Chapter 59

Chapter 59

After calming down, Wen Yuan’s gaze met Shi Jian’s. He sensed something subtly different about his younger brother, a strangeness that made him feel a touch unfamiliar.

His heart fluttered with unease, but he suppressed it, forcing a composed tone. “You’ve been unconscious for a week, sustained only by IV nutrients. Now that you’re awake, is there anything you’d like to eat or drink?”

Shi Jian looked at him steadily for a long moment before speaking softly, “Brother, you don’t have to be so kind to me. You know… now that I’ve differentiated into an Alpha, I can’t marry you anymore.”

The words were light, yet they struck Wen Yuan’s heart like a massive stone. His entire being plummeted into a dark, airless abyss, leaving him breathless in that instant, staring at Shi Jian with shock and profound heartache—

Why would he suddenly say such a thing?

After all the times he had been humiliated by Wen Yuan, why were his first words upon waking from a severe injury still calling him “brother” and speaking kindly to him?

Wen Yuan smiled bitterly. “No… I’ve never… been good to you at all.”

Hearing this, Shi Jian had a vague, hazy impression in his mind. The only thing he remembered clearly was Wen Yuan telling him since childhood that he should grow up to marry his brother, to be his brother’s only Omega.

When Shi Jian was young, he had no concept of love or marriage. His mother had passed away early, and his union with Shi Cangfeng was merely the most common type of political marriage among the elite. No one taught him how to react to such promises, so, lured by the candy in Wen Yuan’s hand, little Shi Jian innocently said, “Okay, I’ll marry you when I grow up.”

As Shi Jian grew older, he understood the reality. He clearly perceived that his feelings for Wen Yuan were merely simple, pure fraternal affection, devoid of any inappropriate emotions. He regarded the childhood promise as nothing more than a naive, childish joke.

But as someone predicted to differentiate into an S-rank Omega, Shi Jian had been educated since childhood that he was destined to marry a top-tier Alpha of equal standing, ensuring their union wouldn’t be a “waste.” He wasn’t entirely opposed to this idea, because in his plans for the future, he had never imagined leaving the Shi family—a place that was both a castle and a cage.

He knew the rumors circulating outside that Wen Yuan was Shi Cangfeng’s carefully chosen “child groom.” While he disliked the idea, he reasoned that being with his foster brother, whom he had known since childhood, was better than marrying some unknown Alpha. Optimistically, he could console himself with the thought of keeping resources within the family.

But all of this was predicated on Shi Jian successfully differentiating into an Omega during his secondary differentiation. As long as he was an Omega, it didn’t matter if he was S-rank, A-rank, or even lower, like E-rank. Federal law stipulated that citizen unions were only restricted by gender, not by genetic rank.

Yet fate played a cruel trick: Shi Jian differentiated into an Alpha.

Now, whether he was E-rank or S-rank no longer mattered. The moment he differentiated into an Alpha, any possibility between him and Wen Yuan, who was also an Alpha, vanished completely.

Shi Jian hadn’t yet recalled awakening his bug-level AS, nor had he remembered differentiating into an S++ Omega. He believed he was lying in a hospital bed after a failed differentiation rescue surgery, and that the worry, anxiety, and inexplicable guilt and regret in Wen Yuan’s eyes all stemmed from his differentiation into an Alpha.

Thus, his first words upon waking had utterly defeated Wen Yuan.

He couldn’t bear to look at Shi Jian any longer, fleeing the ward in a desperate, shameful escape.

He nearly collided with Shi Xu, who gave him a cold glance but said nothing about his obvious distress, only asking, “Is Xiao Jian awake?”

Wen Yuan, clearly shattered, gave a low affirmative but wished to say no more.

In the past, he would never have appeared so distraught in front of Shi Xu, or anyone. As an adopted son of the Shi family, he knew his origins weren’t entirely legitimate, so he always held himself to rigorous standards, using the rare kindness and friendliness among the elite as tools for his ascent. He wore a false mask in all his interactions, perhaps only revealing his true, darker side to Shi Jian.

Hypocritical, sinister, far from benevolent.

But now, as Wen Yuan chose to flee from the tranquility in Shi Jian’s eyes, he suddenly felt an overwhelming weariness of this pretense.

The moment he greeted Shi Xu, he couldn’t help but ask himself: *Why can you extend your false kindness to anyone, even a stray dog on the street receives your performative affection, yet for Shi Jian, you used all your malice, hurting him so many times to alleviate your own… unrequited feelings?*

Wen Yuan didn’t even want to use the word “love.” He felt deeply that both he and his so-called love were utterly repulsive.

How could such a repulsive person dare to stand nonchalantly by Shi Jian’s sickbed, feigning concern?

