Chapter 52

Blood dripped down the bed rail one drop at a time. The omega lay on his side, his face serene in sleep, but fresh blood kept surging from the corner of his mouth in steady streams…

It stained his cheeks, the bedsheets, the pillow…

Several doctors burst into the ward to resuscitate him. They ran with frantic urgency, medical kits clutched heavily in their hands, but to the S-level Alpha, it all unfolded in slow motion. White coats flared at the hems, creases formed in the legs of their suit pants, heels hovered inches from the floor, faces bore heavy, solemn expressions, and strands of hair whipped back against the headwind…

“Make way! Make way!” someone bellowed.

A medical kit slammed into the Alpha’s shoulder, the impact jolting him sideways. In an instant, the world snapped back to normal speed.

“How many milligrams of adrenaline?” Hu Li shouted.

“Defibrillate first! No heartbeat!” another yelled right back.

The heart monitor flashed wildly, but the waveform on the screen had gone flat as death—a straight, unwavering line with no undulations. Someone had flung the blanket off the omega onto the floor. A doctor ripped open his thin shirt with a sharp tear. The omega was so gaunt. His ribcage jutted out sharply, his abdomen caved deeply inward. Blood poured from his mouth, trickling down his neck before pooling agonizingly slowly in the hollow of his collarbone…

Heavy equipment hummed to life. Medical electrodes were slapped onto the omega’s pallid skin. Massive doses of drugs flooded his arm. Yet he showed no response whatsoever, enduring the pain with the same stoic tolerance as always. His eyes remained peacefully shut as the doctors worked over him, no tears, no complaints—the model patient.

The scene was utter chaos…

The Little Alpha wailed as he rushed to the Alpha’s side, clutching his father’s limp, powerless hand where it dangled at his trouser leg. This once-inseparable father and son hadn’t spoken in days. The Little Alpha blamed the Alpha for feeding the omega that yellow pill, which had made him sick. He’d thought his omega would recover quickly. But there’d been no sign of improvement—in fact, tonight he’d vomited blood…

Instinctively, the child sought comfort from the father he saw as all-powerful.

“Don’t come to me. Go talk to him,” Liang Shijing said, his voice trembling.

Liang Wangyou didn’t grasp the deeper meaning, didn’t realize he was the sole reason the omega had clung to life these past days. So Liang Shijing pressed on. “Go talk to him. Wake him up.”

The bedside was mobbed with doctors, but Liang Wangyou obeyed and approached anyway. He couldn’t wedge himself in, so he stood behind the cluster of backs, sobbing out Wen Yan’s name over and over. But the omega on the bed reacted to neither the defibrillator nor the desperate pleas. Five minutes had passed since his heart stopped…

“Say you’re Liang Wangyou,” Liang Shijing prompted. Liang Wangyou switched it up, repeating “I’m Little You” and “Wen Yan” in endless loops.

They said hearing lingered right up to the end, muffled but present. Calling Liang Shijing’s name might do more harm than good. The Alpha might once have held a place in the omega’s heart—but that was in the past. His name meant nothing now; he wasn’t worth a shred of the omega’s lingering attachment. Only the child’s earnest pleas could rouse him…

Perhaps the calling truly worked, or maybe it was the cutting-edge drugs. Either way, amid Liang Wangyou’s relentless cries, the monitor flickered with faint waves. Suddenly, it beeped back to life.

The doctors sighed in collective relief but didn’t slacken for a second, pumping in more drugs to stabilize the omega until his vitals normalized. Liang Wangyou had stopped crying, but he no longer dared climb into bed with Wen Yan. He stood frozen nearby, watching the medical personnel meticulously wipe the blood from Wen Yan’s body. Then he dragged over a chair and sat there in a daze. The scare had rooted him in place—he wouldn’t budge an inch or utter a word.

Hu Li came in wiping his hands and murmured something to the statue-still Liang Shijing. The two stepped out. Liang Wangyou had overheard and trailed after them.

A floor lamp glowed in the outer room, casting light on a cramped corner. In just a few days, the space had morphed into a hybrid bedroom-office. The low table overflowed with stacks of crisp white documents—real case files sifted through by the Alpha, each review another death sentence for the omega. The sofa was a tangle of rumpled blankets and coats. The Alpha had lost count of sleepless nights; his rare respites came from sitting there, absorbing daily reports on the omega’s condition.

