Duan Ming rushed over in the middle of the night.
“What’s going on?” The manager, clutching his blood pressure medication, looked pale and weak. “Did you bump into President Huo again?”
Liang Xiao had only made it halfway through his price negotiation call, which wasn’t going well. He had just lowered the price by another 3,000 when the other party coldly hung up on him. Now, he hesitated. “No…”
“Then explain this.”
Duan Ming, who had scrutinized the situation all night with a magnifying glass, handed over the new contract Xingguan had sent over urgently. He pointed out the only change: “The fee for each collaboration—why has it been adjusted to 99,999 yuan?”
Liang Xiao: “…”
A loss, finally.
No wonder major entertainment companies had been crushed under the weight of Huo Lan’s Xingguan in recent years. Even a few old industry giants couldn’t hold out and had lost significant market share.
Starting today, for every bite Huo Lan took, Liang Xiao would lose exactly one yuan.
Luckily, a single yuan was a loss he could bear. After brooding for a while, Liang Xiao brightened up and pulled Duan Ming to sit down. “It’s fine. Worst case, he can just bite me less.”
Duan Ming froze. “Is that possible?”
“No problem.” Liang Xiao didn’t think it was hard, brimming with confidence. “President Huo actually doesn’t like biting me very much.”
If possible, Liang Xiao thought Huo Lan didn’t want to bite anyone.
To use an analogy: if modern medicine proved that handstands could reduce the frequency of outbursts in special-variant Alphas, Liang Xiao believed Huo Lan would probably lead Xingguan to conquer the entertainment industry while standing on his hand.
Duan Ming listened in horror. “Why handstands?”
“It’s just an example.” Liang Xiao highlighted the point. “Horse stance would work too.”
…
The manager was half-convinced and finally pacified, though he still looked uneasy as he walked out, turning back every few steps.
Liang Xiao glanced at the new contract and resolutely decided not to increase his own costs. He removed the mask stuck to the back of his neck, sealed it in a plastic bag regardless of its effectiveness, and went to take a shower.
For the next two days, neither Huo Lan nor Xingguan contacted him again, leaving his watchful manager with at least a shred of peace.
Perhaps due to Xingguan’s silent intimidation, the paparazzi and tabloids were unusually well-behaved during this time. Seizing the opportunity, Duan Ming booked a flight and shipped Liang Xiao off to the filming set.
As soon as they landed, the production crew’s car was already waiting at the airport.
“Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Liang.”
The assistant director responsible for their reception was Yu Jian, a warm and affable middle-aged Beta. Smiling, he introduced himself, “Our crew will all be staying in the same hotel for this closed filming. If you need anything, just let the production coordinator know…”
Liang Xiao smiled. “Of course.”
The assistant director was momentarily startled, shifting his gaze away from Liang Xiao’s gentle smile. He pulled out a new script and handed it over. “The script you received earlier was just an initial version. Everything had to remain confidential before joining the crew, so I hope you understand.”
Liang Xiao thanked him, took the script, and flipped through a few pages.
The content had undergone considerable changes, filling in gaps that had previously made certain scenes feel abrupt and inconsistent. His character’s name had also been upgraded from “Surnamed-Yun” to “Yun Lian.”
It wasn’t surprising that the production was so cautious.
“Year-End” was Xingguan’s flagship drama to kick off the year. The cast featured some of the hottest stars, with fully equipped teams for marketing, publicity, and fan support. Xingguan’s PR department had been hard at work, generating buzz since the planning phase. By now, the show had already secured a steady wave of attention.
The chief director, Song Qi, and the screenwriter, the industry-renowned genius Pei Guang, were prestigious names that guaranteed quality. Their reputation alone generated interest, making leaked spoilers unnecessary. On the contrary, the production had implemented strict confidentiality measures.
Liang Xiao exuded an air of calm confidence as he casually flipped through the script, engaging in polite, minimal small talk. His composure and reserved demeanor caused a flicker of surprise to flash across the assistant director’s eyes.
The role of Yun Lian wasn’t particularly prominent, but its significance to the plot was unique.
