There wasn’t much luggage to pack at the hotel—a small carry-on bag was more than enough. It held Wen Yan’s recent changes of clothes, with his ID documents tucked into the inner pocket like a deck of playing cards, along with some painkillers.
The entire hotel staff lined the lobby to see off this distinguished guest, surrounded by several bodyguards. They watched until the black convoy vanished into the distance.
Sigh… those easy, leisurely workdays were gone for good.
Who wouldn’t love a job where you only had to look after one VIP client? Their meals, daily needs—everything was handled by the professional team sent by some hidden big shot behind the scenes. The staff didn’t have to lift a finger, yet they still got full pay, double bonuses, and just had to clock in each day. But the lavish gesture of booking out the entire hotel had come to an end, and so had those golden days. The exorbitant bill had arrived via electronic transfer over ten days ago, a string of zeros that left everyone stunned—but what really dropped jaws was the payer’s name.
It belonged to someone worthy of a title of respect, someone whose title you didn’t dare toss around lightly.
The black sedan glided across the slick Capital Elevated Highway, the whole capital shrouded in a fine, silken curtain of rain. Consul Ji sat in the passenger seat, with a lead bodyguard car ahead and three more trailing tightly behind.
Through the misty water streaks on the window, Wen Yan stared out blankly. He’d stayed. No more holing up in that little cabin on the border. The stored grain was probably gone by now—who knew if the little squirrels could find what was left in the cabinets… Liang Shijing must be keeping a close eye on Li Li right now; it wasn’t safe to ask him for the keys yet… What was Liang Wangyou up to at this moment?
The rain had stopped. Oak Bay’s tree-lined avenue gleamed with freshly washed leaves, pure and pristine.
The private residence rose four stories tall, each floor divided into left and right wings. The basement held the Constant Temperature Wine Cellar and storage rooms. The ground floor housed the bodyguard team, medical team, and servants. They hadn’t been told they couldn’t disturb the master on the second floor—naturally, the entrances to the first and second floors were separated, with staff routes completely avoiding the owner’s.
The bedroom wing on the left side of the third floor was where Wen Yan now found himself. The entire estate had only three bedrooms, each around five hundred square feet… The three doors stood closed at measured intervals. Wen Yan quietly averted his gaze from the one at the far end—that was Liang Shijing’s room.
He never dwelled on that experience. In that absurd ordeal, the most he’d ever said to Liang Shijing was, “Slower… please, I beg you.”
Once an Omega received a lifelong mark from an Alpha, they entered a month-long dependency period. Under the dominance of pheromones, they lost all sense of self, plunging into an endless abyss of desire. Like animals, they craved the Alpha’s caresses and affection, then mated like animals. Exhausted, they’d sleep—only to wake and continue…
When the dependency period ended and Wen Yan came to his senses, Liang Shijing spoke to him.
First: “You’re pregnant.”
Second: “Your reproductive cavity has been opened too many times.”
Wen Yan had been just eighteen then. Those terrifying, alien words drained the color from his face in an instant. Wordless horror and despair flooded his features. His palm-sized face was awash with tears, his red-rimmed eyes brimming with guilt and agony. He couldn’t even form a complete sentence. His robe hung disheveled, revealing his slender neck, gaunt collarbones, and chest covered in bite marks.
Later, in the dead of night, he’d often spot the faint glow of a cigarette on the balcony behind the white gauze curtains—S-Grade Alpha’s tall, shadowy silhouette flickering in and out.
Then, that deep autumn, he’d taken medicine and fallen into a heavy sleep.
When he awoke, it was the height of summer, and his abdomen bore a new scar.
Oak Bay’s greenery had been thick and lush then. An entire year had slipped by from deep autumn to midsummer. Liang Shijing hadn’t consulted him; instead, he’d used extreme measures to keep him in a coma through the pregnancy, only waking him after Liang Wangyou was born.
“Mr. Wen, this way.” Consul Ji opened the first oak door on the right.
Past a screen, the view opened up. Wen Yan passed the living room and cloakroom, went through the attached study and down a hallway. The walls on either side felt bare without paintings. Finally, he reached the true resting area.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let in bright light, overlooking endless misty lawns. White gauze curtains hung neatly gathered at the corners. The large bed sprawled across the wooden floor, its base edged with an irregular arc of pale carpet. Wall lamps cast conical pools of light, adding warmth to the simple room.
