TAHDO Chapter 39

Jiang Xinglan truly kept his word—he hadn’t contacted Liang Yan at all over the past week.

The only exception was two days ago when the temperature suddenly dropped. He sent a message reminding Liang Yan not to catch a cold.

The wording was polite and appropriate. Liang Yan thought back to how bluntly he had rejected him that day. After a moment of consideration, he still replied with a simple, “Thanks.”

Jiang Xinglan responded quickly.

“No need to thank me.”

“If what happened that day made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry.”

Liang Yan replied, “It’s fine.”

Jiang Xinglan didn’t send another message.

Liang Yan closed the chat window, quietly hoping that this matter would be left behind for good.

It wasn’t that Jiang Xinglan was a bad person—he was just too purposeful. Though that might not necessarily be a bad thing, Liang Yan simply couldn’t muster any interest.

He was about to put his phone away, but then, almost instinctively, opened his photo album and started flipping through some pictures from a few days ago.

It was the ginkgo leaf that Ji Qiu had sent him.

He stared at it for a while. Just as he was about to close it, he felt Yin Tongguang pat him on the shoulder.

“You’ve been totally out of it the past couple of days,” Yin Tongguang said, surprised. “Is something going on—?”

Liang Yan realized then that he had indeed been neglecting his roommate, who always cared a lot about him.

It wasn’t a big deal to tell him.

He replied, “Yeah, kind of.”

“Huh??” Yin Tongguang hadn’t expected such a straightforward answer. “So… what is it?”

“Jiang Xinglan confessed to me,” Liang Yan said calmly.

“Wha—” Yin Tongguang barely stopped himself from shouting out a curse, realizing his voice was too loud. He glanced apologetically at the nearby classmates who looked over and quickly lowered his voice. “For real?”

Then he mumbled under his breath, “Good thing I bet on the right ship.”

Liang Yan let out a noncommittal “Mm.” He knew about that forum post. He didn’t really care what others thought. If it made Yin Tongguang happy to play along, then it was fine. “But I turned him down.”

“Ah…” Yin Tongguang was a bit surprised by the outcome. “I saw you didn’t really reject going out with him, so I thought maybe he had a shot. But oh well! Gotta keep the good stuff in the family! There’s definitely a better Alpha out there for our Yan Yan! …So why didn’t you say yes?”

Liang Yan replied, “He’s nice, just didn’t feel right.”

“Ohh.” Yin Tongguang didn’t push. As class was about to end, he started packing up his books. “If you didn’t want to, then that’s that. Yan Yan’s gotta be with an Alpha you really like. But hey—what kind do you like, anyway?”

He had never seen Liang Yan show any interest in anyone before.

Yin Tongguang had never asked this out loud until now, but since they were on the topic, curiosity got the better of him.

He stopped packing and turned around, looking at Liang Yan with a nosy but eager expression.

Upon hearing the question, the first thing that popped into Liang Yan’s mind were the words he had replayed in his head that night on the way back to the dorm.

Those overly sentimental words quickly faded, and in their place appeared an image saturated with autumn vibes.

He fell silent without realizing it.

Seeing that Liang Yan wasn’t going to answer, Yin Tongguang didn’t press, returning to his seat to wait for the bell.

A few minutes later, he turned back again, his phone screen still lit up.

“Yan Yan! Do you remember when we went to KB last time, and the manager there mentioned that Inhibitor 3.0 was about to hit the market?”

Hearing that word, “inhibitor,” Liang Yan felt momentarily dazed—it had been a while since anyone had mentioned it.

After the unexpected incident following the last use of 3.0, Ji Qiu had told him to keep the abnormal reactions a secret, and he had listened, not filing an abnormal event report.

Liang Yan felt an inexplicable sense of unease and asked Yin Tongguang, “What’s wrong with KB?”

Yin Tongguang handed him his phone, showing him a webpage from some news site: “Here, look at this.”

He took the phone and saw a headline boldly displayed:

【KB’s New Drug Release Blocked? Highly Praised New Inhibitor Might Have Hidden Risks?】

The article was short, but one sentence made Liang Yan stare at it for a long time:
“An insider revealed that the soon-to-be-released 3.0 inhibitor was exposed by an internal researcher to cause severe adverse reactions in certain patients, leading to a necessary delay in release. Currently, KB executives have denied this, calling it nonsense, but stated they would reexamine the clinical studies related to 3.0.”

