Chapter 57: Likes and Dislikes

This result wasn’t surprising.

Mond might have been the palace’s chief affairs officer, but before entering palace service, he’d spent many years in the military. His command of mental energy was far beyond what Wen Yuzhi—a cub who’d only just started learning—could match.

By their agreement, since Wen Yuzhi was the one who lost, he had to share one thing from his past.

He was still weighing which memory to talk about when Mond cautiously asked, “Little highness—can you tell me if you had someone you liked most before?”

Wen Yuzhi didn’t hesitate. He wrote on the tablet:

[Dad and Mom.]

Mond knew the “Dad and Mom” Wen Yuzhi meant were the parents who raised him on the human side.

Mond’s expression didn’t change. He continued in a gentle voice. “Then why don’t you tell me about you and them?”

Wen Yuzhi nodded, but for a long moment, he still didn’t move.

Too many memories flickered through his mind one after another—like an old photo album that had suddenly been opened. Scenes he’d sealed away, scenes he only touched once in a great while, all surfaced at once.

In Wen Yuzhi’s memory, he’d grown up in the Wen family’s main estate. He had a pair of parents who loved him dearly.

His father, Wen Che, was the Wen family’s next head. Young, wealthy—he’d met Madam Jilanya during a crisis because of shared interests in exploration. Years later, the two became partners, and they built a small family together.

His mother, Madam Jilanya, was an outstanding woman as well. Also an Omega, she loved exploring and also loved jewelry design. To collect rarer gems, she often went alone to dangerous places to search for mineral veins.

After she and Wen Che got together, their expeditions were still led by her, with Wen Che backing her up.

In outsiders’ eyes, they were always an affectionate couple. Wen Che hardly showed that stereotypical Alpha dominance at all, and Madam Jilanya wasn’t gentle or compliant in the slightest.

Wen Yuzhi’s childhood was mostly cared for by Wen Che personally—bathing him, changing him, feeding him formula. Those responsibilities the public usually expected an Omega to handle were all done by Wen Che instead.

And he loved doing it. He was even proud of how perfectly he kept their household running.

Madam Jilanya, on the other hand, rarely touched those daily chores. What she took charge of was Wen Yuzhi’s education.

She would tell him the story of a particular mineral. She would tell him about adventures that happened in the vast sea of stars.

At times like that, Wen Yuzhi would nestle in his mother’s warm embrace, savoring that rare harmony and peace, while Wen Che would hold his wife and child close—like he was gathering everything most important to him into his arms.

Those were happy moments no one disturbed, like a dream filled with candy—sweet and beautiful.

It was ordinary. There wasn’t much “worth telling,” really. Even when something happened—like Wen Xingyan deliberately stirring trouble—back then Wen Yuzhi’s second uncle didn’t hold much power in the Wen family. He was still a spoiled rich kid who needed his older brother’s support.

And Wen Yuzhi was still the treasure Wen Che and Madam Jilanya held carefully in their palms. Everyone in the Wen family had no time to do anything but curry favor. No one dared offend him.

You could say that before Wen Yuzhi turned seven, he hadn’t gone through many twists or hardships at all.

He was happy. He was loved.

Even though so much time had passed, as Wen Yuzhi wrote this down, that longing for his childhood still showed between the lines.

Mond could feel it too. Reading the words, he could almost reconstruct Wen Yuzhi’s past little by little.

He was grateful that in another world, the little highness had encountered parents like that—parents who loved him, who took good care of him when Mond and the others weren’t there.

As Mond thought that, a scene seemed to form faintly before his eyes.

A woman holding a child, kissing his forehead.

“Zhizhi, we’re leaving, but Dad and Mom will be back soon. Zhizhi, be good and wait at home for these next few days, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mond knew this was a fragment from Wen Yuzhi’s memory, and that woman was likely the little highness’s mother.

Unfortunately, the image lasted only an instant before it vanished again.

But that instant alone was enough for Mond to pick up something useful.

He looked at the cub, who was also looking back at him. After hesitating, Mond couldn’t help asking, “Zhizhi... is that the little highness’s name?”

Hearing that familiar, long-unheard nickname, Wen Yuzhi froze.

Mond immediately explained, “I’m sorry. I accidentally brushed against your mental energy, and that’s why I saw a piece of your memory.”

Wen Yuzhi had only just begun to control his mental energy. A large amount of active mental energy was leaking around him, and his emotions were running high—so it wasn’t strange that a stray image would slip out.

Mond quickly apologized for prying.

Wen Yuzhi shook his head, indicating he didn’t mind.

He wrote:

[Zhizhi is a nickname. Before, only Dad and Mom called me that.]

When Wen Yuzhi was young, he ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) was often sick. Even his crying was weak. Wen Che and Madam Jilanya had been afraid he wouldn’t survive, and though neither of them believed in temples or praying for blessings, they still gave him a childhood nickname.

