Chapter 55

This was a small conference room, where esteemed gland experts from around the world sat clustered around the edge of an oval table. Ahead of the table, a massive projector screen displayed a PPT file—the live gland transplant surgery plan, the result of days of intense deliberation by multiple teams.

Eerie blue light bathed their solemn faces as they murmured to one another, debating a success rate so vanishingly low it bordered on nonexistent. Moments later, an officer pushed open the door from outside, and the S-class Alpha entered.

They rose as one and bowed deeply.

Liang Shijing took his seat, and Hu Li wasted no time on preliminaries, launching straight into a rundown of the entire procedure. The anesthesia dosage remained an unresolved issue, but with Wen Yan teetering on the brink of death, every second counted. They had to iron out the problems now and be fully prepared before any crisis struck.

The surgery’s foundation was to keep Wen Yan’s eyes open yet deprive him of any independent awareness or sensation of pain.

A 3D dynamic simulation unfolded slowly, depicting an Omega strapped to the operating table in human form. Blinding shadowless lamps flickered on, and four chief surgeons advanced two steps. With the procedure projected to last a grueling eighteen hours, they would rotate shifts.

The first chief surgeon, tasked with excising necrotic tissue, shouldered the heaviest burden. He had to scour every trace of the ruined gland while preserving its one tiny, pristine core, visible only under a microscope.

Nearby, on another table, lay an Alpha. Even as the first surgeon finished, they would harvest a portion of his gland. Extracting from the Alpha proved far trickier than from the Omega. His gland was perfectly healthy, but they needed only select tissue, not the encasing nerves. No anesthesia for him—he had to stay fully alert, reporting his sensations to guide the surgeon.

Hu Li fell abruptly silent at this point.

The live gland transplant demanded a double ordeal, testing both donor and recipient to their limits. For the Omega, it hinged on purging every decayed cell; for the Alpha, on enduring pain no human should bear until step two.

Border smugglers, those traffickers in illicit glands, cut corners ruthlessly to preserve freshness and costs—no precautions, just a crude wipe-down before ripping the glands live from Alpha and Omega napes. Victims often perished mid-extraction. Medics termed it stress-induced cardiac failure; the streets called it dying from sheer agony.

Liang Shijing listened stone-faced, as if the grim stakes concerned him not at all.

Should he survive to step two, the second chief surgeon would step up, transplanting the Alpha’s gland into the Omega’s nape. Precision was nonnegotiable here. The A-O gender mismatch meant any slip would doom the operation outright. The Alpha’s incision stayed open—no suturing yet, in case more tissue was urgently required. Doctors would apply only temporary hemostasis until the end.

Step three brought the exquisite finesse of neural reconstruction. To ensure the gland integrated seamlessly with the brain for normal function, this phase would consume most of the surgery’s duration. Success here marked the bulk of victory, yet it was the cruelest trial: aligning nerves finer than strands of hair with a bonding scalpel, then suturing them to myriad vessels.

Step four: close the wounds and verify function. Ease the Omega’s anesthesia, then probe his brain’s acceptance of the grafted gland via electrodes. Hu Li’s initial test? Have Wen Yan inhale Liang Shijing’s pheromones—the ultimate litmus of triumph. No response meant failure before completion, and death for Wen Yan. A reaction signaled true success.

Only then could they suture the Alpha—assuming he hadn’t perished in the prior phases.

The projector faded to black.

Liang Shijing had uttered not a word since arriving. He rose at once and departed—the longest he’d left Wen Yan’s side in the half month since delivering him here personally. He strode swiftly to the adjoining large office.

Ten minutes prior, a gleaming convoy of black vehicles had pulled up at the hospital entrance.

Suits emerged in a rush, some straight from the Chief’s Mansion, others fresh off planes battling the storm. These were the nation’s power brokers, thirty ministers ranking just below Liang Shijing, each commanding realms like justice, finance, defense, diplomacy, military affairs, and civil administration. Alerted, they abandoned their duties and streamed into the hospital building for this ultra-secret summit.