Shi Xu sensed the dense self-loathing emanating from Wen Yuan. After Shi Jian’s major incident, he had re-investigated Shi Jian’s records at the First Military Academy. While deeply angered by the bullying Shi Jian had endured from Yu Chen and others, he also vaguely perceived the subtle relationship between Wen Yuan and Shi Jian, intuiting that something he would rather not see had undoubtedly occurred.

But what was done was done; it was too late for regrets. Shi Xu didn’t feel he had the right to lecture Wen Yuan, as he himself had been an accomplice through his indifference. Yet, if he were to simply let Wen Yuan off, he felt it would be an injustice to Shi Jian, and he couldn’t swallow his anger.

Shi Xu frowned. Nearing thirty, his aura of authority was far more potent than that of the inexperienced Wen Yuan or the underage Shi Jian. Just one look from him made Wen Yuan feel a familiar pressure.

“I don’t know exactly what you’ve said or done to Xiao Jian, but you should know your place. His willingness to endure doesn’t mean Father or I will simply overlook it as if nothing happened.”

Wen Yuan’s throat was bitter. “Yes… I’ve wronged Xiao Jian.”

“For the time being, you need to reduce your presence around Xiao Jian to avoid affecting his recovery. The extremist organization and the bombing incident haven’t been fully investigated—focus your energy there. This includes ensuring every critically injured captive survives to serve as a witness.”

Wen Yuan murmured, “…I understand.”

Shi Xu still didn’t give him a pleasant look, straightening his attire, and carrying flowers and a thermal container of congee, he entered the special care ward impeccably dressed.

His spiritual entity, the Peregrine Falcon, was even more excited, flapping its wings, circling the room twice before landing at Shi Jian’s bedside. It lowered its head, gently preening the boy’s long blue hair, which was spread over his shoulders, with its sharp beak.

It tilted its small head, observing its fragile young master, who was recovering from severe injuries, with pale, drooping eyelashes.

His face was sickly pale, his lips almost bloodless, like the palest white rose petals. His features remained delicate and beautiful, but lying on the sickbed, looking so frail, he resembled a fragile vase. He seemed so delicate, like a flower blooming to its fullest in late spring, ready to shed its petals with the slightest breeze.

The Peregrine Falcon flew down, tenderly spreading its wings, wanting to cover the boy’s chest, but it was gently pushed away by a bloodless, veined, slender hand.

“Coo?”

The Peregrine Falcon tilted its head, momentarily confused, then flew up again, attempting to complete the action it hadn’t finished earlier.

However, it was still that hand, carrying the scent of freesia, that pushed it away. In its bewilderment, the Peregrine Falcon even landed on its backside, paws in the air.

“Coo!”

The Peregrine Falcon quickly scrambled up. It now confirmed that its young master didn’t want it close. Its almond-sized brain couldn’t think of anything else, so it flew angrily towards its owner, raising its sharp, crescent-moon-shaped beak, and fiercely pecked at the only exposed side of his neck!

Shi Xu calmly glanced at it. The Peregrine Falcon, which had been protesting just a second ago, was instantly recalled into his spiritual sea, its protest invalid.

Shi Xu clenched his fist, coughed into it, and lifted the thermos. “You’ve just woken up, so only liquid food for now. This is the rose and barley porridge you’ve loved since childhood—simmered until perfectly soft and fragrant.”

“Are you hungry? Let big brother feed you.”

With that, Shi Xu pulled out a chair and sat down. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows with graceful movements, then opened the thermos, taking out the perfectly warm porridge and utensils.

He scooped a spoonful, gently blew on it, and skillfully brought it to Shi Jian’s mouth, only to receive a faint, “I’m not hungry. No need.”

“…”

Shi Xu paused for a moment but didn’t insist, setting the porridge aside.

He paused again, then spoke frankly: “I never thought your differentiation into an Alpha was shameful. When I came to the school that time, I actually just wanted to encourage you, because I know you can do everything well. But no matter what, I was busy with the election at the time and never paid attention to your feelings. That was big brother’s fault.”

“I’m sorry, Xiao Jian. I should have considered things more from your perspective. At that time, you couldn’t bear any more pressure.”

Except when attending parliamentary meetings or answering reporters’ questions, Shi Xu rarely spoke at such length. After he finished, he waited for Shi Jian’s reaction.

He thought that no matter if his younger brother was angry, cursing, deliberately ignoring him, or crying sadly… he had anticipated many possible scenarios, but the one thing he hadn’t expected was Shi Jian calmly saying, “It’s fine.”

So calm, as if they were not blood relatives, but merely two strangers who met by chance and nodded to each other in a crowd.

Shi Jian didn’t even look at him, just stared at the ceiling ahead, his voice low and faint: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t need to feel sorry for this.”

Yet, precisely after Shi Jian said, “No need to apologize,” a faint, persistent pang of pain pierced Shi Xu’s heart. It wasn’t intense or fatal, but it was a bitter, unbearable ache.