Before he turned three, Wen Yuzhi had only that nickname.

After he turned three, Wen Che and Madam Jilanya gave him the name Wen Yuzhi.

Even from the name alone, you could tell they considered him their most precious treasure.

Wen Yuzhi wrote, stroke by stroke:

[I’m Wen Yuzhi.]

Mond thought the name was beautiful.

Jade was already a rare, beautiful mineral, and “branch” carried the meaning of flourishing, vigorous life—fitting the Saint Clan’s reverence for the Mother Goddess of Prosperity.

Mond couldn’t help marveling that even after the little highness had been cast into another world, he still seemed, in some unseen way, to have deep ties to the Saint Clan.

And it wasn’t hard to feel how much love that couple had poured into the name they gave their child.

—

After Wen Yuzhi finished, his “punishment” ended.

Mond took out two more seeds.

This time, Wen Yuzhi had experience. He’d roughly figured out how much mental energy to infuse at once.

Too much wouldn’t work—you could make the seed burst. Too little wouldn’t work either—if the mental energy was too weak, the seed would wake slowly.

So, drawing on the previous rounds, Wen Yuzhi awakened the seed in one go. The sapling emerged just a hair faster than Mond’s.

All right—now it was Mond’s turn to accept punishment.

Wen Yuzhi immediately looked at him expectantly.

Mond coughed softly. “The little highness is impressive. Let me think what I should tell you...”

It sounded like he was deciding on the spot, but Mond already had something in mind.

What he shared was a story from Mansendis’s childhood.

Different from the cold, indifferent silver-haired sovereign of today, Mansendis as a cub had been far more withdrawn and quiet.

Even among royal-blood heirs known for their detached temperaments, Mansendis had seemed like an outlier.

He liked being alone. He hated anything troublesome. All Saint Clan—including attendants like Mond—were “trouble” in his eyes.

Every time Mond went to look for him, he had to search through one rocky cavern after another to find the silver giant beast.

And even if Mond found him, there was a good chance the silver giant beast would be asleep.

Unluckily for Mond, out of ten times, nine times he hit a wall.

It was deeply frustrating.

Mansendis knew those affairs officers would come looking for him now and then, so he simply chose to sleep—making it obvious he didn’t want to see Mond and the others at all.

Back then, Mond was already the palace’s chief affairs officer, yet facing those royal-blood heirs still gave him headaches.

And the outside world had such high expectations for Mansendis.

The blood running in his body was the purest royal blood—a royal cocoon born from blood bestowed by the Mother Goddess of Prosperity herself. Everyone hoped Mansendis would one day lead the Saint Clan into greater strength.

But as the object of their hopes, Mansendis was exceptionally uncooperative.

He had no interest in becoming the Saint Clan’s sovereign. Not even the extravagant life of royal blood could tempt him. He was always sleeping, as if he wanted to sleep through decades, centuries.

In Mansendis, Mond sensed a loneliness he’d never encountered before.

A loneliness that shut the entire world outside.

To Mansendis, everything was boring. He possessed immense power, yet killing didn’t bring him much stimulation. It was still dull.

Even the Saint Clan—whether the most exalted royal blood or the lowest of the low—were no different from ants on the roadside in his eyes.

Because Mond was the attendant who went to the caverns most often, he also understood Mansendis’s loneliness better than anyone.

If not for that accident, Mond had no doubt Mansendis might have slept in those caverns forever, until death.

But those ten days of frenzied blood chaos changed Mansendis’s life—and changed the entire Saint Clan’s trajectory.

After taking the throne, Mansendis changed.

He compressed every emotion down to the extreme, turning himself fully into the cold, powerful sovereign upon the throne.

From that moment, Mansendis was no longer the Mansendis he used to be. He was the Saint Clan’s king, the sharpest blade guarding the entire Saint Clan.

He became stronger—and also far lonelier.

Sometimes, when Mond looked at the throne, it felt as though what sat there wasn’t a living being at all, but an empty shell called “king.”

Mond witnessed all of it, and yet he could do nothing—only watch as Mansendis’s emotions faded more and more, as the part of him that was truly his own was gradually stripped away.

Back then, Mansendis would hide deep in the caverns and sleep just to avoid seeing them. His emotions had still been vivid—dislike meant dislike, and he showed it plainly through avoidance.

But now, even when faced with things he didn’t want to do, Mansendis could handle them with detached calm, never letting them delay the next piece of governance waiting for him.

He was already a qualified sovereign.

And yet Mond still clung to the wish that he could pull the silver-haired sovereign out of that boundless, dark loneliness.

In Wen Yuzhi, Mond saw hope.

After the little highness returned to Dark Tower Star, Mond could feel that Mansendis seemed to be regaining emotion, little by little.

Facing this one and only child, Mansendis had feelings.