A servant set down the luggage and left. Consul Ji clasped his hands in front. “The bath is drawn. Dinner is in an hour—you’re welcome to rest.”
Wen Yan’s gaze flickered. He actually wanted to ask where Liang Wangyou was. He’d only caught a hurried glimpse that afternoon and hadn’t seen him clearly. Now, the thought of seeking him out felt above his station. He nodded silently. “Thank you.”
“Then I’ll take my leave. If you need anything, press the call bell by the bed—even at three in the morning, it’s fine,” Consul Ji said.
“There is one thing… Could I have two syringes?”
As the overseer of daily life at Oak Bay, Consul Ji had no right to question why the master wanted something—only the duty to provide it swiftly and reliably.
“Of course. One moment.”
Consul Ji returned quickly, accompanied by an Alpha doctor Wen Yan recognized: Hu Li, head of Liang Shijing’s resident private medical team. He was in his fifties, with tousled hair and a strong air of a researcher.
“Hello, Little Yan.” Hu Li greeted him enthusiastically. “It’s been ages!”
Wen Yan remembered: Before the coma, Hu Li had checked on him often, always telling utterly unfunny dad jokes that made Wen Yan crack up anyway. But from dependency period to coma had been just three or four days—they’d met only that many times. Yet Hu Li acted so familiar, like he was about to launch into more chatter, as if they were old friends who’d spent years together.
“Doctor Hu, long time no see.” Wen Yan curved his lips into a smile.
“You want the syringes for extracting pheromones, right?” Hu Li handed the medical kit to Consul Ji, who placed it neatly on the hallway cabinet. “You know your pheromones are a bit special—we can’t handle the procedure for you. It’s simple enough, though. The step-by-step guide is in the kit. It might sting a tiny bit, like an ant bite—that’s normal. If the pain goes beyond that, stop immediately and call me. Remember: call me!”
No one could resist the hallucinogenic pheromones when they were released unrestrainedly. If they leaked out, it would cause a massive uproar—a danger to Wen Yan himself. That was why he had to handle this alone.
“Got it. Thanks,” Wen Yan said.
“You’ve gotten so skinny.” Hu Li gave him a friendly once-over from head to toe. “Did you run away from home these past few years and skip proper meals, just scarfing down chips all the time?”
Wen Yan froze. How did he know about the chips? Just a few hours earlier, Consul Ji had mentioned how stepping on fallen leaves sounded like crunching chips…
“He’s definitely lost a lot of weight,” Consul Ji chimed in. “No worries—the nutritionist has put together a monthly meal plan. A little nourishing food, and he’ll be right as rain.”
“Food supplementation takes forever to work. Multi-functional nutrient agents are the real deal—they supply all the energy your body needs daily. Pop one, and you can go three days and nights at high intensity without sleep, no fatigue!” Hu Li boasted about his research.
“Food-based methods work great too,” Consul Ji said, reining in his smile as he nodded to Wen Yan. “Little Yan, you should rest now. I’ll get him out of here.”
Wen Yan grew even more puzzled. Why had Consul Ji suddenly switched to that nickname?
The door clicked shut softly behind them, cutting off Hu Li’s urgent shout: “Hey, you butler, just listen to me—”
His head started throbbing again. Wen Yan rubbed his temple and carried the medical kit into the bathroom. The room was so vast that setting the kit down on the long stone vanity echoed faintly. In a smaller space, steam would billow thick and humid, but here it dissipated instantly into the climate-controlled air.
Wen Yan didn’t opt for a soak right away. He stood before the mirror and reached back to his nape.
The old-style pheromone barrier patches had been largely replaced by adjustable neck rings for two reasons: they couldn’t control the direction or amount of pheromone release, and their airtight adhesive could damage the delicate gland during removal.
Wen Yan had his own technique for minimizing the pain. He started by working a fingernail under the edge to lift a tiny flap, then pressed with his fingertips and peeled it back slowly, bit by bit. Even with all that care, the searing physiological agony brought tears streaming from his eyes. One hand tugged at the patch while the other fumbled a candy tin from his coat pocket, shaking out two painkillers and swallowing them. He panted in short gasps, muffled whimpers escaping his throat.
