Chapter 35

Chapter 35

"What do you want to ask?" Ji Qingyu felt a dull ache beginning to stir in his lower abdomen. "If I told you I’ve never used this phone to take any photos, would you believe me?"

Fu Han didn’t answer, his hand still gripping the back of Ji Qingyu’s neck. Then, abruptly, his hand tightened around Ji Qingyu’s throat. Ji Qingyu grunted in pain.

"Do you take me for an idiot?" Fu Han said. "Do you still think I’m the same person who could be fooled by a single word from you? That I’d let you use me again?"

Ji Qingyu fell silent. Talking about the past with Fu Han always ended in disaster. He shivered uncontrollably, watching the intimidating alpha before him, the last remnants of warmth between them shattering to pieces.

"You teamed up with someone to scheme against me. This collaboration is the most crucial step to breaking into the overseas market of Country A. What did you offer in exchange?" Seeing Ji Qingyu remain silent, Fu Han grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. "Did you think I'd be powerless against you?"

"Ji Qingyu, in your heart, everything matters more than I do. Some trivial benefit is enough for you to abandon me. You’ve always been like this." Fu Han let out a barely audible sigh. His hand tightened around Ji Qingyu’s neck, holding him in place as his sharp teeth drew dangerously close.

"Fu Han!"

Terror so overwhelming it nearly shattered him seized Ji Qingyu. His body trembled uncontrollably—he absolutely could not be marked again.

"I have a permanent solution right here. If I bite down, from now on you’d have to obey my every command. So why do I keep letting you go, time and again?" Fu Han gave a dangerous smile, cold as a dangerous snake, coiling around Ji Qingyu.

"I was asked to photograph the documents, but I didn’t do it. I didn’t!" Ji Qingyu pushed Fu Han away with all his strength—a survival instinct, born from the fear of being subjected to pheromone torment again, the dread of reliving the agony of recurrent heats of the past six years.

"You didn’t do it because you never got the chance, right?" Fu Han’s words were icy and arrogant. The tattoo on his body depicted some kind of predatory beast—one Ji Qingyu didn’t recognize. He had never truly understood Fu Han.

His throat felt tight, his eyes wide open as he stared at the alpha before him.

The room grew cold. Outside the window, birds soared through the clouds, the sun leaving behind its final traces.

He didn’t understand—in Fu Han’s eyes, was he really so unworthy of trust? How did Fu Han see him? As a liar? A scumbag who’d sell anyone out for profit? Was he really that despicable?

He opened his mouth, suddenly feeling a wave of bitterness worse than all the past grievances combined, more unbearable than the suffering he’d endured over the past six years.

He heard his own voice, faint and detached, hanging in the air like a wisp: "No matter what I say, you won’t believe me, will you?"

Fu Han smiled, arrogant and cruel. "What do you think?"

Ji Qingyu felt like a fool. He had actually considered entrusting this person with the lives of his mother and child, thinking that an embrace meant trust could be given. There were moments when he truly wanted to struggle a little longer.

The illusory dreams of his youth were like bubbles he couldn’t hold onto, destined to shatter and dissolve. Perhaps it had been deceiving himself all along.

Before him, he could still see the alpha from when he was eighteen, watching him by the library window, the wind blowing through the white curtains and rustling his hair. That face had been so beautiful.

Ji Qingyu felt exhausted. He shoved Fu Han away violently with all his might. Caught off guard, Fu Han lost his balance, knocking over items on the table. The entire desk tilted, sending everything crashing to the floor in disarray.

"Have you had enough?!" Fu Han tilted his head, paused for a moment, then reached out to grab Ji Qingyu. His sharp fangs were exposed, and the overwhelming scent of green plums filled the air.

Ji Qingyu stumbled back, leaning forward and swiftly grabbing the tattoo knife from the table. His voice trembled, sharp and strained: "Don’t come near me."

His face was deathly pale, eyes wide open, his body thin as parchment, almost blending into the twilight. Everything was dim and cold. Only his eyes were intensely bright, so bright it was alarming.

Ji Qingyu rarely broke down like this. The muscles in his calves were taut, both hands gripping the nearly harmless knife tightly...

Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face.

Fu Han watched Ji Qingyu’s expression. Perhaps because Ji Qingyu was crying too wretchedly, he paused briefly. Silence fell between them.

Then Fu Han let out a cold laugh, ignoring the harmless flexible blade. He pressed Ji Qingyu against the wall, ignoring his trembling and cries, lowering his head to bite Ji Qingyu’s neck. The bite was ruthless and unwavering, cruel as if he were merely subduing an insignificant prey.

The small but sharp blade sliced a long cut on Fu Han’s arm, but he paid it no mind, injecting his pheromones more fiercely into the other’s gland.

