Chapter 35: Five Days Later

“Hello, is your company reselling the Aquarium?” Wen Yan asked into the phone.

There was only one privately owned aquarium in the Capital at present, and it had taken considerable effort for him to track down the contact number for the parent group’s secretary.

“Are you interested in purchasing the operating rights or full ownership of the Aquarium?” the secretary asked.

“Full ownership,” Wen Yan replied, eager to convey his sincerity. “If you’re willing to sell, I can include a promise in the contract that I won’t scale back the park or lay off any staff in the future. I’ll accept whatever price you name.”

“Understood. Please hold on a moment—this is beyond my authority. I’ll call you back shortly.”

It was a long wait before the secretary rang back. “I’m sorry, but our chairman has asked me to relay his thanks for your interest. However, the Aquarium is not for sale. We appreciate your understanding.”

Wen Yan refused to give up. “What if I offer well above market price? Any amount would be fine.”

“Sir, it’s not a matter of money,” the secretary said with a hint of apology. “Perhaps you could look into some of our group’s other projects.”

“Alright then. Sorry to bother you…”

Aquariums like this were typically large-scale amusement venues funded and collectively owned by the Alliance Government. Asking Liang Shijing for help would amount to pressuring him to abuse his authority. Wen Yan grew deeply anxious. His mind had been crammed with too many worries lately, and his head began to throb again… Liang Wangyou’s birthday was less than half a month away, and it looked like this gift wouldn’t be ready in time…

Lead-gray clouds hung heavy in the sky as he stood on the terrace, gazing into the distance and thinking silently. The last time he’d seen Liang Shijing had been at the Sports Center. They hadn’t met once since parting ways that day.

The Capital was on the verge of rain. Was it still sunny where he was?

A sweltering, humid breeze brushed slowly across his cheeks. Wen Yan leaned against the long stone balustrade, lost in thought. Moments later, a vicious purple bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a thunderclap that boomed like a collapsing mountain. The rain came pounding down, releasing the fresh scent of the grassy lawn.

Oak Bay was shrouded in haze in an instant. In the distance, a herd of little spotted deer scampered toward the Botanical Garden.

Botanical Garden…

Wen Yan’s eyes lit up.

If Oak Bay could host a Botanical Garden, then surely they could build an Aquarium too? This wouldn’t involve any abuse of power—just some time and money.

Liang Shijing had been terribly busy lately. Would calling him earn a scolding…?

But whenever Liang Wangyou was involved, Wen Yan never hesitated. Without a second thought, he pulled out his phone. After an agonizingly long string of rings, Liang Shijing’s profoundly hoarse voice emerged from the receiver.

“Are you sick?” Wen Yan asked cautiously.

“It’s nothing.” Liang Shijing cleared his throat; his voice sounded only marginally less ragged. “Why are you calling?”

“Um… If you’re not too busy right now, there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”

“Ask of me?”

“Yeah,” Wen Yan affirmed firmly.

“Out with it.” Liang Shijing sounded irritated.

With the phone pressed flush against his ear, that sexy monosyllable from the alpha tingled his earlobe. Wen Yan pulled it away slightly, wondering what he’d done to annoy him. Before he could puzzle it out, Liang Shijing spoke again. “It’s raining—don’t you know enough to go inside the bedroom?”

Wen Yan froze. The rain must have been loud enough for Liang Shijing to realize he was out on the terrace. He hurried back into the room and shut the door. As the downpour faded to a murmur, the pounding of his own heart filled his ears.

“Idiot,” Liang Shijing scolded.

Jeez… If he didn’t need a favor, Wen Yan would have fired back for sure… He pressed a hand quietly to his chest and leaned against the door, whispering as if sharing a monumental secret. “Little You told me that day why he went to the Aquarium.”

“This isn’t a state secret. Can you speak up?” Liang Shijing asked.

…

“He went to see the sea otter. He really likes it.”

“So that’s all you called to say? Got nothing that doesn’t involve Liang Wangyou?”

“Then what should I say…” Wen Yan was baffled. He hadn’t even gotten to the point yet…

“Talk about something else, or I’m hanging up,” Liang Shijing said coldly.

“Fine. If you’re not feeling well right now, I’ll call you another time,” Wen Yan said, trying to placate him.

“How do you know I’m not feeling well?” Liang Shijing let out a ragged breath. Footsteps echoed on his end, followed by the click of a door.

He’d gone somewhere—and locked himself in.

“Where are you? What are you doing?” Wen Yan sensed Liang Shijing was in a place of utter stillness, devoid of any ambient noise. He could even hear the faint rustle of clothing.

“None of your business.” Liang Shijing’s tone was gruff, but it landed like velvet in Wen Yan’s ear—hoarse words delivered curtly, each syllable laced with a stifled nasal undertone of restraint.

Wen Yan went rigid.

