The black sedan slowly pulled up in front of the serene restaurant entrance.
This was an ultra-exclusive establishment that required reservations half a year in advance for both seating and ingredients, flown in fresh daily from around the globe. It served only two tables of guests per day. The restaurant had shuttered a week earlier to await its visitors. The manager spent his days tirelessly coordinating with National Security Department personnel to sweep for hazards, while the chefs poured their souls into crafting menus and tracking shipments. Today, their guests had finally arrived.
A little alpha in school uniform hopped out of the car, turning to clasp the slender, pale hand extended from within. A gentle-mannered S-level omega leaned out to join him. The pair stepped forward a couple of paces to clear the way, with the S-level alpha following close behind.
“Wen Yan, the steaks here are super good!” Liang Wangyou led Wen Yan to the lone table by the window in the main hall, beating the waiter to pull out his chair. Carved from a single block of natural wood, it refused to budge despite his prolonged efforts…
“Wen Yan, just wait—almost got it—hey—argh!”
“I’ll handle it.” Wen Yan smiled and stepped up.
“I can—” Before Liang Wangyou finished, Liang Shijing pulled the chair out effortlessly. “Eat three more years of meals first.”
Wen Yan paused, then sat down awkwardly.
Liang Wangyou clambered onto the high-backed chair and settled in properly, draping the silk napkin across his lap with neat precision. He flashed Wen Yan a warm smile. Wen Yan smiled back.
Waiters in tailcoats delivered the standard pre-meal appetizers, paired with fruit juice in lieu of wine.
“Wen Yan, you like sour drinks too?” Liang Wangyou licked his damp lips. “I noticed the first time we met—your juice was lighter than Father’s. We’re alike!”
“You take after him.” Liang Shijing corrected.
“Why?”
“Sour’s tasty, right? Too much sweet gets cloying.” Wen Yan offered a faint smile.
“Exactly!” Liang Wangyou shot him an approving look. “Father loves sweets—the ripest fruits only, and he soaks his bayberries in sugar syrup before he’ll touch them. Isn’t he childish?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Wen Yan noted the deep color of Liang Shijing’s juice. Their gazes met for half a second before Liang Shijing took a sip from his glass and asked indifferently, “So what? Can’t I have my preferences?”
Wen Yan hadn’t truly seen Liang Shijing as childish before, but this response made it seem… a bit?
“He’s just picky! Teacher says you have to try every kind of fruit!”
“Adults can be picky.”
“So can kids.”
“Kids would die.”
Wen Yan: “…”
The meal unfolded easily among the three. Liang Wangyou dominated the chatter while Wen Yan listened attentively; Liang Shijing tossed in occasional remarks that drew twin glares of disapproval. When he lapsed into silence, the warm atmosphere resumed, only for the cycle to repeat…
After dinner, the trio made their way to the Aquarium. During off-hours, only a handful of staff tended to feedings here and there.
In the main hall, a vast glass curtain wall dominated the view, a whale shark gliding languidly behind it. Schools of smaller fish darted hazily in the depths. Lifelike sea god statues clashed head-on—one brandishing a massive broadsword, the other a trident—their rippling muscles poised to spring to life, while pillars of bubbles churned upward at their sides.
Liang Wangyou pressed against the glass, staring in silent fascination.
“He used to watch like this for hours,” Liang Shijing murmured. “No words, no expressions.”
“Do you bring him here often?” Wen Yan whispered in reply.
Liang Shijing’s brows furrowed. “What nonsense has he been telling you? Don’t I bring him enough?”
“That’s not what I meant…” Wen Yan recalled their late-night talk; Liang Wangyou hadn’t answered directly, so he’d assumed as much from Liang Shijing’s demanding position.
“In your eyes, I’m the deadbeat who dumps him on childcare workers and forgets about him?”
The alpha seemed upset again…
Wen Yan hurried to clarify: “He cried so hard that night and wouldn’t explain why, so I figured he doesn’t come much…”
“Isn’t it genetic—from you? What’s so surprising?” Liang Shijing snorted. “If I asked where you’d been hiding, would you tell me?”
“In a safe place…”
“Didn’t take you for a fan of dad jokes.”
“Will you ask him later, or should I?” Wen Yan pivoted.
“Don’t you two have plenty in common already?” Liang Shijing said. “Need my help?”
“…Liang Shijing, please don’t be like this.” Wen Yan bowed his head, his tone laced with helpless concession—or perhaps a hint of ambiguous pleading. “Sorry. I apologize.”
Liang Shijing pulled out a syringe, face impassive.
…
“Are you hurting again?” Wen Yan gasped.
Liang Shijing jabbed the gland right in front of him. “Yeah, hurts. Take off the neck ring.”
Wen Yan pressed his lips tight. Moments later, Liang Shijing broke first. “Ask after the tour. Note which creatures catch his eye.”
“Okay.”
They followed the path through the exhibits, Liang Wangyou lingering forever in each hall. Wen Yan and Liang Shijing waited patiently each time. Whatever the adults discussed, he never glanced back. A boisterous child normally, he was uncannily quiet here.
