Chu Xingxiao had always run hot—he never feared the cold, even in the dead of winter, often seen running around in just a T-shirt and thin pants. Meanwhile, Chi Zhan, asleep in the dorm, was dressed in light, breathable sleepwear. There was nothing between them but skin and fabric—so he could feel it very, very clearly.
It was pressing against him.
“I didn’t know! No one told me!” Chu Xingxiao bolted out of bed in a panic. His flailing almost made him fall, but he caught himself just in time. Flushed and flustered, he blurted, “I’m going out to grab something! You rest, gege!”
Chi Zhan had no clue why Chu Xingxiao reacted so dramatically. He pretended not to notice, afraid that acknowledging it would make things worse. As he raised his wrist to check the time, a long-forgotten memory came rushing back.
Shit.
Their meeting was at seven. It was nearly nine now. S had only sent one message and then nothing else. Did he… block him?
There was also a missed call from Tang Ling.
After a moment’s thought, Chi Zhan decided to deal with S first.
Just as Chu Xingxiao opened the door to slip out, he froze. Someone was standing right outside.
“What are you doing here?” he blurted out.
Qi Song stood at the doorway, taking in Chu Xingxiao’s disheveled hair, rumpled collar, and his look of shocked guilt.
“I should be asking you that,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”
Chi Zhan, sensing something off outside, saved the draft message he hadn’t sent and got out of bed—only to lock eyes with Qi Song.
Eyes that seemed to see straight through every secret.
And a face as cold and unreadable as ever.
“Not going to invite me in for a chat?” Qi Song asked, his voice soft. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”
***
Chi Zhan paused.
Before he could say anything, Chu Xingxiao stepped protectively in front of him. “No way. Say whatever you’ve got to say right here.”
Qi Song’s expression didn’t change. He glanced at Chu Xingxiao’s guilty look, then shifted his gaze back to Chi Zhan.
As if waiting for his answer.
Chi Zhan hesitated.
“Did you need something?”
He didn’t know why, but every time he looked at Qi Song, he felt… something indescribable. Like he couldn’t bear to turn him away.
Even though Qi Song was just standing there, with no expression on his face, somehow it still tugged at him. If anything, it was Chu Xingxiao—the one always brimming with puppy-dog eyes and visible emotion—who usually made it harder to resist.
“Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow. Gege needs to rest,” Chu Xingxiao cut in sharply, pushing Chi Zhan back inside. He leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “Don’t go out for the next few days. You’re still giving off pheromones—someone might notice. And also… I made Cen Chi move out for now. If he dares show up here, tell me. I’ll beat him to a pulp.”
Reluctantly, he hit the air circulation button inside the room.
“Rest well, gege. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The ventilation began to hum, and before Chi Zhan could get a word in, the door was already swinging shut.
“Wait.” Chi Zhan caught the edge of the door and looked straight at Qi Song. “Come in.”
Qi Song didn’t seem like the type to seek someone out for no reason. And though Chu Xingxiao and Qi Song clearly knew each other, there was an odd tension between them. They weren’t even from the same division—what was going on?
But what stuck most in Chi Zhan’s mind was that line Qi Song had said:
“I’ve been waiting a long time.”
They’d never made any sort of arrangement. So why would he say that?
A faint suspicion began to form in Chi Zhan’s mind.
Chu Xingxiao panicked.
“Gege, no! Don’t you know who Qi Song really—”
Qi Song shot him a look—cold and sharp, laced with warning.
Chu Xingxiao shut up immediately. He knew he was already in the wrong. He’d broken their agreement and come to see Chi Zhan anyway. He’d hoped to sneak in and out without being caught. Who’d have guessed Qi Song would show up—and catch him red-handed?
He wanted to make up a lie, but there was no way out of this now.
Still, he didn’t regret coming. If he hadn’t shown up, who knew what might’ve happened? If Qi Song found out what went down earlier, he’d go ballistic.
He clenched his jaw, about to blurt out that Chi Zhan had become an Omega—but Qi Song was already walking past him into the room and shutting the door behind him.
Chu Xingxiao stood there dumbfounded.
“What could you possibly say that I can’t hear? Open up!”
Inside, Chi Zhan activated his mental interface.
“System, are you there?”
The voice answered promptly, “Main system has not approved your request. You’ll be notified once it is.”
“Not that.” Chi Zhan narrowed his eyes. “In my backstory—do I have a connection with Tang Ling?”
It was bizarre. It was supposed to be his own past, yet he had to ask the system to find out. The explanation he’d been given was that, as a standard NPC, there was no need to implant any detailed memory—he just had to play his part in the world like any other background character.
The system had always been adamant about reminding him he was just a “normal NPC,” as if trying to prevent him from digging deeper.
“The system does not have authorization to disclose that.”
“So that means yes,” Chi Zhan concluded. If it didn’t deny it, then that was as good as confirmation.
“The system did not say that.”
“Is Tao Ran a romance target?”
“No.”
“Is Tang Ling?”
“The system does not have authorization to disclose that.”
“Oh.” Chi Zhan nodded. “So he is.”
It was a bug, really. Any time the system didn’t want to give an answer, it just defaulted to unauthorized. That, in itself, told him everything he needed to know.
“Is Chu Xingxiao a romance target?”
“The system does not have authorization to disclose that.”
“Is Cen Chi?”
“The system does not have authorization to disclose that.”
Chi Zhan smiled faintly. “Got it.”
“…” The system was speechless.
It was practically seething. But with these standard-level restrictions, all it could do was repeat the same line over and over—it didn’t even have permission to lie.
