Chapter 21

Chapter 21

"Fu Han, why do you always like listening to me sing?" It was a high school afternoon, the grass lush and green, the sunlight dazzling. The post-autumn air carried a unique fragrance.

His school uniform jacket fit well. Ji Qingyu had brought his guitar, and they sat on the grassy patch behind the equipment room, where few people ventured. Fu Han leaned casually against a nearby tree, legs crossed, head bowed, engrossed in a storybook.

The sky was vast and expansive, birds circling overhead. Ji Qingyu squinted against the bright sun.

Fu Han didn’t respond, merely flipping another page of his book. He’d been fond of these trivial tales lately. Ice cubes clinked in the cup. Ji Qingyu bit the straw as Fu Han’s lazy voice drifted over: "The weather’s been getting quite cold recently."

"Has it?" Ji Qingyu continued sipping his iced drink.

His hand was grasped, his face lightly pinched. Fu Han lowered his gaze, his movements gentle.

Ji Qingyu understood. He silently placed Fu Han’s hand into his own palm.

That hand was much broader than his, with thin calluses on the fingertips and the web between his thumb and forefinger. It was indeed very cold, likely because even with autumn setting in, Fu Han still wore only a single-layer shirt.

When Fu Han lowered his head slightly, his profile was strikingly handsome—sharp and defined. He was always good-looking. Fu Han didn’t move, letting Ji Qingyu do as he pleased with his hand. Ji Qingyu traced each of his knuckles.

Then Fu Han suddenly leaned in, bracing one hand on the grass, staring at Ji Qingyu’s completely flushed face with a teasing grin.

"Why are you always blushing?" Fu Han’s tone was amused as he slowly studied Ji Qingyu’s expression. A few seconds later, he lay back on the grass, hands resting comfortably behind his head.

The tree’s shadow shifted slightly, casting a faint shade over Fu Han’s face. Ji Qingyu glanced at the book in Fu Han’s hand—it wasn’t proper reading material after all, similar to the one Ji Qingyu had once been given, likely from the same series judging by the art style.

"Ji Qingyu, if you give me a kiss first, I’ll give you a chance."

Ji Qingyu had just taken off his jacket to drape over Fu Han, but upon hearing this, he threw it right at Fu Han’s face.

Fu Han caught it effortlessly, his smile widening. Propping his chin, he resembled a sly wild animal. "Why are you always so temperamental?"

His shirt buttons were undone, revealing a tattoo that made him look fierce. He swept his hair back, not wearing a bite guard, only exposing two sharp fangs.

He grabbed Ji Qingyu’s hand, intertwining their fingers firmly, guiding Ji Qingyu’s hand to touch his chest where there was no wound. "Look, you’ve made it all red."

"Stop teasing me like this all the time." Ji Qingyu tried to stay calm, his throat still cool from the drink.

Ji Qingyu’s fingers indeed felt some texture. He looked down and saw beneath the intimidating tattoo on Fu Han’s chest, a layer of gnarled scars.

The scar was large, like a burn or something hot pressed against the skin, causing extensive damage. A faint red patch lay obscured by the tattoo, hard to make out.

"How did this happen?" Ji Qingyu’s fingertips trembled, his pupils slightly narrowing, his voice unconsciously softening.

Fu Han didn’t answer. Ji Qingyu’s hand pressed harder against the patterns. The scar was close to the heart, and Fu Han’s heartbeat was intense and powerful.

Then the atmosphere changed. Fu Han pulled Ji Qingyu closer, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Fu Han, let me go. I have class, I need to leave." Ji Qingyu lowered his head, avoiding Fu Han.

"Alright," Fu Han seemed about to say something but ultimately didn’t. He mussed Ji Qingyu’s hair twice. "I’ll be back at school in a while. There’s a lot going on at home."

*Why tell me?* Ji Qingyu averted his gaze but still dwelled on those scars.

