Chapter 2: Crash and Fall

Wen Yuzhi left cleanly and decisively, and it went smoothly. No one tried to stop him along the way.

After Liang Song broke off the engagement, the Wen family seemed to have already concluded there was no value left in him to exploit. Naturally, no one cared whether a useless vase stayed or went.

In their eyes, Wen Yuzhi—an Omega—running off on his own was undoubtedly stupid, nothing but asking for hardship.

They had no idea Wen Yuzhi had been waiting for this day for a long time.

Ever since his parents’ starship accident, after the Wen family’s power fell into his second uncle’s hands, that place had stopped being his home. If he stayed, he would only be treated as a piece of merchandise for political marriage, sent out again and again.

Wen Yuzhi didn’t want to live like that.

So he ran. He packed his luggage, bought a ticket, and had no intention of ever going back in this lifetime.

From now on, all the Wen family’s petty feuds and messes had nothing to do with him.

Through the porthole window, he could see that familiar planet slowly being left behind by the starship, along with all those rotten troubles, gradually swallowed by the boundless sea of stars.

Wen Yuzhi calmly withdrew his gaze and returned to what he hadn’t finished earlier—taking inventory of the assets in his name.

After his parents died, most of their property had been swallowed up by Wen family relatives. But anything that had already been written into his name, clearly designated for him, couldn’t be touched no matter how much they coveted it.

With that wealth, Wen Yuzhi had more than enough to live the rest of his life without worrying about food or money.

And the place he was heading to now was one of the properties his parents left him: a very small asteroid, lush with vegetation, springlike and blooming year-round—perfect for living and unwinding.

When Wen father and Wen mother bought that planet back then, they had already planned to use it as a vacation place for their family. Unfortunately, before they could ever carry out that plan, disaster struck.

Even so, when Wen Yuzhi planned his escape from the Wen family, his first thought was still to go there.

He wanted to see it....

To see the place his parents had once wanted to take him.

But before he went, he needed to tell his good friend that he’d finally escaped that Wen family cage.

Wen Yuzhi took out the new light-brain wristband he’d prepared long ago.

He had thrown the old one into a trash can in the waiting lounge before boarding the starship. That had been part of the plan from the start—if he was leaving the Wen family, he had to completely cut off any chance of them finding him.

Right now, this new light-brain was empty, with only one friend in the contacts list—someone he’d transferred over in advance.

That person’s avatar and name were both a string of gibberish, and even the IP address showed as unknown. Wen Yuzhi wasn’t surprised by it anymore. The galaxy was huge; on some remote planets the network was bad enough that an IP not displaying was perfectly normal.

From their conversations, Wen Yuzhi could also tell the other person seemed to live somewhere extremely remote and far away. Often, when Wen Yuzhi mentioned recent headlines, the other person would act as if he’d never heard of them.

Wen Yuzhi guessed he might be from some distant primitive planet. He’d heard many people there didn’t even know how to use a light-brain—a poor backwater place, as the Imperial Capital Star liked to call it.

As for how two people so far apart had met....

It was coincidental. A year ago, while sorting through his mother’s belongings, Wen Yuzhi found a chip. After plugging it into his light-brain, it still worked—and it even searched out another person who was using the same chip.

Driven by curiosity, Wen Yuzhi added him as a friend. He hadn’t expected the other person to approve the request so quickly.

Testing the waters, Wen Yuzhi sent a single message: [Hello.]

After a brief silence, the other person replied: [Hello.]

Back and forth like that, the two of them slowly became online friends who could talk often.

Wen Yuzhi found chatting with him comfortable and easy. And online, he didn’t have to maintain an Omega’s so-called restraint and elegance—he could vent as much as he wanted about the Wen family and that infuriating fiance of his.

A happy occasion like today—winning his freedom back—was something he wanted to share too.

[I finally got rid of that greasy fiance. I bought the ticket too—today I can finally leave that place.]

Wen Yuzhi had just sent the edited message.

The next second, the starship’s alarm blared.

No matter how he thought about it, he couldn’t understand how he’d managed to run into a cosmic storm current with odds of only one in a million!

The moment the shrieking alarm sounded, he rushed with the crowd toward the escape passages.

Screams, panicked sobbing, and a dense chaos of footsteps blended into one.

Wen Yuzhi didn’t even have time to look at the expressions of the people beside him. A crew member shoved him into a nearby escape pod—and then....

He lost all consciousness, the last thing he heard a violent explosion.

.........

Planet B-32.

Of course, it had another name as well—Kanirila.

In Padar culture, Kanirila was the goddess who gave birth to them, the mother of them all, their shared faith.

And Planet B-32, named Kanirila, was their proudest capital city.

Only now, from this point on, it seemed that capital would probably have to be called their former capital.

Three days ago, Saint Clan warships descended here.

It was almost a completely one-sided slaughter. The Padar—who were skilled at invading other races—lost that old arrogance and swagger the moment they faced the Saint Clan. Their defenses were torn open with ease, and the battle collapsed step by step.

In less than three days, the Saint Clan took the capital the Padar had once believed was unbreakable. And as the defeated side, the Padar could only flee in panic and disgrace.

The smoke of war still hung over Kanirila.

Maybe because the Padar surrendered so quickly, this once wildly prosperous “Goddess Star” didn’t look like it had suffered too much destruction. Most of the buildings on the surface were still standing.

