Chapter 50

Beep… Beep… Beep…

In the hospital room, the ECG monitor emitted long, drawn-out beeps.

In a haze, Wen Yan slowly opened his eyes. In the distance, white gauze curtains floated gently, pale golden autumn sunlight drifting outside. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, everything around him came into sharp focus.

This was clearly a hospital room.

The bed was spacious, its sheets the same style he often slept on back in Oak Bay—soft and conforming, carrying a faint coolness.

Several large machines loomed overhead. The one beeping incessantly was the ECG monitor, its screen flashing green waves, along with others Wen Yan had never seen before. He realized he couldn’t turn his neck; something held it fixed in place. His nape felt utterly foreign. From childhood, it had always been covered by a Barrier Patch or a Neck Ring, but now he could feel the air flowing over his gland—itchy, but not painful at all.

Yes, he hadn’t died yet. Or perhaps Liang Shijing had gone to extraordinary lengths to bring him back…

Straining to glance sideways, Wen Yan saw puffs of white mist continuously spraying onto his nape. He tried to lift his hand, but his whole body felt like a lead weight—only his legs would respond. Yet as he shifted them, something at his feet stirred…

It was Liang Wangyou. The 130 cm little Alpha lay curled into a round ball at the foot of the bed, his clothes wrinkled and rumpled, his two bare little feet pressed together. Without a blanket, he must have been cold, sleeping uncomfortably in a posture small enough to fit inside a glass jar.

Wen Yan slowly rolled his eyes, gradually shifting his legs.

Abruptly, Liang Wangyou woke. He rubbed his eyes, swollen like walnuts, and sat up—clearly exhausted yet forcing himself to stay alert. He paused blankly for a moment, then slid off the bed and hurried to Wen Yan’s side.

“You’re awake.” Liang Wangyou’s cheeks still bore the red imprints of sleep as he leaned obediently against the bed’s edge, blinking his big eyes. “Wen Yan, does it hurt?”

Wen Yan wiggled his fingers. Liang Wangyou reached through a gap in the anti-fall railing, grasping two fingertips and tapping them lightly with his pinky. “Don’t be scared. I’m right here.”

Wen Yan was too weak to speak. In a small voice, Liang Wangyou added, “I won’t let Father come in. He won’t dare give you that yellow stuff anymore.”

So the little Alpha was still in the dark, convinced that the Alpha had fed the Omega that yellow pill and caused his illness—why else would an Alpha shed tears?

His father had done something wrong, so he’d rushed Wen Yan to the hospital. But his father could do anything; Wen Yan would be fine after a few days’ rest. At six years old, he hadn’t yet studied physiology and had no idea that gland degeneration could be fatal. He simply thought Wen Yan was under the weather and would bounce back soon…

“Wen Yan…” Anxiety laced Liang Wangyou’s voice. “I’m sorry…”

Wen Yan had no idea why the boy would say that, but he longed to stroke his face as he used to. He couldn’t, though. His body was far too frail, lacking even the strength to muster a smile. Yet Liang Wangyou gazed at him steadily for several seconds before slowly leaning his head against those fingertips. The fluffy sensation transmitted back, and Wen Yan struggled to curve the corners of his mouth.

Liang Wangyou froze for an instant, then broke into a radiant smile.

A knock sounded at the door. Liang Wangyou glanced over warily. Seeing it was Hu Li, he leaned close to Wen Yan’s ear and whispered, “You’ve been asleep for three days. Uncle Hu’s here to check on you. I’ll stay right by your side—I won’t leave. The moment he goes, I’ll feed you some sugar water.”

“Have you been eating properly…?” Wen Yan asked, his voice a faint thread.

Liang Wangyou nodded vigorously. “Consul Ji sends it every day.”

“Go wait outside for a bit. Let me talk to Uncle Hu, okay…?”