Once the thin patch was fully off, his gland lay exposed.
Crisscrossing stitches riddled the swollen, inflamed skin like centipede legs—or the sewn-shut mouth of a doll. A doctor like Hu Li would leap two meters into the air at the sight, screeching in horror: How did you survive this? How are you not dead? Li Li, on the other hand, would deliver the news with infinite sorrow: Please enjoy your final days.
Wen Yan braced his hands on the vanity, trembling as he caught his breath for about ten minutes. Then he swabbed the gland with a cotton ball, pierced the skin with the syringe needle, and pushed through waves of black dizziness. He never faltered, using his long, elegant index and middle fingers to draw back the plunger. Crimson liquid filled the barrel drop by drop.
One milliliter, two, three… Extraction complete, Wen Yan screwed the cap on tight in his exhaustion. No contamination—Liang Shijing needed this for treatment.
He steadied his breathing and repeated the process with the second syringe. Tide after tide of agony crashed from his nape through his limbs, numbing his brain until there was nothing left but pain, pain, pain…
All three syringes filled, Wen Yan pressed his forehead to the cold wall for support. He reapplied the barrier patch, stripped off his sweat-soaked clothes, and approached the bathtub in his peculiar way: first sitting firmly on the edge, testing one foot into the water to plant it solidly on the bottom, then pivoting to swing the other leg over. It was an overly cautious, awkward maneuver.
He couldn’t say why he’d developed the habit, but the warning—never fall again—was etched deep in his mind.
The hot water eased the pain a little. He slumped over the tub’s edge like a wounded animal, sighing deeply and baring his gaunt, slender back…
Dusk settled in as the Chief’s exclusive black convoy pulled up to the private residence’s gates. Liang Shijing headed straight for the small restaurant and scanned the empty dining table without a word.
“Mr. Wen is resting. He said he’s skipping dinner,” Consul Ji explained proactively.
The convoy’s engine still idled. Liang Shijing turned on his heel and left.
“Father?” Liang Wangyou emerged from the elevator and pattered over. “Why are you back?”
“Why haven’t you eaten yet?” Liang Shijing paused.
“I was just coming down to eat.” Spotting him at the restaurant door, Liang Wangyou asked in a soft, sticky voice, “Did you come back to eat with me?”
The small round table held several delicate, light dishes. Father and son sat facing each other, eating in silence. After a few bites, Liang Wangyou set down his spoon, rubbed his eyes, slid off his chair, and stood before Liang Shijing holding his bowl and spoon, staring up without a word.
Liang Shijing set down his chopsticks, lifted the boy onto his lap, took the bowl and spoon, and fed him.
“Consul Ji said Wen Yan’s sleeping,” Liang Wangyou said between slow chews, nestled in his father’s arms. “Wen Yan. That’s his name.”
“Mm.”
“Is he your subordinate? How come he’s not scared of you at all?”
“You’re not sleepy, but you’ve got so much to say.” Liang Shijing shoveled in a big spoonful.
“Is he gonna live here from now on?”
“Don’t bother him.”
“I didn’t bother him. I sneaked in to check—he was sleeping so soundly. Why’s he staying at our house…” Liang Wangyou’s voice trailed off. He pushed away the spoon nearing his mouth. “…Not hungry anymore.”
“Identical little pig,” Liang Shijing murmured.
Once Liang Wangyou had dozed off in his arms, Liang Shijing carried him out of the small restaurant, into the elevator, and upstairs. He glanced at the double doors to the right, then pushed open the ones to the left. Two childcare workers followed promptly; they handled Liang Wangyou’s daily care. They came now to wipe him down and settle him for sleep, bowing slightly to Liang Shijing upon seeing him so as not to disturb the boy.
“Take him to the bathroom in two hours,” Liang Shijing instructed as he left the room.
“Yes, sir.”
“How much longer for the pheromone report?” Back in the elevator on the descent, Liang Shijing pulled out his phone.
As Chief, he had no need to chase his subordinates for updates—no one dared slack off. Today was the exception. The doors dinged open to reveal Hu Li hurrying from the main hall, a thick stack of files clutched anxiously in his hands.
“Chief! The pheromone report!”
