Chapter 37 Part 2

Wen Yan finally endured until Liang Shijing finished. Clenching his thighs together, he groped for his shoes on the floor, desperate not to linger in the study a single second longer. But however long he had been trapped inside, Liang Wangyou had been waiting outside the door—small, helpless, and pitiful. The moment the door creaked open, he scampered over. “Wen Yan, why were you in there so long?” As he spoke, a gust of hot air whooshed from the crack. He sniffed the air. “Was Dad running the heater? What an odd smell…”

Wen Yan slammed the door shut. “Yeah, he was feeling cold.”

“Oh, then let him freeze.” Liang Wangyou reached for his hand, but after yanking futilely at the one jammed in Wen Yan’s pocket, he asked timidly, “Wen Yan, are you mad at me?”

It wasn’t anger—his fingers were sticky…

“Little You, I need to use the bathroom.” Wen Yan mumbled awkwardly.

“Sure!” Liang Wangyou trailed after him gleefully, only to eat a firm door slam in the face… He ended up squatting outside the bathroom just like before—small, helpless, and pitiful.

A torrent of clear water gushed over his ten fingers. The afterglow of alpha pheromones still churned and swirled. Wen Yan scrubbed and twisted relentlessly until his fingertips wrinkled and flushed red before shutting off the tap. He stripped off his clothes, chucked the soaked underwear into the trash, and took a quick shower.

The moment the water hit his head, clarity struck him. Why bother washing his hands first instead of jumping straight in?

Tonight had been humiliating, but at least his biggest wish was granted… All that remained was waiting for Liang Wangyou’s birthday.

The next day, Liang Shijing appeared in the official news broadcast.

Wen Yan chewed his breakfast in silence, inwardly cursing: Beast in gentleman’s clothing.

Moments later, Consul Ji entered. “Mr. Wen, the engineering team has arrived.”

“Engineers?” Wen Yan blinked in confusion.

“Yes. The Chief gave orders this morning to construct an inland sea over in Northern Lu. They’re heading out now to survey the terrain and plot the site. You could go watch, stretch your legs.”

Wen Yan rescinded his insult about Liang Shijing, set down his chopsticks, and headed out.

Patrol drones hummed overhead. The engineers clustered beneath the buzzing machines, deep in discussion. When Wen Yan approached, they turned as one to greet him. The lead marine engineer was a pillar of the industry, well past fifty and revered.

“No need to mind me—you’re busy. I just came to have a look.” Wen Yan said proactively.

After exchanging brief greetings, the engineers continued their survey. From their conversation, Wen Yan learned that Oak Bay’s soil was rather neutral, making it unsuitable for constructing an Inland Sea. Unsuitable didn’t mean impossible, though—projects with real challenges were the ones worth undertaking. Of course, the Inland Sea would cost several times more to build and maintain daily than in other regions.

His original intention had been to build an Aquarium, but Liang Shijing doted on Liang Wangyou so much that he decided to build him a sea instead.

Wen Yan smiled faintly at the thought. On closer reflection, no matter how infuriating alphas could be, none of them had ever truly hurt him. Apart from their harsh words, they had actually treated him quite well—and toward Liang Wangyou, it amounted to outright indulgence.

In the long years ahead, with Liang Shijing looking after Liang Wangyou, Wen Yan felt completely at ease.

He wandered aimlessly until a small tombstone caught his eye from afar. Wen Yan stopped and glanced back. The engineers were working in the opposite direction, Consul Ji was absent, the bodyguards were nowhere in sight, and even the drones had patrolled off to another area.

It was the perfect opportunity to apologize. He hurried over.

This was likely the only tree in the entire estate aside from the one in the Oak Corridor. Its branches provided shelter from wind and rain for the tomb of the couple buried together beneath it. The green boughs hung quietly over the headstone, which had been cleaned spotlessly. Two black-and-white photos showed smiling faces leaning close to one another.

Liang Yili looked steady and kind, while Xia Mai appeared dignified and refined. Faint smiles graced their faces as they gazed at the camera.

News reports from back then had said the car accident left Liang Yili decapitated and Xia Mai’s face unrecognizable. They had died on a late-night elevated highway on their way home—rushing toward the warmth of their harbor, only to lie cold on the hard asphalt instead. Liang Shijing had been just thirteen at the time. Perhaps he had been roused from sleep, still groggy when he learned his parents had perished in the crash.

Wen Yan knelt slowly, offering an apology on behalf of Wen Zecheng—and himself as well.