The character was added midway through production when the screenwriter had a sudden stroke of inspiration. With filming well underway for over half a month, the crew had already conducted rituals like burning incense and cracking firecrackers to officially start production.
Yun Lian was a character with ties to everyone but no romantic entanglements with anyone. His identity was fake, his background fabricated, and even his name wasn’t real. Operating amidst various factions, he was a swindler who conned everyone, from the protagonists to the villains, leaving no one unscathed.
But when the stakes were highest, it was Yun Lian—smiling as usual and masquerading as an elegant nobleman—who infiltrated the heavily guarded enemy headquarters alone and effortlessly secured the protagonists’ lives.
And, in doing so, sealed his fate, ending up as a black-and-white photo.
Yun Lian’s appearances were brief and his screentime limited in a 50-plus-episode drama. However, if executed well, he would undoubtedly become a standout highlight.
When the crew submitted their casting request to Xingguan, the response came back within days. But what they received was an unknown, small-time actor.
After some research, they discovered this actor was none other than the person recently embroiled in scandalous rumors with President Huo—someone who had occupied the trending searches for quite some time.
The chief director and screenwriter, who only cared about their creative ideas running wild, left the assistant directors to deal with the fallout. They agonized over it for an entire night but couldn’t figure out if this was President Huo using company resources to favor a rumored lover or Xingguan subtly reprimanding the crew for their spontaneous addition of a character.
Even now, the assistant director felt a lingering sense of dread. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and carefully sized up Liang Xiao.
When he came to pick him up, he had been full of worries. But now that he saw Liang Xiao in person, it felt like the clouds had cleared and they’d stumbled upon a glimmer of hope.
The car bumped along the road, yet Liang Xiao remained as composed as ever. He accepted the tea that his assistant poured for him, took a small sip, and, without even glancing up, handed the cup back casually before flipping another page in his script.
He carried himself with the ease of someone accustomed to being served.
Such behavior wasn’t uncommon in the industry. Even if you hadn’t personally experienced it, it was impossible not to have some understanding of it.
The assistant director, well-versed in the gossip of the industry, could tell at a glance that even if Liang Xiao really was President Huo’s lover, he was likely a pampered and cherished one, someone so precious that even the slightest mishandling would be unthinkable—let alone a bite. A rare, top-tier Omega through and through.
This natural aura of a spoiled young master meant that even if Liang Xiao lacked acting skills, he probably wouldn’t be too out of place in the role.
“Rest for the night. Tomorrow, you’ll officially join the crew,” the assistant director said, regaining hope and energy. He handed a package to Duan Ming. “Head to the hotel first. Here’s your room key, along with the staff badges for everyone.”
Duan Ming thanked him, exchanged a few pleasantries, and distributed the badges to the assistant.
The hotel was incredibly quiet upon their arrival.
Xingguan’s deep pockets had ensured the entire hotel was booked exclusively for the production crew. The assistant director escorted them to the entrance, his gaze lingering on Liang Xiao.
While the assistant handled the check-in with the front desk, Liang Xiao, exuding elegance, lounged casually on the lobby sofa. Script in hand, he flipped through the pages idly, his head slightly lowered, which gave him an even gentler and more refined appearance.
He lightly twirled the teacup in his hand, sipping occasionally, looking completely unbothered.
The assistant director was finally at ease. He turned to Duan Ming and said, “It’s been a long trip. Rest well tonight.”
“You’re too kind,” Duan Ming replied with a smile. “We’ll report on time tomorrow.”
Relieved, the assistant director smiled, set a time to meet the next day, and left the hotel in good spirits.
As Duan Ming watched the car drive away, he mentally screamed in joy, Finally, he’s gone! Then, leaving the assistant behind, he strode over to Liang Xiao and dragged him into the elevator. “Alright, drop the act. What did Xiao Gong even pour for you?”
Hoping Liang Xiao would pack his own luggage was as futile as expecting him to pack himself into a suitcase. In their rush, they had only brought essential items and casual clothes. Since Duan Ming was the one who had packed everything, there was absolutely no tea included.