"Wait for me to come back. I have something to say to you." Fu Han tidied Ji Qingyu’s loose hair, took a hair tie, gathered it up, and tied it into a small bun.

"Hurry up and go. I’m leaving too." Ji Qingyu stood up, walking away quickly.

"Hey, your drink, your uniform, your guitar—aren’t you taking them? I’ll gladly keep them." Fu Han laughed, his muffled voice making Ji Qingyu feel somewhat resigned. He didn’t dare look back, just quickened his pace.

"You keep them. I don’t want them anymore!"

Youthful days were tinged with gold, like misty water. When light fell, everything seemed unreal.

Ji Qingyu blinked.

The room was dim and dark. He felt dazed, his chest pounding violently. Those golden rays of light had vanished.

A hand caressed the corner of his eye, lifted his chin, holding him in place so he couldn’t escape. "Daydreaming again? Answer the question."

Fu Han’s words were like a bucket of cold water, pouring over him, jolting Ji Qingyu awake. Everything felt like a distorted stage play. Ji Qingyu’s heart ached, his vision blurry.

So this was why Fu Han had been in a bad mood lately. So this was the "big gift" Ji Ran mentioned that day. Such an absurd claim—why would Fu Han believe it so firmly?

A cold wind swept through the balcony, lifting white sheer curtains. A chill of negativity rose within him. He struggled to focus on the other.

Fu Han covered Ji Qingyu’s eyes, gripping the nape of his neck. He kissed him fiercely, as if trying to take all his breath away—merciless and harsh.

Ji Qingyu struggled violently.

"Yes," he seized the chance, shoving Fu Han away abruptly, gasping for air, his eyes reddened. He ground out through clenched teeth, "I did have a child."

Fu Han stumbled, standing motionless in the darkness, fists clenched, his voice hoarse and grim, as if interrogating a heinous criminal. "So, not only were you marked by someone, but you even had a child with him? Did you drop out because of that person?"

Fu Han laughed coldly. Ji Qingyu’s wrist ached with pain. He wondered if it was more than a sprain—maybe a bone injury.

The sting in his bones was trivial compared to the hurt in Fu Han’s words.

A dull bell rang in Ji Qingyu’s heart, shaking him. He also found it deeply ironic—someone as arrogant as Fu Han could be so utterly mistaken.

Ji Qingyu’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. He paused for two seconds, then, for some reason, decided to add fuel to the fire. "Yes, I loved him. We were sweet as honey, swore eternal vows. If he hadn’t abandoned me, do you think I’d be with you?!"

"I—I have poor character. I’ve been like this since high school. Haven’t you known for years? Didn’t you know all along?"

Downstairs, the banquet hall was alive with clinking glasses and soft music drifting upward. People were immersed in an excited, joyful atmosphere; even laughter and playful shouts could be heard.

Everything seemed like sparkling foam, surreal and distorted.

Fu Han’s figure lurked in the room’s pitch-black shadows, like a soulless ghost.

Ji Qingyu had no strength left. He thought, in the end, how was he any different from the omega who had just run away? To Fu Han, they were both just objects without emotion.

An immense sorrow welled up inside him, nearly unbearable.

Ji Qingyu turned to leave, but Fu Han gripped his wrist tightly. In the darkness, Fu Han didn’t realize Ji Qingyu’s wrist had swollen, and Ji Qingyu had no intention of reminding him.

"So, when was it?" Fu Han insisted on digging deeper.

"What are you talking about?" Ji Qingyu’s forehead was damp with cold sweat from the pain. He didn’t want to answer, turning his head slightly away.

Fu Han’s grip tightened even more. He pressed Ji Qingyu’s hand against the wall, leaning in close, unable to hold back his roar, "When did you have a child with that person?!"

Time… ah, when was it?

Ji Qingyu tried to remember.

He knew he was pregnant at the worst time of his life—Lin Ying was ill, Ji Ran threatened him, he couldn't finish his studies, his songs stolen, his voice ruined. Then, while working, he suddenly fainted, unexpectedly discovering he was pregnant.

