Chapter 2

“Scan complete. No safety hazards detected in the building.”

“No weapons found on the suspect.”

“Orange juice sample extracted.”

Military personnel of all sorts came and went from the small building, their reports rising and falling in the encrypted comms channel. The tall Alpha lead officer descended the second-floor stairs with hands planted on his hips, strolling as leisurely as if he were taking a walk in his own garden. He pressed his earpiece and commanded, “Send it for analysis immediately.”

Living Room.

“Mr. Li, your conversation with Mr. Wen has been recorded and filed for review.” The officer handling the inquiry notes held a special folder with anti-counterfeit coding in one hand and a black ballpoint pen in the other. Seated on an armchair, he asked sternly, “To confirm one final time: Is everything above detailed and accurate?”

Li Li sneaked a glance at the Alpha officer who appeared to be idly wandering the room but was actually keeping a sharp eye on every corner. He glanced again at the sofa where Wen Yan had sat moments ago and the empty orange juice glass on the low table, then withdrew his gaze and nodded to the note-taker. “Detailed and accurate.”

The lead officer strode up to him, towering over him with a completely blank expression. “Thank you for your cooperation. But I must remind you: Do not leave the Capital in the coming days. Any unauthorized departure will be treated as treason.”

“Understood,” Li Li replied.

“Form up,” the lead officer called to his subordinates. The group marched briskly out the door.

The small building fell eerily silent in an instant. The open doorway framed only a sliver of the street, where a black official car sat quietly at the curb.

Soft sunlight filtered faintly through the folding curtains flanking the car windows, bathing the narrow yet spacious interior in a dim amber glow. The S-Grade Omega and S-Grade Alpha sat facing each other across the space. The Omega kept his head bowed, revealing only the glossy black crown of his hair and the sharp point of his small chin.

In the heavy silence, time itself seemed to stand still—one minute, five minutes, ten…

It was a reunion after five years apart, and the air between them no longer seethed with hatred as it once had. Time appeared to have washed away the past, or perhaps quietly written it off amid the shifting years—but it had not.

“Why aren’t you dead?” Liang Shijing asked coldly.

It was a fine voice, low and crisp, though it tended to deliver lines straight out of the Grim Reaper’s playbook. That was hardly surprising, however; even the King of Hell himself wouldn’t hold as much sway in the Alliance of Eight Nations as Liang Shijing did. Born to a prominent political dynasty, his family had produced three Chief Executive Officers counting upward, and Liang Shijing was the fourth—the youngest by far. In recent years, he had solidified his nation’s position as the Alliance’s premier power through his hardline administrative style and sweeping policy reforms.

Wen Yan swallowed convulsively from sheer tension, not daring to look up or respond. The seat creaked softly as Liang Shijing seized his chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing his head up. “Answer me.”

The motion compressed his posterior cervical gland, sending it into a vicious throb. In his daze, Wen Yan could almost hear the stitches snap. He fought to steady his breathing, but physiological tears welled steadily in his eyes. Those sharp, fathomless eyes staring into his were dark and heavy, scrutinizing him at point-blank range. The intangible pressure crashed over him like a physical blow.

Liang Shijing’s gaze cut like a blade, and Wen Yan couldn’t parry even a single stroke.

Not a single microexpression escaped their notice. Every breath they took seemed to draw the other into their lungs.

“Let go for a second,” Wen Yan said with effort.

But instead of releasing him, Liang Shijing drew his legs together, deliberately—or perhaps not—trapping Wen Yan’s legs between his thighs. Heat seeped through the thin fabric to bare skin, which warmed quickly and began to burn toward the expected scald. Wen Yan shuddered faintly, enduring the agony, and forced the words from his throat in ragged bursts. “Let me go…”

“Gotten too used to running wild?” Liang Shijing frowned.

Ignoring the pain, Wen Yan twisted desperately to jab the door button. But the vast physical gap between Alpha and Omega left him no chance; Liang Shijing caught his hand effortlessly. All their prior veneer of civility shattered in that moment.

“What are you doing?” Wen Yan demanded, incredulous.

Liang Shijing leisurely untied his necktie with one hand and draped the still-warm fabric loosely over Wen Yan’s wrists. He gauged the length first, then wrapped it round and round, finally lifting his eyelids lazily. “Tormenting you. Mind if I do?”

The tie’s fine, resilient silk glided over pale skin, cool and warm alternating in languid rhythm. On the final loop, Liang Shijing tugged the tip outward, securing it with an exquisite bowknot.

“Look. Like it?”

Legs pinned, hands bound, utterly immobile, Wen Yan squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation. At that moment, a knock sounded on the window from outside. The Alpha lead officer snapped a salute first. As the window descended, he proffered a file with both hands and said respectfully, “Chief Liang.”

A strong hand emerged from the car, its knuckles pronounced, fingers long and slender, tips tinged faintly pink.

Liang Shijing took the file and flipped it open without looking up. “Report.”

“Orange juice composition normal. Suspect unarmed, no prior criminal record. Preliminary danger assessment: low.”

The window rose again, resealing the compartment. Wen Yan kept his eyes clamped shut, listening to the crisp rustle of pages turning opposite him. Moments later, Liang Shijing spoke in the same flatly casual tone he’d used to ask why Wen Yan wasn’t dead. “Before I interrogate you, anything you want to say to me?”

Wen Yan realized this might be one of his scant few chances. Once the interrogation ended, Liang Shijing could order the army to gun him down or lock him away until he rotted. No time for calculations—he nodded through the throbbing pain in his gland.

Liang Shijing leaned back against the seat, elbow propped on the window frame, and gestured idly toward him. “Out with it.”

“Is he doing well?” Wen Yan pressed his lips together and murmured softly.

