Liang Xiao was confused.
Huo Lan was observing him.
Liang Xiao’s mind struggled to catch up, and he blankly looked up. “…What?”
Perhaps feeling that he wasn’t being frank enough, the temperature around Huo Lan seemed to drop subtly, and his expression became slightly darker. “You sent it yourself.”
Liang Xiao thought for a while, and then it suddenly clicked. He realized what Huo Lan was referring to—the three standard English letters that had been read out loud.
Liang Xiao: “……”
Liang Xiao: “Oh.”
He felt a bit dazed and lifted his hand to press against his forehead.
He still had a lump of blood in his mouth, caught between his throat, making it hard to swallow. It caused stars to appear before his eyes.
Liang Xiao took a deep breath, bracing himself and shifting slightly to lean against the headboard.
He had thought things through carefully.
He knew that this situation hadn’t been fully resolved, but he truly felt like it was over.
Huo Lan wasn’t reading the same script as they were. In fact, he was at least three chapters behind them.
Liang Xiao was almost ready to recite the names of the people involved in the event with Long Tao, yet Huo Lan was still stuck on an unsolved mystery from the previous chapter.
“Q… it’s not important.”
All the energy and focus he had gathered were wasted, leaving him dizzy again. He pinched his palm and struggled to regain his clarity. “Please ask about something else.”
Liang Xiao took a deep breath, trying to guide the conversation. “For example, something regarding one’s integrity…”
Huo Lan furrowed his brows. “Your integrity?”
“……No.”
Liang Xiao repeated like an ad for gum, mechanically: “It’s your integrity.”
Huo Lan didn’t seem to be convinced by the suggestion. His expression remained cold, and his gaze never left him.
Liang Xiao closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.
There had been so much happening today, with so many emotional fluctuations. He had taken the suppressant, but the side effects were now catching up, tormenting him relentlessly.
His entire body felt wrong, as if it wasn’t his own.
He needed to act quickly; otherwise, he might not be able to hold on much longer.
“Huo Lan.”
Liang Xiao looked at him, dismissing all the small details and getting straight to the point. “Have you seen my medical records?”
Huo Lan furrowed his brows slightly.
He had come to question Liang Xiao. There were some things that needed to be clarified, and he wasn’t planning to be lenient.
However, when Liang Xiao brought up the medical record, it made Huo Lan feel that his relentless questioning was indeed lacking in consideration.
Huo Lan gazed at him for a moment, refrained from asking further questions, and then turned to walk over.
Liang Xiao leaned against the headboard, deliberating carefully. He was just about to speak again when, out of nowhere, Huo Lan reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulder and back.
“President Huo.”
Liang Xiao was startled and hurriedly gripped the edge of the bed. “This isn’t appropriate.”
The apartment was rented, and to ensure peace and quiet, he had specifically chosen the top floor.
If Huo Lan planned to throw him out of the window right now, Liang Xiao wasn’t sure he’d still retain his human form by the end of this chapter.
Surprised by his extreme reaction, Huo Lan paused for a moment, slightly loosening his arm as he looked down at him.
Liang Xiao seized the opportunity. “The medical record is from five years ago.”
Huo Lan, one hand braced on the headboard, paused slightly upon hearing this. “What?”
Liang Xiao glanced at the unlocked window, assessed the difficulty of being thrown out, and quickly grabbed hold of Huo Lan’s shirt hem.
With little strength left in him, he couldn’t grip tightly. As a precaution, he wrapped the fabric twice around his fingers. “Five years ago, Long Tao once planned to use an Omega to frame their competitor.”
Huo Lan looked down at his shirt, now firmly clutched by Liang Xiao.
After a moment’s thought, Huo Lan didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his shoulder and back lowering closer.
“Long Tao targeted Xingguan very early on.”
Originally intending to explain things gradually, Liang Xiao, afraid he couldn’t hold on much longer, decided to spill everything in one go. Steeling himself, he closed his eyes. “You might not be fully aware of this…”
“I am aware,” Huo Lan said.
Liang Xiao froze. “What?”
He couldn’t be certain what exactly Huo Lan’s “aware” referred to, and his dizziness made it even harder to think. As soon as he opened his eyes, his vision darkened momentarily.
Huo Lan propped him up with one arm.
Once Liang Xiao regained some clarity, he realized that Huo Lan’s arm was still braced on the headboard as he supported him.
The two of them were now very close—so close that Liang Xiao could faintly catch the cool, snowy scent emanating from Huo Lan.
Huo Lan’s physique was exceptional, towering over most Alphas, with broad shoulders and long arms. In this position, leaning down and bracing an arm behind him…
It almost resembled an intentional embrace.
Liang Xiao couldn’t help but briefly ponder where the camera should be positioned in a scene like this.
But priorities were priorities. He quickly refocused, barely reigning in his wandering thoughts. “You… how much do you know?”
Huo Lan lowered his gaze, giving him a brief look.
Liang Xiao opened his mouth to continue, but before he could get a word out, a sudden fit of coughing overtook him. The unexpected burst of choking nearly sent him collapsing onto the bed.