Cheng Zhu handed out copies of the Temporary Chief Succession Plan. Stark black text on white paper outlined the protocol: upon the incumbent Chief’s untimely demise, appoint a provisional successor via ironclad legal channels, plus schedules and methods for the next open election. Discussions ignited instantly. Aside from Lin Yichu, they knew only that the dying man was Wen Yan, son of Wen Zecheng. None realized Liang Shijing stood implicated too.

Only now did the peril sink in… the Alliance of Eight Nations might soon face upheaval…

They knew of Lin Yichu’s bond with Wen Zecheng, and Liang Shijing’s elder-like deference toward him. Documents in hand, all eyes turned to Lin Yichu.

“Just do your jobs as the document instructs,” Lin Yichu said, blowing gently on his teacup, eyes lowered. “No need for hysterics.”

His calm steadied them somewhat, but who could stay seated amid such turmoil?

“Wasn’t that Omega just sick? What’s it got to do with the Chief?” The Commander-in-Chief of the Military Department, ever blunt, demanded, brows knotted tight.

“Yeah, what’s the real story here?” another chimed in.

Lin Yichu sipped his tea in silence.

“Foreign Minister Lin, tell us the truth,” the Minister of Civil Affairs asked. “Is it the Omega who’s sick, or the Chief? Who was that email meant to find a doctor for?”

“Don’t keep calling him ‘Omega’—he has a name!” Lin Yichu slammed his teacup down on the conference table, his gaze sharp as he rebuked them.

“Could it really be Wen Zecheng’s son?” The Minister of Justice had seen too many bizarre events and couldn’t resist gossiping.

“There’s something fishy! How could the Chief be with Wen Zecheng’s son?” someone interrogated.

“Didn’t Wen Yan disappear after Wen Zecheng died back then?”

“What’s really going on here?”

The atmosphere shifted abruptly, turning hostile and resentful. Many of the people sitting there had been subordinates of Liang Yili back in the day. They knew the full story and harbored deep hatred for the Wen family.

The Minister of Finance was the clearest-headed. He sighed and said, “Everyone, put the grudges aside for now. Haven’t you forgotten why the Chief called us here today? Let’s discuss whether this plan is feasible before he arrives.”

“We should get answers first!” The Minister of National Defense was displeased. “We can understand the Chief suppressing news of his illness for the sake of social stability, but how can they hide something this big from us?” He still believed the sick one wasn’t the Omega, but Liang Shijing.

The remark stirred up a storm, and the discussion grew increasingly heated. Normally, these people appeared solemn and dignified at press conferences, but now they couldn’t stay calm. They chattered away, weighing the pros and cons. At that moment, Cheng Zhu suddenly opened the door and walked in. They immediately fell silent and stood up, followed by the sound of steady footsteps approaching from afar.

Liang Shijing had arrived. He carried his usual straightforward style as he crisply said, “Sit.”

Alphas rarely spoke at meetings, and this time was no exception. When silent, his gaze carried an inherent pressure. It slowly swept over everyone, bringing a heavy oppression. The ministers, who had just been arguing fiercely, all fell quiet. Lin Yichu was the first to sign, then set down his pen without a word. Everyone exchanged glances, but with Liang Shijing personally presiding, they one by one bowed their heads to sign.

For those who hadn’t signed yet, Cheng Zhu stood behind that minister, neither urging nor speaking.

Added to the occasional scrutinizing glance from the Minister of the Military Department, that minister wiped away cold sweat and signed immediately.

Once everyone had signed, Liang Shijing abruptly stood and called out to Lin Yichu, “Uncle.”

As soon as he spoke, thirty astonished gazes converged on him. That earlier “Sit” hadn’t revealed anything unusual, but now hearing Liang Shijing speak, they realized his voice was extremely hoarse, almost voiceless. But that was normal enough—even an S-class Alpha with superior physical constitution couldn’t soak in ice water all night long without consequences.