Only then did he stop looking like that unreachable sovereign high above.

Mond had brought up these old stories on purpose—hoping to change the image of the king in the little highness’s heart.

More than any other Saint Clan member, Mond wanted this father and son—separated for so many years—to get along.

The little highness was still too young. He couldn’t lose a father who could shield him.

And likewise, perhaps only the little highness’s existence could let Mansendis find even a trace of interest and belonging in that desolate darkness.

Wen Yuzhi didn’t realize his influence on Mansendis was that great, but listening to Mond, he lowered his head and stayed silent for a long time.

Just as the Saint Clan didn’t understand Wen Yuzhi’s past, Wen Yuzhi didn’t understand Mansendis’s past either.

The silver-haired sovereign Wen Yuzhi had always seen was powerful.

Just like the feeling the silver giant beast gave him when they first met—towering and mighty as a mountain.

No matter when, Mansendis always seemed steady and reliable.

So much so that Wen Yuzhi had never even considered the possibility that Mansendis could be lonely.

Seeing the cub’s mood sink, Mond realized he couldn’t let the topic stop there.

He hadn’t told these things to make the little highness sad.

Mond hurriedly took out two more seeds—the final two.

There were seven seeds total. Five had already been sprouted. Only these last two remained.

This time, Wen Yuzhi was a little slower.

As punishment, he had to share another thing from his past.

And this time, Mond asked, “Little highness—did you have someone you hated most before?”

Wen Yuzhi still didn’t hesitate. On the tablet, he wrote that he hated most of the Wen family—especially Wen Xingyan.

Compared to what the Wen family had done, Liang Song and Su Yu weren’t even worth thinking about.

His conflict with Wen Xingyan had been doomed from the moment Wen Xingyan was born.

Wen Yuzhi’s second uncle wasn’t a broad-minded person. In everything, he was crushed by Wen Che. No matter what he did, he was always inferior to his “great big brother,” and so resentment had piled up in him for a long time.

That resentment was passed on to his child.

He constantly used the affection Wen Yuzhi received to provoke Wen Xingyan’s jealousy, and he drilled into him ideas like: if he were the family head, everything Wen Yuzhi had would eventually belong to Wen Xingyan.

So Wen Xingyan always believed Wen Yuzhi—and Wen Yuzhi’s parents—had stolen the good life that should’ve belonged to their branch.

If that hateful brat and that hateful brat’s parents hadn’t existed, he would’ve long since been the family head’s son. He would’ve lived in that huge house too, with his own separate, beautiful room.

From childhood to adulthood, Wen Yuzhi’s friction with him never stopped.

Wen Xingyan was like gum you couldn’t shake off. His malice was blatant. Wen Yuzhi had even tried reasoning with him—until he realized reason was useless.

In Wen Xingyan’s mind, bullying Wen Yuzhi itself brought him an enormous thrill.

Wen Yuzhi couldn’t understand the way Wen Xingyan’s mind worked—just like he couldn’t understand how those “friends” who had once been fairly polite to him could suddenly run to Wen Xingyan’s side.

It wasn’t until later that he understood.

It was jealousy.

Because Wen Yuzhi used to be the person they envied most.

He had parents who loved each other, and he had something those kids had never felt—something called love.

In noble families, couples like Wen Che and Madam Jilanya were rare. Illegitimate sons and daughters, on the other hand, were everywhere. Children raised in that kind of environment learned early how to fight for resources.

Wen Yuzhi didn’t have to do anything. He could be protected in his parents’ arms, carefree, enjoying every tilted advantage of resources and attention.

Among all those children who didn’t receive love, Wen Yuzhi stood out—painfully so.

They envied him. And they hated him for it.

So once Wen Yuzhi no longer had anyone shielding him, they quickly became Wen Xingyan’s lackeys—following him around to prank and bully the young master they’d once only been able to envy.

A secret kind of satisfaction filled them.

Like the moon they could only gaze up at from afar had finally fallen from the clouds one day.

The more Wen Yuzhi refused to react, the more excited they became—trying to drag that fallen bright moon down into the filth where they lived.

Unfortunately, Wen Yuzhi was cautious. From beginning to end, he never gave them what they wanted.

But living like that—constantly on edge—made Wen Yuzhi unbearably sick of everything.

All that “good behavior,” all that “obedience,” had been forced choices, made again and again.

Before he came of age, he had no way to leave the Wen family.

And outsiders would even think he was crazy—why throw away the life of a wealthy young master? Wen Yuzhi tried to run more than once, only to be sent right back.

Behind those fake, smiling faces, no one cared about what Wen Yuzhi thought or how Wen Yuzhi felt.

He was a perfect display piece.

A display piece that let Wen Yuzhi’s second uncle show off his “kindness.” A display piece that staff from “protection centers” could use for publicity.

As for what Wen Yuzhi suffered in the Wen family...

No one cared.