“Yan Yan? Yan Yan?” Yin Tongguang waved his hand in front of Liang Yan, wondering why he was zoning out while reading just a few lines.

Liang Yan snapped out of his daze and handed the phone back. “It’s nothing.”

He didn’t hear a word from the rest of the class.

The person mentioned in the article… could it be Ji Qiu?

He had told him not to report it to KB first — but then did Ji Qiu go behind his back and expose it himself?

Liang Yan thought back to the past few days. Although Ji Qiu occasionally showed up to audit classes, he always seemed preoccupied and vanished right after class. Maybe he had gone to the lab building…

A faint sense of foreboding welled up in Liang Yan’s heart. He took out his phone, found Ji Qiu in his contacts, and sent a message:

“——Has something happened to you recently?”

There was no reply for a long time.

The uneasy feeling grew stronger. As soon as class ended, Liang Yan found an excuse to send Yin Tongguang back first and then called Ji Qiu.

The phone rang for a long time, but no one answered.

It wasn’t until the third call was cut off by the system due to no response that Liang Yan’s anxiety peaked.

Was the researcher really Ji Qiu?
Did KB know who it was?

No — even worse, could KB have found out Ji Qiu’s real gender?

Liang Yan pressed his lips together, countless guesses flashing through his mind, but he had no idea what to do.

Wait — Lai Qiutong.

Lai Qiutong was with him. She should know where he was.

Luckily, Liang Yan still had Lai Qiutong’s contact info from the last party. Without thinking, he called her.

This time, it connected quickly.

“Hello?” Lai Qiutong’s surroundings were quiet. “Liang Yan?”

“It’s me,” Liang Yan said directly. “Do you know where Ji Qiu is? I can’t reach him.”

There was a strange pause on the other end. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Liang Yan hesitated, not sure how to explain. “I just need to find him. Can you tell me where he is?”

Her tone was hesitant: “He might… not be free to see you right now.”

This only confirmed Liang Yan’s growing fear. His worry surged. “What’s wrong? Is he still at school? Does he need help?”

Liang Yan said a few more things, but Lai Qiutong remained silent.

After a while, she sighed. “It’s nothing serious… it’s just… he’s in his susceptibility period. When he’s better, I’ll have him call you back.”

But Liang Yan never did get Ji Qiu’s call.

It was surprising, but after much persuasion and persistence, he finally got Ji Qiu’s location from Lai Qiutong.

“Eighth floor of the lab building, the innermost lab,” Lai Qiutong said helplessly. “He’s in his susceptibility period, and I’m an Alpha — it’s not ideal for me to be around him. He should still be inside.”

She hesitated a bit and added, “If you really want to see him, don’t rush in. Just release some pheromones outside the door to soothe him. And be careful — susceptibility periods are unpredictable.”

It was Liang Yan’s first time encountering an Alpha’s susceptibility period up close.

Many said Alphas in their susceptibility periods were terrifying — brooding, dark, and with primal violence simmering deep in their bones.

And the worst part was, they could only endure it through sheer willpower.

People often said this was the price of being a strong Alpha.

There was also a susceptible-period Alpha isolation room at school, equipped with complete facilities and emergency tools. Although it didn’t have injections as effective as suppressants, it was stocked with plenty of medication for calming irritability and depression. They also released substances similar to Omega pheromones inside. Generally, after spending a day in there, an Alpha could safely get through their susceptible period.

It wasn’t until after Liang Yan hung up the phone that he remembered: right now, Ji Qiu’s identity at school was registered as an Omega. How had he been getting through his susceptible periods all this time?

When Liang Yan saw Ji Qiu through the glass door of the laboratory, he was a little shocked. He felt that Ji’s susceptible period seemed completely different from what others had described.

Ji Qiu’s expression looked a bit more detached than usual. The ruthless look others spoke of was nowhere to be found on his face. He just squatted there on the floor, biting his lip hard, staring blankly into an unknown direction.

So calm that it was frightening.

The laboratory door was fingerprint-locked. Liang Yan couldn’t get in, so he could only press his palm against the transparent glass, standing close by and watching him.

Other than Ji Qiu’s slightly trembling body and the cold sweat soaking his neck, there was barely anything unusual to be seen.

Liang Yan felt a pang of heartache. He had already forgotten what Lai Qiutong had told him earlier. Curling his fingers, he lightly knocked on the door.

