Chapter 33

Only to see the door of a VIP box at the passage from the second floor to the first-floor spectator seats swing open. Out stepped a sharply dressed Alpha in a suit and tie—Secretary Cheng, who often made important announcements on official news broadcasts. He first positioned himself respectfully to the right, and soon after, the S-level Alpha emerged.

——The entire arena fell utterly silent.

The whole crowd rose to their feet as Liang Shijing slowly descended the steps.

He walked over to the omega and the little Alpha, gently pressing his palm downward to signal everyone to sit. As the spectators took their seats, he sat beside the omega, glanced toward the competition area surrounded by bodyguards, then withdrew his gaze and turned to the omega. “Come here, let me take a look.”

Wen Yan reflexively unfastened his neck ring.

“Why open it with so many people around?” Liang Shijing closed it for him.

The sensation of thousands of eyes piercing his back like needles hit all at once… Wen Yan hurriedly handed over Liang Wangyou, clothes and all, to Liang Shijing. The child’s chest, which had been merely red moments ago, was now mottled with ugly bruises. Liang Shijing glanced at it twice and said, “Bring the other one over.”

Cheng Zhu stepped forward.

A dozen seconds later, Rong Jin and his child were escorted over. The child was fine, but Rong Jin’s face was beyond merely unsightly. Wen Yan wasn’t sure when exactly Liang Shijing had arrived or how much he’d witnessed, but he could sense the man’s anger. With so many people in the arena, he feared Liang Shijing might erupt. Though he’d never seen the man truly angry, Wen Yan didn’t want him to give anyone ammunition against him, so he leaned in and murmured almost imperceptibly, “Don’t get mad.”

“Got it.” Liang Shijing nodded obediently, then faced Rong Jin. “You—”

Rong Jin flinched, then slowly stepped forward.

Liang Shijing regarded him with an impassive expression. “My apologies. My son hurt your son. This is our failing as parents in disciplining him properly.”

As he said this, Wen Yan felt Liang Shijing’s gaze flick toward him. Wen Yan quietly shifted away a bit.

“Someone will contact you later about the medical expenses.” With that, he set Liang Wangyou down from his lap and gave him a gentle push forward. Little You took two proactive steps and clearly articulated, “I’m sorry.”

“We were at fault too…” Rong Jin forced out a smile that defied description and, steeling himself, nudged the little Alpha forward, whispering urgently for him to apologize. A few seconds later, the little Alpha grudgingly muttered, “Sorry.” Liang Shijing’s face remained cold, offering no response. Wen Yan thought that was the end of it, but then Cheng Zhu spoke up. “High-speed cameras captured your child committing three second-grab fouls on the arena floor. Per the rules, this results in a lifetime ban from competition.”

Rong Jin gave an awkward laugh while holding his little Alpha close. He accepted this outcome—it was already far better than he deserved.

“Furthermore, per the 《Special Protection Law》, anyone who harms the Chief’s relatives must undergo three years of tracking and monitoring. Considering the child hasn’t reached the age of criminal responsibility, the guardian must jointly fulfill the monitoring requirements during this period.” Cheng Zhu’s volume was moderate. “Please notify his biological father, Rong Chengzhou, immediately.”

The scandalous rumor of incest was now ironclad fact, and murmurs erupted instantly like buzzing bees.

The Alliance had enacted extremely strict marriage laws due to ABO gender traits: no surrogacy, no polygamy, and the harshest prohibition against pheromone-induced incest. Pheromones possessed inherent irresistibility and natural allure, making accidents all too easy. Other countries had once suffered massive incest outbreaks because of it, sparking enormous social upheaval…

Rong Jin’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. His family’s reputation and personal standing crumbled to dust the moment those words landed… The three-year monitoring period was an unknown terror, but the incest charge alone was enough for prison time. Some things could be swept under the rug if kept hidden, but dragged into the open, there was no escape… Rong Jin knew begging Liang Shijing was futile—he didn’t even dare try. He turned hopeful eyes to Wen Yan instead, only to inexplicably notice the new chair beneath him, then scan the new chairs throughout the arena. Once, in his arrogance, he’d made the omega before him yield his seat and wipe it clean. But somehow, every chair here had been replaced. Slumped on the floor, he saw Liang Shijing cross his legs, revealing the spotless sole of his shoe and the undisguised disgust in his eyes.

The S-level Alpha said nothing, yet it felt like he’d said everything.

“My apologies.” Rong Jin bowed his proud head, choking back sobs as he turned to Wen Yan. Seeing no response, he shakily rose to bow, but Cheng Zhu blocked him.