Lin Yichu let out a low sigh and followed Liang Shijing to the sickroom.

It was getting late, dusk just falling. Liang Wangyou, who had already eaten dinner, had been bathed by the servants and carried in. He was lounging on the sofa in Liang Shijing’s resting area, legs crossed and milk bottle in his mouth. One hand steadied the bottle while the other played with the clay little sea otter that Wen Yan had made for him.

Seeing Liang Shijing and Lin Yichu enter, he sat up. “Hello, Grandpa Lin.”

Lin Yichu forced a smile and nodded. He went to the glass window to gaze at Wen Yan sleeping peacefully inside. Liang Shijing sat down beside Liang Wangyou, watched him for a few seconds, then picked him up onto his lap. Liang Wangyou looked puzzled, and Liang Shijing leaned down to say, “Drink first.”

Bewildered, Liang Wangyou glanced between the two men. He quickly finished his nutritional supplement, then rubbed his eyes in Liang Shijing’s arms and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Listen carefully to what I’m about to say,” Liang Shijing instructed.

“Okay.”

“You might go live at your Grandpa Lin’s house from now on,” Liang Shijing said.

“Why? Am I not living at home anymore?” Liang Wangyou asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then you and Wen Yan aren’t coming home either?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you going?” Liang Wangyou asked innocently. “I want to live with you.”

Lin Yichu, standing by the glass window, trembled at the child’s words. Hearing such innocent talk, he truly felt his age. Too old to solve these young ones’ problems, only able to shoulder the heavy responsibility of guardianship in the worst-case scenario. Unable to bear listening further, he gently opened the inner sickroom door and went in.

“Father, why do I have to go live at Grandpa Lin’s?” Seizing the moment Lin Yichu left, Liang Wangyou whispered. “I want to live at Oak Bay.”

“You can go back anytime. Consul Ji and the others are waiting for you at home,” Liang Shijing said, lowering his eyes.

At such a young age, living alone in that huge house at Oak Bay—even with servants aplenty—Liang Wangyou still had no reliable adult to depend on. Lin Yichu was unmarried and single. Entrusting little Liang Wangyou to him put Liang Shijing at ease. An old man and a young child relying on each other might even give Liang Wangyou a taste of home.

“What about you two?” Liang Wangyou sensed something was off. “Where are you and Wen Yan going?!”

“Somewhere else,” Liang Shijing replied.

Not getting a firm answer, Liang Wangyou felt like bursting into tears but held back for fear of disturbing Wen Yan. “Aren’t we going home? Didn’t you say we could go home in a few days?”

“Are you going to bully Wen Yan again?”

“Let me go!” Liang Wangyou suddenly threw a tantrum. “I want to stay with Wen Yan! I’m going to tell on you!”

In the end, he still burst into tears, sobbing heartbrokenly and babbling incoherently. Liang Shijing waited for him to cry it out, then took hold of his chubby little hand. It was so like Wen Yan’s: slender, delicate, beautiful.

“When living in someone else’s home from now on, don’t be willful, got it?” Liang Shijing said softly.

“I don’t want to!” Liang Wangyou wailed.

“If you want to go home, call Uncle Ji or Cheng Zhu,” Liang Shijing said. “They’ll come pick you up.”

“No! I want Wen Yan!”

“Why aren’t you coming home?”

“Why aren’t you taking me with you!”

Liang Wangyou cried nonstop, his crying face just like when he was little. Brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, stubbornly refusing to let the tears fall. The Alpha remembered when he was newborn, his little face red and wrinkled, only opening his mouth after having his foot sole flicked. The child didn’t know how carefully his father had nurtured him from that tiny speck to this size. From not speaking to babbling, from not understanding words to being clever and quick-witted.