In the Beluga Whale Pavilion, pale blue waters revealed several beluga whales gliding from afar to pass close by.
“They always sneak up from behind and scare people. Tons of classmates cried.” Liang Wangyou stood at the glass, sharing school tales unprompted.
Wen Yan and Liang Shijing exchanged a glance. “Did they scare you?” Wen Yan asked softly.
“I’m not scared.” Liang Wangyou puffed up proudly.
“Do you like them?”
“Dunno. Haven’t swum with them yet.”
“You put him in there to play?” Wen Yan whipped around, voice low and edged with annoyance as he eyed Liang Shijing.
“It’s a safe enclosure,” Liang Shijing coughed. “Just non-aggressive orcas inside.”
“Orcas?!”
“Liang Wangyou.” Liang Shijing coughed again. “Try getting closer.”
Pretending not to hear? Wen Yan’s brows knit.
“Won’t happen again.” Liang Shijing murmured by way of explanation.
Liang Wangyou huffed from up ahead. “Who’s afraid?”
He walked right up to the glass and climbed onto the small marble steps. His tiny dark silhouette blended perfectly beneath the massive curtain wall, his shoulders and cheeks tinged with a faint blue glow. Several beluga whales swam over at the sound, gliding gracefully back and forth behind the glass before suddenly pressing close and opening their enormous pink mouths.
“See? It’s not scary at all,” Liang Wangyou said, turning back with even greater arrogance and composure.
“You don’t like this one?” Liang Shijing asked. “Only three halls left.”
Probably worn out from all the walking, Liang Wangyou leaned his back against the glass wall and sat down, swinging his little legs. “No.”
“Then what did you come here to see before?”
“I’m not telling you.”
Wen Yan caught Liang Shijing’s meaningful glance and offered another gentle smile. “Little You, what was that thing you said you wouldn’t be able to see in a few days?”
He had checked the information—this aquarium had no animals on the verge of death or scheduled for transfer and sale.
“Wen Yan, I like you a lot, but I still don’t want to tell you.” Liang Wangyou’s eyes darted about as he kept swinging his legs.
Wen Yan glanced at Liang Shijing again, but he just shook his head silently. This clever little guy knew exactly what they were trying to do. Neither coaxing nor appeals to emotion would work.
“Something just like you?” Liang Shijing asked flatly.
“I’m nothing like that,” Wen Yan retorted, though his confidence wavered a little.
Although their evening trip to the aquarium hadn’t uncovered the answer, Wen Yan felt deeply satisfied all the same. Liang Shijing could have brought Liang Wangyou here alone, or he could have resorted to more extreme measures to make the boy talk. Word was that the Alliance now had a colorless, odorless drug capable of unlocking the deepest secrets buried in anyone’s heart.
At the thought, Wen Yan silently shifted closer to the car window.
Liang Shijing tapped the touch panel a few times, raising the air conditioning temperature.
The privacy film on the windows blocked most of the lights streaking past outside. The car’s interior was dim and serene. Liang Wangyou had fallen asleep the moment they got in. Wen Yan cradled him sideways in his arms, his elbow bearing the boy’s weight and warmth. To ward off any chance of a cold, Liang Shijing shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over him.
From within the jacket’s stiff collar peeked Liang Wangyou’s palm-sized face, fair and pure.
Wen Yan’s fingers brushed gently over his forehead, again and again. When had he learned to talk? When had he taken his first steps? When had his bones grown so firm? Cradled in his arms, the boy’s spine felt both rigid and impossibly soft. Wen Yan knew none of it. But he understood one thing: he had missed it all. Life was a miraculous thing—once you let a moment slip away, it was gone forever.
Lost in a daze, he felt a hand reach into his line of sight from below.
Puzzled, he looked up to find Liang Shijing leaning in close, his thin lips parting as warm breath ghosted across Wen Yan’s face.
“Don’t look at me. Look at this,” Liang Shijing murmured.
Bewildered, Wen Yan lowered his gaze. It took him several seconds to grasp what Liang Shijing meant.
No wonder Lin Yichu had said Liang Wangyou resembled him. When Liang Shijing laid his palm over the boy’s face, Wen Yan truly felt as though he were seeing his own younger self. Then Liang Shijing lifted his hand, revealing those eyes—sharp brows and gaze identical to his own, the fierce edge softened by gentle contours that made the resemblance so hard to spot.
In that instant, the visible proof of life’s continuation laid itself bare. An unprecedented blend of sorrow and joy surged through his heart.
Liang Shijing drew Liang Wangyou’s arm out from beneath the jacket and gave Wen Yan a look. Obediently, Wen Yan extended his own hand. Liang Shijing placed the boy’s small one into his palm.
The two hands—one large, one small—contrasted in the car’s flickering light. Wen Yan studied them for several seconds before his vision began to blur. He really was such an idiot, such a complete fool. He had changed Liang Wangyou’s medications so many times in recent weeks, yet he had never once noticed that their hands were identical.
Tears traced quietly down his cheeks as Wen Yan fought to stifle his sobs. A warm fingertip brushed the heat from his face.
He looked up.
Liang Shijing’s lips moved without a sound. “Idiot.”
