Raising the Top Alpha as a Beta - Chapter 1

“Brother Ye!”

The moment he was thrown, Si Ye’s vision went black, and his thoughts momentarily blanked.

The pungent scent of Alpha pheromones mixed with the smell of blood rushed into his nostrils, wrenching him back from the brink of unconsciousness. The next second, his body slammed heavily against the protective netting. Si Ye rolled to the right by instinct, narrowly dodging a powerful punch.

The crowd in the stands erupted, their roars and screams nearly tearing the roof off.

His opponent was a 200-pound fat man whose pheromones smelled of acrid rust. He hadn’t taken the lean Beta boy seriously at first, but after Si Ye nimbly dodged a few of his moves, he finally saw red. He charged forward recklessly, aiming a straight punch at Si Ye’s face!

In an underground arena like Jade Pavilion, the rules were more fragile than the lipstick on a whore’s lips—mere foreplay to build the excitement.

Si Ye clearly understood this. He didn’t dodge or retreat. Instead, he charged straight at the man, concentrating all his strength into his elbow. As he ducked low, he struck the fat man’s ribs with a crushing blow, sending him crashing to the ground!

This gambler’s self-destructive style of fighting was like smashing a bottle of Rush on the spectator stands. After a brief, chilling silence, the countless men and women in the crowd reached a sudden, collective climax as the fat man hit the canvas.

Pheromones, thick with desire, erupted from them, making the audience seem more like beasts than the fighters in the octagon.

The referee stepped in and began the countdown. The fat man thrashed like a slab of boiling pork fat, struggling against the crowd’s chant. Finally, his legs gave one last, desperate kick, and he fell completely still.

Blood began to seep from his nose and mouth.

The referee raised Si Ye’s right hand. Countless eyes fixed on the young man in the ring. Few had bet on him to win—after all, he was outclassed by more than one weight class, and he was just a Beta. Only a handful of seasoned spectators had believed Si Ye could pull off such an upset.

The greater the risk, the higher the reward.

In stark contrast to the frenzied crowd, Si Ye remained expressionless throughout. His lowered eyelashes concealed the cold stars in his eyes. His hair, neither long nor short, was tied back in a rough bun, with a few loose strands falling against his neck. This framed his sharp jawline and well-defined lips, revealing a face that still held a hint of youth yet radiated a calm and indifference far beyond his years.

He casually wiped the blood from his face and stepped out of the octagonal cage. He passed by the Fat Man as if he were a pile of trash, not sparing him a second glance.

The boxing ring manager immediately hurried over, his face plastered with a flattering smile. “The new kid backstage is an idiot. He got your weight class wrong. How are you? Not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine.” Si Ye was in the middle of his voice-breaking stage, his voice sounding somewhat husky. He had been at the Jade Pavilion for several years longer than the manager, so he naturally knew the man was full of shit. In a private underground fighting arena like this, weight classes didn’t even exist. Who your opponent was and how the fight went down depended entirely on the audience’s whims.

The manager was clearly used to his indifferent attitude. His smile didn’t fade as he handed over the red envelope. “Brother Kun heard about it too. He called specifically to give you a bonus.”

Only at the mention of money did Si Ye finally lift his eyelids. He tore open the red envelope, counted the cash right in front of the manager, and then stuffed it into his pocket.

The manager seized the opportunity to strike while the iron was hot. “Have you thought any more about what Brother Kun asked you before?”

“We’ll see.” After taking the money, Si Ye walked away without looking back.

Only after the tall, lean youth’s figure had faded into the distance did the manager finally spit out a curse. “Money-grubbing little bastard. Just because Brother Kun likes him, he thinks he’s some kind of big shot.”

Jade Pavilion was one of the many entertainment venues under Brother Kun’s ownership. The upper floors housed a membership-only nightclub, and only those who reached a certain level were granted access to the underground fighting arena.

When the arena first opened, Brother Kun had recruited a group of young fighters with no significant backgrounds to draw a crowd with youth combat. Alphas made up the majority. Over the years, some of those Alphas died along the way, their lives becoming fuel for Jade Pavilion’s thriving business. Others were crippled and forced to retire. In the end, only Si Ye had survived unscathed, and in recent years, he had grown increasingly favored by Brother Kun.

An adult might have understood the concept of “hiding one’s brilliance,” but the sharp-edged youth had not yet been tempered into the “good-natured” flattery required to survive. As a result, he had unwittingly offended many people.

For example, the new manager. Since he took office, Si Ye had rarely fought in a fair match.

After changing in the lounge, Si Ye tried to move his numb arm. He was light on his feet and hadn’t been injured much when thrown, but the few punches he’d taken head-on were harder to deal with—the fat man fought ruthlessly, aiming for a lethal blow with every strike.

The lounge door creaked open just a sliver, and a small head poked through. “Brother Ye!”

That was the voice Si Ye had heard when he’d been thrown out.

Cheng Xiaomo scrambled over, his large eyes filled with worry. “Brother Ye, are you okay? I saw you fly out like a trash bag!”

The kid had been raised in the fighting pits since he was little; Si Ye never expected him to have a clean vocabulary.

The seven- or eight-year-old Omega didn’t even reach Si Ye’s chest. His disproportionately large, expressive eyes stood out on his sharp, thin face. Cheng Xiaomo’s mother worked as a hostess at the Jade Pavilion Nightclub; he was likely the bastard of some nameless “big brother” client.

Brother Kun was a man who squeezed every drop of profit out of his assets. Cheng Xiaomo had been put to work as a child laborer in the fighting pits from the moment he could remember.