Ji Qingyu’s hands were trapped between them. He couldn’t push Fu Han away. For a moment, he even thought of plunging the sharp tool into him. Ji Qingyu was weeping bitterly, choking on sobs; this was the hardest he had ever cried in front of Fu Han. He didn’t know why he was crying, only that he was unbearably sad, so heartbroken he felt like dying.

A flood of pheromones rushed into Ji Qingyu’s neck. Fu Han held him firmly. Ji Qingyu clutched Fu Han’s back, leaving distinct bloody scratches.

He wanted to say, "Fu Han, we have a child. I wanted to tell you, but you always doubt me. If I told you, you’d kill that child without hesitation, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t allow this child to come into the world, right?"

He wanted to say, why must he bear the consequences for things he didn’t do? Why must he endure all this? Why does no one love him? Why has he always been alone?

Why?

Was it because he was truly worthless? Because his personality was dull and boring? Had he done something wrong? Otherwise, why was he treated so cruelly?

Even he himself didn’t know anymore.

He struggled desperately, resisting so fiercely that Fu Han nearly lost his grip and had to let go. The scents of rain and green plum mingled. Even though it wasn’t a complete temporary mark, Ji Qingyu still felt like a branded slave.

His heart was completely dead, as if something had been torn from him. He heard his own voice, muffled and monotone: "Fu Han, let’s end this. You don’t trust me. There’s no point in dragging this out."

Fu Han lowered his head, the tattoo on his body fierce, his tone even fiercer. "In your dreams," he said.

Ji Qingyu showed no reaction, speaking coldly, "I’ve had enough. I said I’ve had enough."

I’ve had enough of being doubted, accused of crimes I didn’t commit. I’ve had enough of building even a shred of false warmth, only to repay it with ten times the compromise and suffering.

Ji Qingyu stood up numbly. He wanted to get as far away from Fu Han as possible. But Fu Han grabbed his hand, a trace of barely detectable tension in his voice, his eyes fixed on Ji Qingyu with undiluted anger. "What do you mean? Do you think you have a choice?"

Ji Qingyu laughed, slowly prying Fu Han’s fingers off his hand. His feigned calm expression finally broke; even the corners of his lips trembled. He struggled to hold back, unwilling to show even a hint of weakness in Fu Han. He wasn’t a strong person, but he had a child now. He had to force himself to be strong...

Ji Qingyu broke free from Fu Han with all his strength, grabbed his coat and scarf by the door, snatched the suppressant patches from the table, and ran out.

Fu Han’s voice came from behind: "If you leave through that door, don’t come back."

Ji Qingyu slammed the door shut.

He felt suffocated, unable to stop for even a moment. His knees trembled weakly, and he could barely stand after a few steps. In the past, he could push those emotions aside, but now he didn’t want his child to bear them like he had.

It was a cold autumn day. Ji Qingyu walked alone from the mountainside to the foot of the hill. The fading sunlight cast a pale glow over him, warm as an illusion.

He didn’t know how long he walked before finally stopping by the roadside. He waved down a taxi and told the driver to take him to the hospital. He felt exhausted, lowering his head and burying himself in his coat. The overcoat was too thin. He curled up, suddenly feeling very alone.

He was the one who had decided to leave, so why did he feel so sad?

He closed his eyes as the taxi crawled through congested traffic.

The crowds surged. Looking out the window, he saw everyone hurrying home. But he was still alone. Where was his home? He didn’t have the energy to think about it anymore.

The hospital was the same as always: exit the subway station, turn left, climb a slope, and then the inpatient area. Lin Ying was on the top floor. Ji Qingyu stepped on a small stone, nearly twisting his ankle.

He kicked the stone away, comforting himself: It’s okay. Everything will pass.

He had a child, a new life. Lin Ying was getting better. It was just Fu Han’s attitude—he had known it all along. He didn’t need him that much anyway.

The night was quiet, the corridors empty. Ji Qingyu planned to sit outside Lin Ying’s room for a while. As he turned the corner, he overheard doctors speaking in low voices.

"How can that work? It’s no use. What surgery? Didn’t Ji Ran say to keep him calm?... Who knows? Their affairs are none of our business. What can we do? After the surgery, they said she needs rest, so we’re just dragging it out."

"That kid is pitiful. I’ve seen him sleeping on the chairs outside several times. He must be very close to his mother."

"None of your business... Just focus on your own work. So many people die in this hospital every day—you can’t pity them all. If you want to blame someone, blame his bad luck."

Ji Qingyu blinked. What did that mean?

"How long can we keep this hidden? The mass is pressing against the nerve—there’s not much time left." The doctor, still young and impatient, spoke with urgency.

He wondered, what did it mean?

Ji Qingyu’s hand rested against the doorframe. He wanted to step inside and demand answers, but he lacked the courage. Covering his face, he couldn't breathe.

He curled into himself, right there in the hospital corridor. The cold air was biting, and he felt an icy numbness in his limbs, like the world's last bit of light had gone out.