Except for one place.

That area was still burning with roaring flames. Ruined walls and broken rubble littered the ground. What was strange, though, was that the traces didn’t look like human-made destruction—more like something that had lost its mind, some beast, had rampaged through in a frenzy. Even hard brick and stone had been crushed into powder.

Following those traces forward, at the very center of the scorched ruin, a vast, silver-white giant beast lay there.

Its eyes were closed, as if it had fallen into some kind of dormancy. Even when an escape pod suddenly fell from the sky and smashed down nearby, it didn’t draw its attention.

“Cough, cough.....!”

Wen Yuzhi woke up choking on thick smoke.

The moment he opened his eyes, he saw the instrument panel inside the pod and the precise machines beside it hissing and smoking nonstop. A red warning light over his head flashed on and off.

He struggled to shove open the deformed hatch. Maybe he’d been unconscious too long—his legs were numb and weak. In the end he practically tumbled out, stumbling.

Thud.

Wen Yuzhi hit the damp, soft earth so hard stars burst behind his eyes. An Omega’s delicate skin was scraped by the rough sand and stones below, leaving mottled streaks of blood.

—It hurt.

A faint sting spread from the wounds. Wen Yuzhi couldn’t help sucking in a breath through the corner of his mouth.

From childhood to now, he’d never been this miserable. Omegas were flowers raised in greenhouses—by law, the government clearly required preferential treatment for every Omega. Under that policy’s shelter, Wen Yuzhi hadn’t suffered much bodily hardship in the Wen family.

After all, no matter how much his second uncle disliked him, he still wanted to sell him for a good price once he came of age.

And because of that, like most Omegas, Wen Yuzhi hadn’t really eaten much bitterness.

Fortunately, when he prepared to leave the Wen family, he had already thought through all kinds of difficulties he might meet on the road. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, careful the whole time not to bump his injuries.

“...Huh?”

But the moment he stood, Wen Yuzhi realized something was wrong.

The light inside the escape pod had been too dim earlier, so he hadn’t noticed—his clothes somehow seemed to have gotten a size bigger.

...No—no!

It wasn’t that his clothes got bigger. He got smaller!

Wen Yuzhi stared down at his hands in shock.

His body had visibly shrunk, as if he’d gone from an adult back down to his fifteen- or sixteen-year-old self.

And why was he so sure...?

Wen Yuzhi looked at the reflection in the metal hatch. The teenager there had delicate, pretty features, soft hair, snow-white skin. His lips were rosy and full, the lip bead tender as rose petals—like a doll set in a display window.

As if frightened by what he was seeing, the boy’s catlike eyes were wide and round. Paired with wet lashes and slightly reddened eye corners, he looked unbearably pitiful and lovable.

If grown Wen Yuzhi was lushly gorgeous—so stunning that even doing nothing, just standing there, every small gesture carried a heart-stealing beauty—then teenage Wen Yuzhi, with brows and eyes not fully matured yet, had an extra layer of dazed youth and fragile vulnerability.

Very pretty. And very easy to break—like a porcelain doll that ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) needed to be held in someone’s palm and carefully protected.

Because of this face, back when he was in school, plenty of Alphas had even fought over him, annoying him beyond words. It only got a little better after the news of his arranged marriage with Liang Song spread—and only a little.

After all, adolescent Alphas always liked to imagine themselves as knights, wanting to protect the princess in their hearts—never realizing the “princess” being pursued wanted nothing more than to keep far away from them.

Wen Yuzhi was grateful there were no irritating Alphas here. That, at least, was a small mercy in the middle of misfortune.

He could be certain this was what he looked like at fifteen or sixteen....

Could leaving an escape pod make someone’s age go backward?

Wen Yuzhi couldn’t make sense of it.

But the most important thing right now wasn’t obsessing over that. Compared to why his body had suddenly gotten smaller, what mattered was finding a way to contact rescue first!

The sound of the escape pod crashing down had been loud. If anyone lived nearby, they definitely would have heard the commotion.

Even so, Wen Yuzhi didn’t just sit there and dump all hope onto strangers. He moved his body a little, then climbed back into the escape pod and rummaged out whatever was still usable.

Water. Food. Med kit.

Those three were the most crucial. As for the pod’s communicator....

He’d checked it. It was dead beyond saving—probably failed midway through the fall. Now it was nothing but scrap metal.

Wen Yuzhi had already been mentally prepared for that. The moment he saw the instrument panel smoking nonstop, he understood those high-end machines were basically ruined.

He wasn’t too disappointed. He just wrapped up everything he could carry—anything useful—in a piece of cloth and tied it onto himself. Then he grabbed a broken metal rod from the wreckage and held it in his hand.

Only after all preparations were done did Wen Yuzhi dare to step outside. He cautiously scanned the surroundings.

This looked like the outskirts of somewhere, but it was as if some violent clash or disaster had swept through recently—trees and houses lay toppled in sprawling swaths, and thick smoke billowed in the distance.

—Like the end of the world had come.

Wen Yuzhi stumbled his way up to higher ground. He raised his head to look out—and his gaze suddenly stopped as it swept over one particular spot.

The instant he saw clearly what lay ahead, the Omega’s beautiful almond eyes widened in stunned disbelief.