This was his fleeting break, so he eased onto the sofa using the armrest, face blank, utterly silent. He had nothing to say. The top specialists were stumped, and he was no different. All he could do was listen in grim quietude as they projected the omega’s remaining days, tallied the neurons crushed by his gland, and detailed how his deepening comas spelled doom.

“How about…” Hu Li started, then choked off the words. His implication hung heavy: most of the omega’s gland nerves were necrotic. Painkillers would soon fail him, plunging him into his worst agony yet. For any living soul, such torment at the end wasn’t humane. Medical ethics and compassion demanded they call it.

The doctors knew it. The Alpha knew it too.

But one surgery offered slim hope—a proposal floated long ago, with zero guarantees. After deliberation, they elevated it to top priority. The full name was Human Live-Body Replacement Surgery: transplanting a healthy omega’s gland into Wen Yan. Though the S-level Alpha had personally halted it that early spring, it was now greenlit in secret.

Finding a healthy omega willing to donate was the real hurdle. Gland removal meant donor death. No one would trade their life for another’s…

Liang Wangyou wiped away his tears as he nestled against Liang Shijing’s side. Liang Shijing lifted him onto his lap and covered his ears. “Would mine work?”

Hu Li’s eyes widened. “How could that possibly work?”

The glands of alphas and omegas were worlds apart—a reckless swap would kill them both. But as the saying goes, everyone has a heart of flesh. Certain parts of gland tissue were the same between alphas and omegas. If they preserved that tiny remnant of the omega’s normal tissue and nurtured it with alpha gland tissue, like a skin graft, it could repair over a long time.

Feasible in theory, perhaps, but no one knew what problems might crop up in practice.

In that brief silence, Hu Li suddenly recalled why the alpha had hesitated all those years ago, torn between abandoning the omega’s reproductive cavity and letting go of his hatred. In such a dilemma, no choice could ever be perfect.

It was a tragedy, forcing him to pick the lesser of two evils.

The alpha had succeeded five years ago, but that didn’t guarantee success today. The surgery was far too risky, with no precedents anywhere. Even swapping glands between two omegas, Hu Li wouldn’t give it better than a thirty percent chance—let alone an alpha donating to an omega. If he’d had more time, he might have crunched some numbers on success and failure rates. But the procedure had been halted, and now the omega had only days left to live.

As an outsider, he could still weigh the pros and cons, heartless as that sounded. Without surgery, the worst outcome was Wen Yan dying while Liang Shijing survived, leaving Liang Wangyou with support and family—Wen Yan’s own wish. If neither made it off the table, Liang Wangyou would be left utterly alone. And that was just on the personal front.

Publicly, things were worse. The National Security Department had been in a frenzy these past days, constantly sounding him out, while the Military Department pulled every string to talk Liang Shijing out of it. The Chief’s death would trigger an instant reshuffle of power blocs. The Alliance of Eight Nations wasn’t nearly as stable as it seemed; lose their strongest leader, and nations would drop the pretense, war breaking out in a heartbeat.

Some things Hu Li had to spell out plainly.

“The odds of success are minuscule—failure is practically a foregone conclusion. Chief, Little Yan’s gland is down to a microscopic speck of healthy tissue; just keeping that from dying off after surgery would be a miracle. His body’s in no shape to handle an operation this massive. He won’t even clear anesthesia—it’ll trigger heart failure the instant it’s administered.”

“I know,” Liang Shijing murmured, head bowed.

“Little Yan just can’t let go of Little You. Let them spend these last days together properly, doing the things they want.” Hu Li was blunt about it. Without Liang Wangyou, Wen Yan never would have opted for treatment in the first place. Only then had he clung to a few extra days, stolen glances at Little You. If it had just been Liang Shijing… Wen Yan might not have had the will to survive at all.

“I know,” Liang Shijing said again.

“So—” Hu Li began, but Liang Shijing cut him off.

“It’s my fault.”

Hu Li fell silent for a long moment, but he still had to press on, had to lay out the agony Wen Yan faced once the painkillers wore off. “Actually, the painkillers he’s on…”

“What did you say?” Liang Shijing’s head snapped up midway through.

