Chapter 76: YanYu ABO (Part 1) Part 1

Fu Yanzong had been in a foul mood lately.

It was all because he was locked in a cold war with his childhood sweetheart.

The first to notice was Fu Yanzong’s mother, Gu Huijie. She had always been sharp as a tack, incredibly perceptive, and with her son’s recent behavior so blatantly off-kilter, it took only the slightest attention to spot the problem.

Take this morning, for instance—a perfectly ordinary weekday.

At seven o’clock, Fu Yanzong came downstairs for breakfast with his backpack in hand, just like always. He tossed the black suede bag onto the sofa, where it bounced lightly on the cushions like an abandoned black cat.

His navy uniform jacket was slung haphazardly over the back of a chair by its owner. Fu Yanzong’s slightly messy hair curled up at the ends, his dark lashes casting a still shadow over his eyes. Compared to his usual sleepy laziness upon waking, he now carried an air of low pressure, like a storm cloud brewing from displeasure.

Fu Yanzong paused by his seat, slowly scanning the boy sitting beside Gu Huijie. The boy had his head bowed, gripping his knife and fork tightly as he stared at the food on his plate. Without a flicker of emotion, Fu Yanzong withdrew his gaze, said nothing, pulled out his chair, and sat down to eat his breakfast.

In that brief sweep, Gu Huijie keenly sensed the stiffness and silence from the other child beside her.

She glanced sideways and saw Song Linyu’s knuckles turning visibly white where he clutched his utensils. His dark bangs shrouded half of his dulled amber eyes, leaving only his tightly pressed lips in view.

Gu Huijie watched the drama unfold in silence, thinking to herself: Something’s wrong. This is bad.

It was common knowledge in the family that Fu Yanzong loved to sleep in. To wait for him so they could head to school together, his childhood sweetheart Song Linyu would ring the bell at the Fu Family Villa half an hour early every morning. He’d stand on the stone steps, flashing a brilliant smile at Gu Huijie or her husband Fu Wenxuan, and say softly, “Good morning, Aunt Gu, Uncle Fu. Sorry to bother you.”

Gu Huijie would then beam and usher Song Linyu inside, letting him eat first while they chatted idly, waiting for the young master upstairs to finally drag himself down for breakfast and school.

Of course, the alarm clock often failed to rouse Young Master Fu. Neither the maids nor his parents could budge him in those cases—only Song Linyu bounding upstairs, unlocking the bedroom door, and whispering wake-up calls from the bedside would barely coax him out of bed without too much morning grumpiness.

Afterward, Gu Huijie would see the two boys at the foot of the stairs, talking.

Usually, Fu Yanzong would lean down slightly, elbow propped on the railing, eyes crinkled in a smile as he said something casual, watching Song Linyu’s fluffy hair bobbing in front of him.

Song Linyu, ever earnest, would lower his gaze, rise on tiptoe, and loop the tie around from the edge of Fu Yanzong’s uniform shirt. With his slender, pale fingers threading deftly through the knot, he’d fashion a perfect Windsor, then receive his well-deserved reward: Fu Yanzong grinning as he ruffled Song Linyu’s hair and cooed, “Good boy, such a good boy.”

A scene like today’s, with zero interaction between them? That was a first.

The two boys, raised together since childhood, had certainly bickered plenty of times. But in Gu Huijie’s memory, none had ever lasted more than two hours.

As kids, their squabbles always ended with Song Linyu clambering onto Fu Yanzong’s lap, burrowing into his arms, wrapping around his neck, and wheedling, “Brother, I’m sorry. You’re right about everything, brother.”

Once they grew up… well, there were even fewer chances to fight.

Fu Yanzong and Song Linyu, quarreling? Anyone who knew them would find it unimaginable.

Still, as a parent, Gu Huijie felt it her duty to smooth over any brewing tensions between the two teenagers in their puberty-fueled drama. She cleared her throat lightly, set down her utensils, and was about to launch into some morning mediation when the crisp clink of a glass against the marble tabletop made her close her mouth.

Someone placed the sugar-sweetened hot milk from the clear glass pitcher right by Fu Yanzong’s hand. Expressionless, he lifted it and poured some into his mug, then—as on every previous morning—pushed the mug toward Song Linyu.

A drop or two of hot milk splashed from the rim onto Song Linyu’s hand. The boy, who had barely touched his food, finally lifted his eyes from the plate he was nearly staring a hole through. But he didn’t meet Fu Yanzong’s gaze.

Fu Yanzong was leisurely twirling pasta onto his fork, turning his head to chat with his father, Fu Wenxuan, about recent stock options. He showed no intention of acknowledging anyone else.

Song Linyu’s lashes trembled. He called softly, “Brother.”

Fu Yanzong didn’t react.

Song Linyu fell silent, cradling Fu Yanzong’s mug obediently and draining every last drop of milk from it.

Gu Huijie, however, felt a bit relieved. She decided against meddling and focused on her own breakfast.

Fu Yanzong finished eating, set down his utensils, bid farewell to Fu Wenxuan and Gu Huijie, then strode past Song Linyu toward the entryway to change his shoes.

Seeing this, Song Linyu jumped from his chair and trailed silently behind. When Fu Yanzong leaned against the cabinet to put on his shoes, Song Linyu still wouldn’t give up. He tugged timidly at the hem of Fu Yanzong’s shirt.

Fu Yanzong shot him a glance, his dark eyes cold and indifferent. The look made Song Linyu ache inside, like something had stabbed his heart. He released his grip in a daze.

Fu Yanzong’s gaze lingered for half a beat before he shoved the door open forcefully.