The Alpha inside seemed startled and suddenly turned his face, looking over with hostility.

There was too much in his eyes that Liang Yan couldn’t understand.

Liang Yan’s breath caught, but he didn’t hesitate. He met Ji Qiu’s gaze directly.

Through his eyes, he was telling him: Open the door.

Open the door, I can help you.

There were actually so many things Liang Yan wanted to say.

He wanted to ask: Is this how you get through every susceptible period? Finding an empty lab, enduring it all alone until it ends?

Even the Alphas in the isolation room have auxiliary calming medication, but you’re just forcing yourself through it raw, bleeding inside?

Thinking of this, Liang Yan’s knocking became a little more urgent.

Ji Qiu stared at him for a while, then blinked, as if only just recognizing who the person on the other side was.

He dazedly stayed still for a moment, then slowly got up and walked step by step to the door, unlocking it for Liang Yan.

The pheromones that had been blocked by the glass door now rushed at Liang Yan all at once.

“Ji Qiu?” Liang Yan tried to speak gently. “Are you okay?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. The other’s pheromones were practically drowning him, and his body was trembling uncontrollably. How could he possibly be okay?

Ji Qiu didn’t answer. His gaze stayed locked on Liang Yan, with a faint redness surfacing in his eyes.

Liang Yan wanted to help him over to the nearby sofa to sit down, but the moment he touched Ji Qiu’s hand, Ji Qiu jerked like he had been electrocuted.

Ji Qiu’s body was burning hot. The slight touch seemed to trigger something, and he started panting heavily.

It was probably still too unbearable for him, and a low, uncontrollable sigh escaped from his throat.

Liang Yan wasn’t even sure if Ji Qiu could still recognize him. After a slight hesitation, he gently held his hand again and said, “It’s me.”

As soon as he spoke, he released his own pheromones to comfort him.

A faint scent of mint wrapped around them, and only then did Ji Qiu’s tension ease a little. He let Liang Yan lead him to sit down.

Seeing that the Omega pheromones were working, Liang Yan finally breathed a little easier.

He wanted to say something to comfort him but didn’t know where to start.

Lowering his head to look at the Alpha in front of him, a strange urge suddenly arose in Liang Yan’s heart — he wanted to ruffle his hair.

And so he did.

Ji Qiu was still sweating, but his hair was surprisingly dry. It wasn’t particularly soft, but it wasn’t coarse either — it felt good to the touch.

He let Liang Yan pat his head obediently. The Alpha who was usually so bold and unrestrained was now incredibly docile. His previously ragged breathing even began to steady.

Liang Yan enveloped him gently with his pheromones for a while. Seeing the sweat-soaked face in front of him, he thought to grab a tissue to wipe it.

But just as he stood up, a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his waist from behind.

“Don’t go, don’t go.”

The Alpha, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. Ji Qiu’s voice sounded almost pitiful — completely different from the usual fake and pretentious tone he used. This was a pure and desperate plea, as if terrified that if he let go, Liang Yan would disappear.

Ji Qiu’s breath was scalding hot, brushing lightly against the small of Liang Yan’s back through a thin layer of clothing, ticklish and light.

Liang Yan didn’t turn around, but he could easily imagine the trembling eyelashes and the slightly reddened nose tip behind him.

Ji Qiu was holding him tightly, afraid he might run away, locking his arms firmly around Liang Yan’s slender waist and whispering again, “Don’t go.”

For the first time, Liang Yan felt his heart melt into a puddle. He couldn’t help but soften his voice, his usually cool tone now carrying a rare gentleness: “I’m not going anywhere.”

The Alpha seemed comforted by those words. The aggressive pheromones slowly retracted, and he gave a small nod, though he still refused to let go.

Liang Yan dared not move — not sure if it was because he was afraid of startling the emotionally fragile Alpha or because he needed a moment to sort out the messy emotions being stirred inside him by this embrace.

So he simply let Ji Qiu hold him for a long time.

Long enough that Liang Yan thought Ji Qiu had fallen asleep.

Just as he began to withdraw a little of his pheromones to avoid disturbing him, he heard Ji Qiu’s voice again.

It was hoarse, light as mist before dawn, a whisper that could barely be caught.

“Don’t go…”

Those two words, repeated over and over again during that short time.

“…I like you.”

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