Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Ji Qingyu bore the brunt of Fu Han's inexplicable rage. No matter how he pleaded, Fu Han wouldn't stop. It was simply too much for Ji Qingyu—Fu Han's sharp teeth even grazed his neck several times, sending shivers down his spine.

Eventually, he passed out from exhaustion. When he awoke sometime later, his body ached all over and his head felt muddled. Both Fu Han and the box on the desk were gone.

Realizing something, Ji Qingyu fumbled for the overturned photo frames, only to find they had all been removed.

It was just past noon. The office, bright and spacious, still felt suffocating. The desk had sharp edges, devoid of any warm wooden elements or plants. The glass water cup was a minimalist design, and an owl sculpture by the door had its eyes fixed on him, making Ji Qingyu's skin crawl.

Without a word to anyone, he left silently. The corporate building was imposing—a standalone structure in the city center that must have cost a fortune. He took the elevator down, gazed at the skyline of towering buildings, picked up a bun at a convenience store, and decided to visit Lin Ying at the hospital.

With the performance scheduled for the next day, Ji Qingyu felt a persistent unease. As he exited the subway, he encountered a fortune teller. Unable to resist, he paid and sat on a small stool.

The fortune teller produced a turtle shell filled with coins and a chipped ceramic bowl. "Just focus on your heart's desire, shake the coins, and the heavens will point you to a clear path," he said.

The heavens? Ji Qingyu thought he and the heavens weren't exactly on good terms.

Despite his skepticism, he silently wondered if the next day's performance would go smoothly. He shook the coins vigorously six times, the clattering sound echoing in the bowl. The fortune teller felt the coins and shook his head. "I fear there may be complications."

"What?" Ji Qingyu wiped his sweat away, thinking the tickets were already sold—what could he do? Still, he asked, "Would changing the date solve the problem?"

The fortune teller held out his hand for more money, indicating he should try again.

Ji Qingyu, his arms already sore, shook the coins once more. The fortune teller felt them again and sighed. "It's not about the date. This isn't your calamity, but you'll be the one to face it."

Ji Qingyu scratched his head, "What nonsense is this?"

The fortune teller bowed to Ji Qingyu, who quickly stood and returned the gesture. As he turned to leave, the fortune teller shook the bowl again. "Since fate has brought us together, why not ask about love? Consider this third reading a gift."

Love... Ji Qingyu felt weary. He didn’t want to dwell on anything related to Fu Han or examine their relationship too closely, fearing it might bind them tighter by some unseen thread of fate.

He shook his head but found his feet rooted to the spot. After a moment’s hesitation, he took the old turtle shell and shook it again.

His mind was a mess, unable to form a specific question. He simply pictured Fu Han’s face as the last coin clattered into the bowl with a crisp sound.

His heartbeat quickened.

The fortune teller felt the coins, calculated with his fingers, and praised, "This is a fortunate match—wealth, status, a loving husband, and happiness."

Just as I thought, Ji Qingyu mused, this guy’s a fraud from the second reading.

Relieved, he gave some perfunctory responses and prepared to leave, only to bump into an unexpected figure.

"Uncle Lin, why are you bundled up like that? I can’t even see your face." Ji Qingyu forced a laugh as he saw Lin Feng wearing a hat, mask, and sunglasses, fully equipped, carrying a plastic bag filled with colorful medicine bottles labeled with complicated terminology he couldn't decipher.

"What, you believe in this stuff?" Lin Feng chuckled, turning to the fortune teller. "Master, how about a reading for me? I’m not concerned about career—just love."

Ji Qingyu tugged at Lin Feng’s sleeve, whispering, "Don’t, Uncle. He’s a fraud. He's not accurate."

But Lin Feng had already picked up the turtle shell. Ji Qingyu sighed inwardly and stood by, noticing a prominent scar on Lin Feng’s neck, partially hidden by his hair. It was crooked and glaring, as if carved by a blunt knife.

The fortune teller felt the coins, calculated, and exclaimed, "Ah, this one is also wealthy, and your partner has always been deeply devoted, loyal to the end."

"Not accurate." Lin Feng paid and whispered to Ji Qingyu, "Definitely a charlatan."

