The sensation was uncomfortably vivid.
Liang Xiao didn’t dare move, a subtle tension creeping into his thoughts.
When Huo Lan had entered the room earlier, Liang Xiao hadn’t noticed anything unusual. But now that things had escalated to this point, he couldn’t help but suspect that he might have fallen asleep quickly—only to just as quickly start dreaming.
Apart from that, he couldn’t think of any reasonable explanation for what was happening.
President Huo was standing beside the bed, holding up his butt with one hand.
In his other hand was… something Liang Xiao couldn’t see. Huo Lan slipped it under the blanket and carefully wrapped it around in slow circles.
It might be rope.
Liang Xiao squeezed his eyes shut, too afraid to look. His mind was restless and uneasy.
If this was a dream…
Then he was far too desperate.
He had even shattered President Huo’s composed persona into something like this.
Feeling his ears heat up slightly, Liang Xiao couldn’t help but sternly reprimand himself. Just as he was about to clear his mind and shift to dreaming about something sweet and wholesome, the situation took another turn.
The “rope” in Huo Lan’s hand loosened, was set aside, and then—
Huo Lan’s hand pressed against Liang Xiao’s tense buttocks.
And began to knead gently.
…Once.
…Twice.
Liang Xiao couldn’t hold it in anymore. His eyes flew open in shock.
The bedroom was quiet. The ceiling looked soft and warm under the light—everything seemed as normal as ever.
Huo Lan wasn’t part of a dream. He stood there very much in reality, his back turned toward Liang Xiao. His shoulders and back were so taut that the lines of his muscles pressed sharply against the folds of his pajama shirt.
Liang Xiao couldn’t see what exactly Huo Lan was doing. His waist was too sore to lift himself up. Completely incredulous, he blurted out: “President Huo?!”
Huo Lan froze where he stood, his shoulders stiffening visibly. After a long pause, he finally said: “…Relax.”
Liang Xiao stared wide-eyed at him: “How am I supposed to relax?!”
Caught off guard by the question, Huo Lan fell silent again.
…When massaging Liang Xiao’s bruises earlier, if Liang Xiao tensed up from the pain too much, a couple of careful kneads would usually help him relax significantly.
Huo Lan had simply applied this principle here as well. He wasn’t sure why it wasn’t working this time. After another moment of silence, he forced himself to speak quietly: “Just bear with it—it’ll be over soon.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
He had no idea why he needed to “bear with” this situation. But seeing that even President Huo seemed deeply troubled by what was happening, Liang Xiao reluctantly tried to piece together some semblance of logic: “The butler…”
Taking a deep breath, Liang Xiao asked cautiously: “Did the butler say something to you again?”
Though Liang Xiao couldn’t imagine what on earth the butler might have told President Huo to convince him to come in the middle of the night… and touch his butt.
With what appeared to be some kind of rope-like tool.
Even good body pillows didn’t come with features like midnight butt-touching sessions.
And if you moved while being touched? Well then, they’d tie you up with rope and secure the other end to a radiator pipe.
Liang Xiao’s thoughts ran wild as he watched Huo Lan nod slightly, feeling somewhat reassured: “What did he say?”
Huo Lan remained silent for a moment before straightening up slightly: “The suit needs to be custom-made, and we can’t delay any longer.”
Liang Xiao froze: “Huh?”
Huo Lan hadn’t originally planned to explain, but since Liang Xiao was now awake, he had no choice. “The butler said you don’t like having people take your measurements directly… I won’t ask why.”
Everyone has things they’re reluctant to face, often tied to memories they’d rather not recall.
Huo Lan had his own share of such experiences and didn’t want to trouble Liang Xiao with this matter.
Liang Xiao almost asked him why but swallowed the question at the last moment. He vaguely realized what the rope-like tool might have been: “So you… came to measure me yourself…”
Huo Lan’s shoulders and back tensed as he nodded slightly.
…Well, at least President Huo’s composed persona was intact.
Feeling relieved yet oddly regretful, Liang Xiao let out a breath: “But—”
But back when Feiyang Pharmaceuticals was conducting inhibitor trials and collecting volunteer data, his measurements had already been submitted along with other information.