Liang Wangyou nodded again. He took a few steps but turned back with evident reluctance. Unaware of just how pallid his own face was, Wen Yan forced his eyes wide to meet the boy’s gaze. Liang Wangyou dashed back, scanning Wen Yan’s upper body for a moment but finding no spot for a proper hug. At last, he pressed himself extra gently against Wen Yan’s calf, burying his face there and rubbing twice. When he peeked up shyly, his lips moved almost imperceptibly.

It took Wen Yan a long moment to make it out.

Liang Wangyou had quietly called him “Daddy.”

But the boy scampered off right away. Even on the flat carpet, he managed to trip, his head bumping out a dull thud. Hu Li moved to help him up, but Liang Wangyou scrambled to his feet on his own, clutching his head without a whimper, and bolted. In the fleeting moment the door stood ajar, Wen Yan caught a vague shadowy silhouette in the dim crack beyond—but Liang Wangyou slammed it shut, and the glimpse vanished…

A long pause followed before Hu Li approached, his heart heavy with anxiety, guilt, and self-reproach.

Wen Yan could see how the man had aged years in mere days—his hair even more disheveled than usual, fresh wrinkles etched across his face, his fingers twitching against his pant leg every few moments.

“Little Yan…” Hu Li’s eyes were red; words failed him.

“How much longer do I have…?” Wen Yan asked weakly.

The experts dispatched by the Seven-Nation Alliance had arrived one after another that very night, following Liang Shijing’s personal email. Every room for dozens of floors above this one had been requisitioned for case discussions. The most useful medical conclusions were ferried by soldiers trip after trip to the central Conference Room on this floor, where Hu Li’s team screened and selected them. Three days had burned through eight printers and two thousand kilograms of coffee beans. Five hundred thirty-one top doctors from around the globe had brought over ten thousand real-world cases of Omega gland degeneration. Yet among them, the cure rate stood at zero—and the mortality rate at one hundred percent.

More than five hundred experts had deliberated without sleep or rest for three straight days. Scientists had crunched survival odds for every proposed regimen. Still, they hadn’t pieced together a single viable treatment plan worth presenting. This was no longer a national effort to save one Omega’s life; it was a desperate, slim-odds gamble against the Grim Reaper himself.

Hu Li had no idea how to answer. His silence spoke volumes.

Even a trace of pheromones in an Omega’s saliva could plunge an S-Grade Alpha into a hallucinatory daze. But now, Wen Yan’s gland bore no Barrier Patch—and Hu Li was an Alpha, standing there unprotected in regular clothes. So Wen Yan knew the truth: his gland was utterly ruined. It wasn’t just failing to produce pheromones; it had likely begun to rot. That was why it could sit there so brazenly dry and exposed to the air.

An emptiness more hollow than deathly silence permeated the room.

After a long moment, Hu Li forced an extremely strained smile onto his face. “The surgery plan is coming together. It’s scheduled for half a month from now, and once it’s done, you can be discharged.”

Artificial glands had made zero progress in the medical world, and Liang Shijing had personally halted all live gland transplant surgeries. So what kind of surgery was left? It was merely medical ethics in action—turning vague, offhand remarks into a lifeline for the patient. That fragile thread of hope for survival would give the patient something to cling to desperately, for their own sake or for someone else’s.

But in this mundane world, miracles were in short supply.

“So I’ve got another half month to live.” Wen Yan’s eyes stared blankly into nothing. “Right?”

“Who said that?” Hu Li adopted a comically mysterious expression. “Little Yan, don’t you trust me? If a little procedure like this stumps me, where does that leave my old face?”