What had he felt back then?

It felt as if the sky had fallen, leaving nothing behind, and fate itself was kicking him while he was down.

He fell silent, lips pressed tightly together, not wanting to say another word. Yet Fu Han was still relentless, almost pushing for an answer.

Fu Han’s grip on Ji Qingyu’s hand was fierce; the fury in his eyes was intense and unmistakable, as if it might erupt at any moment.

"Does it even matter anymore, Fu Han? That child is gone." Cold sweat formed on Ji Qingyu’s temples, his lips pale from pain. His words were like sharp little thorns, caught in Fu Han’s throat and rendering him momentarily speechless.

"It matters. I want to hear it from you." Fu Han paused, his tone brooking no argument. He was always the one in control, the master who said one thing and meant it. In his heart, what was Ji Qingyu? Perhaps nothing more than an insignificant speck of dust.

Fu Han was irrational, the green plum scent emanating from him filling Ji Qingyu’s nostrils. Ji Qingyu strangely detected a hint of irrepressible grief in it.

Perhaps it was just an illusion born of his own overwhelming grief.

"When was it?" Fu Han’s eyes were pitch-black and empty, his rage nearly swallowing Ji Qingyu. His Adam’s apple bobbed. "Was it the first year? The second? Or… the sixth? Which year after you dropped out?!"

Ji Qingyu looked down and gave a faint smile. "...It was the sixth year, not long before our engagement. But you don’t need to be so angry—I married you, didn’t I? I didn’t keep the child, and it won’t affect the Fu family’s interests."

Fu Han’s eyes turned dark, his grip tightening as if he meant to crush Ji Qingyu’s wrist.

"The sixth year," he muttered unclearly, repeating the words several times under his breath before letting out a chilly, scornful laugh. "Ji Qingyu, I thought marriage might change you for the better, but it seems you’re just as despicable as you were six years ago."

The contemptuous tone made Ji Qingyu turn away with a light, bitter laugh. It felt as though his heart had been crumpled like a piece of scrap paper, crushed and discarded.

In truth, it was the first year—right after he dropped out.

Fu Han asked no more. The two lapsed into silence in the darkness.

It was Ji Qingyu who moved first, yanking his hand back despite the pain. Fu Han was unsteady, his breath shuddering in the dark, his tall figure retreating two steps.

Ji Qingyu fled in a panic. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to look Fu Han in the eye. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he could no longer stand, stumbling against the wall before slowly sinking down.

From the stairwell, he could see a nearly ten-meter-tall floor-to-ceiling window. The night was as cool as water, and outside, green shadows swayed under the lights.

There were no stars in the sky. Under a tree, a blurry figure caught his eye—Fu Yunsheng. He seemed to be arguing with someone before abruptly pulling the person into a hug.

It was too dark to see clearly; only Fu Yunsheng’s face flashed briefly under the car’s headlights.

Ji Qingyu lost interest, resting the back of his head against the wall again.

His mind drifted far away, back to his child—a girl. When he lost her, his body felt broken for a full day and night, leaving him staring blankly at the ceiling.

Back then, he had no idea what the future held. Perhaps nothing but endless days of work, medical bills, debts, and Ji Ran’s occasional check-ins.

He lay in the hospital, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of childbirth—the cries of newborns and the joyful laughter of families.

His hands clenched the bedsheets as harsh sunlight streamed through the window, warming his body. Strangely, he felt a sense of relief.

He thought, perhaps it was for the best that she wasn’t born to him. She deserved a better place.

He closed his eyes, trying to convince himself.

It must have been for the best.

That pain was a hundred times worse than what he felt now. Ji Qingyu wondered if his numbness to so many things stemmed from having experienced pain beyond what he could bear back then.

*

After a moment alone, he made his way downstairs. Ji Ran stood at the entrance of the banquet hall, gazing outward with a glass of wine in hand, his eyes shrouded in mild boredom.