"Uncle Lin, are you married?" Ji Qingyu’s mind lingered on the glaring scar, feeling he’d overlooked something crucial but unable to pinpoint it.

"I was, but my husband died over a decade ago. No need to dwell on it." Lin Feng was philosophical about it, throwing an arm around Ji Qingyu’s shoulders. "What brings you here? Are you unwell?"

"Not exactly..." Ji Qingyu hesitated, then figured it wouldn’t hurt to share. "My mom is here. She’s sick."

"Oh..." Lin Feng paused, frowned, and lit a cigarette. After a drag, he patted Ji Qingyu’s back. "I’ve got time. Want me to go up with you?"

Ji Qingyu agreed, feeling an inexplicable fondness for Lin Feng’s kind demeanor.

They walked to Lin Ying’s room, where she lay still, unchanged. The late summer air carried a slight chill, lengthening their shadows.

Ji Qingyu got permission for a three-minute visit, disinfected his hands, adjusted the monitor clip on Lin Ying’s hand, and played her the soundtrack he’d composed for the play.

Lin Feng waited outside.

The sterile glass room seemed to separate two worlds. Perhaps affected by the sorrow, Lin Feng’s expression took on a sad cast, his wrinkles adding to his gentle aura when he smiled.

Lin Feng always gave Ji Qingyu a contradictory impression—unkempt yet not sloppy, a self-proclaimed mountain guard who danced beautifully. When Ji Qingyu stepped out, Lin Feng gave him a long, slow embrace, a lingering hug that felt like a substitute for the fatherly love he’d never experienced—warm, sturdy, like layered trees or endless mountains.

"Do you always visit your mom alone? Doesn’t your husband care?" Lin Feng frowned, his concern tinged with displeasure.

"Ah," Ji Qingyu sat on a metal chair, watching a new potted plant by Lin Ying’s bed. "He doesn’t know."

"What?!" Lin Feng was aghast, his voice rising. "How could he not know?"

Ji Qingyu forced a smile. "It’s complicated..."

A doctor entered to turn Lin Ying and monitor the tumor in her brain, discussing surgical plans.

"No matter how complicated, he shouldn’t let you face this alone." Lin Feng’s anger was palpable. Ji Qingyu blinked, silently thanking him.

Lin Feng stayed until sunset. The doctor detailed Lin Ying’s condition, surgical risks, and chances of recovery, concluding, "The likelihood of recovery is quite high, but timing is key. We’ll decide together."

Thanking the doctor, Ji Qingyu spent a little more time with Lin Ying before walking back with Lin Feng under the orange sunset. At the bus stop, Lin Feng gently asked, "Young friend, shouldn’t you talk to your partner? Don’t carry this alone."

Ji Qingyu shook his head. "Once Mom recovers, I plan to leave."

Lin Feng froze, disbelief in his eyes. "You have no feelings for each other? I’ve seen videos of you two—I thought you were close..."

Whether they had feelings or not, it was irrelevant. Ji Qingyu smiled wryly. "He doesn’t love me. We’re together for practical reasons. He's just pretending for the cameras. He didn't even want me to have his child."

Lin Feng stared, stunned. Ji Qingyu’s hair fluttered in the wind, a few strands had come loose from his ponytail, making him look thin and gloomy.

The bus arrived as the last of the sunset faded. Lin Feng, facing an hour-long ride, stroked Ji Qingyu’s hair and sighed. "You’re a good kid. If there’s a problem, it can't be your fault—it must be his."

Maybe, he thought—though he couldn't be sure.

Touched by Lin Feng's encouragement, Ji Qingyu thanked him, noticing the word "pheromones" among the complex terms on the medicine bottles. Perhaps Lin Feng’s glands were as unhealthy as his own.

It felt tragic—was there truly no way for omegas to find happiness besides relying on alphas? This distorted, parasitic relationship, ingrained in their genes, felt like a curse.

Lin Feng waved from the bus.

As it pulled away, Ji Qingyu dismissed his wandering thoughts and called out, "Don’t worry, Uncle! I've got my mind set on our show tomorrow! That fortune teller was wrong—we’ll succeed!"

As for the rest, it no longer mattered.