His intentions were kind, but comforting words were pointless now. Wen Yan spoke in halting bursts. “You have to tell me the truth… Little You seems to know who I am… If it’s true, then in this last half month, I want to spend it properly with him. I want to do some things for him before the end…”

The Omega hadn’t even finished looking through that photo album. He didn’t yet know what Liang Wangyou had looked like at every stage, from his youngest days up to now. He’d never walked him to school himself, never joined him at school events as a parent. He hadn’t met all of Little You’s good friends either—Wen Yan wanted to invite them over to play, let Little You boast loudly in front of everyone that he had a dad too. He wanted Little You to laugh more times, so that when he grew up and looked back on these fleeting days, he could cherish the memories. Wen Yan didn’t want to die quietly and inexplicably in this hospital room. He wanted to see Lin Yichu, to entrust Little You to him. If Liang Shijing ever mistreated Little You in the future, Lin Yichu would have every right to step in…

The Omega had become a father when he was still just a child himself. He didn’t know how to be a proper dad, and he’d been absent for all these years. If he could, he wanted to give his all one last time… Liang Wangyou seemed so independent now, capable of handling so many things on his own. And yet, it also felt like without him, the boy would have no one left to lean on. The world was so cold and brutal. Little You was small and soft, sometimes adorably clumsy—he could be anything, just not sad…

“Doctor Hu?” Wen Yan’s voice was barely a whisper as he called to Hu Li, murmuring like someone entrusting their final wish.

“We’ll definitely find a way.” Hu Li declared resolutely. “Don’t worry—just rest. Yesterday, Little Ji mentioned that the leaves at Oak Bay have just started turning yellow this year. After the surgery, you’ll get to see that view again. He said he’ll wait for you to come back and squeeze some fresh juice.”

Wen Yan let the comment pass in calm silence. Oak Bay had never been his home. The only home he had left was already reduced to rubble by Liang Shijing. He closed his eyes, unwilling to dwell on it.

“It’s not just the Chief working on this—lots of people are. We’ll make sure you pull through. You have to believe that.” Hu Li coaxed in a soft voice.

“Don’t mention him,” Wen Yan said.

“Fine… Little Yan, can I ask you something?”

Wen Yan gave a faint hum of assent.

“Who stitched your gland?” Hu Li asked.

“It’s what he wants to know, isn’t it?” Wen Yan opened his eyes.

“Yes,” Hu Li replied cautiously.

“I won’t tell him. He can chase that question for the rest of his life if he wants—otherwise, he’ll never let it go.” Wen Yan said calmly.

Hu Li’s face drained of color, then flushed in waves. He tucked the blanket around Wen Yan, asked a few questions about his gland, and finally inquired when the pain flared up most, to better time the medications.

“When I breathe,” Wen Yan replied.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a faint noise drifted in from outside. The room’s exceptional soundproofing turned it into an indistinct murmur. Hu Li glanced instinctively at the one-way glass and sighed, urging Wen Yan to rest. As he turned to leave, Wen Yan eyed the massive window embedded in the wall. “Doctor Hu, could you pull down the blinds, please?”

“Sure…”

Hu Li had no sooner stepped out than several nurses and Liang Wangyou entered right behind him. Little You wouldn’t let the nurses touch Wen Yan. Instead, he held the straw-equipped cup to Wen Yan’s lips himself. “It’s kinda sweet, aw.”

Wen Yan took a small sip.

“Wen Yan, this is nutritional fluid,” Liang Wangyou explained. “You can’t eat solids right now, so this is all you can have. Doctor Hu said once you’ve got some strength back, you can get up and walk around. Lying in bed too long gets uncomfortable.”

Wen Yan drank quite a bit more of the fluid. His thin skin regained a touch of color. The nurses carefully removed the painkiller nebulizer from the back of his neck, gave him two painkillers, and eased him upright. Lying down had been tolerable, but sitting up sent the room spinning. A constant buzz droned in his ears.

“Does it hurt? Maybe we should lie back down for a bit,” Liang Wangyou asked anxiously.

“No pain,” Wen Yan said with a faint smile. He pushed himself up from the bed and stood, leaning down to stroke Little You’s cheek. Little Alpha nuzzled against his leg for a moment, then took his hand and led him slowly into the outer room.