“I said the painkillers Little Yan’s taking will lose their effect eventually. The pain will be excruciating—most gland degeneration patients end up taking their own lives because they can’t endure it.” Hu Li repeated himself, puzzled, oblivious to the tempest those mundane words unleashed, to what the alpha had once overlooked.

The day after Little Alpha’s birthday, Consul Ji had told him the omega woke up refusing food, desperate to see him. Alpha had been swamped, chained to meetings all day, but the news filled him with joy. He never wore his heart on his sleeve, yet like some eager kid, he couldn’t contain it—abruptly breaking off the conference to rush to the omega’s side.

The night before, they’d done all those things; the omega would surely remember. He was shy, wouldn’t even lift his eyes.

Alpha listened to his soft, halting words, to stories of long ago, to his apologies. Truth be told, Alpha had nearly forgotten it all, just like that first time he’d laid eyes on the omega—whatever the omega said fell on deaf ears, Alpha fixated only on that trembling mouth. But then the omega brought up his father. Alpha didn’t want to hear that name, so he snapped not to mention it, assuming the omega would get why. But the omega kept going…

So the omega had understood. It was Alpha’s fault.

It was absurd: the omega’s brave confession met with nothing but icy rebukes. Fate had extended olive branches to them both, only for a slip of the tongue—a near-homophone—to drive them to opposite ends of oblivion.

Because of that blunder, the omega paid dearly. All of it stemmed from Alpha’s arrogance. Pride and folly grew from the same tree, and now Alpha tasted the bitter fruit of his own planting. If only he’d listened patiently to the end. If only he’d swallowed his grudge, as his heart had wrestled to do. The omega’s life might have been salvageable then—a slim chance, but slimmer still now…

Alpha slowly bowed his head. The hands covering Little Alpha’s ears slipped away, fingertips quivering.

The agony of tendons torn and bones ground must be unbearable…

So now that he understood—was it regret that weighed heaviest? Self-reproach? Or pain?

Before Hu Li could speak, Alpha waved him off wearily and slumped back onto the sofa… Once, he’d brimmed with vigor. A single downward press of his hand had seated everyone in the Boxing Gym. Now his fingers trembled—that was it. All he had left.

Hu Li couldn’t bear to watch. He turned and left.

Some time later, Alpha eased Little Alpha off his lap, his voice a rasp. “You go out too.”

Liang Wangyou was closest; he saw Liang Shijing’s torment plain as day. Panic gripped him, but fear choked it down. He clutched at Liang Shijing, refusing to let go, and burst into tears.

“Get out,” Liang Shijing said.

“No, don’t.” Liang Wangyou shook his head vigorously, choking back sobs.

“Go be with him. He needs you,” Liang Shijing said again.

At those words, Liang Wangyou stopped protesting. He pushed open the door to the inner room, but before going in, he glanced back. Liang Shijing was peering over his shoulder at whatever lay behind him, his eyes bloodshot.

That indescribable night quietly slipped away. The ward was bathed in ample, serene light.

Wen Yan slowly opened his eyes. For some reason, he could make out faint shapes now. Of course, he had no idea what had happened to him during the night. All he knew was that Little You was no longer in the room. In his place stood Liang Shijing by the bedside. Though Wen Yan couldn’t discern his expression clearly, when he stirred, Liang Shijing handed him a cup with a straw inserted, as deftly familiar as the medical staff had been over the past few days.

After drinking some water, Liang Shijing silently helped him to the bathroom, waited outside, then came in to wash his hands. The feel of the water flowing over his skin was soothing. Though Wen Yan still couldn’t see perfectly, he let it run over him for a long time. When he emerged, he sidestepped Liang Shijing’s attempt to support him.

Liang Shijing stiffened and followed behind him.

“Why are you doing all this?” Wen Yan asked, leaning on the bed as he slowly sat down, eyes lowered.

Liang Shijing stood motionless for a long moment before finally stepping closer, his voice hoarse. “You were going to tell me that night, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“About the painkillers.”

Wen Yan feigned ignorance. “Tell you what?”

“It wasn’t a headache. It was the gland.”

“I forgot,” Wen Yan replied simply. Liang Shijing seized his hand.

Wen Yan could only make out the blurry outline of Liang Shijing’s face so close by, but he sensed the turbulent emotions churning beneath that calm facade. Liang Shijing seemed on the verge of saying more, yet as if he couldn’t utter a word…

“I don’t want to talk to you. Could you leave?” Wen Yan said politely.