“Get lost,” Liang Shijing said.

~~~

Water splashed steadily in the shower of the single-occupancy changing room, while the drooping sycamore trees outside cast the room in deep, tranquil green. Wen Yan sat lost in thought amid the verdant hue. Every time he faced Liang Shijing, questions bubbled up: When exactly had he arrived at the arena today? How long had he watched? Had he just stood by while Liang Wangyou got kicked down? Why hadn’t he intervened sooner? And now that everything was settled, why make Rong Jin scram? Was he doing all this to back him up…?

“Idiot.” Liang Shijing, his long legs sprawled out, leaned against the vanity and suddenly spoke.

Wen Yan paused. “Did you arrive really early?”

“Two minutes after you.”

“Were you watching me from the second floor the whole time?”

“What are you dreaming about?” Liang Shijing scoffed coldly.

“…” Wen Yan fell silent, propping his chin in thought once more, but the Alpha’s hand itched for trouble, swatting it away. “Talk.”

Wen Yan stuffed both hands into his trench coat pockets to hide them.

With so many people in the hall today, everyone must have gotten the wrong idea. Though years had passed since the Wen Zecheng incident, and he’d always used anonymity for protection, someone might still recognize him. Appearing so publicly with Liang Shijing like this—what would people think of him? Liang Shijing, however, seemed utterly unconcerned. Of course—he never cared about anyone’s opinions.

“You’ll chat with a random dog you pass on the street, but stay mute with me?” Liang Shijing said coolly.

“…Do the bodyguards have to log that too?” Wen Yan was speechless. A few days ago at the Sports Center, a West Highland Terrier had bolted, and he’d just waited there for the owner.

“Why not?” Liang Shijing dodged the point. “It’s their job.”

Speaking of bodyguards, Wen Yan lightly slapped the vanity. “Little You said you taught him the cross armbar. Did you teach him to break other people’s arms?”

“Liang Shijing, isn’t it wrong to teach him to use violence like that? He’s still so young and can’t distinguish self-defense from intimidation. What if he roughhouses with friends later and breaks someone’s arm?”

“I didn’t teach him,” Liang Shijing flatly denied.

“You’re lying.” Wen Yan pointed at him.

“No, I’m not.” Liang Shijing shot back. “Do you really think I have time to teach him that? You know perfectly well he listens to you and ignores me.”

“Then look me in the eye and answer,” Wen Yan said loudly.

~~~

Two seconds later.

“There’s still some business at the Chief’s Mansion.” Liang Shijing rose to leave, but Wen Yan seized his sleeve. “You’re not going anywhere.”

As they tugged back and forth, they locked eyes across motes of dust drifting in the air. Wen Yan’s stance was unyielding, Liang Shijing’s evasive. After another frozen half-second, Liang Shijing slowly lowered his gaze to the back of the hand clutching him. Puzzled, Wen Yan tilted his head and followed his line of sight—then dropped his hand like it was on fire.

“Dumb as a bag of hammers,” Liang Shijing said, reclaiming his usual hard-edged demeanor with a cold assessment.

Wen Yan played deaf.

“Turn around,” Liang Shijing ordered.

Wen Yan dodged away.

“What’s with the blushing? It was just an arm grab.”

“Don’t talk.”

“No dice.”

The Alpha reached out to tilt the Omega’s chin. Wen Yan shoved his chair back to bolt, but Liang Shijing snagged the collar at the back of his neck with his fingers, pressing right above the Neck Ring on his gland. Wen Yan went rigid in an instant—the gland throbbed with excruciating pain under the pressure.

“I barely touched you,” Liang Shijing said.

“Let go first.” Wen Yan squirmed, his aggrieved expression striking the Alpha as nothing short of exquisite vulnerability. Far from releasing him, that hooked finger rubbed teasingly against the skin. Then Liang Shijing’s entire palm slipped inside the collar, its warm center molding seamlessly to the curve of his spine. Pain vanished in a heartbeat. Wen Yan stared, wide-eyed and stunned. From childhood, the only person he’d ever been this intimate with was the Alpha before him now—and it had been ages since their last real closeness. The skin against that palm seemed to map every fine crease and ridge, every pore blooming open in instinctive welcome.

“You running a fever?” Liang Shijing rumbled deep in his throat.

Wen Yan couldn’t tell if it was the Alpha’s accent mangling the retroflex sounds or if he was doing it on purpose.

