Volume Two: The Youth of a Thousand Faces, Truth in Falsehood Chapter Twenty-Six: The Black Nobleman

Ke Zhen and Huo Ye drank together late into the night, and in the end, both of them threw up—just not for the same reason. Ke Zhen drank until he was sick, while Huo Ye ate until he couldn't hold it down. After Ke Zhen got drunk, he suggested Huo Ye try expanding his appetite, binge-eating to see if he could activate his sub-cells to store more energy. The two of them ordered enough midnight snacks for five and forced Huo Ye to eat until he vomited.

During this, Ke Zhen tried to compete in drinking with Huo Ye, but as they went on, he realized that Huo Ye didn’t even blush, let alone get drunk. Huo Ye was truly impervious to alcohol; while his sub-level stem cells couldn’t store extra energy, they could accelerate his metabolism, so the alcohol never caught up. Unless he drowned in a vat of liquor, there was no way to get him drunk.

Whether or not he actually won, Ke Zhen managed to drink quite a bit of Huo Ye’s good liquor, so he considered it a victory. There were three days left before the academy formally opened. Ke Zhen said he had things to take care of, so Huo Ye decided to spend these days getting familiar with the academy before meeting again in three days.

On his way home, Huo Ye couldn’t be bothered to walk and caught a cab instead. The taxi levitated smoothly toward his apartment. Clutching his stomach, Huo Ye suddenly regretted his choice; he was carsick. He fought down the urge to vomit—there was nothing left in his stomach—but he’d have to find some stomach medicine once the bloating subsided.

Trying to distract himself, he opened the Bancroft forum, hoping to get a feel for the academy through the digital world.

The internet is transparent—people don’t have to worry about social niceties and can say whatever they want. The internet is also filthy—some, emboldened by the screen between them and others, spout whatever comes to mind, usually people with nothing to show for themselves in real life.

So Huo Ye always kept a skeptical eye on what he saw online, never making casual comments about unsubstantiated matters. He didn’t want to risk hurting innocent people with careless words; this was his quiet kind of gentleness.

But when Huo Ye opened the Bancroft forum, he could hardly believe his eyes.

A prominent thread, officially pinned at the top in bold red, blared: “The Prince in Black: The Dream Lover.” Below it was a large photograph—him, in his Hunter Corps uniform, looking travel-worn at the academy gate.

“Damn…” Huo Ye cursed under his breath.

The taxi driver glanced back. “Everything alright, kid?”

“It’s nothing, just saw a really outrageous post online,” Huo Ye replied offhandedly.

It really was outrageous—the angle was clearly candid, the resolution far too crisp to have been snapped with a simple neural-brain device. This was professional equipment. Suddenly, Huo Ye thought of someone.

Huo Ye removed a component from his neural-brain and held it to his ear, dialing a number.

As soon as the line connected, the other side answered, “Hello, Jiang Information Services at your disposal. Looking to buy or sell some intel?”

Huo Ye took a deep breath, his tone icy. “Jiang Feng, explain that post. Now.”

“Uh, Huo? You saw it…” Jiang Feng sounded guilty; on his end, sweat was already pouring down his face.

“So, it really was you?” Huo Ye dragged out the words, making it clear that if Jiang Feng admitted it, he’d be coming through the neural-brain to give him a beating.

“No, absolutely not!” Jiang Feng denied vehemently. Heaven help him—if he admitted it, tomorrow’s headline would be his corpse turning up somewhere on campus.

“Is that so?” Huo Ye’s suspicion lingered. “Explain that post. Don’t pretend you don’t know. If you dare play dumb, I’ll come over and end you right now.” Huo Ye’s mood was already in tatters. Unable to get drunk, he had nowhere to vent. How could he possibly let this slide?

Jiang Feng’s scalp prickled. What was with Huo Ye today? He used to be the picture of gentlemanly grace when he first arrived—now he sounded like a street thug. “Come on, Huo, be reasonable…”

“My fists are reason enough. They’re harder than your arguments, so I don’t need to listen to you,” Huo Ye retorted succinctly.

“…Got it.” Jiang Feng capitulated. “Okay, I guess it is sort of my fault. Today, two first-year girls watched your livestream and started gushing about how handsome you are. They bought some basic info and photos of you from me. Who knew they’d turn around and write a post, and then the mods pinned it to the top?”

Jiang Feng did his best to distance himself from the whole affair—never mind that he’d actually offered them two bits of info for free, now he made it sound like they approached him for a deal. Surely Huo Ye wouldn’t unleash his wrath on a couple of starry-eyed freshmen, right?

But Huo Ye just said coldly, “Heh. You’re finished,” and hung up.

Hearing the dead line in his earpiece, Jiang Feng was stunned. So he was doomed after all?

Fuming, Huo Ye opened the post. There were at least ten photos of him: walking out of the clothing store, returning from outside the city covered in blood, even a high-definition video of him playing “Turkish March” at last night’s banquet for the wildfire control team. Jiang Feng, indeed.

He read through the text and felt the world spin.

The post started by claiming the author was “stunned into silence” the instant they saw Huo Ye on the livestream, and attached some of his personal details. Huo Ye’s family was privileged, he was attractive, wealthy, talented, and strong. When no one at the Southern Wall dared go out to fight, it was Senior Huo who led a three-person team straight at the ultimate form.

Everyone must have seen, the post went on, how Senior Huo battered the ultimate form without giving it a chance to fight back. Though there was an accident later, Senior Huo could have retreated but chose to stay…

Huo Ye couldn’t read any more. The whole post was full of the language of idol-worship. Who could stand this?

But it didn’t end there. The comments under the post seemed orchestrated, all echoing the same refrain:

“Oppa, I want to have your babies.”

“While no one’s looking, I’m carrying off the Prince in Black.”

“Are you kidding, Death Kid is now a prince?”

“The Prince in Black says: If I didn’t take down that Catastrophe-class solo, does my strength count for nothing?”

Huo Ye felt his trigeminal nerves throb in pain. He didn’t know when his nickname, “Death Kid,” had morphed into “Prince in Black.” The Black Prince—well, fine.

Was Huo Ye handsome? Extremely. But he’d never cared much about his appearance—it wasn’t going to help on the path he intended to walk. His looks were a gift from his parents, not his choosing.

He was born with striking eyes, a tall nose, deep dimples when he smiled, and two playful canine teeth. Yet he was no delicate pretty boy; years of military training had given his face sharp, masculine lines.

Girls had always been drawn to him, and his birthday—Valentine’s Day—seemed to mark him as a natural heartthrob. Eddie had confirmed it; apparently his adoptive parents had once known his birth parents, though he’d never heard them mention it. Everything seemed to point to a life blessed with romantic luck, but Huo Ye took no joy in it.

He much preferred girls who liked him for who he was inside, not those drawn to him by reputation or appearance.

Meanwhile, Shangguan Yudie, still awake, was hiding under her covers, reading the very same pinned post.

After finishing, she couldn’t help but sigh—this really was a world that judged by appearances. If those girls had his unique ability, they’d know that Brother Ye was an unpredictable ball of emotion; you never knew what trivial thing would delight him, or what random thought would make him melancholy.

For herself, given what she knew of his inner world, well, let’s just say she’d pass.