Following his gaze, Ji Qingyu saw Ji Deyong sharing intimate looks with an actor under the lights. Ji Ran’s eyes were hollow, empty.

Leaning against the wall, Ji Qingyu grabbed a cocktail from a server’s tray and strode across the hall directly to Ji Ran.

Ji Ran slowly turned, caught off guard, as the drink was dumped over his head from top to bottom. He closed his eyes, sticky liquid trickling down, soaking his expensive white suit.

Ji Qingyu held the empty glass, his simple face marked by sadness. He resembled a moon on the verge of shattering, sighing like a reflection in porcelain-tinged water.

The elegant music suddenly shifted tempo.

The onlookers froze for a few seconds before murmurs and exclamations spread through the room.

For a moment, neither spoke.

"Seems like things didn’t go well," Ji Ran said, wiping the liquid from his hair and tilting his head with a smile. Rarely so messy, droplets hung from his hair, falling one by one.

"Brother, sometimes I truly pity you. You can’t say or do anything. How does it feel? Not very pleasant, is it?" He didn’t seem angry but rather pitying, whispering words only the two of them could hear. "They say to strike a snake at its seven-inch mark, to grip a person by their weakness. How true that is."

Ji Qingyu remained expressionless, his mind eerily calm. Some of the drink had dripped onto his hand, unpleasantly sticky. Ji Ran continued to smile, but Ji Qingyu found it meaningless. Setting down the glass, he turned and left.

The temperature in Jing City began to drop, the evening breeze carrying a chill. Petals from the hibiscus trees along the street scattered in the wind. With nowhere else to go, he eventually hailed a taxi to the hospital.

The hospital was nearly empty except for the night-shift nurses. Sitting alone outside Lin Ying’s room, Ji Qingyu noticed his wrist had swollen like a bun.

Lin Ying remained unchanged, lying quietly in bed as if asleep. Outside the window, white lights cast shimmering reflections. The city glowed brilliantly.

A new plant sat on the bedside table—a small cactus.

"Mom, what were you thinking when you decided to have me?" Ji Qingyu murmured, his gaze unfocused as it rested on Lin Ying’s sleeping face.

In such circumstances—forced by Ji Deyong, raising him alone by selling fish—how did Lin Ying find the courage to bring him into the world?

"Actually, I lied to you," Ji Qingyu said, bowing his head like a child who had done wrong, his fingers twisting together. His soft hair fell loosely, swaying gently beside his eyes.

"Fu Han and I are not doing well at all. I don’t like being married, living in a strange place, always feeling like an outsider. I wish I could go back to when I was eighteen, or sixteen, before anything happened." His voice remained steady, but his eyes were distant.

He sat alone for a while, his formal attire too thin against the cold seeping into his bones. He sneezed.

The rhythmic beeping of Lin Ying’s heart monitor continued, unchanged. Ji Qingyu stood, pressing his hand against the glass, leaving a misty imprint.

"Ms. Lin Ying, didn’t you say you wanted to retire in Jiangcheng? Hurry and get through the surgery, wake up properly, and let’s go together." Ji Qingyu smiled, speaking slowly. "I’ve learned to cook many dishes. I can make them for you, mind the fish stall, and even sneak some fruit from Brother Ma—oh, but Brother Ma isn’t in Jiangcheng... Anyway, I don’t like this life anymore."

A cold wind blew in. Exhausted, he sank back into the chair, his body limp, head leaning to the side. Too tired to even move a finger, he felt an illusion of damp coldness in the air.

Dark shadows stretched across the corridor. Ji Qingyu closed his eyes, utterly spent, and drifted into a shallow sleep.

In his dreams, he revisited fragments of the past.

Since their senior year of high school, Ji Ran had grown closer to him, often waiting by the classroom door, pulling him into various activities. They were inseparable.