Although Liang Xiao had been recuperating recently, the effects of his illnesses canceled out any significant progress. With no real rest while filming, his body measurements hadn’t changed much.
His current measurements wouldn’t differ significantly from what was submitted back then.
Huo Lan looked up: “What?”
Liang Xiao almost blurted it out but caught himself just in time: “Nothing.”
His ears burned slightly as he coughed lightly: “Measuring… measuring is fine too.”
Huo Lan’s arm tensed silently as his gaze fell on Liang Xiao.
Trying to appear calm, Liang Xiao steadied himself by holding onto the bed and attempted to stand up on shaky legs. He wobbled briefly before being firmly caught by Huo Lan.
“Measuring like this… doesn’t seem right.”
Lacking the strength to argue further, Liang Xiao leaned against Huo Lan for support: “I can’t do it lying down.”
Huo Lan asked softly: “How do we proceed?”
Feeling his face heat up, Liang Xiao handed him the measuring tape. Taking hold of Huo Lan’s arm, he guided it behind himself.
With Huo Lan towering over him, broad-shouldered and long-armed, leaning down to encircle him tightly, the Alpha’s natural dominance and intensity became impossible to ignore.
Liang Xiao had intended to say more but found himself overwhelmed. Listening to his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he lowered his head and stammered: “M-measure… go ahead.”
Huo Lan remained still for a moment before carefully wrapping the measuring tape around him.
Closing his eyes briefly to focus, Huo Lan examined the numbers on the tape with meticulous attention.
He recalled a past mistake—during discussions about buying a house, he’d been distracted by Mr. Liang’s chatter and hadn’t written down details immediately. By the time he left, much of it had slipped his mind.
This time was far more important. The suit held significant meaning for Mr. Liang, and even a slight error in measurement could result in an ill-fitting garment.
Determined not to repeat past mistakes, Huo Lan gripped the tape measure firmly and silently memorized the numbers before straightening up.
Liang Xiao’s ears were burning red as he hesitated awkwardly: “So—”
Before he could finish speaking, Huo Lan silenced him with a kiss.
Liang Xiao: “?”
Huo Lan turned and quickly walked out of the room.
Liang Xiao: “…”
The door to the guest room closed coldly, sealing off President Huo’s retreating figure.
The room fell into silence.
Standing there in a daze, Liang Xiao steadied himself against the edge of the table and instinctively reached back to touch his own butt.
Wobbling slightly as he leaned on the table, Liang Xiao made his way back to the bed and sat down in a daze.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed his manager’s number.
—
“What exactly happened?”
The next day on set, Duan Ming spent the entire morning trying to get answers out of him: “What happened to you last night…?”
Still distracted by his own attempts to tense and relax certain muscles without success, Liang Xiao looked up dejectedly: “Huh?”
Duan Ming was genuinely curious: “What made you call me in the middle of the night and suddenly say you wanted to train—”
Liang Xiao interrupted: “Brother Duan.”
Duan Ming paused before continuing: “…A fruit combined with a body part?”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Unable to explain, Liang Xiao opened his mouth but ended up sighing deeply. He glanced back over his shoulder: “It’s really not round?”
Duan Ming was baffled: “What?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Liang Xiao muttered, resisting the urge to check for himself. “Or is there some other issue?”
Seeing how Liang Xiao seemed almost superstitious about it, Duan Ming grew concerned and waved a hand in front of his face.
Snapping out of it, Liang Xiao looked up: “Brother Duan, what were you just saying?”
Suppressing his curiosity, Duan Ming got back to business: “I was saying that the story draft is ready. Take a look—if you’re okay with it, we’ll release it to build some momentum.”
Liang Xiao had no desire to dredge up the truth about what happened back then, and Duan Ming understood that. He had also worked hard to negotiate on Liang Xiao’s behalf.
Xingguan’s team was cooperative and proposed a solution to turn a passive situation into an active one—hiding sand in the sea or trees in the forest.
Since so many fabricated stories were already circulating uncontrollably, they decided it was better to add a few more into the mix.
“The kidnapping story has gained the most traction. They’ve refined some details—I almost believed it myself,” Duan Ming said as he handed Liang Xiao the proposal. “It mixes truth with fiction and includes other narratives too, but none are spreading as widely as this one.”