—I’m truly sorry. I hurt your son, too.

~~~

The ground survey wrapped up a few days later. Although construction hadn’t started yet, Liang Wangyou had canceled most of his daily classes and lessons. The moment he got home each day, he dragged Wen Yan off to inspect the North Side. He strutted around like a little boss, first circling the excavators on patrol, then cozying up to the engineers with a barrage of questions.

One time, as they passed the tombstone, Wen Yan dreaded that he might pull him over for introductions—This is my grandpa and grandma—but Liang Wangyou didn’t. He told Wen Yan to wait at a distance, dashed over to pick up fallen leaves around the stone, stuffed them in his pocket, and ran back.

It was also during these days that Liang Shijing grew busy again. Wen Yan rarely saw him during the daytime, but as usual, Liang Shijing would return late at night and slip into his room for a look. Before, he had only peeked in and left, but now he added a gentle touch to Wen Yan’s forehead.

Even though the cold was long gone, when Wen Yan pretended to sleep, Liang Shijing never called him out on it.

Before they knew it, Liang Wangyou’s birth month arrived. Every day after school, he came home laden with gifts from classmates—sometimes a lollipop, sticky with melted sugar, which he proudly presented to Wen Yan; other times a painting or a basketball. That afternoon, he brought back a model piano built from building blocks.

“Wen Yan, look!” Liang Wangyou rushed over, cradling the model excitedly. “It’s from the Dance King—global limited edition, just one in the world!”

The piano model was exquisitely small and detailed, gleaming with a soft luster in the sunlight. Wen Yan tried playing a few notes, and to his surprise, the tiny thing produced a remarkably clear tone.

“Wen Yan, you know how to play piano too?!” Liang Wangyou exclaimed in awe, his worldview expanding once more. Liang Shijing hadn’t been lying after all—Wen Yan really could do anything!

“I studied it for years as a kid,” Wen Yan said with a touch of pride. “Even won a bunch of awards.”

“There’s a piano at home too.” Liang Wangyou tugged at his hand, shaking it eagerly. “Wen Yan, will you play something for me? Just a little bit?”

Wen Yan patted his head. “How about a lot?”

The two headed upstairs to the room next to the Painting Studio, which turned out to be the Piano Room. Rounding the corner into the spacious center, Wen Yan barely had time to take in the handmade black grand piano before he was stunned by the wall entirely covered in piano scores. Neat sheets of music ran from ceiling to floor, the straight staff lines alive with clusters of black notes.

He stepped closer to examine them and realized the wall was made of a special material, with the notes handwritten by hand. The first movement was a sonata-form allegro in 132 time; the second, a free sonata-form allegretto in 96 time. The third movement’s staff lay blank—the composer hadn’t finished it yet—but that didn’t prevent the first two from being played on their own.

Soon, Wen Yan spotted an issue. Both the allegro and allegretto emphasized core speed, technical flair, and dynamic energy. Yet this unfinished score diverged sharply from established compositional norms. An allegretto typically served as a preparatory phase to the allegro, maintaining a light rhythm while preserving melodic clarity to lead into the faster movement.

—This score was backwards. Why was it backwards?

“Little You, do you know who wrote this score?” Wen Yan asked.

“No idea. It’s always been here,” Liang Wangyou replied.

Wen Yan slowly lifted the piano lid, his fingertips gliding over the black-and-white keys as familiar sensations surged through them. The grand piano had been maintained impeccably, thanks to the room’s constant 25°C temperature and 40% humidity. He tested a few notes and found the tuning badly off. In such ideal conditions, for it to be this out of tune meant no one had touched it in ages.

He had Consul Ji fetch tuning tools, then adjusted each string’s peg precisely, relying on his perfect pitch. Once satisfied, he sat down leisurely, spine straight, hands relaxed and hovering naturally above the keys—a posture both textbook-perfect and effortlessly poised, impossible without years of practice. Especially for an omega sight-reading.

Liang Wangyou circled him excitedly. “Wen Yan, Wen Yan, Wen Yan!”

“Hm?” Wen Yan turned to him with a smile. “What’s up?”

“You look so cool,” Liang Wangyou whispered in admiration.

“Come here.” Wen Yan beckoned with a grin. “Sit beside me.”

Slender, lean fingertips first brushed lightly against a key in the high register. Moments later, both hands dove into the first measure. Crisp notes cascaded from every register, rhythmic and swift—it was easy to picture the composer’s sheer joy and delight in that moment. As the first movement drew to a close, the tempo eased into something gentler, more lingering, like the first blush of falling in love…

It hit all at once—a sharp pang in his brain that lasted only an instant before calm returned.

Wen Yan slowly stilled his hands.

A flood of images surged into his mind, each one hazy and faded like an old photograph. Every lingering mystery suddenly had its answer…

“I’m not taking it anymore. Never again.” The alpha’s voice was so soft, so faint.

Their first embrace. The sunlit expanse of the Oak Corridor. The Chief’s Mansion at dawn. Two chairs standing side by side. The game level he could never beat. His swollen belly making it impossible to bend down for his shoes. The cautious way he’d eased into the bathtub. The fetal heartbeat thumping at 132 beats per minute. The alpha’s own pulse, steady at 96. The reminder not to kiss. The scenic spots from their overseas trip. The familiar faces of the Chief Couple. Strolling hand in hand with the alpha through the streets. That sketch of them making love. The alpha’s barrage of clingy text messages. The sterile chill of the Operating Room. The story behind Liang Wangyou’s name. The alpha’s lie. And that little yellow pill.

—They were all back. They had returned without warning, without a single sign…

“Wen Yan, what’s wrong?” Liang Wangyou asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

Wen Yan jolted back to the present. In the corner of his eye, the alpha stood just as he had all those years ago—fresh from his duties at the Chief’s Mansion, arms folded, leaning against the wall behind him and waiting quietly. This was the moment when the omega should step forward, let the alpha pull him into an embrace, plant a kiss on his cheek, and ask if his day had been a happy one.

It turned out that all the deliberate tending of flowers was merely the prelude to willows taking root by chance…