PHWM Chapter 11

At the desk, Huo Lan sneezed heavily.

 

“Should I call a doctor?”

 

The butler, concerned, said, “You don’t look well…”

 

Huo Lan had managed to hold on until now, but finally, someone noticed that he wasn’t feeling well. His body and mind were both exhausted, and he leaned back in his swivel chair, closing his eyes to rest.

 

The butler grew even more worried. “I’ll call them right away—”

 

“No need,” Huo Lan interrupted. “Give me the suppressants.”

 

The butler hesitated, instinctively wanting to advise against it, but after a moment of indecision, he didn’t say anything and turned to retrieve the injection suppressants he had kept on hand.

 

Huo Lan took the medicine and skimmed through the instructions.

 

The suppressant was specifically developed for the unique needs of alphas, produced by Feiyang Pharmaceuticals, and it was in injection form. After being administered, it could strongly suppress pheromones, maintaining a stable level for a period of time.

 

Feiyang Pharmaceuticals was one of Huo Lan’s family companies, a pharmaceutical company focused on the research and development of pheromone-related products. Their main line of business was producing a series of suppressants aimed at making money, with packaging that was both elegant and varied, catering to the needs of home, travel, work, and leisure. New products often saw loyal customers rushing to buy them, sometimes even in tears.

 

This particular product was the most expensive one, and it was said that an omega version was also available.

 

“The doctor said to avoid using it unless necessary. Temporary marking would be safer,” the butler advised again, still uneasy, staying loyally by his side. “We could pack Mr. Liang in a bag, covering everything except for the neck…”

 

Huo Lan: “…”

 

The devoted butler was promptly sent out of Huo Lan’s presidential suite, his head full of disappointment and confusion. He eventually found the bodyguard captain and drowned his worries in alcohol.

 

Huo Lan closed his eyes, forcing out the horrific image of Liang Xiao being tied up and carried by a bamboo pole, only his neck exposed. He shook it off and swiftly prepared the suppressant, administering the injection without hesitation.

 

Meanwhile, Liang Xiao was on set, flipping through “Contemporary Medical Knowledge,” halfway through, when the director called him to try out a scene.

 

A few crew members were busy, quickly adjusting the hall set that had been blown up once, managing to rearrange it into a beautifully intricate corner amidst the chaos.

 

Lunch had already been eaten, and Jiang Pingchao’s manager, barely able to speak, called to apologize, saying the situation was serious and that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

 

The production team’s daily expenses started at a million, with camera positions and lighting all being controlled, so the filming schedule couldn’t be delayed.

 

Su Man, also free at the moment, was at the set.

 

“Take care of each other.”

 

The chief director, Song Qi, flipped through the script without looking up. “Next time you have a situation, ask someone else to fill in.”

 

He didn’t like working with actors from alpha or omega backgrounds, probably for this very reason.

 

Pheromones don’t transfer with intent. Even the most dedicated actor, when caught in the moment, is subject to uncontrollable accidents, and the entire crew has to adapt.

 

Liang Xiao had been using suppressants, so theoretically, nothing should go wrong. He didn’t explain much, just smiled and said, “Okay.”

 

Seeing that Liang Xiao was easy to work with, Song Qi’s expression softened. He pulled him and Su Man over to rehearse the scene: “You two meet at a banquet. She thinks you’re a high-achieving overseas returnee specializing in mechanical engineering and military industry, pretending to be a dancer to gather intelligence from you.”

 

Su Man, who had thoroughly studied the script, responded, “And then you tricked her out of a necklace and a pocket watch.”

 

Liang Xiao: “…”

 

He even felt a little guilty.

 

Song Qi wasn’t concerned with the actors’ feelings. He marked the key points for them: “The dancer needs to be charming, with a swaying, graceful presence.”

 

Su Man had just finished a previous scene involving torture. In a tightly fitted military uniform, looking sharp and strong, she held a whip with steel wire, balancing a broken chair with one foot while reading the script and nodding.

 

Song Qi, convinced of her professionalism, shifted his attention to Liang Xiao: “The high-achieving student has strict family education and hasn’t seen much of the world.”