Ji Ran loved bringing Ji Qingyu bouquets of all kinds, gifting him expensive stuffed toys, bringing him meals, and leaning against him softly while calling him "brother."

When Ji Ran set his mind to pleasing someone, no one could resist his charm—Ji Qingyu was no exception.

Looking into Ji Ran’s bright, sparkling eyes, Ji Qingyu found himself answering every question, soon revealing details about his family, the songs he wrote, and even his relationship with Fu Han.

It was an ordinary day. The two sat on the steps of the sports field, eating ice pops. Classmates passing by greeted Ji Ran—he always had many friends.

Ji Ran said, "Brother, someone like Fu Han doesn’t have a sincere bone in his body. Omegas come and go around him; he only plays with them. See that girl walking by? She was once involved with Fu Han. Do you think you can compare to her?"

Ji Qingyu’s ice pop had begun to melt, unnoticed. Sticky syrup dripped onto his hand.

Ji Qingyu brought Ji Ran home. Ji Qingyu knew Ji Ran came from a well-off family. As they walked through the narrow alley, Ji Ran looked around curiously. "So many people live here—doesn’t it get crowded?"

"Not really. It’s actually enough for two people," Ji Qingyu said with a smile. "Let me make you some fish slice porridge. It’s freshly caught fish, freshly sliced—really delicious."

Ji Ran tilted his head slightly, his smile growing faint. His eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to the side, catching sight of the layers of small advertisements plastered on the wall. A hint of disdain flickered in his eyes, but his tone remained calm as he replied softly, "Sure."

After the meal, Lin Ying made a glass of juice for Ji Ran before stepping out, leaving the two of them alone.

Ji Ran sat quietly on the fabric sofa in Ji Qingyu’s home. The sofa was clean and carried the faint, warm scent of recently sun-dried laundry.

His gaze drifted around the small two-bedroom living room: an old-model television, faded curtains, a large red calendar left hanging since the New Year, and photos clipped to a cotton cloth with wooden clothespins, documenting Ji Qingyu’s life from childhood to the present.

His eyes fixed on the photos, unmoving. The juice in his cup was sweet, and the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as he said in a gentle voice, "You’re so fortunate."

Ji Ran gazed at the photos for a long time, so absorbed that he didn’t notice Ji Qingyu sitting down beside him. Only when Ji Qingyu spoke did he snap back to attention. "If you like it here, you can come over anytime. I’ll cook something delicious for you."

Ji Ran nodded, a smile still on his face. "Sure, I like you best."

Ji Qingyu spread out the sheet music he had written on the table. He genuinely liked Ji Ran—Ji Ran was good-looking, carried an air of refined elegance, and was as delicate as a doll.

Whenever Ji Ran praised him, Ji Qingyu felt instinctively shy. He wasn’t particularly skilled at much else, so he picked up his guitar and played a song for Ji Ran.

Curled cozily on the sofa, Ji Ran finished his juice and drowsily narrowed his eyes. "Brother, do you remember that omega at our school who had to transfer?"

Ji Qingyu paused, his hands stilling as he looked at Ji Ran in confusion. Ji Ran chuckled softly, leaning in to tug at Ji Qingyu’s hand. "The female omega who directed pheromones at Fu Han. Her name is Ruan Jing."

"Actually, she’s a good person—just too infatuated with Fu Han and acted impulsively. We’re even friends, you know," Ji Ran said. "Her family isn’t well-off either. She’s been working to put herself through school, but because of this incident, many schools are unwilling to take her in now."

"I was wondering if you could talk to Fu Han and ask him to go easy on her, so Ruan Jing can return to school. You and Fu Han are on good terms, aren’t you?" Ji Ran held Ji Qingyu’s hand affectionately, his eyes clear and bright.

Outside on the small flowerbed by the balcony, the stray cat began meowing again. Cats seemed particularly perceptive; upon seeing Ji Ran, it tensed up and let out a low, warning hiss.