He had done so many adorable and utterly bizarre things. On rainy days, he’d hold an umbrella over ants and escort them home. The first time he drank tea, he’d declared the tea leaves to be “tree leaves,” that little Baby. He’d once stuffed his bag full of cash from the safe and handed it out to everyone at school. When his art teacher showed up with red-dyed hair, he’d insisted it was strawberry-flavored. Spotting a bird perched on a utility pole, he’d called it the bird’s exclusive parking spot.

He’d hide under the bed in fear when he didn’t finish his homework on time. During his orderly phase, he’d insist on being the first one out the door. When he was good, he was an angel; when bad, a little devil. Sick, he’d pout in grumpy silence; happy, he’d chatter on endlessly. Clingy, yet so sensible. He knew Alpha was busy, so even at the Chief’s Mansion, he wouldn’t disturb him. He’d quietly play with his toy cars by Alpha’s leg, and when he grew tired, he’d lean against it and drift off to sleep. A little older, he’d eye the clock hands, pretending to take a stroll under the Oak Corridor when really he was waiting for Alpha to come home. Sometimes he’d time it perfectly; more often, he’d wait days in vain.

During the five years Omega was away, Little Alpha and Alpha had leaned on each other for survival, giving the tender places in their hearts room to finally bloom.

When Omega returned, Little Alpha was trotting eagerly at his heels before the man could even say a word. He didn’t like cookies but told Omega he did, always begging him to bake some. Not all that interested in coming in first, yet desperate to win the top trophy just to give it to Omega. He’d even secretly spill to Omega alone what they were going to see at the Aquarium, chattering “Wen Yan this” and “Wen Yan that” all day long. Omega had once confessed his envy of Alpha. Alpha felt the exact same way—he just never said it.

“Chief, they’ve arrived,” Cheng Zhu said, knocking on the door.

Liang Shijing let out a heavy sigh and handed the still-wailing Liang Wangyou over to him. Liang Wangyou clutched his sleeve with a death grip, refusing to let go, his little mouth pleading nonstop, “Daddy! Daddy!” He tried so desperately to hold on to Liang Shijing, but in the end, Cheng Zhu carried him away. His screams echoed far down the corridor.

Liang Wangyou was brought to a stark, chilly room. Unfamiliar adults sat around the table—some old, some young. Their faces were strange to him, but they all smiled warmly. These were the managers from the Family Office, the ones who oversaw the Liang Family’s vast assets. At Liang Shijing’s instruction, they needed to handle the property transfer, which meant Liang Wangyou had to sign.

Unwilling to stay, Liang Wangyou bolted back and tiptoed to twist the door handle, but he couldn’t budge it. Sobbing uncontrollably, he tugged at Cheng Zhu and begged him to open it. Cheng Zhu scooped him up and soothed, “Once you sign, you can go.”

Liang Wangyou dashed back to the table, clambered onto the chair, and with eyes brimming with tears, asked what he had to sign.

The elite, stiffly dressed managers slid a thick stack of documents toward him, the pile nearly as tall as his face.

“Just write your name,” Cheng Zhu said softly.

Back when he’d told Wen Yan not to type or send voice messages because he didn’t know any characters yet, half a year had passed, and fresh out of kindergarten, he still only recognized a handful. He didn’t understand why Cheng Zhu wanted him to sign. But if he wrote fast, he could hurry back to the hospital room and see Liang Shijing and Wen Yan sooner. So at the bottom of each document—representing fortunes beyond measure—Liang Wangyou scrawled his name in wobbly strokes.

There were so many, and he couldn’t control his pencil pressure. Stray marks outside the line meant invalid, start over. He kept twisting his head toward the closed door, terrified that if he dawdled, Liang Shijing and Wen Yan would vanish. Panic-stricken, he burst into tears. His legs dangled far above the floor, kicking the chair with loud bangs.

Finally, he forced himself to stop crying and carefully formed each stroke on the page.