“Let—” Before he could finish, Liang Shijing yanked him into a tight embrace. Solid muscle yielded to unexpected softness, laced with the Alpha’s signature crisp, icy pheromones—warm and cool all at once, an intoxicating tangle. Wen Yan froze solid. Moments later, Liang Shijing slid his hand free from the Omega’s back and gave his head a firm pat. “No more unlocking that Neck Ring in public. Got it?”

Wen Yan nodded on reflex, his face contorting in sudden pain.

“What is it?” Liang Shijing let go at once, stepping back to a safe distance. Clutching his burning cheeks, Wen Yan muttered, “Nothing.”

Liang Shijing shot him a cool glance, his eyes drifting inexplicably downward… Wen Yan’s gaze followed suit for no good reason. They both zeroed in on each other’s laps at the same moment—then snapped back up to meet in mutual shock.

~~~

What the hell was this infuriating Alpha thinking? How could his mind go there? Wen Yan’s temper finally ignited. He snatched the neatly stacked towel from the table and hurled it straight at Liang Shijing’s face. It connected—only for the towel to flutter down and land squarely between the Alpha’s legs…

“Dad, I’m all washed up!” Liang Wangyou hollered from the shower. “Toss me a towel!”

“Wash it again,” Liang Shijing replied, clearing his throat with a loud call.

Wen Yan stood coldly and reached for a towel to hand over, but Liang Shijing scowled and pinned him in place with a sharp, “Sit down.”

Considering how hastily Liang Wangyou had rinsed off, Wen Yan sank back into his seat. Then the bathroom door slammed open, and Liang Wangyou barreled out buck-naked. “Towel! Where’s my towel!”

“Two more minutes,” Liang Shijing snapped, irritation sharpening his voice.

“No way—I’m freezing!” Liang Wangyou shivered, his little pee-pee dangling and quivering. At the sight, Wen Yan bit back a laugh and turned away. From overhead came Liang Shijing’s furious bark: “Where’s your manners? Get some clothes on.”

“Then give me the damn towel!” Liang Wangyou stomped, livid.

Wen Yan’s shoulders shook harder with suppressed mirth. Abruptly, Liang Shijing twisted his face around—then scooped up Liang Wangyou and marched him back into the bathroom. Muffled through the door came the boy muttering something utterly bizarre to his father. If anyone had reason to call something strange, it was Wen Yan—Liang Wangyou’s flagrant foul had cost him his shot at the lifetime tournament, after all. When the boy emerged fully dressed, though, he betrayed no hint of disappointment. He didn’t whine about his chest hurting either. In the car back to Oak Bay, he kicked off his shoes and clambered first onto Liang Shijing’s lap, then burrowed into Wen Yan’s arms… But the match had drained him utterly, and wedged between the two men, he was out like a light in moments.

Wen Yan cradled him close and reapplied the ointment to his chest.

Unlike that night after the Aquarium, when they’d barely made it home before needing another bath, Liang Shijing woke him anyway this time. There really was business waiting at the Chief’s Mansion, so they had to head back. Liang Wangyou rubbed sleep from his eyes, climbed out obediently, and waited without so much as a goodbye to his dad before tugging Wen Yan along and turning away.

“Wen Yan, why are you always so nice to me?” A few steps later, fully awake, Liang Wangyou tilted up his small face and asked in a soft, sticky voice.

“I’ll always be nice to you,” Wen Yan said, finally ruffling the hair he hadn’t reached during the match. “No matter what happens, I’ll take care of you. I’ll always like you.”

“Then… are you…” Liang Wangyou stared at him, stunned, tears spilling suddenly from his eyes.

“Does your chest hurt?” Wen Yan wiped them hastily. A head pat didn’t help this time, so he stroked the boy’s cheek and coaxed, “Let’s go down to the first floor and see the doctors, okay? I’ll carry you right now.”

“No.” Liang Wangyou clutched his fingers tight. “I want to show you something.”

Wen Yan followed him up to the second-floor bedroom. Only then did Liang Wangyou release his grip, darting into the study to fetch a hefty tablet. Wen Yan had seen the boy use it for games and homework plenty of times, but never opening his encrypted folder—or punching in the password without hiding it, simple as 123456 though it was. Inside waited a single video: a nature documentary. Liang Wangyou scrubbed the progress bar straight to 16:32.

Onscreen stretched a serene sea. A mother sea otter lounged at ease amid swirls of kelp. Its fluffy paws cradled the sleeping little sea otter at first—but as the waves grew choppy, the mother’s tail curled with gentle precision, rolling the little one snug onto its belly.

“To prevent the baby from getting lost, the sea otter mom keeps the little sea otter clutched tightly in her arms at all times except when she dives to the seabed to forage. She grooms the child’s fur to keep it from drowning and uses her own body to provide a warm nest.” The narrator explained.

