“Well, as much as I hate to admit it,” Tao Luo scratched her head before finally answering, “I’ll be honest—when you lose your temper, your pheromones do get pretty strong.”
“When I sit next to you, your pheromones occasionally make me feel… kind of uncomfortable,” she described.
As a pure alpha herself, Tao Luo rated Yan Chengfeng’s pheromones as being “pretty strong” and “kind of uncomfortable.”
It dawned on Yan Chengfeng that Zhen Ning’s earlier comment about finding it “unbearable in every sense” likely wasn’t driven by personal animosity—it was simply a statement of fact.
That afternoon, Yan Chengfeng didn’t return to the training room. Instead, he went back to his dorm, finding himself in a state of deep confusion.
It was rare for him to feel confused.
The first time had been when he was sixteen. Determined to go pro, he had a standoff with his parents. During that period of uncertainty, he met Zhen Ning in an internet café.
Meeting Zhen Ning gave him clarity.
He realized how much he loved Forest of the Full Moon and how deeply he wanted to compete. He wanted to pull off impossible plays with this new friend he’d just met. He dreamed of reaching the top with Zhen Ning and proving to his parents that his decision wasn’t a mistake.
The second time had been when Zhen Ning left KYM.
Yan Chengfeng couldn’t understand how something they had promised each other could break so easily. He didn’t know how to keep playing after Zhen Ning left—or if he even could.
“Why do you have to go to the U.S. for school?”
He had asked Zhen Ning in disbelief, “Just a few more months, and we can debut together. Really—we promised, didn’t we? We were supposed to go to the U.S. to compete in the World Championship together!”
Zhen Ning remained silent.
“…Is it because I’m a few months older than you? Do you think I’ll debut before you? Is that why you’re upset?”
Back then, Yan Chengfeng’s voice had trembled as he forced a smile. “I don’t have to debut right away. I can wait until you’re an adult, and then we can debut together. Would that be okay?”
Zhen Ning looked at him and shook his head.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he replied. “I’ve waited far too long, and now, at this point, my patience has run out. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
They had talked a lot—or rather, Yan Chengfeng had talked a lot. From pleading to anger to accusations, he couldn’t even remember everything he had said.
He only remembered that Zhen Ning’s expression had remained calm and resolute throughout.
And Zhen Ning’s final, softly spoken: “I’m sorry.”
Yan Chengfeng had stared into Zhen Ning’s eyes, his voice hoarse as he said, “You’ll regret this.”
Zhen Ning was silent for a moment before asking, “Will I?”
“If that’s the case, then prove it to me.” He looked away calmly and said, “Make me regret it. Prove that I’m wrong.”
It was because of that final sentence before Zhen Ning left that the resentment Yan Chengfeng felt from being abandoned transformed into a driving force, pushing him to train obsessively.
He told himself he had to achieve something great. He had to reach the pinnacle. He had to make Zhen Ning see his accomplishments and regret his decision.
And he did.
He had imagined what it would be like to see Zhen Ning again, but he never thought Zhen Ning would voluntarily return to KYM—especially after leaving so decisively.
Nor did he expect that when they met again, Zhen Ning would have differentiated into an omega.
Now, Zhen Ning needed to inject suppressants frequently, and his physiological instincts made him genuinely troubled by the presence of Yan Chengfeng’s pheromones.
From a moral standpoint, they should be keeping their distance now.
Although Yan Chengfeng had never seen himself as particularly refined, he still felt a vague sense of loss when this realization hit him.
In that moment, he realized it wasn’t just their past fallout and separation that had driven them apart—things had changed even more now that their secondary genders were different. No matter what, it felt like the closeness they once shared was something they could never reclaim.
Their relationship was stuck in an awkward, delicate state with no clear direction.
Yan Chengfeng lay on his bed, zoning out for the entire afternoon.
When he finally left his dorm to head back to training, he happened to see Tao Luo cheerfully squatting in front of the storage cabinet in the hall, rummaging through a drawer.
It was their second encounter outside the training room that day, but this time, Tao Luo took the initiative to call out to him. “Yan Kitchen, do you remember where the base keeps spare microphones?”
Yan Chengfeng had no idea what kind of nonsense she was up to this time.
Distracted by his own thoughts, he answered absentmindedly, “Check the storage room in the east wing. There should be plenty of unused peripherals there.”
Tao Luo exclaimed, “Aiya!” and started running toward the east wing.
Yan Chengfeng glanced at her retreating figure but didn’t think much of it as he continued walking toward the training room.
Around five in the afternoon, the sun was setting. The door to the training room was open, and from afar, Yan Chengfeng could faintly make out Zhen Ning still seated in his gaming chair, apparently training.
