Liang Xiao came down from the set just in time to receive the acknowledgment slip from Feiyang Pharmaceuticals.
Adverse Reaction Group.
The study focused on observing the adverse reactions of suppressants under widespread use conditions, strictly ensuring efficacy while comparing the impact of auxiliary medications on mitigating side effects.
Auxiliary medications would all be provided free of charge.
The manager pinched the assistant’s thigh so hard it turned green, repeatedly verifying the authenticity of the notice. Then, overcome with joy, he ran three laps around the set in celebration.
“Valu.”
Su Man, twisting the cap off a bottle of mineral water with one hand, rested her other on his shoulder. “You’re using this too?”
Liang Xiao was curious. “Sister Man, do you use it as well?”
Su Man pointed at Jiang Pingchao. “He does.”
The three of them had just finished a scene together. Jiang Pingchao, covered head to toe in fake blood courtesy of the props team, was nonchalantly wiping his face with a wet tissue. Hearing this, his knees metaphorically buckled: “….”
Being a decent person, Liang Xiao kindly ushered his assistant, who was coughing uncontrollably, to a safer corner where they wouldn’t keel over.
During susceptibility periods, it was impossible to hide the telltale signs. An alpha’s pheromone outburst would inevitably spread far and wide, leaving even those omega crew members with weaker resistance scrambling for suppressants.
Although the director repeatedly imposed strict confidentiality rules to maintain harmony on set, it was barely enough to stop people from mentioning it outright in front of the person in question.
After all, it was the first time any of them had encountered someone whose pheromones smelled like cilantro.
“I owe two scenes,” Jiang Pingchao said, completely unfazed as he changed the subject with Su Man, having worked with her before. “I’ll make them up tomorrow.”
His assistant, standing by, politely addressed Su Man and Liang Xiao as “Teacher Su” and “Brother Liang” before handing over the revised filming schedule.
Liang Xiao took the schedule, smiled at him, and said, “Thanks for your trouble.”
Jiang Pingchao remained unmoved, turning away to head back to the break area for a touch-up.
Su Man sighed. “That idol complex is just too heavy.”
Liang Xiao could understand, though. He gathered the acknowledgment slip and the revised schedule together, instructing his assistant to keep them safe.
After all, with a relatively rare pheromone type, having such a complex was understandable.
Moreover, Jiang Pingchao came from a privileged background, debuted at the peak of his career, and even had his own independent studio. He had every reason and resource to be as arrogant as he pleased.
Over the past few days, Liang Xiao had acted in several scenes with him. Except for his manager, Jiang Pingchao treated everyone with the same cold indifference, exuding an aloofness that made him seem like a handsome mute.
Compared to him, even President Huo seemed a bit talkative.
Liang Xiao, still unable to shake off the cilantro-related jokes about his susceptibility period, glanced at Jiang Pingchao’s retreating back. He couldn’t resist mentally pairing Mr. Huo with “crying” and “whip” to try forming sentences.
…
“By the way.”
Su Man, having been speeding through her scenes over the past couple of days, now found herself with nothing to do since Jiang Pingchao was back on set. With time to spare, she casually leaned closer for some gossip. “What’s your alpha like during their susceptibility period?”
Liang Xiao had just been imagining President Huo crying while swinging a whip when he snapped out of it, startled by Su Man’s question. He quickly pushed the thought aside.
That night had been too chaotic to recall clearly. President Huo’s condition had been uncertain, the butler was in a daze, the head bodyguard was busy directing NPCs to dismantle the door, and Liang Xiao had been holding a sack while standing right next to the bathroom.
In all the chaos, he hadn’t noticed any obvious susceptibility symptoms from President Huo.
“There’s a theory,” Su Man began, offering some insight. “For alphas, the susceptibility period is more of a psychological sensitivity phase. Driven by instinct, their reactions often reflect what they were doing around the time of their pre- and post-differentiation.”
Alpha and omega differentiation typically occurs between ages 13 and 15, with 17 being the upper limit for completing the process before adulthood.
At such a young and impressionable age, their emotions and temperament are easily swayed, which often leads to differences in personality before and after.
For example, although Jiang Pingchao now seemed like a cold, aloof mute, he must have been crying about something around the age of 14 or 15 when he went through differentiation.
Liang Xiao didn’t even dare to ask Su Man what she had been doing during her own differentiation: “…”
“Suppressants only affect pheromones,” Su Man added. “Even Valu can only stabilize the pheromones and restore rationality. Emotionally, though, it still takes two to three days to pass.”