Ji Qingyu hesitated. After all, it was unlikely that Fu Han would forgive someone who had hurt him.

But Ji Ran was still watching him.

Ji Ran was always so good to him. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to ask for a small favor. So Ji Qingyu nodded. "Alright, I’ll try my best."

Ji Ran exclaimed happily, his hand cool to the touch. His fluffy head leaned against Ji Qingyu’s shoulder like an eager puppy, his gaze sincere. "I don’t want to put you in a difficult position. Just set up a meet with Fu Han, and I’ll be there too." He gave Ji Qingyu a big hug.

The stray cat stretched out its paw, scratching at the railing. Its faint meows drifted through the security bars. Ji Qingyu stood up and grabbed a small fish treat for it.

The cat gently patted the back of Ji Qingyu’s hand with its white paw, meowing loudly. Ji Qingyu offered the dried fish, but the cat ignored it, only yowling even more insistently.

What was going on?

Ji Ran stood up with a smile, glanced at the cat, and dusted off his clothes. "I should get going now. You must help with this matter, okay?"

After Ji Ran left, the cat continued hissing behind him. Ji Qingyu opened the window, and the kitten jumped inside, inspecting its territory before curling up in Ji Qingyu’s lap, meowing softly. Ji Qingyu remembered that day—the flowers in the flowerbed had been trampled by the cat, and he had scolded it in mild annoyance.

The kitten meowed at him a few more times, seemingly disappointed, then turned and slipped out through the window crack, leaving the dried fish behind.

Perhaps all living things possess a spirit, subtly trying to protect him, but the connection wasn’t strong enough, and he failed to grasp it in time.

*

A month later, on an ordinary afternoon, Lin Ying suddenly had a nosebleed at the fish stall. Ji Qingyu rushed back from school to the market and took her to the hospital.

The hospital TV was broadcasting the latest news: "Multiple enterprises under the Fu Group are suspected of undergoing ownership changes. Factional struggles within the conglomerate are intensifying. What impact will this have on Jing City’s financial landscape? Stay tuned for expert analysis..."

Ji Qingyu looked up at the screen. It had been weeks since he last saw Fu Han, and he hadn’t expected such turmoil in Fu Han’s family.

He thought about sending Fu Han a message but worried it might disturb him. In the end, he simply typed, "Are you okay?"

The doctor registered Lin Ying for a blood test. Ji Qingyu looked at the list of required examinations—many items, all needing payment upfront: ECG, scans... The total cost was substantial, equivalent to three months of their household income.

The hospital reeked of pungent disinfectant. Ji Qingyu, wrapped in his coat and wearing a mask, found a wheelchair and pushed Lin Ying back and forth several times. The doctor examined the diagnostic report, frowning almost imperceptibly.

Outside, a hospital cart was knocked over by a patient. A child’s cries mingled with chaotic footsteps, and not far away, an argument broke out among a crowd.

Ji Qingyu’s eyes felt dry as he looked out. Several people were scuffling—wails, attempts to intervene, curses. The light filtering through the window felt cold.

"The results will take a few days. Don’t worry too much; we see cases like this often. Go home and wait for the notification," the doctor said, still frowning at the report. "Isn’t there another adult in your family? Why are you alone bringing your mother here?"

"Um, my dad is away on a business trip today," Ji Qingyu forced a smile, clutching the papers tightly. He asked politely, "Doctor, how long will it take to get the results? Will we be notified?"

"Check your phone; you’ll receive a notification there," the doctor adjusted his glasses, looking sympathetically at the young boy. "Son, no matter what happens, you need to be prepared. You’re still young; there are many possibilities ahead..."

"Doctor, what... what do you mean by that?" Ji Qingyu frowned.

"Nothing. You can go now."

On the way back, Lin Ying stopped to lean against the wall and rest several times, her voice weak. "Qingyu, I’ve got a bad feeling. Let me tell you the bank card password in advance."