During every match, he’d weave through the crowd, taking advantage of his small, nimble frame to sell expensive, watered-down liquor.

His mother seemed to have no intention of ever sending him to school. Cheng Xiaomo was nearing the age of puberty, and Si Ye noticed the scent-blocking patch on the back of the boy’s neck had already lost its effectiveness. He tore off a new one and applied it for him.

“What is it?”

“Brother, it’s your birthday today! I got you a cake!” Cheng Xiaomo held up the cake box like he was presenting a precious treasure.

Calling it a cake was a stretch. It was actually a small piece of cream cake he’d gotten from the front desk of the nightclub upstairs. The sponge cake was already a bit dry, and on top, Cheng Xiaomo had used jam to squeeze out a crooked “14.”

So today was his fourteenth birthday.

Ever since he’d dropped out of school early, Si Ye had become numb to his own age. He took the cake and flicked Cheng Xiaomo’s round head. “Thanks.”

With the red envelope in hand, Si Ye was in a good mood. He’d already done the math while counting the money: it was enough for his mother’s medication for two weeks, with enough left over to cover their living expenses for a few days.

He rode the old, beat-up bicycle his mother had discarded, picked up the medicine from the hospital, and just happened to arrive as the nearby school’s bell rang for the end of class.

A swarm of boys and girls in school uniforms poured out of the teaching building. They were around Si Ye’s age, but they looked dazed and naive from all their studying. They radiated a kind of innocence that could never be found in a boxing ring. They gathered in groups of three or five in the hallways, complaining about their teachers and the cafeteria’s terrible food, yet never truly worrying about their survival.

Si Ye had long ago stopped indulging in the childish and pointless fantasy of *what if I could be like them*. Yet, he still found himself occasionally bewildered by the two primal struggles that had plagued Homo sapiens for tens of thousands of years, finding food and water and why they continued to haunt him to this day.

He finished his cake as the bell rang, only then realizing the “jam” on top was actually ketchup. What kind of taste does Cheng Xiaomo have?

Before leaving, he stopped at a small stall by the school gate and bought a bag of plum blossom cakes for Si Qing.

He and Si Qing lived in the Nest Silk Factory’s dormitory. His mother had worked there as a silk weaver before her health deteriorated. Back then, Si Ye would even get a few new silk clothes for the holidays.

Later, the Nest Silk Factory declined. Si Qing’s health was ruined by the chemicals, and a barrage of ailments, both major and minor, began to surface. Her eyes had been permanently blinded by the fumes in the factory.

The dormitory building had been slated for demolition for years, with promises of a new residential complex. But as more and more workers fell ill, the Nest Silk Factory abruptly shut down and vanished in the middle of a lawsuit. The government wanted to demolish the building, but couldn’t find a single person authorized to speak for the factory.

Most of the residents had already moved out. Only a few of the elderly, disabled, and sick—those struggling to fight for their rights—remained, clinging to life in the decaying neighborhood.

Si Ye had grown up here. He knew every blade of grass that sprouted in spring and withered in autumn. He pulled his car into the overgrown parking shed and immediately spotted the intruder.

It was a filthy child who clearly didn’t belong in the dormitory complex.

The boy was skin and bones, looking like a matchstick with a heavy head and thin legs. His clothes were so dirty their original color was long gone, and he was missing a shoe, as if he’d just been chased for a couple of li.

Si Ye couldn’t tell the child’s age, but even Cheng Xiaomo, who was malnourished, was half a head taller. This little brat must be several years younger than Cheng Xiaomo.

What truly stopped Si Ye in his tracks was the boy’s left arm, hanging unnaturally at his side.

The child was curled up on the ground, his left arm bent at a grotesque angle. He wasn’t crying, just devouring half a steamed bun with wolfish desperation.

Si Ye glanced at the crumbling wall behind the boy, which revealed a small path leading to the nearby commercial street. The little brat had probably stolen the food and been chased all the way here.

Seeing Si Ye stop, the boy instantly grew alert, stuffing the bun into his mouth even more frantically. Gulping sounds filled the air.

Si Ye waited for him to finish eating, then squatted down in front of the child and whistled. “You understand me, don’t you?”

The little brat didn’t speak, but his dark, bright eyes darted around, clearly reacting to Si Ye’s words.

Si Ye pointed to the boy’s arm. “Does it hurt? Let me take a look.”

Perhaps it really was very painful, or maybe the fact that this big brother had no pheromones made him seem completely non-threatening. The little brat froze, letting Si Ye grab his wrist.

Si Ye ran his hand up the forearm and immediately knew it was dislocated. It wasn’t a fresh injury; the little brat must have been struggling to survive with a crippled arm for some time, becoming numb to the pain, which was why he hadn’t cried.

“Where are you from?” Si Ye chatted aimlessly, not expecting the boy to respond. “How many days ago did you get hurt?”

The little brat’s eyes rolled, seemingly trying to grasp the meaning of Si Ye’s words. But the next second, Si Ye’s hands jerked in opposite directions. With a sharp *crack*, the two bones that had been out of place for a week finally snapped back into alignment.

A piercing pain shot through the boy, and he finally burst into loud, wailing cries.

Si Ye felt no guilt at all for making the little brat cry. He took the plum cake off the handlebars, gave it a little shake, and started walking toward the residential complex.

If he were alone, he might have been too lazy to do such a good deed, but Si Qing believed in Buddhism. He wanted to earn some good karma for his mother on her birthday.

Support Raising the Top Alpha as a Beta