The space appeared to be a compact consultation lounge. Freshly laundered blankets were neatly stacked on the sofa, but a suit jacket lay tossed haphazardly atop them. Scattered documents bore an uncapped fountain pen, as if someone had bolted out in a rush just moments before they arrived…

“Little You, where have you been sleeping these past few days?” Wen Yan asked quietly.

Liang Wangyou, who’d been watching their path with his head down, let the truth slip. “On the sofa. Father won’t let me sleep with you at night.”

Little Alpha realized his mistake and eyed Wen Yan’s expression with trepidation. Wen Yan lowered his gaze silently, choking back a pang of bitterness. In the end, his issues with Liang Shijing had spilled over onto Little You. The boy had witnessed their entire argument that day, and this once-cheerful, lively little Alpha had grown sensitive and timid.

“What about your father, then?” Wen Yan asked, pretending to set aside old grudges.

Liang Wangyou relaxed and volunteered the information. “He hasn’t slept at all. During the day, he stands behind the glass watching you. At night, he sneaks into your room to watch. Oh, and he hasn’t said a word in days.”

“Oh.” Wen Yan had no interest in feigning curiosity about the rest.

Hand in hand, the Omega and little Alpha made their slow way into the bustling corridor. Nearby murmurs of conversation faded into silence, then trailed off into the distance. The doctors in their white coats turned, paused in their tracks, and stepped aside despite the lack of any real crowd. Most faces were unfamiliar, but every one of them showed deep respect.

“Mr. Wen.”

“How are you feeling, Mr. Wen?”

“Out for a stroll?”

Wen Yan revealed a faint smile and responded softly. Liang Wangyou led him all the way to the elevator, where the officers had already pressed the button for the dedicated lift ahead of time. The doors slid open slowly, revealing a large sofa inside that looked plush and comfortable at first glance. Liang Wangyou clearly hadn’t known about it; he let out a small “ah.”

This was the first time Wen Yan had truly experienced the sensation of riding an elevator. They descended to the ground floor, where the weather was pleasant today—the breeze was slightly dry, carrying the unique scent of autumn. The omega and Little Alpha didn’t wander for long; in just over ten minutes, they had only walked about two hundred meters. Back in the hospital room, Liang Wangyou dragged over a small stool and sat obediently in front of the bed. He still wouldn’t let the nurses touch Wen Yan and instead asked them for advice. At an age where he could barely wring a towel dry, Little Alpha was earnestly learning how to care for a patient. He wiped Wen Yan’s fingers and face, only to end up soaking his own chest with the towel instead.

“Wen Yan, wait for me—I’ll be right back!” Liang Wangyou dashed out and returned in less than two minutes, panting and out of breath. He had changed his clothes, but the buttons were fastened all wrong. Wen Yan patiently redid them one by one. Liang Wangyou stared at him in a daze, then suddenly said, “Wen Yan, I won’t live with my father anymore in the future. Will you take me?”

“I won’t wet the bed anymore,” Liang Wangyou promised solemnly. “Wen Yan, I’m really easy to raise.”

Tears that Wen Yan had held back all day finally spilled over. He suddenly understood why Liang Shijing didn’t see bedwetting as a big issue—it seemed to be one of the few symbols left of Liang Wangyou as an ordinary child. Though the little one had the flaws expected of a kid, he was mostly precocious beyond his years. A child who matured too early would miss out on so much joy in the years to come…

But Wen Yan lacked the strength to hug him. Without waiting for an answer, Liang Wangyou glanced at the tightly drawn blinds, kicked off his shoes, climbed onto the bed, and burrowed into Wen Yan’s arms. In his childish voice, he said, “I know my father likes you. I know you don’t like him. I won’t like him anymore either. Once you’re discharged, will you let me live with you?”

An alpha’s wish was to live with his omega; Little Alpha felt the same. Between the two, Little Alpha had decisively chosen the omega. Yet he didn’t know about the omega’s gland problem and dreamed of a long future together, just like the alpha from before…