The rustling fabric sounds vanished from the receiver, supplanted by thick, slick, wet noises—like liquid sloshing in tight confines.

“I heard Doctor Hu went on that business trip with you. If you’re unwell, you should definitely see him about it. Don’t tough it out.” He offered the advice with increasingly obvious awkwardness, his face heating up by degrees… After a long pause with no reply from Liang Shijing, he tried again. “Did you fall asleep?”

Silence. Only Liang Shijing’s heavy breathing filtered through.

“Are you still there?” Wen Yan pulled the phone away to check the still-active call, then pressed it back and called out, “Liang Shijing?”

The name dropped like a stone, plunging the line into abrupt void…

Fine. Assuming Liang Shijing had no more to say, Wen Yan prepared to hang up. His thumb had just tapped the screen when Liang Shijing’s voice rasped through: “Got it.”

His throat sounded even rougher now, deeper and drenched in languid exhaustion.

Alright. Wen Yan decided this really wasn’t the moment for conversation. Clutching the phone, he murmured softly, “Goodbye.” Lightning split the sky as he ended the call on his own, cutting off the feverish alpha—burning at 40 degrees—midway through his grumbled “Why aren’t you happy?”

Lately, it seemed the heavens were hell-bent on dumping every last drop of pent-up moisture these next few days; the air hung perpetually damp. A massive patch of eczema bloomed on Liang Wangyou’s arm. The itch drove him to claw at it mercilessly, his chest wound barely healed before his skin rebelled anew. The doctor had strictly forbidden scratching, but Liang Wangyou’s little hands wandered in his sleep. So Wen Yan kept vigil all night by his side. Whenever the boy grew unbearably itchy, he’d dab on a cool compress and reapply the ointment.

These past few days, Wen Yan had pulled all-nighters every evening, catching sleep only during Liang Wangyou’s school hours. He’d slumber straight through the day until the boy returned home from classes. Then Liang Wangyou would put on his most endearing pout, lifting both hands beseechingly for inspection. “Wen Yan, look—I didn’t scratch once today.”

Raising a child was incredibly exhausting work. An entire evening could slip by without a single accomplishment, and suddenly it was bedtime. During Liang Shijing’s absence, Wen Yan had picked up a wealth of childcare knowledge and techniques from the childcare workers. For example, Liang Wangyou needed to drink two hundred milliliters of nutritional milk every morning and evening. Before bed, if he skipped the diaper, Wen Yan had to wake him in the middle of the night for the bathroom—or bedwetting was guaranteed.

Liang Wangyou had been terribly bashful about the diapers at first. It took Wen Yan’s patient coaxing for him to warm up to the idea. The boy had sworn up and down that he’d kick the bedwetting habit, only to break that promise the very same night.

These little quirks weren’t a real problem. But the Capital’s endless rain showed no signs of stopping, and the eczema on his arms refused to heal. Kids had weak immune systems—that was normal—but steroid creams couldn’t be overused without risking skin damage. When Liang Wangyou cried from the nighttime itching, Wen Yan grew frantic too. He made trip after trip to the doctors, who explained that the boy got this flare-up every summer. In the past, Liang Shijing had tended to him around the clock.

Wen Yan couldn’t imagine how Liang Shijing squeezed in such devoted care amid his crushing schedule. He admired the man deeply—and found himself liking Liang Shijing even more.

Night deepened, the furious rain drumming relentlessly against the windows.

After much soothing, Wen Yan finally got Liang Wangyou to sleep and could sit down for a breather. Warm lamplight gleamed off the rain-streaked glass. Under the downpour, Oak Bay looked like a vast, inky sea, broken now and then by the headlights of a security patrol—but no long line of black sedans approached the private residence.

Liang Shijing hadn’t come home in ten days. Until recently, Wen Yan had caught glimpses of him in official news feeds, but nothing since the afternoon before last. He lingered by the window until his legs cramped, then returned to tuck in Liang Wangyou’s blanket before dropping onto the carpet with a thud.

The race had been weeks ago, but he’d never found time to sort those photos. He pulled out the outdated phone, opened the gallery, and scrolled backward from the last one.

In the packed venue, Liang Wangyou shone in white, a black sash cinched at his slim waist, sweat glistening on his forehead. Kicking legs, throwing punches, beaming smiles, goofy faces, cheerful waves—every shot was unbearably cute.

If these photos were there in his dying moments, death wouldn’t feel so frightening, would it?

Two hours slipped by unnoticed as he kept scrolling. Abruptly, the images shifted to Liang Shijing.

The Omega went speechless. What a petty Alpha.

So this was Liang Shijing’s phone. Turns out the Alpha wasn’t just obnoxious and promiscuous—he took selfies too?

A crystal-clear blue sky framed the shot. Liang Shijing stared blankly into the lens from point-blank range, his features in razor-sharp detail: smooth forehead, chiseled brow bones, deep black pupils. He wore a white shirt, his hair artfully tousled and lazy, one hand tucked in his pocket. Cool. Handsome.