"Mom, don’t say that. Don’t tell me. The doctor said it’s nothing serious. Don’t scare yourself; you’ve just been too tired lately." Ji Qingyu patted Lin Ying’s back and held her hand as they walked home.

They often took this route, usually a five-minute walk, but today it felt endlessly long. Lin Ying’s hand trembled constantly. Ji Qingyu finally knelt to give her a piggyback, realizing how thin and frail she had become.

Finally home, Ji Qingyu helped Lin Ying rest. He sat on the sofa, eyes open, lost in thought, when his phone rang. It was Ji Ran. "Brother, come quickly. Fu Han is back at school."

Back then, Ji Qingyu was naive and foolish, easily swayed by Ji Ran’s phony sweet talk. For the bouquets, the hugs, and the affectionate calls of "brother," he paid a heavy price.

He didn’t understand then that this meeting would change his life forever. Nor did he expect that the peaceful days would never return.

If he could go back in time, he would grab his younger self, slap him hard across the face, and yell at him not to go, to stop right there. But the world offers no such mercy—no do-overs for mistakes.

Ji Ran, using Ji Qingyu’s name, arranged a meeting with Fu Han at a hotel near the school. It was said to be owned by the Ji family, making it a suitable venue.

Worried about being late, Ji Qingyu hurried over. Fu Han hadn’t arrived yet, and Ji Ran wasn’t around. Only he and Ruan Jing waited in the spacious suite’s living room, sitting on the sofa.

Ruan Jing was as he remembered—long, flowing black hair cascading down, looking petite and gentle, curled up in a corner of the sofa.

"Don’t worry," Ji Qingyu reassured her. "It’s good to admit mistakes and change. Just don’t repeat them. I’ll try my best to put in a good word for you."

Ruan Jing’s hair was so long it almost hid her face. She kept her head down, and Ji Qingyu could never quite see her expression.

Thinking she was just nervous, he poured a glass of warm water for her. Only then did he notice the omega shivering all over.

Ji Qingyu frowned and asked softly, "What’s wrong?"

The omega’s condition was clearly not right. She stammered, muttering through gritted teeth. Ji Qingyu had to lean in close to hear her whisper, "I’m sorry."

"Haha, it’s... okay," Ji Qingyu thought she was apologizing for the incident where he was temporarily marked due to her actions. But before he could finish, a sharp pain shot through him. Stunned, he stared at Ruan Jing, whose lips were pressed tight, her features twisted.

He looked down. A slender, sharp needle pierced his forearm. Before he could react, he lost control of his body. His mouth fell open, and he collapsed, hitting the wall face-first. A sharp, aching pain spread through his nose.

He pondered for a long time but couldn’t comprehend how things had gotten to this point.

Everything spun. Ruan Jing caught Ji Qingyu as he slumped, half-dragging, half-carrying him onto the bed.

Then, sobbing, she picked up Ji Qingyu's phone, found the contact, and sent a message to Fu Han.

The air began to fill with a dense, rainy smell, cloying omega pheromones flooding the entire room. Ji Qingyu's gland ached unbearably.

He still didn’t fully understand what was happening, only thinking that perhaps Ruan Jing still held some lingering feelings for Fu Han and wanting to persuade her to let go of her obsession.

He had no strength, his eyelids heavy. Ruan Jing said with a trembling voice as she apologized again, saying she had no choice—if she didn’t comply, her family would suffer. She dropped the phone, drew the curtains shut, and hurried away.

Left alone in the room, Ji Qingyu’s consciousness blurred. He felt his body growing increasingly feverish, something clearly wrong. He gasped like a fish out of water. Ji Qingyu had never had a clear understanding of his own gender; even after being temporarily marked by Fu Han, it had only felt like being bitten harshly a couple of times.

He had differentiated late, his sensitivity to pheromones too low, so he had never considered what the consequences of an omega being permanently marked might be.

The door pushed open again.

