemed thinking these airtight procedures unnecessary.
“I’m temporarily not that—”
“Second time,” Yu Feichen said coldly.