After that night, it had been five full days since Wen Yan last saw Liang Shijing.
Consul Ji said he was out on an inspection tour. Wen Yan nodded and followed the schedule each day, with bodyguards dropping him off at Tree-Lined Avenue just outside the Sports Center—likely Liang Shijing’s arrangement. They never kept him waiting a single extra minute. Before long, Liang Wangyou emerged, hand in hand with a childcare worker. The boy had grown quiet lately, but he often stared intently at Wen Yan’s face.
Back at Oak Bay, Wen Yan spent every evening holed up in the bathroom for ages. His gland no longer throbbed, but the swelling had worsened. He drew out the pooled blood with a syringe. If the pheromone levels were high, he stored it in the safe—insurance for the future, when gland degeneration made it impossible to produce more, sparing Liang Shijing the torment of his illness. If the levels were low, he soaked a tissue in it and burned it in the empty aromatherapy cup.
Click—the lighter sparked to life, a pale blue flame flickering at the cup’s base. As the crimson-stained tissue crumbled entirely to black ash, a slender trail of pale smoke curled upward, gradually filling the room with fresh, clean pheromones.
The day of Liang Wangyou’s taekwondo competition dawned. Wen Yan rose early, downed a full day’s dose of painkillers, and headed downstairs to meet him in the dining room.
“Wen Yan, are you not feeling well?” Liang Wangyou’s big, bright black eyes roved over his face.
“What’s wrong?” The nape of his neck ached fiercely—likely from extracting too much pheromone the night before—but Wen Yan forced a cheerful tone.
“Your face looks so pale.” Liang Wangyou tilted his head. “If you’re sick, don’t come to my match. Get some rest, and I’ll bring you the trophy when I get back.”
Consul Ji ladled soup for them both. Wen Yan stirred his spoon languidly and smiled. Liang Wangyou piped up again. “The way you stir your soup is exactly like Dad. Three circles left, three right.”
The clear broth mirrored the omega’s vacant expression.
“He does it the same way?” Wen Yan asked softly.
“Yeah. I used to think he was playing some game.”
Wen Zecheng had taught him this stirring trick. Raising a child alone without knowing how to entertain him, he’d invented a game of three left circles, three right, to whirl up a vortex. Wen Yan had kept the habit all his life. But why did Liang Shijing do it too? He recalled that single tear from Liang Shijing. What could grieve a man so cold and ruthless? The sorrow in those eyes had been overwhelming, as if it might engulf anyone who saw it—yet he said nothing, merely letting one tear fall in silence.
Summer had arrived. Through spotless windows, the lawn stretched out endlessly under a chorus of hoarse cicada song from somewhere distant. This view looked north over Oak Bay, where Liang Shijing’s parents lay buried. He had lost them at thirteen…
“Little You, was last Thursday anything special?” Wen Yan ventured. That was the night Liang Shijing had shed his tear.
“Hm?” Liang Wangyou pulled out his phone and tapped at it. “Nope, nothing.”
“Like a birthday? Or an anniversary?”
“Not Dad’s birthday. Hey, Wen Yan, when’s yours?”
“Winter. A really cold one.” Wen Yan smiled.
“Winter’s the best! It snows at Oak Bay—we can build snowmen and have snowball fights.” Liang Wangyou warmed to the topic. “We can even ride sleds around the house. Dad took me before; he went so fast he flung me off a few times.”
“Sounds like fun,” Wen Yan said wistfully.
“It was awesome. When winter comes, we’ll do it together. Wen Yan, when I grow up, I’ll drive you on the sled. Promise—I won’t go fast enough to shake you off.”
Wen Yan nodded, smiling. “Your birthday’s coming up soon. Want a present?”
“Yes!” Liang Wangyou’s face lit up at last, regaining its old spark. “Can you tell me what it is early? I’m so excited, Wen Yan. I really like you.”
“You’ll see when the time comes.” Wen Yan echoed his tone with a grin. By then, he’d slip out to get the necklace from Li Li. He had no idea if Liang Wangyou would like it, but it was the only worthwhile thing he owned. Maybe that would be his chance to leave. By then, he’d have extracted plenty of pheromones—no more need to worry about Liang Shijing’s illness.