The car waited on the main road outside the villa, requiring a crossing over a pebbled path from the entrance. Fu Yanzong’s long legs carried him quickly. Song Linyu snapped out of his stupor and hurried after him.

Staring at Fu Yanzong’s back, Song Linyu’s eyes dimmed faintly. He lowered his gaze in silence, quickened his steps to catch up, and pleaded pitifully from behind, “Brother, I can’t keep up… Slow down, please.”

Just as the words left his mouth, Song Linyu stumbled. He let out a restrained grunt.

Luckily, Fu Yanzong whirled around and seized his wrist, yanking him upright and sparing his knees a bruising kiss with the pebbles.

Fu Yanzong’s fingers were long and distinct, their joints sharply defined like carvings. His thumb pressed Song Linyu’s wrist bone, dimpling the skin slightly—as if he controlled even the pulse beneath.

Thump. Thump. Rapid and clear.

The morning sunlight slanted down, rendering his fingers coldly pale like jade, faint blue veins tracing across the back of his hand. The jet-black inhibitor ring hung loosely on his wrist, outlining the subtle, potent sexual tension of a top-tier alpha.

One glance, and Song Linyu couldn’t take it.

The grip was heavy enough to leave red marks and a sting of pain, but coming from Fu Yanzong, it felt like tingling electricity racing through bone and spine, making Song Linyu shiver with pleasure.

“Song Linyu, I seem to recall telling you I hate that little sympathy ploy of yours the most.”

Fu Yanzong released his hand, calmly exposing the self-injury trick Song Linyu had just used to snag his attention. But in the next second, Song Linyu dove straight into his arms. His own arms wrapped familiarly around Fu Yanzong’s shoulders and neck, face buried in the folds of the uniform as he nearly begged, “I know… but don’t ignore me, please, brother. I’m scared when you ignore me.”

Fu Yanzong’s brow furrowed in irritation. After a moment, though, he relented and bundled Song Linyu into the car.

The black Maybach glided smoothly away. Fu Yanzong tossed Song Linyu into the back seat and slammed the door. Though his attitude had softened a touch, he still had no intention of speaking first. He propped his head and gazed at the birch grove flashing by outside the window. Passing gardeners and others spotted him heading to school and paused to wave enthusiastically.

Song Linyu pressed his lips together, undeterred. He rose to his knees on the seat, tentatively reaching out, then—in a fit of self-delusion—climbed right onto Fu Yanzong’s lap.

This was Song Linyu’s favorite spot. Since childhood, Fu Yanzong had always indulged him sitting there—a privilege no one else could claim.

He lifted his eyes, their pale, icy irises now glistening like pools of water. Gazing at Fu Yanzong with the innocent, worldly-naive look of their younger days, Song Linyu whispered, “Brother, I’m sorry.”

Fu Yanzong turned his face aside. Golden sunlight skimmed fleetingly over his dark lashes before pooling in the faint blue mole at the corner of his eye.

After a pause, he lifted his gaze with unclear intent, raising a hand to slowly caress Song Linyu’s pale chin. With a teasing lilt, he murmured, “You can just toss out an ‘I’m sorry’ without knowing a thing?”

Song Linyu’s eyes welled up involuntarily from the touch. He couldn’t hold back a soft, ambiguously intimate gasp, then nuzzled his cheek against Fu Yanzong’s palm. His gaze drifted back to the inhibitor bracelet on Fu Yanzong’s wrist.

An alpha’s inhibitor bracelet.

Fu Yanzong had cranked it to the highest setting—no chance of pheromones leaking. Even this close, Song Linyu caught only the faint woody freshness of fabric softener clinging to his clothes.

Song Linyu also wore an inhibitor bracelet like this one, but he loathed it with such intensity that he hid it beneath the cuff of his uniform, pressed tightly against his skin without a gap, and he had set the suppression function to its maximum level.

In Shenlan, to ensure safe and harmonious interactions among citizens, every Alpha was required to wear an inhibitor bracelet after their initial differentiation. They had to adjust the suppression level according to the strength of their pheromones, preventing the various malicious incidents that could arise from a massive leakage of pheromones.

However, no Alpha would willingly use an external device to completely restrain their pheromones. Pheromones were not only the most straightforward way to identify secondary gender traits but also the best display of the territorial instincts that drove Alphas to compete and dominate.

Those Alphas who fully masked their pheromones with an inhibitor bracelet were instead assumed by the public to be inferior Alphas of too low a rank, ones who didn’t want to reveal their weakness.

Of course, Fu Yanzong was the exception.

Anyone with eyes could see that he suppressed his pheromones purely out of good breeding.

Whether it was his appearance, family background, or academic achievements, Fu Yanzong possessed an undeniable, overwhelming superiority. Among his peers, he was the first to undergo differentiation into a top-tier Alpha. His pheromones were so overpowering that they could influence any Alpha or Omega. Whether it sparked extreme instinctive repulsion between those of the same sex or the explosive passion of an estrus period between opposite genders, the effects were immeasurable.

So from the day of his differentiation, Fu Yanzong had voluntarily reined in his pheromones.

Of course, now there was also Song Linyu to add to the list.

Unlike Fu Yanzong, no one would take Song Linyu for an Alpha at first glance. Compared to such an aggressive gender, Song Linyu—who had only differentiated at the tail end of his period and was now sitting on Fu Yanzong’s lap—seemed far more likely to be mistaken for a frail, docile, and obedient Omega.

Fu Yanzong slowly withdrew the palm pressed against his face. Song Linyu leaned forward dependently in pursuit, revealing the upright, slender figure beneath his uniform shirt without reservation as he pressed tightly against Fu Yanzong’s body.

“I know, I know why you’re angry.”