Chapter 16: Midnight

The door to the room opened silently a crack, and the S-level Alpha’s back flashed past in the corridor as he headed straight for the walk-in safe room.

Each of the three bedrooms came equipped with its own safe room, a place where everyone could stash their most treasured possessions. Liang Wangyou kept his there: the tail feathers of a courting bird, parts disassembled from a race car engine, limited-edition toys…

Moments later, the Alpha emerged from the safe room empty-handed. He focused his gaze… and their eyes met.

“Not asleep yet?” he asked, striking first.

A dim reading lamp glowed at the edge of the bed. Liang Wangyou was half-reclining against his pillows, legs crossed, a small hardcover picture book propped upright on his chest.

“You sneaked into my safe room,” he said, his cheeks puffed out in indignation.

“Yeah.” Liang Shijing’s face remained impassive. “Where’s the turtle?”

“It’s a sea turtle!” Liang Wangyou corrected him.

“Where’s the sea turtle? Hand it over. Let me see.”

“I put it away.”

“I checked the safe room. It wasn’t there.” Liang Shijing sat down on the edge of the bed, looking every bit the rogue who wouldn’t leave without getting his way.

“It’s a gift from Wen Yan,” Liang Wangyou said, his face full of wariness.

“I’m not stealing it from you.”

“You were about to sneak in and take it!”

“What do you mean ‘sneak’? Didn’t I come in while you were still awake?” Liang Shijing shot back.

It was true—there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with that. Liang Wangyou hesitated for a few seconds before pushing down the picture book on his chest. There lay the little sea turtle, resting quietly.

“You can only look for one minute. Give it back after that,” he stressed.

“You keep count.” Liang Shijing took the little sea turtle and brightened the reading lamp, scrutinizing it closely under the ample light.

“What are you looking at, Father?” Liang Wangyou only managed to count to three before curiosity drew him over to his side.

“The sea turtle.”

“I know that.”

“Then why ask?”

“You should give it back now.” Liang Wangyou was starting to get upset. “It’s mine.”

Liang Shijing ignored him and pinched the sea turtle, flipping it over to expose the plastron. He squinted and leaned in, spotting a very subtle engraving—a simple smiley face.

“There’s something here!” Liang Wangyou cried out in surprise.

“You fiddled with it all night in secret and didn’t notice?”

“…Is this a trademark?”

“Lately, you’re not only pretending better than I expected—you’re also dumber than I expected.” Liang Shijing lazily lifted his eyelids. “Can’t you tell Wen Yan made this himself?”

“You’re lying! How would you know?”

Liang Shijing set the little sea turtle back on his pillow. “Only you have one?”

“That’s hilarious. Why would Wen Yan give you one? He doesn’t even want to talk to you. Even if you’re the Chief, Wen Yan wouldn’t like you.” Liang Wangyou’s cheeks glowed with a warm light under the lamp as he smugly boasted. “Wen Yan’s really nice to me. He said he’d give me a different ocean animal every day. This afternoon, he even folded a little tiger out of a silk scarf for me.”

“Wen Yan can paint, too. He can play the piano. He said he’d teach me anything I like! Wen Yan knows so, so many things!” he added proudly.

“Not many,” Liang Shijing countered flatly. “He knows everything.”

The Wen Yan who knew everything had stayed up too late making a little shark the night before and now could barely open his eyes. Groggy and wrapped in a blanket, he was halfway through washing his face in the bathroom. Halfway through, a little head poked around the doorframe. “Wen Yan, you’re up so early today.”

“Have you had breakfast?” Wen Yan asked with a smile.

“I drank my milk.” Liang Wangyou grinned. “What are we doing today? Can we play together again?”

“Yeah, just a sec.” Wen Yan dried his hands and headed out with him. It was still early—Liang Shijing probably hadn’t left for the Chief’s Mansion yet. He hadn’t opened his neck ring to release pheromones in a full two days. Though resentment toward Liang Shijing lingered, these things still needed doing.

By some coincidence, the fully dressed Liang Shijing opened his door right as they passed.

Clad in a black suit, his expression neutral—both cold and effortlessly cool.