He was five years old now. What was his name? What did he look like? What was his personality like? Did he have friends? Was he happy every day?

Liang Shijing narrowed his long, sleek eyes, scanning Wen Yan’s face inch by inch. Wen Yan wasn’t afraid of death itself, but that gaze prowled like a deep-sea shark circling relentlessly at his side. Each sweep felt like an icy tail flicking across his cheek. He had no idea when it would strike, but one thing was certain: his most vital weakness lay utterly exposed.

“Not well,” Liang Shijing said abruptly.

“Is he sick? How serious? How long? Who’s taking care of him?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Please, just tell me—” Wen Yan pressed urgently.

Liang Shijing didn’t even bother to continue mocking him. He cut Wen Yan off and recited the contents of the record word for word. “Li Li, male, thirty years old. Beta secondary gender. Previously handled document organization for your attending medical team. Currently the head of the Artificial Gland Project in the R&D Department at Capital Frontier Biopharmaceutical Company.”

“What do you want with him?”

“Why is he in trouble? Can you tell me—”

“Don’t make me say it twice.” Liang Shijing’s voice was soft and gentle, yet utterly merciless as he pressed him. “Answer the question. What do you want with him?”

“To catch up…” Wen Yan’s head drooped in defeat.

“Does he know what your gland does?”

“No, nobody knows.”

“I’m not a person?”

The air fell silent for a brief moment. Wen Yan bit his lip and glanced at Liang Shijing before quickly looking away.

“From the time you arrived at the complex until you left, you spent a total of sixteen minutes and three seconds with him. What was the first thing you said to him after getting out of the car?” Liang Shijing asked.

“Long time no see…”

“You two are close?”

“We’ve been friends for many years.”

“Then why didn’t you drink the orange juice he poured for you?”

Wen Yan stammered, “I don’t eat food that hasn’t been checked.”

“And yet you remember that?” Liang Shijing let out a cold snort. “If he’s a friend, why didn’t you give your friend a proper answer about breakfast?” He emphasized the words “your friend.”

“I didn’t hear him at the time.”

“You’re hearing me now. So what do you say?”

“I’ve already eaten.” Wen Yan answered softly.

“What did you eat?”

“A chocolate bar.”

“Why eat junk food?”

“I didn’t dare go to a restaurant.”

The car plunged into an eerie silence. After a long while, Liang Shijing continued, “Why did you ask him about the progress of his artificial gland research? Were you looking for him to remove your lifelong mark?”

Once an alpha placed a lifelong mark on an omega, it meant the omega could only rely on the mark-maker’s pheromones to get through their heat cycles smoothly. Inhibitors lost their effect once used too frequently beyond a certain threshold. Investigations showed that inhibitors were practically worthless against certain auxiliary tools.

“It’s been washed off for five years.” Wen Yan suddenly choked up. One of the stitches from his gland surgery must have torn when he tilted his head back just now. The pain caused a single tear to roll silently from the corner of his eye, only to be instantly drowned in the gap between his skin and the pad of Liang Shijing’s finger pressing against it.

An omega’s metabolic fluids contained 15% pheromones, their blood 50%, and their glands 100%. If Liang Shijing purified the evaporating trace of moisture on his fingertip, he would obtain a strand of an extraordinarily fresh scent—like a stream from melting snow on a mountaintop, like the dampness of a bamboo grove after rain, or like the thin winter mist. Yet this pure freshness carried the dual effects of indulgence and hallucination.

Wen Yan lifted his bound hands, using the bow tie to wipe away the tear. After five years apart, this was the first time he had proactively spoken to Liang Shijing. “I’ve answered all your questions. Can you tell me now what’s wrong with him?”

“So you do have someone you care about?” Liang Shijing slowly ground his finger.

“You promised me you’d take good care of him.” Wen Yan was starting to break down. “We agreed on it five years ago.”

“So what? If you really care, then come back to Oak Bay with me to see him right now.”

“I…”

“Wen Yan, your familial bonds are awfully cheap.” Liang Shijing sneered.

And the interrogation wasn’t over yet. At the end of Li Li’s record, there was a full five minutes where Wen Yan hadn’t exchanged a single word with him—a detail that the recording officer had highlighted prominently.

“Li Li said it was no big deal regarding the multiple failures with the artificial gland. What did you say next?”

Wen Yan fell silent, so Liang Shijing pinched the palm of his hand. “Answer me.”

“Nothing!” Wen Yan’s body jerked from the ticklish sensation. “Can you just tell me how he is? There’s no time left. I won’t bother him—”

“No. Get out.”

Wen Yan froze, baffled. One second Liang Shijing had been tormenting him for fun, and the next he was suddenly kicking him out of the car. As he hesitated in confusion, Liang Shijing repeated in a low voice, “Get out.”

“No…” Wen Yan started to speak but stopped himself.

“I’ll give you one last chance. Get out.” Liang Shijing’s expression turned utterly disgusted. Faced with such extreme revulsion and expulsion, however, all Wen Yan could do was hold out his wrists tied with the bow in front of him and say in a trembling voice, “Untie me.”

Liang Shijing stared at him for two seconds before loosening his tie.

The moment he was freed, Wen Yan scrambled back into his own car. In his panicked glance, he caught sight of Li Li peeking from behind the curtains of the small building. Li Li gestured with his eyes for him to relax. Wen Yan hastily wiped the tears from his cheeks and fled the now-unsealed neighborhood without looking back…

In the serene and quiet official car, Liang Shijing sat with his legs crossed, his index finger tapping rhythmically against the fabric of his suit pants. On the twentieth tap, he looked up at the rearview mirror and imperceptibly let out a breath of relief.

In the narrow, rectangular rearview mirror, that unassuming car was gradually emerging over the horizon.

—Someone had ultimately circled back after all.