His consciousness was muddled, a restless heat rising from his chest.
It probably wouldn’t take long before a fever set in.
Liang Xiao hadn’t paid much attention at first, coughing so hard his head spun, forcing a frown onto his face.
He was used to Valu by now; his body had long since adapted to it. On normal days, any side effects would pass with a bit of endurance.
Even though he had used an extra dose today, it shouldn’t have been this severe.
Feeling himself faltering, Liang Xiao had to release his grip and fumble around, trying to find a glass of water.
He vaguely remembered where the bedside table was. After a few blind attempts, the water cup found his hand instead, aligning perfectly for him to take hold of it.
Liang Xiao froze, lifted his head, and met Huo Lan’s gaze.
“It’s snowing,” Huo Lan said.
Liang Xiao was startled. “??”
Their President Huo had made a new breakthrough.
For once, their President Huo had managed to forecast the snow before it actually fell.
“…”
Judging from Liang Xiao’s expression, Huo Lan could tell exactly what he was thinking. Suppressing his temper, he remained silent for a moment before reluctantly explaining, “It’s not me snowing.”
Liang Xiao, still weak, responded, “…Oh.”
Huo Lan: “…”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Suddenly realizing what Huo Lan meant, Liang Xiao turned his head to glance out the window.
The sky was heavy with clouds.
The snowfall wasn’t heavy, barely noticeable unless one looked closely. Only under the streetlights, caught in the wind, could the faint crystalline flakes be seen.
It really wasn’t their President Huo snowing.
Snow was a rare sight in Jiangnan. After half a month of filming, Liang Xiao had let his guard down and hadn’t been keeping an eye on the weather forecast.
He had felt that today’s weather was unusually gloomy, and now he understood—it was snowing.
…
Liang Xiao drank a few sips of water, his hazy thoughts slowly starting to settle.
Back on set, he had mentioned to Su Man that on particularly grueling days or when the weather changed, the side effects would hit harder than usual.
It wasn’t just the suppressant’s side effects.
As a teenager, Liang Xiao had once experienced a forced pheromone eruption and endured his heat without proper treatment, leaving him with troublesome aftereffects. Long Tao had banked on this, certain that he would have no choice but to comply.
After the incident, Liang Xiao had spent six months bedridden in the hospital. Only when his body had mostly recovered did he return to find ways to continue earning a living.
However, on rainy or snowy days, it was still hard to bear.
Liang Xiao gripped the water cup and couldn’t help glancing at Huo Lan.
The medical record contained a prognosis—he had seen it before. Though he hadn’t dwelled on it much, he knew it came with numerous inconveniences and precautions.
The impact of weather changes, like today’s, was also mentioned.
To ensure patient compliance with recovery plans, hospitals often made these warnings sound more severe than they actually were.
…
For a brief moment, a thought flickered in his mind—was it possible that Huo Lan had come specifically because of this?
Liang Xiao forced himself to stop overthinking, set down the water cup, and solemnly asked, “Did you know that back then, Long Tao’s target was you?”
Huo Lan nodded.
Liang Xiao pressed, “The trap they set for you, the plan they prepared—”
Huo Lan: “I know.”
Liang Xiao paused, pondering deeply for a while before exhaling.
Of course, Huo Lan would know.
In the cutthroat world of business, where a single misstep could mean losing everything, someone like Huo Lan, who had brought Xingguan to where it stood today, couldn’t afford ignorance—not even about what QAQ meant.
Liang Xiao found himself amused by the thought and cleared his throat, suppressing the urge to smile.
He’d often wondered what he would do if he faced the same situation now.
Though he’d never stoop to harming someone, pretending to take the pheromone suppressants and escaping out the window while Long Tao’s people weren’t watching seemed plausible.
If push came to shove, he could always look for something heavy in the room—perhaps “the weight of knowledge”—to knock out that unfortunate Alpha in an emergency.
Based on how things unfolded later, if he’d actually done that back then, it was likely Huo Lan would’ve been knocked out cold.
But at the time, he had just graduated.
New to the industry, there was still much he didn’t understand.
Before attending that banquet, he had been full of nervous anticipation, tossing and turning all night, staying up to review branding materials for the endorsement deal.
Faced with increasingly urgent temptations and coercion, his younger self couldn’t come up with a sufficiently comprehensive or safe response.
Liang Xiao chuckled to himself.
In a few more minutes, he’d probably be able to vividly explain the meaning of QAQ to Huo Lan using just his expressions.
Seeing Liang Xiao lost in thought, Huo Lan sat silently for a while, his gaze falling to the bedside table.
The water cup still had some water in it, precariously perched on the edge.
Huo Lan, disapproving of the sight, reached out to move it to a safer spot. The moment he raised his hand, however, a warm and slightly feverish hand gripped his arm.
Huo Lan looked up.
Liang Xiao was gazing at him.
Unwell as he was, Liang Xiao likely had no idea how pale he looked. Yet, he still looked at Huo Lan with unwavering seriousness.
In his eyes, the reflection of the pure, snowy light was clear.
“President Huo,” Liang Xiao said, “I’m that Omega.”