“Awake?” Liang Shijing approached and lifted his wrist. Wen Yan heard a beep, followed quickly by a fresh, icy scent. The Alpha pheromones, dosed with a soothing agent, instantly relaxed his body and brightened his mood.

The familiar fragrance stirred old memories, but Wen Yan never lingered on that absurd chapter of his life. In it, the most he’d ever said to Liang Shijing was “slower… please, I beg you.” He had no idea why Liang Shijing released pheromones right in front of him now, but either way, Wen Yan didn’t want to smell them.

The elevator doors slid open, and he ushered Liang Wangyou inside.

“Take the stairs.” Liang Shijing plucked Liang Wangyou out… and shut the doors before he could react, hitting the emergency stop…

Spacious as the elevator was, standing side by side made it feel crowded. Wen Yan pressed himself into the corner. The overhead light cut through the contours of the Alpha’s upper body, casting a tall shadow that fell over him, just like the day they’d first reunited.

“I’ve never hit him before. The day before yesterday was a first. During the overseas visit, did you hear me tell him to wait for us to get back? It’s not that he lacks safety awareness—he deliberately screwed up.” Liang Shijing explained in a perfectly even tone.

Wen Yan stayed silent.

“No need to avoid me,” Liang Shijing went on.

The Alpha’s pheromones pooled in the elevator’s confined space, leaving the Omega’s body to relax and lighten against his will. Wen Yan reached for the emergency stop release, but as his fingers brushed the panel, Liang Shijing seized his wrist. “Why won’t you look at me?”

Distinct fingers wrapped around his wrist bone and skin, the warm touch as soft as a light feather. The pad of his thumb rubbed gently. Wen Yan tried to pull free, but Liang Shijing tightened his grip. “Why won’t you talk to me? Even Liang Wangyou doesn’t hold a grudge.”

“What do you want me to say?” Wen Yan murmured, eyes downcast.

“Anything.”

“Let go of me,” Wen Yan said.

After several seconds that felt both endless and fleeting, Liang Shijing released him.

The two didn’t speak another word for the next few days. Liang Wangyou’s hand healed quickly; most of the cuts on his palm had formed light brown scabs. They itched constantly, so he kept rubbing them against his pant legs. To keep him from reopening the unhealed wounds, Wen Yan stuck by his side from morning until night. Together, they explored most of the rooms in Oak Bay. That day, Liang Wangyou led him to a painting studio on the second floor.

“Is this your painting studio?” Wen Yan asked, surprised as he stepped around the sketch papers scattered across the floor.

The room was quite cluttered. Colored sketch papers lay scattered on the floor, paint boxes of varying heights were strewn about, some brushes stuck upside down in a dried-out rinsing jar, and others rested on an unfinished easel. Though messy, traces of daily cleaning were evident, and the cleaner had deliberately preserved the room’s owner’s style, as if “he” had merely stepped out and would return any moment.

“He’s always been here,” Liang Wangyou said.

Afraid of damaging someone else’s things, Wen Yan had no intention of going inside. “Little You, how about we play somewhere else?”

“There’s unopened clay over there.” Liang Wangyou pointed to a transparent pull-out low cabinet. “Wen Yan, I want to watch you make something.”

“You already know?” Wen Yan asked with a smile.

Over the past few days, Liang Wangyou had gradually received models of sea turtles, sharks, beluga whales, clownfish, seahorses, coral, and jellyfish—common marine creatures. He glanced subtly at Wen Yan’s expression and said, “Father told me.”

“I see. Well… this room belongs to its owner. It wouldn’t be polite to use someone else’s things without permission. Consul Ji will prepare fresh clay soon. How about we go to another room?”

As expected, mentioning Liang Shijing made Wen Yan less accommodating. Liang Wangyou silently leaned against his thigh. “I still want to watch you draw.”

“Alright, we’ll only use a little, and we’ll replace it later.” Wen Yan gave in.

The clay in the cabinet was the same brand as what Consul Ji had prepared. Wen Yan took it out and placed it on the table. Liang Wangyou stood on tiptoe and flipped through a stack of sketchbooks piled in the corner of the desk.

“Don’t press too hard with your fingers,” Wen Yan reminded him as he took out a lump of clay.