But… Wen Yan zoomed in curiously and spotted the back of this very phone reflected in Liang Shijing’s pupil. Ah—the Alpha hadn’t taken the selfie. Someone else had.

Why did his heart swell like this?

Who took the picture?

His thumb hovered rigidly over the screen. Swiping further felt like cracking open a blind box—what surprise lay next? When Consul Ji handed over the phone, he’d said it was fine to browse. And that day at the racetrack, Liang Shijing had even called to ask why he hadn’t looked. This wasn’t prying into privacy—it was allowed, right?

The self-reassurance barely crossed his mind before his thumb swiped on autopilot.

Still Liang Shijing—this one mid-meal, chopsticks held lazily as he glanced up. His eyes held a warning, but not against the photo; his gaze drifted down to the bowl in front of the phone’s owner.

What are you playing at? Eat your food.

Another swipe: more Liang Shijing.

The background screamed Chief’s Mansion; the shot was from behind his ear. Half his profile showed—long, straight lashes, prominent nose bridge, a faint smile tugging his lips. Top-secret documents littered the desk before him; one hand signed with a pen while the other reached out toward the photographer.

For some reason, his heart turned bitter.

Wen Yan didn’t want to keep going. A flicker of irritation stirred, but he couldn’t shake the nagging itch, like a kitten pawing at his chest. After wrestling with it, he swiped ahead in a sulk.

A montage of Liang Shijing in different scenes: riding in the car, walking, fresh from a shower with a towel around his waist, wristband-less. It hit Wen Yan that photos had timestamps. Without hesitation, he checked…

Five years back—the stretch when he’d lain comatose.

So Liang Shijing had lied. He really did have an Omega, and their bond was tight enough for all these affectionate snapshots.

Wen Yan locked the screen, pocketed the phone, and stared at the carpet in silence. Moments later, he rubbed his eyes, unlocked it, and scrolled on.

A four-minute video replaced the photos, frozen on the edge of Liang Shijing’s bedroom bed. He hit play. Bedsheets rustled as the frame jerked wildly; pale feet slid into view from below the phone, touching down on the floor.

Wen Yan froze. He glanced down, slipped off his shoe, and eyed his own leg.

The video rolled on. The owner crept slowly toward the bathroom. Warm orange light rendered the door half-transparent. A few seconds of waiting, then a furtive twist of the handle cracked it open. The lens swung—to capture the naked Alpha under the showerhead.

He was… he was…

The owner’s hand trembled. Wen Yan’s did too. The Alpha’s low gasps seeped out, but he wasn’t fully immersed. After a bit, he released himself, tapped furiously at his left wristband, and shot a look loaded with mischief, amusement, indulgence.

The wildly shaking frame betrayed the owner’s wobbly stance. From the phone, Liang Shijing teased, “Come here.”

Wen Yan’s gland jolted hard.

Half a second later, the owner complied. He fumbled to end the recording, but Liang Shijing snatched the phone. The lens whipped around to frame the Omega’s flushed face.

Color drained from Wen Yan’s face in a heartbeat.

Liang Shijing was holding him!

“Why secretly film me?” Liang Shijing raised the phone in one hand while unbuttoning his pajama top with the other. “Want me to record you instead?”

The Omega’s clothes slipped away completely, his belly swollen and round.

The Alpha’s hand trailed down along his spine, drawing a shattered moan from the Omega’s lips.

—Click. Wen Yan abruptly locked his screen. His chest heaved violently as cold sweat streamed down his cheeks.

He sat there on the carpet for the entire night, letting the patter of rain churn his thoughts into utter chaos. At dawn, he dragged his aching, numb body back to his room and collapsed stiffly onto the bed.

Those flushed, feverish scenes replayed endlessly in his dreams, surging through his bloodstream to every limb. Gradually, the Omega’s body grew hotter and lighter. The Alpha whispered in his ear, over and over…

Wen Yan struggled to escape the intoxicating dream, but he couldn’t open his eyes. His hands and feet throbbed with pain—even his mouth hurt. He felt trapped in soft clouds, but those clouds burned too hot…

After what felt like an eternity, he vaguely heard voices.

“It’s a cold. He’s burning up with fever.”

“No, we have to notify the Chief.”

“But the Chief just entered Susceptibility Period…”

Time blurred again before Wen Yan dimly registered another voice. “Mr. Wen, hang in there. We’ve notified the Chief—he’ll be back any minute.”

“Liang Shijing…” For one fleeting moment of clarity, Wen Yan murmured the name like a sleepwalker. Then sorrow crashed over him like a tidal wave. He had no idea why he felt so heartbroken, but sobs wracked him in fits and starts.

—The phone resting by his ear showed the call had been connected for sixteen minutes.

“I’m here,” Liang Shijing replied softly.