“Did you call me here just for that omega? I’ve told you, she’s up to no good.” Fu Han’s tone carried a hint of impatience. He massaged his neck lightly, his eyes filled with helplessness.

Even with his slow reactions, Ji Qingyu now understood. He wanted to tell Fu Han to leave quickly, but his throat couldn’t produce even a whisper.

The alpha seemed to have rushed over, still wearing a suit with two buttons undone, holding a freshly bought dorayaki. “Didn’t you say last time you wanted dorayaki from the snack street? I bought it on the way. Why are you lying there? Where’s Ruan Jing?”

As Fu Han stepped closer to check, a projectile was fired through the window, a syringe needle embedding itself in his neck. Fu Han recoiled, reached up to touch his neck, seemingly unable to process what had happened, his whole body freezing.

A faint, encouraging voice called out from outside the window. Ruan Jing called out, “I can only help you this much,” before her figure ran away.

Fu Han stumbled backward, bracing himself against the wall. He tried to push the door open, but it had been locked from the outside at some point. He attempted to smash the window but collapsed to his knees.

Clutching his head, Fu Han breathed raggedly. The dorayaki fell to the floor, rolling several times and gathering dust.

A terrifying, beast-like roar erupted from Fu Han. An overwhelming flood of potent pheromones engulfed them both, stimulating Ji Qingyu to shed physiological tears.

Fu Han wasn’t even wearing a muzzle—he had long stopped wearing one around Ji Qingyu.

“Ji Qingyu, what do you mean by this?” Ji Qingyu hadn’t heard such an icy, frightening tone from Fu Han in a long time. It was like a sharp ice spike splitting him in two.

Unable to restrain himself, Fu Han moved toward the bed. Everything spiraled into chaos, rushing toward an uncontrollable outcome.

It felt like an unreal nightmare. Ji Qingyu wanted to say it wasn’t him, that he hadn’t done it, but he couldn’t speak. The only response he could give Fu Han was his body releasing an even denser wave of pheromones.

Fu Han clutched his head, then desperately raised his hand to smash a glass. Using the shards, he cut his own arm, blood spraying from his forearm as he tried to maintain clarity through pain.

But it was useless. Gradually, Fu Han completely lost his reason, and Ji Qingyu’s consciousness faded too.

“Ji Qingyu, how dare you do this to me!” Fu Han’s voice was trembling, nearly breaking.

Ji Qingyu couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t see Fu Han’s expression. He felt as if frozen in the depths of winter, so cold that his limbs turned icy.

Until Fu Han pinned him down, his gaze filled with terrifying anger.

His lips were caught in an ambiguous bite, fierce anger and overwhelming desire crashing down together. Fu Han had completely lost control, becoming a beast driven by instinct.

An unbearable pain shot through his neck, the taste of blood filling Ji Qingyu’s nostrils. Then, a deeper part of him was forced open, subjected to endless violence. Ji Qingyu was nearly broken, unable to scream or struggle.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed when he let out a silent scream—Fu Han had knotted inside him. Excruciating pain crushed him; he was like a tiny ant under a wheel, struggling forward uselessly.

In that moment, he finally understood what it meant to be an omega.

He passed out from the violence; pain washed over him like a tide. Fu Han, unconscious of his actions, bit him like a beast marking its territory, worried it wasn’t deep enough. His neck was covered in bite marks, layer upon layer.

And Ji Qingyu, unable to move, felt like a corpse—wishing he were one.

In the end, tears streaked Ji Qingyu’s face as he lost consciousness. He dreamed a nightmare where everyone had left him, and he had lost everything.

He woke up sweating, bolting upright in bed. He had no idea how much time had passed; the sky had turned a dim deep blue.

His heart trembled uncontrollably. He stared blankly at the space beside him—Fu Han was still asleep. Looking down at himself, he was a mess. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, his body aching with delayed pain.

A firm knock sounded at the door. Ji Ran’s voice came through, tinged with laughter: “Brother, are you awake? Come out quickly. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”