After breakfast, the convoy rolled out. Half an hour later, they pulled up at the Sports Center. The area buzzed with unusual energy. Luxury cars crammed the security lanes that were normally deserted. Impatient children cranked down their windows, little radish heads popping out to wave and shout hellos to friends.
Gone were the childcare workers and nanny secretaries; most kids were with parents now, or at least grandparents and other important relatives. Liang Wangyou glanced around a few times, then bent over his phone, stuck on the same stubborn level. Wen Yan stroked his head tenderly, his heart aching. He knew Liang Shijing’s presence would disrupt the organizers and draw public scrutiny—and he himself couldn’t keep coming along much longer…
“Wen Yan, look! I beat another level!” Liang Wangyou thrust his phone forward. The screen showed over eight hundred cleared. Wen Yan gasped. “You’re incredible!”
Liang Wangyou leaned in conspiratorially. “I spotted this account on Dad’s phone once. Sneaked it onto mine. Don’t tell, okay?”
Wen Yan peered closely. He’d played this game before, but only made it past a hundred-odd levels. “That pillar stage is brutal,” he said, a touch enviously.
“Dad’s the best!” Pride beamed from Liang Wangyou. “He cleared all the early ones.”
Before they knew it, they were huddled together again, thick as thieves, and the long traffic jam melted away. Half an hour later, they stepped out and headed toward the next checkpoint, one behind the other. Midway, Liang Wangyou dashed ahead a few steps and grabbed his hand. Wen Yan’s eyes stung with sudden tears.
“Mr. Wen, the hall’s air conditioning is blasting today.” A childcare worker handed over a freshly pressed coat and anti-counterfeit admission ticket. They wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of five years ago.
“Thanks.” Wen Yan glanced back with a smile that left both childcare workers momentarily stunned. From here, they couldn’t follow inside. The bodyguards would wait outside too.
“Wen Wangyou!” Jin Shu waved from across the crowd. Liang Wangyou leaped into the air. “Dance King! Dance King!”
The voices drew the attention of quite a few sharply dressed alphas and omegas in suits and refined attire. Numerous gazes fell their way, making Wen Yan uncomfortable. He quickly led Liang Wangyou through security.
Liang Wangyou’s coach had been waiting at the dedicated reception area early on. Spotting them enter, the coach came over to greet them. There were still pre-match preparations and warm-ups to do. Some of the kids were nervous—sniffling here, clinging to legs there—as parents hurried to soothe them. The entire reception area was a chaotic mess.
Crouching down, Wen Yan gently touched Liang Wangyou’s cheek. “Nervous?”
“Not nervous.” Liang Wangyou flashed two rows of tiny white teeth. “The championship’s definitely mine.”
“Placement doesn’t matter,” Wen Yan said with a smile. “Just be careful not to get hurt, okay?”
“Mm.” Liang Wangyou nodded obediently and followed the coach. Halfway there, he suddenly remembered something and started to run back—just as the loudspeaker beeped. “All contestants, please proceed to the preparation room. All contestants, please proceed to the preparation room.”
Wen Yan stood in place, watching him turn and head off into the distance.
“Zone A, enter through Channel 1. Zone B, Channel 2. Zone C, Channel 3,” the announcement intoned. “VIP Hall guests, please proceed to the second floor.”
The hall was somewhat noisy before the event started. A large screen hung from the center of the ceiling, scrolling through row after row of crimson contestant names. Wen Yan followed the crowd inside and noticed that the organizers had even mobilized guards from the National Security Office. Armed army personnel stood in neat rows every ten meters, while the lead alpha officer occasionally patrolled the passages, observing everything.
What a show of force…
If he wasn’t mistaken, the middle-aged man in the dark suit and light tie they’d passed earlier was the Minister of Justice. He was beloved by the Alliance’s people for his staunch advocacy of equal rights for betas. The woman in the gray skirt suit at his side, talking on her phone, was the President of the Alliance Central Bank. Stock traders joked that to predict whether interest rates would rise or fall, you just had to watch the color of the pearl earrings she wore at press conferences.
