Cen Chi was entirely unfazed by Chu Xingxiao’s threat.
“The suppressant isn’t for your sake—it’s for Chi Zhan’s. Unless you want to make things worse for him, inject it. Now.”
Chu Xingxiao stared at the injector, then glanced at Chi Zhan. After a brief pause, he administered the suppressant.
Suppressants were a brutal experience for Alphas—it was a direct fight against their own instincts. After enduring a grueling five minutes of intense physical resistance, Chu Xingxiao finally opened his eyes. The pheromones radiating from his body had completely vanished.
And this time, when he approached Chi Zhan, there was no more reaction—no resistance.
He knelt on one knee beside the bed, gently taking Chi Zhan’s hand into his own. It was ice-cold.
How could his gege be… an Omega?
Even though a part of him had secretly wished for it, he’d always known—rationally—that being a Beta was better.
If he were a Beta, he wouldn’t have to worry about being marked. Wouldn’t have to fear unexpected heat episodes. Wouldn’t carry such a fatal weakness.
Living like a “normal” person—that was better than anything.
Chi Zhan was supposed to be a Beta. Where had it all gone wrong?
Desperately, Chu Xingxiao kept touching Chi Zhan’s skin again and again, hoping to warm him up. But the warmth just wouldn’t transfer. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as the color drained further from his gege’s face.
“Speak.”
Chu Xingxiao’s lips moved. His voice was a low growl that only another Alpha could hear.
Cen Chi explained calmly: Chi Zhan wasn’t an Omega. His pheromone test results showed he was a pure Beta.
But somehow, his pheromones had surged uncontrollably. Medication hadn’t worked. The only option had been a temporary mark.
“I need to check his vitals. Temperature and heart rate.”
“Don’t try to act innocent,” Chu Xingxiao growled. “Isn’t it because of something you did that my gege ended up like this?”
He’d always thought Cen Chi was no good. He should’ve made Chi Zhan stay far away from him long ago.
“I’ve never had any malicious intent toward Chi Zhan—and you have no right to interrogate me.” Cen Chi’s tone was sharp. “I’m his boyfriend. You? You’re nothing to him. Got it? The one who can save him right now… is me. Not you.”
Chu Xingxiao’s entire body was taut with tension. He wanted to scream a denial—
But he couldn’t.
Chi Zhan had told him himself: Cen Chi was his boyfriend.
Even if that was probably a lie, there was no ground for him to refute it.
Cen Chi leaned down, lightly brushing his fingers across Chi Zhan’s forehead. The fever had broken. That was a good sign—it meant the heat had subsided.
Next, he needed to examine the back of his neck, disinfect the wound, apply medication, and make sure he got some nutrition.
But honestly, Chu Xingxiao was getting in the way.
Even if it was just a temporary mark, Cen Chi didn’t want anyone else seeing Chi Zhan in this state.
He shot a look toward Chu Xingxiao, then ordered, “Go get some warm water.”
And right in the middle of Chu Xingxiao’s barely restrained fury, Cen Chi lowered his head… and kissed Chi Zhan on the lips, gently transferring water into his mouth.
Crack—
The glass lid in Chu Xingxiao’s hand shattered into dust.
***
At that exact moment, Qi Song was seated at a bar counter, engaged in quiet conversation with the man beside him.
“He still hasn’t shown,” Lin Ye muttered, adjusting the mask on his face as he glanced toward the entrance. Then he checked the time again and frowned. “Either he’s late, or he’s not coming at all. I’ve got something else to do later, so I can only wait another ten minutes.”
“He’s not the type to be late,” Qi Song said. The message he’d sent to Chi Zhan remained unread, sitting untouched in the chat window.
“Oh? And who is he to you?” Lin Ye raised an eyebrow with interest. “The legendary S himself making a personal request? Don’t tell me this guy’s your secret crush or something.”
Qi Song didn’t flinch at the teasing, replying coolly, “None of your business.”
Which, to someone like Lin Ye, was as good as a confession. He was well-versed in reading subtext, and now he was intrigued. “Oh~” he drawled meaningfully, the tone thick with gossip, clearly fishing for more information.
But trying to get anything out of “S” was harder than scaling the heavens. Lin Ye found himself being led in circles until the conversation veered completely off-topic.
“Something interesting happened yesterday, though,” Lin Ye mentioned. “The royal family just introduced a new member. Smart one too—looks like he might actually be a threat to the Crown Prince.”
He’d been there in person—invited, as one of the senior members of the Empire’s pheromone research team. It wasn’t unusual for the royal household to call on their services.
Compared to the other dimwitted princes who might as well have had “I want to be Crown Prince” written across their foreheads, the new guy was at least clever enough not to be so obvious.
Lin Ye, a staunch supporter of the current heir, wasn’t remotely worried. He treated the whole affair like a joke and shared it with S out of amusement.
Qi Song, however, had no interest in the chat. His eyes were glued to his screen, thoughtful and quiet. After a moment, he said, “You go ahead. I owe you for this one.”
“Wait, wait!” Lin Ye blurted. “I just remembered—what I had to do wasn’t that important. I’ll wait a bit longer.”
“No need,” Qi Song replied, voice calm. “Next time.”
Who knew when “next time” would be? Lin Ye wasn’t about to give up so easily.
“If he’s showing signs of pheromone imbalance, that could be serious. We really shouldn’t delay.”
“He probably wouldn’t…” Qi Song began—but his voice abruptly cut off. As if something had hit him all at once.
Lin Ye gave him a puzzled look.
“What is it?”
Qi Song paused, his expression perfectly composed, then said quietly, “…He probably won’t be coming.”
He stood, paid the bill, and left the bar.
The winter sun was harsh and bright. Passersby rushed along the streets, their pace brisk and urgent. Qi Song turned a corner and stopped at a communication kiosk.
A sudden wave of anger surged in his chest. It came without warning, without reason—but he already had a good guess why.
He opened the terminal cabinet, fingers deftly calling up the admin menu. Selecting encrypted communication mode, he disabled all outgoing signals.
Then he called Chu Xingxiao.
The call was declined.
Next, he tried Chi Zhan.
The screen remained dark for an entire minute—no answer.
Then, quietly, the screen went black.