Liang Xiao dropped the act, slumped against the elevator wall, and looked utterly defeated. “Cold remedy medecine.”
Duan Ming: “…”
Liang Xiao, teary-eyed, lamented, “Brother Duan, next time bring some Banlangen[mfn]Banlangen (板蓝根) is a traditional Chinese herbal medicine derived from the roots of several plants[/mfn].”
Even Duan Ming felt guilty on his behalf. Clearing his throat, he didn’t reply but instead focused on finding their floor using the room key. Suddenly, he froze.
Cold remedy medicine worked, perhaps by being so bitter they killed off the virus. Liang Xiao, still struggling to recover his energy, noticed Duan Ming’s odd expression and curiously leaned over. “What’s wrong?”
“Three keys,” Duan Ming muttered, holding up the cards. Staff members were all assigned rooms on floors below the tenth. He handed one room key each to himself and the assistant, leaving the other two for Liang Xiao. “1308 and 2000.”
Liang Xiao scrutinized the elevator. “There’s no 20th floor.”
“There is,” Duan Ming replied, his tone resigned. Ever since he’d seen the terms in the contract, he’d been anticipating this day. Now that it had arrived, his feelings were complicated. “It’s accessed by a private elevator.”
Liang Xiao froze for three seconds, then pieced it together. His eyes lit up instantly.
Duan Ming sensed danger and grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t you dare go raid their shower gel and shampoo!”
“Presidential suite!” Liang Xiao could hardly resist the allure. “If every bite costs one yuan, I only need to earn a hundred yuan to cover a hundred bites!”
Duan Ming was nearly convinced by this logic before snapping back to reality halfway to the seventh floor. “You’re planning to let him bite you a hundred times?!”
Liang Xiao blinked innocently.
“You only happen to have a high compatibility with his pheromones. You’re helping him out! You don’t owe him anything!” Duan Ming growled, visibly frustrated. “How can you let him keep taking advantage of you?”
Huo Lan’s condition was undoubtedly a tightly held secret within Xingguan. Besides a select few insiders, only the two of them knew the truth. Even their assistant, Xiao Gong, naively assumed that his Brother Liang was in some kind of clandestine, extraordinary relationship.
The situation was unique, a kind of mutually beneficial arrangement. The original plan was to carry on until Xingguan found a more suitable Omega, after which they’d terminate the contract, having saved enough money by then.
After all, the world was vast. If they looked hard enough, there was no way Liang Xiao could be the only compatible Omega.
Naturally, there was an inherent attraction between Alphas and Omegas. A few temporary marks wouldn’t cause much harm. But if the marks continued, the Omega’s glands would inevitably become conditioned to the Alpha’s pheromones.
At that point, bonding with another Alpha would likely become problematic.
Imagine if Liang Xiao later found his true Alpha love. Everything could be perfectly aligned—fireworks sparking, passion blazing—only for it all to fizzle out when a bite mark ruined everything.
…
The mere thought gave Duan Ming a headache.
Liang Xiao hadn’t expected his manager to consider such long-term implications. Listening attentively, he felt a newfound respect for Duan Ming as they exited the elevator. “But I’m not interested in Alphas.”
Duan Ming frowned deeply. “What if you change your mind?”
“I won’t,” Liang Xiao said with absolute confidence. “My pheromones can’t fluctuate anyway.”
Duan Ming racked his brain for a counter argument but came up empty-handed. Defeated, he grudgingly swiped the room key for 1308 and opened the door.
Liang Xiao’s situation was indeed exceptional.
He’d only learned about it after an incident at the company. While a minor loss of control over pheromones wasn’t a big deal for most Omegas and could even be considered appealing in certain circles, Liang Xiao couldn’t afford even the slightest slip.
It was a lasting consequence of a previous pheromone burst.
This kind of condition had become quite rare in recent years. The main cause of the disease was that during the developmental period of adolescent Omegas, due to some unexpected circumstances, they failed to use suppressants in time during their heat and weren’t marked. Throughout their heat cycle, they didn’t take any measures to suppress the pheromones in their bodies.