Liang Xiao couldn’t help glancing at Jiang Pingchao, standing firm in the night air with his cilantro-scented pheromones. “Then—”
“Director Song knows.”
Su Man, who despised filming these kinds of scenes, sighed despondently. “Didn’t you notice how, for the past two days, the only scenes Jiang Pingchao and I have had are either tragic partings or crawling through blood while crying?”
…
Not a single resource was wasted.
Every condition was fully utilized to activate both the subjective and objective potential of the actors.
Pheromones were exploited to their fullest, and alphas were used to their maximum capability.
Liang Xiao couldn’t help but feel a deep respect for the director.
If it weren’t for the script’s limitations, which made sudden additions feel out of place, Director Song might even have had Jing Zhe whip up a dish of cilantro with dried shrimp and scallions for the female lead.
“So,” Su Man pressed, “is the side effect of Valu really that bad?”
Liang Xiao came back to his senses. “What?”
“Weakness and exhaustion,” Su Man clarified. “Director Song insisted on Jiang Pingchao crying with his left eye, letting the tear drop onto his right index finger. He cried 29 takes and nearly collapsed from exhaustion.”
Liang Xiao figured that even without any side effects, such a demand would probably wear Jiang Pingchao out anyway. He gave it some thought. “…It’s definitely not mild.”
There aren’t many people like him who continuously use suppressants; most people use this specialized suppressant only in emergencies.
Especially alphas.
Unlike omegas, who adapt to regular pheromone release, alphas with higher pheromone levels find it harder to fully control their powerful pheromones during their susceptibility periods. At critical moments, this lack of control can easily cause disruptions.
These suppressants are typically used during such periods, prioritizing strong suppression of pheromones. The side effects often stem from the body’s backlash against forcibly suppressing its instincts.
Liang Xiao had been using suppressants for years and was accustomed to the side effects. However, during particularly exhausting periods or sudden weather changes, he still found it challenging to endure.
Su Man understood. “That’s tough.”
Liang Xiao smiled faintly, not making much of it. “I’m used to it.”
“You can’t really get used to that.” Su Man couldn’t help but suggest, “Haven’t you tried any other treatments?”
Liang Xiao didn’t respond. He simply smiled, lowering his head.
Usually, he carried himself with a calm and composed demeanor, but at this moment, his quiet smile, paired with his lowered gaze, revealed a faint trace of youthful shyness.
Having spent years in the industry, Su Man had seen countless facades and knew Liang Xiao’s true nature was likely far from the gentle persona he projected. Still, she didn’t dwell on it. A passing glance at his smile, however, seemed to reveal a glimpse of genuine sincerity.
She often saw him sneaking naps on set. Originally, she thought his manager and assistant were overly anxious, but now she vaguely understood why.
Not wanting to linger in small talk, Su Man patted his shoulder and went to rehearse lines with Jiang Pingchao.
Back in his room, Liang Xiao melted into the sofa just as Duan Ming arrived with the first batch of specialized suppressants and auxiliary medications.
Liang Xiao’s pheromones had been stable lately, and without having been bitten by Mr. Huo, he wasn’t eager to move. “Can I have a two-day extension?”
“Take it on time.” Duan Ming was already used to this and expertly pulled Liang Xiao out of the sofa, shaping him back into human form. “Contribute your weak yet noble strength to protect omega rights.”
Reluctantly, Liang Xiao climbed to his feet and accepted the suppressant.
With great seriousness, Duan Ming listed the prices of the auxiliary medications meant to reduce side effects and improve his health: “Fifteen thousand, seven thousand, twenty thousand, nine thousand seven hundred.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Under immense financial pressure, Liang Xiao raced through the first day’s tasks as a volunteer participant with blinding speed.
Duan Ming, deeply gratified, was about to urge him to wash up and rest when he saw Liang Xiao take out his phone. His internal alarm immediately went off. “No gaming.”
Liang Xiao had just turned on the screen. “I—”
“Deleting background tasks won’t work,” Duan Ming warned. “I’ve activated parental controls. Even if you delete your match history, I’ll see it.”
“…” Liang Xiao opened the gaming app, confirmed his manager had indeed reached this level of micromanagement, and sighed in resignation. “I’m not gaming.”
“Then why are you on your phone?” Duan Ming asked, puzzled.
Taking naps on set didn’t help much, and Liang Xiao was still feeling groggy. He wasn’t actually planning to enjoy some joyful gaming just to lose pathetically, so he idly tapped his screen a couple of times.
