So he did remember.
That oddly childish gesture made Chi Zhan’s lips curl into a smile before he could stop himself. Realizing the expression was too obvious, he quickly suppressed the urge to laugh.
But just as the corners of his mouth fell, cool fingertips brushed gently against them—just a brief touch.
And then gone.
“You don’t smile often,” Qi Song said softly.
“You’re one to talk,” Chi Zhan retorted. “You’re the one who barely ever smiles. And anyway… the temporary marking was just an accident. It had nothing to do with Cen Chi—he was only trying to help me.”
He didn’t understand why Qi Song had brought up Cen Chi. Temporary markings weren’t exactly rare; in fact, there were medical Alpha teams specifically trained to administer them in emergencies.
Even though Chi Zhan hadn’t come to terms with the fact that he had become an Omega—and had resisted Cen Chi’s marking at the time—he couldn’t deny it anymore. After enduring pain beyond imagination, he had to admit Cen Chi had only been doing his duty as a doctor.
At that moment, there had been no better solution.
“Is that so?” Qi Song’s voice remained neutral. But he didn’t buy it. Cen Chi, that good-hearted? Not a chance. He’d always felt like a venomous snake, slithering close to Chi Zhan with ill intent. Just like them, Cen Chi had hidden his identity—now he was suddenly a member of the Imperial royal family? That kind of man wouldn’t help Chi Zhan for nothing.
More likely, he had his own agenda and was using Chi Zhan to achieve it.
Still, even as frustration welled up over how Chi Zhan always viewed people through rose-colored lenses, Qi Song had to admit—it was just who he was.
His Highness had always been kind, ever since he was a child. That kindness, like a beacon, drew wolves and jackals from every corner of the shadows. All waiting for the day the scales would tip in their favor—dragging him down a path no one could foresee.
“I’m just speaking objectively,” Chi Zhan said hesitantly. “It’s true he’s done some questionable things. I don’t think he’s a good person or anything… Do you have some kind of personal grudge with him?”
“What did he do to you?” Qi Song zeroed in on the critical part of that statement.
Naturally, Chi Zhan wasn’t about to tell him the truth—like how Cen Chi had kissed him while he was asleep. That was just too bizarre. So he tried to shift the topic instead, subtly pushing Qi Song away. This posture was anything but normal, and it was starting to make him feel uncharacteristically anxious.
Worse still, all he had to do was glance upward, and his eyes landed on Qi Song’s collar, slightly open where a few buttons had been undone, exposing a sliver of skin and the elegant line of his collarbone. Under the light, the shadows and contours deepened into something oddly sensual.
It must be the marking messing with my head, Chi Zhan thought grimly. Why else would I be thinking such nonsense?
He took a deep breath, trying to drag himself back to rationality.
But Qi Song chose that moment to trap his wrist, his fingers expertly pinning either side. In one smooth motion, he drew Chi Zhan’s arms behind the chair back—click—a quiet snap.
Chi Zhan felt something cool lock around his wrists.
“…??”
He tried to pull free and instantly realized: handcuffs. Or something like them. But the inner lining was soft, padded with plush material, so it didn’t dig into his skin at all.
If he’d thought the weird atmosphere was a fluke earlier, now there was no mistaking it—S was getting revenge.
This was payback for the night at the bar when Chi Zhan had cuffed him. Now he was returning the favor.
No wonder he’d insisted on a private room.
Chi Zhan gave up struggling.
“So this is what this was about? I wasn’t trying to do anything to you that night—I just wanted to see who you really were. I never—mmph!”
He never got to finish the sentence.
Qi Song turned his head slightly, just enough for Chi Zhan to catch a glimpse of that sculpted profile—and then something soft brushed against the front of his neck. A moment later, came the unmistakable warmth of a slow, deliberate lick.
Chi Zhan’s breath hitched.
Gentle, deliberate kisses climbed up the sensitive skin toward his Adam’s apple, the feather-light sensation making him swallow involuntarily. But Qi Song didn’t let up. On the contrary, he doubled down.
His lips were cool, but soft—unhurried and patient, like he was carefully cleansing away something unpleasant.
“S—stop,” Chi Zhan gasped, finally managing to speak. His voice trembled, breath unsteady.
When he looked down, Qi Song tilted his head up to meet his gaze. Under the light, his irises took on a near-translucent sheen—like pale icewater, utterly frigid.
Expressionless, Qi Song gently bit into Chi Zhan’s neck. He didn’t bite down—just held it there, like a cat clutching its favorite toy in its mouth, not wanting it to escape, softly grinding his teeth in a veiled threat.
It was… an indescribable sensation.
The neck was a vital weak point—something that had to be guarded at all times in combat training. The first time, when Cen Chi had marked him, the pain had overwhelmed everything else.
This was the second time.
Chi Zhan went completely still, afraid that if he moved, Qi Song might suddenly snap and tear his throat out before fleeing the scene, blood in his mouth. It was ridiculous, of course—but he honestly couldn’t think of a more fitting scenario right now.
“…Pretty sure I never bit your neck,” Chi Zhan muttered under his breath. “Are you still mad?”
S held a grudge like no one else. If Chi Zhan had known it would lead to this, he never would’ve walked into that private room so defenseless. He should’ve brought a second pair of cuffs for self-defense.
Qi Song finally stilled. After a long moment, the tingling ache at Chi Zhan’s neck began to fade. It felt like he’d just survived some kind of intense, silent battle.
He could finally breathe again.
“What else did he do to you?”
Qi Song asked. No longer looking up at Chi Zhan, he straightened and—clearly agitated—unfastened another button on his shirt.
Chi Zhan had always thought of S as the restrained type, just like himself. Calm, composed, polite. Easy to get along with.
But as that perfectly buttoned collar began to loosen, that tightly controlled, harmless aura started to crumble—replaced by something else.
Something quiet but deeply unsettling.
Something dangerous.