Once that segment finished playing and the screen switched to other marine creatures, Liang Wangyou dragged the progress bar back. His tiny fingers slid across the screen as he stubbornly reset it to exactly 16:32—not a second more, not a second less. He insisted on starting from right there. He watched it through again, then reached out once more. Wen Yan lightly blocked his hand, his voice quivering as he asked, “We’re going to the aquarium to see this, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” Liang Wangyou nodded. “The little sea otter at the aquarium is almost too big to sleep on its mom’s belly anymore. The news said that once it grows up, they’ll move it to another hall to live independently. If we don’t go that day, we might never see it again…”

“Come here…” Wen Yan beckoned him numbly, his movements stiff. Liang Wangyou clambered onto his lap and settled in, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in Wen Yan’s chest. Wen Yan held the small body close, starting with soft sniffles that gave way to a silent flood of tears. He had never asked Liang Shijing how he had explained to Liang Wangyou that he had been born from an omega. After all their time together, Liang Wangyou had never shown any sign of needing a “daddy.” The boy was happy every day, his personality bright and outgoing, but deep in his quiet heart, he had always been yearning—for the day when he, too, could lie on his mommy’s belly and sleep, just like the little sea otter. He was exactly like Liang Shijing in that way, never speaking of what he truly craved, hiding that tender vulnerability away in a secret place only he could reach. He would rather let his hands be beaten bloody than reveal it, rather endure excruciating pain than utter a word.

That little face was so endearing, those little hands so incredibly soft, and he was so heartbreakingly beautiful.

As dusk fell, Liang Wangyou drifted off to sleep right there in his arms. Wen Yan carried him back to his room and stayed by his side, watching the video over and over. Only when the night grew deep and still did he return to his own room. His gaze fell on the array of clay tools scattered across the desk, but his heart felt utterly hollow.

I’m so sorry. I can’t stay with you much longer.

Since he couldn’t stay long, he would at least finish what he could. Wen Yan went into the bathroom and removed his neck ring in front of the mirror. Thankfully, he had taken painkillers all day in advance, so there was no immediate reaction. But the instant he took it off, a warm trickle of blood ran down his neck—darker than before, a fresh crimson. He pressed a finger to it experimentally, and a searing pain shot through his limbs and into every fiber of his being…

If only he could live much longer. But no medicine could help him now…

He wiped away the blood and applied a barrier patch, which brought some relief. Then he headed to the study. Sculpting the sea otter’s fur—which was finer than a strand of hair—proved incredibly difficult. Shaping a single whisker took more than ten minutes, to say nothing of positioning the little sea otter on its belly. He worked until nearly dawn, managing only a rough outline. His eyes were bloodshot, his arms ached so badly he could barely lift them. He switched off the desk lamp and slumped into the armchair, falling into a heavy sleep.

In the faint morning light, a few fledglings that had just learned to fly emerged from the botanical garden and alighted on the windowsill behind him. Liang Wangyou, still in his diaper, sneaked into the room. Like his alpha father, he enjoyed doing things on the sly. But his motives were purely innocent—he simply wanted to catch a whiff of Wen Yan’s pheromones. He wandered the room in a circle but didn’t find him. Unlike his alpha father, who would have triggered the alarm system at Oak Bay, Liang Wangyou was clever enough to search quietly. He tiptoed into the study and approached Wen Yan’s side. He circled him first, tempted to tug at his hair, but his little fingers couldn’t gauge their strength properly, and the dim light made him worry about waking him. So he paused for a few seconds, then clambered along the armrest to get closer. Bit by bit, he peeled back a tiny corner of the barrier patch.

He leaned in and sniffed for several long seconds. Nothing. He shifted position and tried again. Still nothing. His gland had been sutured long ago and could no longer release pheromones, but fate had a way of twisting the knife.

Liang Wangyou slid back down to the floor and stood before Wen Yan, staring at his face. After a moment, he rubbed furiously at the corner of his eye—rubbing and rubbing until the tears spilled over anyway. He cried without a sound for a long time, until exhaustion set in. He wanted to climb onto Wen Yan’s belly and sleep, but the chair was too small to accommodate him. The armrest wouldn’t do, nor would Wen Yan’s lap. Liang Wangyou looked around and around until his eyes settled on the spot at Wen Yan’s feet.

So he lay down on the floor, pillowed his head on the top of Wen Yan’s foot, and curled up tight—drifting off to sleep just like that.