Now, various suppression methods for Omegas had become quite mature. Adolescent Omegas who were in the process of differentiation or semi-differentiation were given free suppression bracelets. The price of regular suppressantss was also very affordable, so such an incident shouldn’t have occurred.
Although Duan Ming had dutifully blocked the doctor from asking about Liang Xiao’s medical history, he still didn’t know what had happened to Liang Xiao when he was younger.
What kind of accident could make an adolescent Omega go through a heat cycle of three to five days, or even one to two weeks, without anyone caring for him?
When pheromones were released unchecked for such a long time, it inevitably caused irreversible damage to the body. The patient generally didn’t have any special symptoms, except that their body was a bit more fragile than normal. However, they had to continually use expensive special suppressantss and strictly avoid any fluctuation in their pheromones.
Otherwise, Liang Xiao wouldn’t be so financially strained.
“If there’s nothing, then forget it.”
Duan Ming closed the door and watched Liang Xiao sit silently on the couch. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Forget it for now. We’ll talk about the rest later.”
Liang Xiao, however, took his words to heart. He was still slumped, deep in thought, and shook his head. “Brother Duan, you’re right.”
Duan Ming frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t owe President Huo anything.” Liang Xiao leaned back on the couch, his gaze focused on his phone. “So I have to stand my ground. I can’t let President Huo take advantage of me.”
Duan Ming felt a bad omen stirring in his chest. He took a deep breath and glanced over at Liang Xiao.
There was no way Huo Lan wouldn’t know about their arrival at the crew. As soon as they reached the hotel, someone would have reported their movements. Now, the news had reached Liang Xiao’s phone.
Two messages. One was a location, the other with a simple request for a meeting.
The messages were as concise as ever.
Liang Xiao didn’t reply and remained slouched on the couch.
“Ancestor,” Duan Ming groaned weakly. “We’re in Xingguan’s crew.”
Liang Xiao nodded. “I know.”
Duan Ming was losing patience. “We’re in Xingguan’s hotel.”
Liang Xiao replied, “I know.”
Duan Ming was close to losing it. “So why don’t you hurry up and let the president of Xingguan bite you already?”
Liang Xiao shook his head, placing his hand on Duan Ming and speaking only a few words. “Wait.”
Duan Ming was exasperated. “Wait for what?”
“Brother Duan, you don’t understand.”
Liang Xiao stared at the screen and said solemnly, “This is a battle of wits. Whoever loses patience first loses the game.”
Duan Ming: “…”
He had no idea what Liang Xiao was plotting but knew well enough that they couldn’t afford to provoke Huo Lan.
Huo Lan wasn’t just any ordinary alpha. At twenty, he took over Xingguan, shaking up the entire entertainment industry, extending the company’s business reach across sectors, and fighting his way onto the global wealth rankings’ top ten list.
When Xingguan landed in Huo Lan’s hands, it was riddled with scandals, teetering on the brink of collapse, a shadow of the empire it would become.
The details of how Huo Lan dismantled and rebuilt the company were unclear to outsiders, but anyone could recall the storm of blood and thunder that occupied the trending topics of the time.
Someone like him wouldn’t tolerate repeated challenges to his authority.
Duan Ming took a deep breath. He was about to consider knocking Liang Xiao unconscious and sending him upstairs when Liang Xiao’s phone suddenly chimed.
Liang Xiao raised an eyebrow. His exceptionally beautiful eyes curved slightly, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.
Whatever game he had been playing earlier, he seemed to have won. Relaxed now, his smile brightened his entire expression, making him look radiant.
…
Duan Ming stared at him, dumbfounded, before finally surrendering.
Forget it.
If worst came to worst, he’d help this ancestor flee for their lives.
Resigned, he let out a sigh and leaned over to peek at the screen of Liang Xiao’s phone.
Illuminated on the screen was a new message from Huo Lan.
A single word: “Come.”
Liang Xiao stretched lazily, sat up straight, and stood. He fixed the collar of his shirt and glanced at the time. “Let’s go.”
Duan Ming: “…?”
Liang Xiao said casually, “The game’s over.”
As if it were only natural, he added, “I won.”
