Chapter 4 Part 1

Not a still frame.

He Siheng sprawled motionless on the desk, the roots of his ears beneath his light golden messy hair turning visibly red.

Tan Jing glanced over imperceptibly, lips curving as he asked, “What are you calling me for?”

“…Fuck! Who called you!”

He Siheng shot up from the chair like a bristling cat. “I didn’t say a word just now. Are your ears broken or what?”

“Mm,” Tan Jing replied as if taking it to heart. “Next time, I’ll remember to record it.”

He Siheng fumed, “Get lost!”

Well aware of this guy’s pretentious, shameless nature, He Siheng didn’t want to waste more words on it. He casually stuffed two workbooks into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and strode out.

Tan Jing followed at a leisurely pace.

Once outside the classroom, He Siheng whipped around and glared at him. “Why are you following me?”

Surely he didn’t want to hear any more sleep-talking—go chase your daydreams!

Tan Jing let out a low chuckle, tilting his chin toward the direction ahead. “School’s out. If I don’t head to the school gate, how am I supposed to get home?”

He Siheng: “…”

He’d really been pissed off dumb to get shut down by such an airtight excuse.

That low laugh felt like mockery for his narcissism flaring up again.

He Siheng turned back with a face full of grievance, stomping faster in anger.

Zhou Yu was something else—didn’t even wake him after school. Was it because Tan Jing was sitting next to him, so he didn’t dare come close? Just one Tan Jing, and he was scared like that? What a coward!

Young Master He gnashed his teeth over his spineless friend. At an angle out of his sight, Tan Jing’s lips curved slightly as he silently lengthened his strides.

Passing Class 7’s classroom, a male voice drifted out from inside. He Siheng, head down and marching forward, suddenly halted.

“Why bring up Zhou Yu? His pheromones stink to high hell. If not for his decent face and how slutty he gets during his heat period, I’d be too lazy to deal with him.”

The voice was familiar, the words vicious. It ignited He Siheng’s fury in an instant.

He backtracked a few steps, stopping at Class 7’s door. With a long leg, he kicked it open.

South Middle School classrooms had iron doors—this kick produced a deafening clang, startling Du Ziteng inside along with the Omega boy in his arms.

Du Ziteng opened his mouth for a string of curses, but choked them back upon seeing who it was, reflexively releasing the Omega.

The light golden-haired youth stood backlit in the doorway, his slender yet tall and upright figure blocking most of the sunset outside.

He Siheng tugged at his lips. “No wonder I heard barking. Turns out a pair of dog Alpha-Omega hiding here for a tryst.”

His tone was the usual lazy drawl, but the amber eyes concealed in the shadow of his bangs held nothing but ice.

Du Ziteng had transferred to South Middle School in his freshman year. With some family money and A-Rank Alpha status, he was fairly popular.

Yet He Siheng—an undifferentiated guy—had even higher popularity, which already irked him. After landing Zhou Yu, he’d picked up on He Siheng’s dislike, fueling his grudge further.

The instant he saw the kicker was He Siheng, Du Ziteng felt a twinge of guilt for getting caught cheating, lasting all of two seconds. But hearing He Siheng’s rude words—right in front of an Omega—he exploded in humiliated rage. “How the fuck do you talk?”

He Siheng sneered, stepping inside. He casually tossed his half-slung bag onto a nearby desk and marched straight at Du Ziteng. Without further ado, he smashed a fist into his face.

Young Master He, late to his differentiation period, had carved out his status as South Middle School’s top dog solo—half thanks to this brute strength that belied his slender frame.

Du Ziteng went flying backward from the punch, chairs scraping harshly across the floor behind him. The Omega boy beside them shrieked on the spot, scrambling out of the classroom.

He Siheng loomed over the fallen Du Ziteng, flexing his wrist with his fist. “With dog scum like you, I always let my fists do the talking.”

Outside the classroom, Tan Jing heard the crashing furniture inside, then glanced at the camera in the upper corner. He shook his head.

Still so hot-headed.

Inside, Du Ziteng was nearly dazed from the blow. Snapping to, he realized—a dignified A-Rank Alpha, beaten by some undifferentiated punk?—and flew into a rage. “You fucking dare hit me?”

He scrambled up on all fours and swung a fist at He Siheng.

His build was bulkier than He Siheng’s, all sinewy muscle. But his ferocious punch was caught single-handed by He Siheng.

He Siheng yanked his wrist forward while driving a knee into his gut. Du Ziteng doubled over with a pained grunt. Before he could recover, He Siheng seized the back of his head, grabbed his hair, and slammed him face-first onto a desk.

The moves were decisive, ruthless, and brutally efficient.

With a bang, skull met desk in a dull thud. Du Ziteng’s eyes nearly bulged with bloodshot pain. “He Siheng, you fucking don’t push it…”

The words cut off as He Siheng lifted his head by the hair and smashed it down three times in solid succession.

His nose bridge shattered against the desk. This time, Du Ziteng was too wrecked to speak, blood gushing from his nose.

“These three are your disobedient dog son kowtowing to He Dad.”

He Siheng eyed him coldly. “I don’t waste words. Before tomorrow, go kowtow three times to your Rain Dad. If tomorrow I find out you haven’t broken up with him after that, it won’t just be your gut and skull aching.”

Du Ziteng ground his teeth to splinters, swallowing blood along with his rage, panting roughly. “Fine, fine. I’ll go find Zhou Yu and break up right now. Just let me go.”

He Siheng emphasized, “Remember the kowtows.”

“Good! I’ll kowtow, I’ll kowtow!”

He Siheng snorted coldly before releasing him.

Getting thrashed like this by some undifferentiated nobody—Du Ziteng seethed with hatred. He scrambled out of the classroom on all fours, already plotting revenge in his head.

Just as he bolted through the front door, a voice called, “Du Ziteng.”

He stumbled to a halt and instinctively turned.

Tan Jing leaned against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, looking down at him. “Watch your word—and keep it.”

His tone was light, like a casual reminder. But those pitch-black, indifferent eyes were chilling to the bone.

No pheromones released—just the gaze carried an oppressive chill that hit like a wave.

Du Ziteng’s legs buckled; he staggered without even managing a reply, fleeing in utter disarray.

Tan Jing withdrew his gaze, straightened up, and walked to the doorway.

Inside, the once-majestic Young Master He was methodically righting the desks and chairs he’d knocked over in the fight.

Tan Jing teased, “Even cleaning up your own crime scene?”

“Fuck your crime scene,” He Siheng retorted. He fished a pack of tissues from a desk drawer, commandeered a few sheets, and wiped up the nosebleed Du Ziteng had dripped on the desk. “I’m just worried the classmate who sits here sees a bloodstain tomorrow, thinks it’s haunted, and never comes back to school.”

Tan Jing smiled faintly. “Not everyone’s as scared of ghosts as you.”

That was the downside of a lifelong rival—they always hit your weak spots dead-on.

Stubborn as ever, Young Master He doubled down. “Who said I’m scared of ghosts? Keep talking shit, and I’ll have my family lawyer sue you for defamation.”

Tan Jing chuckled softly.

He Siheng tossed the soiled tissues in the trash, then caught sight of the clock above the blackboard. His face fell. “Fuck! It’s this late already—Wanwan Sis is waiting!”

He bolted out of the classroom toward the school gate, too frantic to remember his bag.

Tan Jing’s smile faded. He picked up the forgotten bag with a tsk.