Looking around, the hall brimmed with top figures from politics, finance, tech, and medicine—the bulk of the Capital’s upper crust had gathered here today. It made sense, though. If any criminal slipped in and harmed even one of them, it could trigger a complete reshuffle in some industry or department.
Wen Yan glanced at his ticket, then at the nearly full seats. Somehow, every chair now had a number on the backrest, and they all looked brand new… Following his ticket code, he ended up—unexpectedly—in the dead center of the first row…
That omega named Rong Jin had made him swap seats for this spot earlier. Liang Wangyou’s bodyguards had pinned him down in his chair and wouldn’t let him budge. He had no idea how long that omega had stuck around before leaving. In the end, through all the confusion, the seat had circled back to Wen Yan.
After sitting down, Wen Yan sensed a scorching gaze sticking to his back like glue. He turned toward the packed rear rows. The mildly noisy air quieted a bit; conversations cut off, and one alpha even twisted his ankle on the steps. But Wen Yan spotted nothing unusual—just a VIP Hall window on the second floor suddenly slamming shut…
Rong Jin sat in the second-to-last row, staring coldly at him.
Wen Yan quietly turned back around. The hall’s AC was cranked high; he slipped on his trench coat and waited a little longer. A spry old venue director walked to the center of the arena, gave everyone a deep bow, then took the microphone for a brief opening introduction.
The arena was divided into four zones, with four pairs of little radish heads competing simultaneously in a points-elimination format. The oldest contestant was six; the youngest, four. The first eight little radish heads were led into the competition area by their coaches. They were just at the age where they’d learned to walk smoothly, but competing on such a professional stage took real courage, win or lose.
At the coaches’ commands, they stood obediently and bowed to their opponents in pre-match courtesy. The competition officially began.
Their stances weren’t exactly pro-level, and their little short legs and fists flailing around were adorably clumsy. In the first round, one kid lost, scrunched up his face like he might cry after getting up—but the arena erupted in warm applause. He held back the tears, returned to the sidelines to find his mom, and buried his red eyes in her embrace, refusing to come out.
Wen Yan clapped along, phone in hand, ready to capture every moment of Liang Wangyou on the field. The announcer steadily called the next round’s contestants, with points updating in real time on the overhead screen. This round featured Rong Jin’s little alpha, full of aggressive energy. He swiftly took down his opponent but went a bit hard, making the kid cry repeatedly.
He racked up high points that round, looking like a real contender for first.
During the mid-match break, Wen Yan glanced back again. That gaze lingered on his back, unrelenting…
What was going on?
After what felt like forever, nearing noon, Liang Wangyou finally took the field. Dressed in a crisp white uniform with a black satin sash at his waist, his chubby little arms and legs on full display, he looked utterly composed—and utterly adorable.
Wen Yan snapped photos with his phone: zoomed in, zoomed out, full shots, wide angles. Liang Wangyou seemed to sense it and turned to look, the moment etching itself deep into Wen Yan’s heart. Liang Wangyou waved at him with a brilliant smile.
In that instant, Wen Yan was absolutely certain that Liang Shijing’s decision to have him, against his own wishes all those years ago, had been utterly right. Sure, Liang Shijing often used questionable methods, but everything he did was correct. Liang Shijing had never been wrong.
—The match continued.
Liang Wangyou hadn’t been bluffing about taking first. His technique far outshone the other kids’; like a mini adult, he easily dispatched his opponent. When the little girl fell on the mat, he helped her up, patted her head, and comforted her.
The little girl whispered something in his ear, and Liang Wangyou nodded with a grin. Though no one could hear their words, they left the field hand in hand. Laughter rippled through the stands; Wen Yan’s eyes crinkled in a smile.
Good grief…
This little alpha was just too charming…
From that round on, Liang Wangyou didn’t lose once or take a single hit. Midway through, he even faced off against the Dance King. His ranking shot up from the bottom, and soon his points were neck-and-neck with Rong Jin’s kid. After a few more rounds, they stayed tied for the lead.
Remembering Liang Wangyou’s bold pre-match declaration, Wen Yan started to worry…