“Okay.”

The sketchbook’s cover was thick, embossed leather. The first page featured a charcoal sketch of a man’s arm. Wen Yan glanced at it and praised, “That’s really well drawn.” With just a few strokes, the lean, powerful arm leaped off the page, its muscle lines smooth and fluid.

Liang Wangyou flipped to the second page: half a torso.

Wen Yan paused, his hands stilling. As Liang Wangyou kept turning the pages, the sketchbook revealed torso after torso, necks, jaws, face shapes.

“Wait!” He seemed to sense something.

“What’s wrong?” Liang Wangyou asked curiously.

“Aren’t you supposed to watch me with the clay? Come over here.”

Liang Wangyou obediently moved to his side and rolled the clay lump between his fingers in circles… but he was too distracted to do anything properly. Wen Yan tried teaching him to shape it for a while, but nothing took form. His gaze kept drifting to the sketchbook beside them. If Wen Yan wasn’t mistaken, flipping quickly through would reveal an accumulating nude figure, and the subject was undoubtedly Liang Shijing. The drawing angle suggested the artist had been looking down at him. So he stopped Liang Wangyou from turning further pages.

“Wen Yan, I’m going to wash my hands.” Liang Wangyou set down the clay and bounced out of the room.

The room fell quiet.

As if compelled by some impulse, Wen Yan reached for the sketchbook. His right thumb hooked the first page and pressed lightly. The dense pages flipped rapidly under his fingers. Images shifted from arm to arm until the end, when he slammed it shut with a snap and tossed it back in place. His cheeks burned hot, and the final image lingered deep in his pupils.

On the stark white page, Liang Shijing’s facial features and abdominal muscles were taut, his arms stretched upward as he lay on his back. His gaze was profound, piercing through the paper as if something about to emerge yearned to burrow into the body. On Liang Shijing’s bare chest, a slender hand pressed down, its fingertips digging deep indentations into the skin.

Their positions and state needed no explanation. A jolt of electricity shot from Wen Yan’s tailbone straight to his gland. He shifted his legs, then quickly sat back down. Only now did he realize where the arms embracing Liang Shijing in the drawing had been placed—the moment his buttocks touched the soft cushion, it hit him…

Liang Wangyou returned, beaming. “Wen Yan, let’s start drawing!”

Wen Yan rubbed his face and pulled a charcoal pencil from the jar.

“Can you draw Oak Bay?” Liang Wangyou rested his chin on the table edge, looking up at him expectantly like a puppy.

“How about we go to your study to draw?”

Once upstairs on the second floor, Wen Yan cleared his mind and began sketching. The private residence’s stark lines helped dispel much of his inner turmoil, and his pace quickened.

“You really can do anything,” Liang Wangyou said in awe, staring fixedly at the paper.

“Do you like it?” Wen Yan dusted the charcoal powder from his fingers. “Now it’s my turn to wash up.”

“When you come back, can you teach me? You’re amazing, Wen Yan!”

Wen Yan smiled and left.

In the study, Liang Wangyou sat in the chair admiring the drawing. Hearing footsteps at the door, he thought it was Wen Yan returning and looked up—only for his little face to fall instantly.

“He drew this?” Liang Shijing glanced at the desk.

“We’re having a lesson.” Liang Wangyou snapped the sketchbook shut to hide it, lest Wen Yan get upset and take it out on him.

“Who hasn’t had lessons?” Liang Shijing snatched the paper from in front of him. As he pinched the corner to flip it open, the paper tore with a rip.

~~~

The father and son exchanged a glance. Liang Wangyou immediately turned to look at the door.

“Don’t call out.” Liang Shijing quickly covered his mouth and whispered.

Liang Wangyou blinked and nodded.

The tear was thin but ran the entire length of the paper—repairing it was clearly impossible now. Liang Shijing closed the sketchbook and set it back in front of Liang Wangyou. He paused, then said, “Say you did it.”

“I don’t want to.” Liang Wangyou replied earnestly.

“I’ll set up a racing team for you.”

“Not really interested…”

“Two teams.”

Just then, light footsteps echoed down the corridor.