Duan Ming glanced over and frowned. “Why are you messaging Mr. Huo?”
“Mr. Huo uses suppressants too,” Liang Xiao explained pleasantly. “I’m just reminding him to pay attention to the importance of protecting alpha rights.”
Specialized suppressants have different effects depending on the user, with alpha-specific ones having more severe side effects compared to omega-specific ones. Occasional use can cause intense reactions, let alone for someone like Liang Xiao, who hadn’t stopped using them.
Although Mr. Huo was wealthy, alphas like them—usually robust and rarely sick—might not even notice these side effects themselves.
Liang Xiao had memorized the names of those auxiliary medicines earlier and was typing them into the chat, one by one.
“Send it to me; I’ll forward it to Mr. Huo’s butler.” Duan Ming, worried, frowned and suggested, “Mr. Huo might still be angry.”
The events of that night had been relayed to Liang Xiao’s manager during the butler’s 13th call. Duan Ming didn’t fully understand everyone’s behavior in the story, but he did grasp that Mr. Huo was likely enraged—thunderous and stormy.
Though their relationship was now undefined, and Xingguan had assured Liang Xiao that his filming wouldn’t be affected by the contract termination, Duan Ming was still a bit concerned that Mr. Huo might figuratively freeze him to death over the internet.
Liang Xiao didn’t think it was that serious. “Sister Man said susceptibility periods reflect traits from before or shortly after differentiation.”
Duan Ming was puzzled. “What?”
“Personality traits.” Liang Xiao had been calm at the time but was actually bursting with curiosity. He’d barely restrained himself the whole way. “Aren’t you curious about what Mr. Huo was like as a kid?”
“I’m not.” Duan Ming, exasperated, said, “Please, no.”
Liang Xiao didn’t quite understand why everyone seemed so afraid of Huo Lan. He patted Duan Ming’s shoulder and handed him a cup of cold medicine.
He’d always thought Huo Lan was easygoing. If it weren’t for the money involved, Liang Xiao probably wouldn’t have bothered staying quiet even when Mr. Huo tried to bring on an “icy apocalypse.”
After all, even when furious, all Mr. Huo did was make it snow a little.
But if Mr. Huo didn’t bite him, he’d have to keep using suppressants. Ignoring the side effects indefinitely wasn’t an option.
The contract might not count anymore, but at least they had the bond of “two cents” between them. Liang Xiao considered himself experienced with medication and felt a sense of duty to share his knowledge. He resolutely finished typing out the medicine names.
“Does Mr. Huo even have a childhood?”
Duan Ming tried imagining it for a long moment but couldn’t picture anything. “What would he be like? A mini portable ice-and-snow machine?”
“Not necessarily.” Liang Xiao, having just seen how much alphas could change from adolescence to adulthood, confidently speculated, “He could’ve been easy to bully, kind, polite, and innocent.”
Duan Ming pulled out a thermometer and stuck it into Liang Xiao’s mouth.
“Really.” Liang Xiao finished typing the last word, sent the message, and—with the thermometer in his mouth—added, “He might’ve even loved chatting and replying to messages…”
The last time he spoke, it almost cost him money. Forced by circumstances, he had apologized online, though he had no idea if Mr. Huo ever saw it.
Just as he sent the new message, the spinning circle disappeared, and a notification chimed from the other side. Surprisingly, there was an immediate reply.
It was as if someone had been staring at their phone, waiting for three days.
Liang Xiao, a passionate enthusiast of overthinking, found even this scenario too absurd. He quickly brushed it off. “See? I guessed right.”
Teenage Huo Lan might have been a chat-loving internet addict.
Always clutching his phone, surfing the web, instinctively replying to messages as soon as they popped up.
Imagining a pre-differentiation, internet-addicted version of Huo Lan—sans pheromones—Liang Xiao even felt a rare hint of affection. For a moment, he considered sending a generous one-yuan red packet in return.
Things had spiraled this far out of control. Duan Ming, already frazzled, found himself consumed by curiosity too. “What did Mr. Huo say?”
Liang Xiao wasn’t in a hurry. Calmly, he scrolled down and glanced at the message.
Liang Xiao: “…”
“What?” Duan Ming pressed.
Liang Xiao set the phone down.
Duan Ming grew impatient. “What did he send?!”
“…”
Liang Xiao pressed his forehead, dazed. “‘An Open Letter of Apology to Mr. Liang Xiao for My Negligence in Letting Him Get Stuffed into a Sack and Thrown Out the Door.’”