“You’ll live,” Liang Shijing stated.

“Are you going to save me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want you to save me,” Wen Yan said calmly. “I want you to suffer.”

“Don’t be like this.”

“I’m tired. I don’t want to talk to you. Bring Little You in. I want to be with him.”

“Alright.”

Thinking the omega still couldn’t see, the alpha first prepared everything the omega might need in the room. He made a show of closing the door, then slipped back inside. Wen Yan stared blankly at the ceiling, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. Some things weren’t quite what he’d imagined, but what was the point of dwelling on it now?

He hurt. His neck throbbed, and pain radiated everywhere.

The moment he started crying, the alpha couldn’t stay hidden. He appeared and silently wiped away his tears.

“Where does it hurt?” Liang Shijing asked softly, afraid even his breath might worsen the omega’s discomfort.

“I-it doesn’t hurt,” Wen Yan replied, lips trembling.

“The doctors will be here soon,” Liang Shijing said. “It’ll stop hurting any moment now.”

Long-term use of painkillers suppressed his senses, but when it wore off, the agony hit like this—millions of tiny needles threading through his body all at once, impossible to predict where they’d strike next, yet always known in the instant they did.

Tears streamed down Wen Yan’s face faster and faster, while Liang Shijing held him more and more loosely.

“I don’t blame you at all. It’s my own problem. It has nothing to do with you. But I don’t want to see you,” Wen Yan said, sweating profusely, his words halting. “But Liang Shijing, I’m dying. Can you promise to take good care of Little You from now on? Don’t let him suffer. Don’t hit him if he’s naughty. He’s so smart and sensitive. He always watches our faces…”

“Stop talking.” Liang Shijing blinked, a tear falling onto the omega’s forehead.

“This is my last wish. Please…” Wen Yan gasped, his body shuddering intermittently from the pain.

Liang Shijing gently wiped the sweat from his brow. Wen Yan reached out and grasped his wrist, lifting his reddened eyes from below, straining to focus on the alpha. “Don’t you like me? Why won’t you promise?”

“I’ll promise only if you survive,” Liang Shijing said.

Wen Yan released his wrist and murmured to himself, “Then what should I do?”

“It hurts so much… Don’t touch me…”

“Can I have the painkillers…?”

With that, he broke into sobs, mumbling words no one could make out…

The ward door flew open. Several anesthetists rushed in carrying medical kits. Starting today, they would try injecting anesthetics into the omega. Since it was hard to gauge how much he could tolerate based on his condition, they’d administer it gradually to ensure safety for the surgery. First, to numb his brain and ease the excruciating pain from his gland—he truly couldn’t endure another moment of suffering. He’d borne it for so many years already, but he was someone who bruised easily, who reddened at the slightest pinch. How could they let him go through this?

Second, for the live gland transplant surgery. Hu Li had devised something no other medical team would dare imagine: keeping Wen Yan in a state of lucid confusion during the procedure. Though most nerves in his gland were necrotic, Hu Li wanted to preserve as much of the still-functional tissue as possible. It would greatly aid his recovery later, assuming he survived.

A diluted milky-white agent was slowly injected through the IV in his elbow. Soon, the omega’s pupils dilated. He lay against the snow-white pillow, brows and eyes damp, his face pallid with illness. His long, thick lashes trembled faintly now and then. His expression finally showed no pain, just a vacant daze…

Liang Shijing washed his body, changed him into fresh sleepwear, and applied medicine to the back of his neck.

“Does it hurt?” Liang Shijing asked, holding a cotton swab.

“A little,” Wen Yan answered sluggishly.

Liang Shijing’s touch was feather-light as he applied the ointment and blew on it gently. He leaned close, gazing at the omega’s beautiful, swollen eyes. “Now?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Wen Yan replied even more slowly, his eyeballs shifting lazily. “A bit cold.”

Liang Shijing half-reclined against the headboard and pulled him into his arms, letting Wen Yan rest limply on his thigh. He smoothed back the omega’s forehead hair and whispered once more, “How about now?”

“I want to sleep,” Wen Yan replied slowly.

Liang Shijing cupped his cheek in his palm and murmured softly, “You have to wake up, okay?”