 

Yun Lian, the character he was portraying, had a changing persona with each appearance. Liang Xiao noted the current one and flipped through the script, realizing that the lines only extended to the brief exchange of greetings between the two.

 

“There are only wide shots next,” Song Qi, understanding what he wanted to ask, replied. “You two can talk freely for three minutes, the camera needs to capture the shots.”

 

Su Man, accustomed to this kind of stream of consciousness acting, nodded at Song Qi, then prodded Liang Xiao with the script: “Shall we rehearse?”

 

Liang Xiao smiled, not moving, steadying the script in his hand, and looked up, his expression changing.

 

His features were sharp, and with just a slight turn of his face, he appeared charismatic. Su Man had never acted face-to-face with him but knew he had a knack for portraying both warmth and flirtation. She was prepared, but when she saw him clearly, she was momentarily stunned.

 

Liang Xiao had already entered character. He stepped back slightly, adopting the air of a bookish scholar, a posture cultivated from a refined upbringing, upright and formal.

 

Yet his appearance was so striking that even the elegance and clarity from his upbringing couldn’t hide it.

 

Having never encountered such a well-behaved, charming student, Su Man’s lashes fluttered, and the light in his eyes, stirred by the dancer’s allure, flashed with a hint of confusion, revealing an innocence and purity untouched by the world.

 

Su Man caught his gaze and nearly couldn’t control the whip in her hand.

 

Her assistant, a beta girl, was unfazed. With a look of utter resignation, she ran over and took the little whip from Su Man’s hand.

 

…

 

When the cameras rolled, Su Man had barely returned from her temporary suppressant injection.

 

She wasn’t interested in Liang Xiao, but by nature, she was entranced by beauty. Now that not everyone was present, if another alpha actor on set had an issue, Song Qi might be forced to only cast betas for the rest of his career.

 

Liang Xiao hadn’t expected the effect to be so surprising. He cleared his throat lightly: “Sister Man—”

 

“Do your scene, I’m not watching you.”

 

Su Man’s scene was shot from behind, the camera capturing only the swaying curves under her cheongsam. “Your talent is so unhealthy.”

 

Liang Xiao: “…”

 

This was the first time he encountered someone holding a whip in such a situation.

 

After all, having been focused on developing new types of stand-ins, though he had seen countless alphas, he rarely had the chance to interact face-to-face with top-tier alphas.

 

Now that he had witnessed it, he couldn’t help but worry whether Mr. Huo might have a similar physiological reflex.

 

Su Man had just used a sandalwood suppressant, her entire being calm and clear-headed, almost as if her mind was empty. She reached out to lift his chin.

 

Liang Xiao stepped back half a step, his face slightly flushed. “Please, show some restraint.”

 

The set was decorated very sparsely, with the focus of the shot on their corner, showcasing a scene of elegant charm, while the surroundings were still in chaos, with limbs and body parts everywhere. A small movement could throw them off script.

 

Su Man smiled seductively at the camera, turned her waist, and continued her serene composure, not looking at him, guiding both of them back into the camera’s focus.

 

The refined overseas student found himself in an awkward situation. As Su Man bumped into his left side, he turned slightly and closed his eyes, a flicker of pain passing through his brows.

…

 

In the plot, this new weapon information from the enemy was extremely important. If not delivered promptly, they would likely suffer significant losses in the main battlefield due to hasty responses.

 

Cheng Ru had no choice but to disguise herself as a dancer to extract information from the recently returned overseas student.

 

However, to her surprise, the seemingly innocent student was also an imposter. After some back-and-forth, he took her pocket watch and necklace with ease.

 

Yet, the information she needed was still successfully extracted.

 

In fact, the information she got was far more detailed than what a true overseas student would have known. Only by risking a dangerous mission to infiltrate the military could such information be obtained, paid for with wounds sustained from the heavily guarded military compound.

 

Yun Lian’s stance began to subtly emerge in this scene, a plot twist favored by the writer, who liked to leave clues throughout the narrative, waiting for the final reveal that would make the fans weep as they retraced the earlier scenes, searching for hints hidden in the sweetness.

 

“That’s enough.”

