Once Xia Yan regained some strength, he pulled away from Xu Cong’s embrace, retreating two steps to look at him with confusion.
Instinctively covering the back of his neck, he hesitated before asking, “What did you just do?”
Xu Cong knew he had acted on impulse. The exchange of pheromones had affected both of them, not just Xia Yan.
Having the person he yearned for so desperately present his vulnerable neck to his teeth—what Alpha could remain calm?
Masking his emotions, Xu Cong calmly lied, though his voice was hoarse: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure the mark was thorough.”
Xia Yan was a bit skeptical.
What had just happened completely threw him off, and he still hadn’t recovered.
But Xu Cong’s explanation seemed reasonable enough. Xia Yan stared at him for a moment, hesitated, then slowly lowered his hand from his gland.
“Next time, don’t just lean in without saying anything,” he muttered, shooting Xu Cong a displeased glance. “I almost hit you.”
Xu Cong raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.
“Got it.”
Xia Yan didn’t dwell on it further. He glanced at the time—it was nearly 11 p.m.
He quickly urged Xu Cong, “Alright, you should leave now. If you don’t head back soon, it’ll be too late. Don’t you have a live-streaming event with the brand tomorrow morning? If you show up on camera with a puffy face, Bai Yu will rip you apart.”
As he spoke, he grabbed his coat and reapplied a suppressant patch to the back of his neck.
No one would see it.
No one would know just how deep the marks Xu Cong had left on his neck were.
“I’ll walk you out,” Xia Yan said, “Is the car to pick you up already here?”
Xu Cong followed Xia Yan down to the lobby. While Xia Yan was talking, Xu Cong seemed distracted, his gaze fixed on Xia Yan’s back as if lost in thought.
When Xia Yan turned around with a puzzled look, Xu Cong snapped out of it and said calmly, “Yes, it’s downstairs waiting.”
A few minutes later, they reached the hotel entrance. Waiting for Xu Cong was his private car—a black Maybach—with a familiar driver inside.
Seated in the back seat, Xu Cong said to Xia Yan, “I’ll come visit you on set sometime soon.”
“…Alright.”
Xia Yan hesitated in his reply. After what had just happened, he wasn’t sure if he should look forward to Xu Cong visiting again.
The temporary mark was effective, but the aftermath was overwhelming.
Even now, his face still felt hot.
“You should head back now,” Xia Yan said softly. Standing under the night sky, his tall figure was striking, and under the glow of the streetlights, his handsome face seemed to carry a radiant sheen. But the light also obscured his expression, making it hard to discern what he was thinking. “I’ll be fine here. I’ve brought all the medicine I need, so don’t worry too much.”
Xu Cong stared at him from the back seat for a long moment, ultimately choosing not to say anything further. He nodded. “Alright. If anything comes up, call me.”
Only after Xia Yan nodded did he shut the car door.
“Let’s go,” he instructed the driver.
It wasn’t until the car had driven some distance away that Xu Cong glanced back. By then, Xia Yan was just a small black figure in the distance. But because of their constant proximity, Xu Cong recognized him instantly.
When the Maybach rounded a corner and the hotel where Xia Yan was staying vanished completely, Xu Cong finally turned back.
Out of Xia Yan’s sight, he leaned against the back seat. The gentle warmth he had when with Xia Yan was replaced by his usual cold, detached demeanor.
The car window reflected his face—his sharp, defined profile carried an air of unapproachability, almost as if touching him would leave a cut.
Staring out at the endless night, Xu Cong’s thoughts drifted.
The kiss on Xia Yan’s neck earlier—was it really just a moment of impulse, driven by pheromones?
But who could say that there wasn’t a hint of intention behind it?
Could he truly claim he lost control?
He had managed to hold himself back for over four years. As an S-class Alpha, his self-control had always been exceptional.
He was also fully aware that what happened just now might plant a seed of doubt in even someone as oblivious as Xia Yan.
And yet, he still went through with it.
Xu Cong tapped his knuckles lightly on his knee, his gaze dark and unreadable. A closer look revealed suppressed madness beneath the surface.
It was too slow.
Waiting for Xia Yan to figure out his darker intentions on his own—it was unbearably slow.
And he was running out of patience.
…..
Xia Yan stood outside the hotel, watching until Xu Cong’s car was out of sight. Only then did he turn and head back inside.
Once in his room, he shut the door with a soft “click.” Standing still for a moment, he absentmindedly touched the back of his neck.
Xu Cong was gone.
But his scent, a distinct sandalwood pheromone, still lingered in the air, pervading the space with an undeniable presence.
Xia Yan blinked slowly, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as though deep in thought.
But then, he shook his head and went to take a shower.
….
The next day, the lead cast of the drama officially joined the set. After one last round of script reading, ‘The Moon by the Silent River’ began filming.
Xia Yan quickly adapted to life on set. Having debuted early and spent years as a trainee, he had none of the pampered habits some young idols were known for. When it came to the actual shoot, he worked diligently without complaint, never nitpicking about the environment.
If the director asked for a retake, he’d comply without protest.
One scene required him to be in the water. Despite it being winter and the outdoor temperature already freezing, Xia Yan filmed all day, relying only on brief breaks to wrap himself in a down jacket and drink ginger tea for warmth.
But the moment the cameras started rolling, he’d jump right back in.
Even Zong Yi was impressed.
Though Forest was known for their hard work and high standards, watching Xia Yan perform was a revelation. Dressed in a tattered black coat, covered in dirt, his once-dazzling eyes now dimmed to match the somber role of a ranger pursuing justice—it was as if he’d become someone entirely different.