Liang Xiao took the document and carefully reviewed it.
“One of Xingguan’s gossip accounts also floated another theory,” Duan Ming added. “They suggested that your differentiation during your youth had complications—either you didn’t have access to inhibitors due to unforeseen circumstances or you had them but didn’t use them.”
Frowning slightly, Liang Xiao asked worriedly: “Doesn’t that sound…”
Duan Ming pulled up the relevant Weibo post for him.
Scanning through the comments for a moment, Liang Xiao froze in disbelief before slowly setting down his phone: “Is it really that unconvincing?”
“No one believes it. They’re all calling it nonsense.”
Duan Ming added: “Someone even compiled a list of ten solid reasons why this theory doesn’t hold up.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Pressing his fingers against his forehead, Liang Xiao mumbled in bewilderment: “I might have overthought this…”
He had initially been worried that with so many mixed truths and falsehoods circulating, public speculation might eventually piece together something close to what had actually happened back then.
But now it seemed like they were starting from entirely the wrong direction—off by tens of thousands of miles from the truth.
“They’ve left a backup plan,” Duan Ming explained. “The gossip account is commercially registered under Xingguan. If the truth ever becomes impossible to hide, we can say we tried to explain it.”
Liang Xiao nodded, his feelings mixed: “Tried to explain, only to be refuted by ten solid reasons.”
Duan Ming: “Exactly.”
Something occurred to Duan Ming, and he asked for confirmation: “Are there any people from your past who could still recognize you?”
Liang Xiao paused briefly before thinking it over: “Hard to say.”
Duan Ming continued: “When you were with that Jiangnan wild Alpha, you weren’t using your real appearance, right?”
“No,” Liang Xiao replied confidently. “If he sees me again, unless I admit it myself, he probably won’t recognize me.”
Duan Ming asked further: “What about the orphanage?”
Liang Xiao answered honestly: “I sent six directors packing. The seventh packed my bags and strongly recommended I go to an eighth orphanage.”
“…” Duan Ming gave him a glance of genuine admiration before nodding reassuringly: “Then that’s fine. That scammer den probably doesn’t have anyone bold enough to stir up trouble.”
Back then, young Liang Xiao had narrowly escaped death. Those con artists controlling orphans and forcing them into scams had almost caused a fatal incident. Since their deeds were shady and illegal, they were likely hiding rather than seeking attention.
The statute of limitations hadn’t expired yet—if someone greedy enough came forward, it might even lead to uncovering past crimes and legal repercussions.
“Honestly, if you just told the truth, your fans could easily create a tearful backstory for you,” Duan Ming lamented, looking at Liang Xiao with concern. “Now we’re stuck painstakingly fabricating stories instead.”
Liang Xiao tugged at the corner of his mouth: “Brother Duan, thank you for all your efforts.”
Duan Ming didn’t mind the trouble—it was Liang Xiao’s refusal to let anyone bring up the truth that made him feel protective. But since Liang Xiao wouldn’t allow it, he cut off his complaints: “Alright, less nonsense.”
Liang Xiao’s caution was something Duan Ming understood.
A pheromone surge wasn’t a trivial matter—if the truth came out about how Liang Xiao had nearly lost his life back then, it would feel like being stabbed repeatedly by the missed opportunities of the past.
Sighing heavily, Duan Ming resigned himself and patted Liang Xiao on the shoulder: “For your Jiangnan wild Alpha.”
Liang Xiao chuckled lightly: “He’s not mine…”
Feeling it was necessary to clarify in moments like this, Liang Xiao coughed softly as his ears grew warm: “Mine isn’t in Jiangnan.”
Duan Ming instinctively followed up out of habit: “Where is he—”
Blushing furiously, Liang Xiao replied warmly: “At the hotel!”
Caught off guard by this sudden display of affection, Duan Ming found himself metaphorically stuffed with dog food: “…”
Duan Ming had originally planned not to bring up the subject anymore but was reminded by Liang Xiao’s remark: “Your fruit plus body part—”
Before he could finish, Liang Xiao shoved the proposal back into his manager’s arms, grabbed his script, and dashed off like a whirlwind.