 

The two finished the scene with the glass shards the writer required. Su Man’s suppressant effect had begun to wear off, and she needed some casual conversation to break character. “Liang Xiao.”

 

Liang Xiao, red-faced and flustered, replied, “Sister Man, your earring is crooked.”

 

Su Man, with a seductive air, fixed her earring and sighed, “I really want to hit Jiang Pingchao.”

 

Liang Xiao: “…”

 

Alphas truly were a terrifying species.

 

He understood Su Man wanted to chat, and after thinking for a moment, saw a good opportunity to ask for advice. “Sister Man, how do you comfort an alpha during their sensitive period?”

 

“It’s useless.” Su Man misunderstood, regretfully patting his shoulder. “Even if I manage to comfort him, he won’t let me hit him again. That scene has already been approved by Director Song.”

 

Liang Xiao, committed to propriety like a true gentleman, firmly raised his arm to block her hand and keep her at a distance.

 

Though Su Man wielded a whip as an alpha, her gender also endowed her with a natural gossiping instinct. After pondering for a moment, her eyes lit up. “You have an alpha too?”

 

Liang Xiao felt something was off about this phrasing, but he couldn’t pinpoint it, so he reluctantly accepted it without reply.

 

Having been in the industry for years, Su Man immediately spotted his evident inexperience. She estimated his progress and teased him with a mix of seriousness and jest: “Just clean yourself up and gift-wrap yourself for him.”

 

Liang Xiao: “…”

 

Noticing his odd expression, Su Man raised her brows. “What’s wrong?”

 

…

 

Back to the beginning of the story.

 

Liang Xiao, more familiar with this situation than anyone, sighed. “It might not work.”

 

“…Wow.” Su Man was intrigued.

 

In the scene, the camera caught an atmosphere filled with charm. The innocent, unworldly student resisted more and more feebly, eventually half-coaxed, half-tricked into accepting a glass of red wine from the dancer.

 

Using her position with practiced ease, Su Man created some distance between them while her gossip radar activated. “Is he that cold?”

 

Rumors had been swirling outside about Liang Xiao being kept by Xingguan’s president. It caused quite the uproar at the time, and even within the circle, opinions were mixed. But as time went on, fewer people truly believed it.

 

After all, Liang Xiao wasn’t even signed with Xingguan.

 

Huo Lan was known for his straightforward and domineering ways. If something had been going on, he would’ve openly declared his intentions and gone head-to-head with Longtao Entertainment to poach him.

 

Liang Xiao had agreed too readily back then. Now, remembering he had to placate someone that evening, he was filled with unease. “Do alphas cry during their sensitivity period?”

 

“Hard to say.” Su Man pondered. “During my sensitivity periods, I just feel like whipping people.”

 

Liang Xiao: “…”

 

For the first time, Su Man found herself stumped, which piqued her interest. “What does he usually like?”

 

Liang Xiao thought for a moment. “Work.”

 

Su Man suddenly understood. “Ah, a cold, workaholic type.”

 

Liang Xiao, deeply resonating with the description, nodded as she handed him a glass of prop grape juice from the wineglass.

 

When Su Man started her career, she often played unique supporting roles—usually the second lead who loved the aloof CEO who didn’t love her back. She was well-versed in this sort of thing. “For people like that, you need to strike suddenly and decisively.”

 

“Someone like him has no sense of romance,” Su Man declared. “If you don’t take the initiative, he never will.”

 

The more Liang Xiao listened, the more it made sense. “You’re right.”

 

 

 

Even Huo Lan wasn’t just passive; he was completely incapable of taking initiative.

 

“That’s why you need to handle this part,” Su Man advised, offering her suggestion. “A surprise, something unexpected.”

 

Pleasing an alpha was truly a daunting task.

 

Liang Xiao, feeling a bit exasperated by his own kindness, took another sip of grape juice and steeled himself. “What kind of surprise?”

 

“Your presence alone is the surprise.”

 

Su Man, with a stack of romance scripts at home and a head full of domineering CEO tropes, immediately came up with an idea. “Go for it—hide yourself in a bag tonight and deliver yourself to him as a gift.”

 

 

 

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