Zong Yi couldn’t help but think that Xia Yan might be destined for stardom in the entertainment industry.
Not only was he resilient, but he also had an innate charisma. Singing and dancing were already his forte, but his acting talent was just as remarkable.
Initially, some in the crew were skeptical of Xia Yan, dismissing him as just another pretty-boy idol. But after a while, those murmurs died down.
There was no denying it—Some people just had a natural brilliance that couldn’t be dimmed, even offstage.
Compared to Xia Yan, Zong Yi felt like he was just coasting along. Acting didn’t ignite the same passion in him as it did in Xia Yan.
He still preferred singing.
Luckily, his role in the film wasn’t too demanding.
The character closely resembled his own personality, so it wasn’t difficult for him to play the role.
After just half a month in the group, Zong Yi was already wrapping up his scenes.
“You’re really going all out. Look at yourself—you’ve got so many scrapes. You’re still an idol, you know. In today’s car chase scene, I was scared you’d ruin your face.”
At a nearby hotpot restaurant, Zong Yi complained while adding sesame sauce to his bowl.
But just as he brought it to his mouth, Xia Yan snatched it away.
“Sesame sauce is packed with calories. Eat less of it.” Xia Yan, like a strict disciplinarian, mercilessly halved the portion. “You’ve got a major scene coming up in a couple of days. Hold back and eat your boiled veggies.”
Zong Yi accepted it tearfully, wanting to protest but not daring to.
He glanced at Xia Yan, whose face bore several scrapes, each disinfected and covered with band-aids. His already striking features now carried an added sharpness, making him resemble what the crew’s young ladies secretly described as a “battle-worn look.”
Despite this, Zong Yi, ever the worried motherly type, couldn’t help but nag, “Don’t forget to apply scar cream when you get back. Our faces belong to the fans, and if you get a scar, your fans might tear the set apart.”
Xia Yan chuckled lightly. “It’s not that serious.”
Even so, he raised his hand and grabbed Zong Yi for a quick selfie, posting it on Weibo.
Even while eating, Xia Yan knew he had to stay engaged with his fans.
In the photo, the two of them leaned close together, both visibly thinner from their time on set. The camera instinctively caught Zong Yi flashing his trademark, practiced smile.
It wasn’t until Xia Yan had already posted it that Zong Yi let out a dramatic cry: “Did you edit the photo at all?”
“No,” Xia Yan replied mercilessly. “Why bother? It wouldn’t look authentic.”
Of course, you wouldn’t care, you flawless jerk with your 360-degree perfection.
Zong Yi sulked, stabbing his konjac noodles in silent rebellion, unable to express his frustration.
He channeled his dissatisfaction into food, scooping up a bowl full of vegetables and fatty beef. When Xia Yan wasn’t paying attention, he sneakily added a spoonful of chili oil.
Xia Yan noticed but didn’t call him out on it, simply shaking his head with amusement.
So much for restraint.
The two continued chatting and eating, the atmosphere light and enjoyable.
But halfway through, Zong Yi’s phone started buzzing. He glanced at it, and his expression darkened immediately.
Xia Yan noticed but didn’t think much of it at first. Yet Zong Yi’s phone kept buzzing, almost like it was on a vibration-only setting. He seemed ready to turn it off, but when he picked it up and the screen lit, he hesitated, biting down on a half-eaten celery stick, lost in thought.
Xia Yan joked that Zong Yi’s expression perfectly captured the look of someone receiving a text from their crush—troubled yet reluctant to block the sender.
He looked more expressive now than when acting on set.
Dropping another plate of beef into the hotpot, Xia Yan finally couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “Who is it, sending you so many messages this late? Some fling?”
Remembering a piece of gossip he’d read a few months ago, he teased, “Is it that female junior of yours? The one you were rumored to visit late at night who got you on the trending list?”
Zong Yi didn’t register it immediately but, upon processing, rolled his eyes dramatically at Xia Yan.
Finally finishing off the celery stick, he no longer looked like some clueless rich heir. Instead, he angrily fished out a piece of fish from the pot, dunked it heavily in chili sauce, and stuffed it into his mouth.
He muttered, “I wish it were my junior.”
Oh?
Xia Yan’s interest was piqued. He sipped his soda. “Then who is it? Honestly, we’ve been in this crew for nearly a month now, and I always see you clutching your phone, looking all gloomy, sighing like someone being hounded by debt collectors—except they don’t want your money; they want you.”
Xia Yan chuckled at his own joke, clearly enjoying Zong Yi’s misery.
In the past few weeks, watching Zong Yi had been his favorite pastime.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, but we’ve been so busy with filming that by the time I get back, I’m too tired to bring it up.”
Zong Yi, still sulking, didn’t reply.
Xia Yan kicked him lightly under the table. “Come on, what’s the deal? Keeping secrets now? Are we not bros? Afraid I’ll leak it to the paparazzi if you’re dating someone?”
Just as Xia Yan said this, another message popped up on Zong Yi’s screen:
“Ge, how long are you going to avoid me?”
And preceding it were more messages, all unanswered, filled with trivial daily happenings interwoven with confessions of admiration and longing.
Zong Yi bit the tip of his chopsticks. The chili oil’s heat burned his tongue—a sharp, bitter sensation that perfectly matched the turmoil in his chest.
Looking at Xia Yan across the table, he seemed to reach a decision. “It’s too public here. I’ll tell you when we get back.”
1
Author’s note:
Let Zong Yi show Xia Yan how romance works within the team, haha.
We needed someone to enlightened Yan Yan