Yan Chengfeng took a deep breath.
After stepping inside, he cleared his throat, intending to alert Zhen Ning to his presence. But as he got closer and took another look, Yan Chengfeng froze on the spot.
Zhen Ning had fallen asleep.
He lay there with his eyes closed, quietly leaning in front of the keyboard, his soft hair covering his forehead. The sun was warm, casting beautiful, fan-shaped shadows of his lashes onto his cheeks.
Yan Chengfeng was momentarily dazed.
After that match on the bus, Yan Chengfeng had noticed that Zhen Ning seemed to fall asleep easily now, capable of dozing off almost anywhere and at any time.
When asleep, Zhen Ning’s expression looked different from usual. His features were no longer cold, his lashes appearing soft, adding a warmth absent from his usual demeanor.
Zhen Ning was always silent. He didn’t talk much when awake, and even in sleep, he was very quiet, his breathing so faint it was almost inaudible.
Yan Chengfeng had entered the room with aggressive determination but now found himself in a complicated mood.
For a moment, his gaze paused and unconsciously drifted from Zhen Ning’s face to somewhere else.
Despite the cold weather, the training room’s heater was running on full blast, so Zhen Ning was only wearing a loose sweatshirt.
As he lay forward, the sweatshirt slipped down slightly, exposing a large area of pale, delicate skin on the back of his neck.
Yan Chengfeng frowned instinctively.
He suddenly remembered that Tao Luo had just gone to the east wing to retrieve something, and judging by her earlier demeanor, she was highly likely to return to the training room soon.
In other words, if he did nothing now, Tao Luo or even Xu Hao might walk in and see this scene.
Staring at Zhen Ning’s peaceful profile, Yan Chengfeng suddenly found himself unbearably annoyed.
Did he not realize his situation before falling asleep?
Did he have no awareness of what kind of position he was in right now? Not even a little bit?
Sleeping like this—did it not occur to him that other people might walk into the training room? Especially other alphas who would also see him like this?
Yan Chengfeng’s jaw tightened slightly.
After a long moment, he exhaled sharply, his gaze falling on the jacket draped over the back of Zhen Ning’s chair.
Should he cover him with it?
A voice in Yan Chengfeng’s mind shouted: Why do you care? If he wants to be seen, let him be seen. What does it have to do with you?
But another, extremely tempting voice simultaneously said: Just drape it over him and go play ranked matches. Even if he wakes up and notices something, you won’t be the only one in the training room. Tao Luo will be back soon, and there’s no way he’ll figure it was you, right?
Yan Chengfeng hesitated for a moment and glanced around.
After confirming that there was no living, breathing soul nearby who might see him, Yan Chengfeng frowned and grabbed the collar of the jacket with one hand.
It felt as though the jacket’s fabric was scalding to the touch. Standing stiffly in an awkward posture, he finally draped the jacket over Zhen Ning with rigid movements.
The moment the jacket settled over Zhen Ning, the sound of hurried footsteps came from the doorway.
“Zhen Ning!”
Tao Luo appeared at the door, panting heavily. “I found the microphone for you! So, how about it? What do you think—”
Yan Chengfeng’s heart skipped a beat. He froze suddenly and quickly let go of the jacket.
“Huh? Why are you just standing there like that?”
Seeing Yan Chengfeng standing beside Zhen Ning, Tao Luo was visibly stunned.
Her gaze quickly shifted to the sleeping Zhen Ning, and her eyes widened. “Oh! How did he fall asleep?”
“I just came in, so I hadn’t even sat down yet.”
Yan Chengfeng pulled out his gaming chair as if nothing had happened, then reacted a beat later. “…What’s the big deal if he’s asleep? Why are you yelling like that?”
Yan Chengfeng sounded a bit impatient, but he kept his voice low, which caused Tao Luo to pause and subconsciously lower her own voice as well.
Tao Luo was so anxious that her face turned somewhat red. She glanced at the still-sleeping Zhen Ning and whispered, “Normally, it wouldn’t be a big deal if he’s asleep, but when I left earlier, he was still…”
Yan Chengfeng didn’t understand. “Still what?”
Tao Luo stared at Zhen Ning’s back with a strange expression on her face. Realizing something, she chose not to finish her sentence. Instead, she walked directly over to Zhen Ning’s side.
Leaning in closer, she glanced at Zhen Ning’s computer screen. Her face instantly grew complicated, tinged with guilt.
Yan Chengfeng’s frown deepened. “What’s going on?”
“It’s not a big deal that he fell asleep.”
Turning her back to the screen, Tao Luo scratched her head and murmured under her breath, “But Zhen Ning… he’s still streaming right now…”
