The buildings lining the street were all cold metal and sharp angles, hard and unforgiving—but with people, they came alive. Shouts from street vendors, laughter from kids, the hum of conversation, the clink of metal and glass… it wrapped around Su Ling like a warm blanket, making the air feel soft and hot and human. He loved this noise, this chaos, this life.
He walked like a tourist, his eyes wide, drinking in every new sight, every strange face, every little thing that made this galaxy different from his old one. He was living a new life, and he was gonna soak it all in.
He was also like a baby bird who'd just left the nest, his mouth running a mile a minute, peppering Square with questions about everything he saw.
"Square! What's that?" He pointed at a huge purple-blue sphere, the size of a watermelon, its skin bumpy and rough, so unappealing he almost turned away— but it was sitting in a fruit shop, so it had to be edible.
The shopkeeper glanced at him, his mouth twisting down in a sneer— some country bumpkin, never even seen a violet fruit before, probably lived on nutrient paste his whole life, couldn't afford real food if he tried.
Luckily, droids didn't care about social status or sneers. Square answered dutifully, its voice flat and precise. "Violet fruit. A large evergreen tree of the kapok family. Fruit is spherical, 30 to 45 centimeters in diameter, with a hard purple-blue rind. Flesh consists of aril sacs, pale red in color, sweet and juicy."
Su Ling's mouth watered, curious to taste it—but food in the galaxy was expensive, especially natural fruit and veggies. Regular people couldn't afford it, stuck with synthetic nutrient paste for every meal. Someday, when he had money, he'd eat his way across the entire galaxy, try every weird fruit, every crazy dish. Someday.
Today, though, he was shopping for the admiral. He leaned down, sniffing the violet fruit (it smelled sweet, like berries and honey), and turned to Square. "Does the admiral like these?"
"Well, well, well. Does the admiral like these?" A voice cut through the noise, thick with sarcasm, sharp and mean.
Su Ling spun around. It was Su Qingyu, the eldest son of the Su family, flanked by his brother Su Qingxiang, the second son. Both betas— not as precious as an omega like Su Qingluan, but still the head of the family's boys, their status a million miles above Su Ling's, in the Su family's twisted little world.
Su Ling blinked, confused. Why were they talking to him? The book said they'd always hated the original Su Ling, thought he was beneath them, never even bothered to look at him, let alone speak.
Su Qingxiang crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes cold with disdain, a lazy smirk on his face— like he was watching a show, waiting for the fun part.
Su Qingyu let out a cold snort, his eyes raking over Su Ling, like he was inspecting a bug under his boot. "Su Ling. You let that cripple tame you in one night? Or is it just that you're such a desperate little slut, no one else would have you—so you'll take a broken man, anything to feel wanted?" He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.
Su Qingyu hadn't even recognized him at first. In his mind, Su Ling was a dirty, scruffy little rat, always slouching, always scowling, a mess of unwashed hair and ragged clothes. But this Su Ling was clean, his hair neat, his eyes bright, a soft smile on his face— happy, even. It was disgusting. Unthinkable. The sad, pathetic Su Ling, married to a paralyzed admiral, and he was out here buying fruit, looking like he was having a good time? It made Su Qingyu's blood boil, his skin crawl. "Guess you really are only good for one thing— a useless beta for a useless admiral. Tsk tsk. Who knew you had it in you?"
Su Ling's jaw tightened. He knew what he meant, had heard the same garbage the night before, from the Su family's servants. It made his skin prickle with anger, his chest ache with a stupid, helpless sadness. How could they say such cruel things, so easily? He'd never done anything to them, never hurt them— why did they hate him so much, why did they take such pleasure in humiliating him?
He stared at the ground, his lips pressed tight, not saying a word. That only made Su Qingyu bolder, more arrogant. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his voice dropping to a low, vicious growl, so only Su Ling could hear. "Cat got your tongue? You're not denying it. Guess you are a little whore, huh? A cheap little beta, desperate for a man—even a broken one."
Su Qingyu had always hated his little brother Su Qingluan, hated that he was an omega, the golden child, the one who'd been promised to Pei You, the youngest, most powerful admiral in the galaxy. When Pei You got hurt, when Su Qingluan cried and screamed and refused to marry him, Su Qingyu had felt a sick, twisted joy— like he'd finally gotten one over on his perfect little brother.
But even a paralyzed Pei You was still Admiral Pei You, the hero of Nalan Star. Letting a nobody like Su Ling, a rat from the lower branches of the family, slither his way into the admiral's bed? It was an insult. A slap in the face to the Su family, to him. It made his skin crawl.
He grabbed Su Ling's arm, his fingers digging into his skin, his voice cold and cruel, his breath hot on Su Ling's ear. "How is it? Being with a cripple? Can he even touch you? Can he even satisfy you?"
"Are you insane?!" Su Ling wrenched his arm free, shoving Su Qingyu hard in the chest. His face was bright red with anger, his almond eyes wide and blazing, his voice sharp and shaky with rage. "You're a psychopath!"
He didn't know how to fight back, didn't have the words, the courage, the strength. All he could do was yell, a single, useless word, his heart pounding in his chest.
Su Qingyu stumbled back, shocked— then his face turned purple with fury, his hands curling into fists. No one talked to him like that. No one shoved him like that. Especially not a worthless little beta like Su Ling. "You little bitch! You dare to curse me? You dare to touch me? You're dead meat!" He rolled up his sleeves, his knuckles white, lunging at Su Ling, ready to throw a punch, ready to break his pretty little face, ready to make him beg for mercy.