Ji Qiu’s voice rose and fell in rhythm with his hurried steps, echoing endlessly through the empty hallway.
Yin Tongguang found the scene amusing and stared at Ji Qiu’s retreating figure for a long moment. “Yan Yan, what’s with him today?”
Liang Yan didn’t bother chasing. He withdrew his gaze and curled his lips, devoid of any emotion. “No idea. Probably involved in some sort of traffic accident.”
Yin Tongguang was even more confused. “Huh? What does that even mean?”
“Nothing.” Liang Yan adjusted his collar, obscuring the delicate curve of his neck, and replied calmly, “It just means he crashed.”
???
With the break over, the two returned to the meeting point.
The afternoon schedule was lighter than the morning’s. After a general tour of another section of the factory, the novelty had worn off for most of the group. While a few students still showed keen interest, the majority began chatting as they walked.
To everyone’s surprise, Ji Qiu still hadn’t shown up.
Yin Tongguang, sensing some tension between the two, figured it wouldn’t help to question Liang Yan and decided to stay quiet. But the other students weren’t so restrained.
“Ji Qiu’s been MIA all day.”
“Yeah, so weird.”
“Why do I feel like Liang Yan looks so lonely with Ji Qiu gone?”
“?? You’re overthinking it. Seriously, no one does OO relationships. Get real—what would they do about heat cycles?”
“…Good point.”
“Think Ji Qiu went back early?”
“Unlikely. The transportation here’s a nightmare. He’ll probably show up at the final roll call.”
Most of these murmurs didn’t register with Liang Yan, but the name “Ji Qiu” kept slipping into his ears now and then.
Certain thoughts, long suppressed, began surfacing one after another.
Ji Qiu always seemed to show up in a whirlwind, only to leave in the same abrupt fashion. Despite his striking appearance, his odd behavior somehow made people overlook his looks entirely.
But no matter how quirky Ji Qiu might be, Liang Yan—though often exasperated—could never bring himself to feel hostile toward him.
Images of Ji Qiu smiling as he made rounds, standing by the door of the dissection lab trying to chat, or encouraging him with heartfelt words that even an Omega could excel as a surgeon flitted through Liang Yan’s mind.
Perhaps that’s why he didn’t mind Ji Qiu getting close.
The only thing he couldn’t quite figure out was why Ji Qiu seemed so eager—almost desperate—to convince him from the start that he was an Omega.
Too eager, like failing to do so would expose some deeper truth.
Though the surrounding chatter faded into indistinct noise, Liang Yan felt as if the fog clouding his thoughts was finally lifting, bringing a long-awaited answer closer to light.
By the time the group finished exploring the southeastern section of the campus, most of the day had already slipped away. Exiting the factory, students marveled at the sheer size of KB’s grounds.
With one or two hours left before their return, the shuttle bus still hadn’t arrived. Some curious students suggested visiting the nearby research center.
This area housed KB’s core facilities, where many of their new products underwent advanced testing in the second phase of development.
After some back-and-forth communication with his superiors, the group leader finally agreed to the students’ request and led them toward the southwestern campus.
“Don’t be fooled by how the buildings here seem smaller than those in the southeast,” the leader said with a smile. “This area is the backbone of KB Pharmaceuticals. Since you’re all outstanding medical students, let me say this: if any of you ever tire of clinical work, consider joining us. Whether it’s marketing, research, or consultancy, KB welcomes top talent.
“Of course,” he added, chuckling, “I’m not trying to poach you. Your school and KB have a strong partnership, and we always look forward to recruiting excellent candidates from your ranks.”
The students joined in the conversation, and the atmosphere became lively.
The group leader, being relatively young, got along well with the students, and the interactions throughout the day had been smooth and friendly.
Upon entering the experimental area, the vibe was completely different from the previous section of the factory. Advanced instruments and the latest products reignited the students’ curiosity, and they marveled at everything they saw.
Since the afternoon, Liang Yan had been unusually quiet. Though he wasn’t talkative to begin with, Yin Tongguang, having spent a lot of time with him, could sense something was off.
The group arrived at a new laboratory, which, like the others, housed various equipment. The workstations, not yet fully tidied up, were scattered with numerous small instruments.
Some students, unable to identify the tools, pointed at them and asked, “What are these?”
Liang Yan, who had been lost in thought, snapped back to attention at the sound.
The group leader glanced over, picked up one of the items, and explained, “This is an pheromone sampler. You’ll encounter these often in your lab work later on. However, unlike standard ones, our company has specialized samplers with a logo for better accuracy and differentiation. You won’t typically find these outside.”
He went on to introduce the experiments requiring samplers, and though the students only half-understood, they listened with great interest.
Liang Yan finally looked up from his silence, quietly observing the sampler in the leader’s hand.
“Sir, may I take a closer look?” he asked.
“Of course.” Since it wasn’t a confidential device, the group leader handed it over without hesitation.
Liang Yan examined the small instrument carefully and returned it just before they moved on to the next lab. “Thank you, sir.”
The group leader didn’t think much of it and nodded.
From then on, Liang Yan became even quieter.
The corner of Ji Qiu’s backpack he’d accidentally seen earlier matched KB’s specialized pheromone sampler exactly.
Why did Ji Qiu have one of these samplers? And what was it for?
Moreover, though Ji Qiu had come along on the trip, he’d been missing for almost the entire day.
Without realizing it, Liang Yan’s expression grew darker and darker.
Fortunately, many experimental bases in the southwest area weren’t open to visitors, so the group only took a brief tour before heading to the meeting point to return to school.
The unpredictable end-of-year weather began to shift. Though the afternoon sun had been bright, the wind picked up and clouds quickly dimmed the sky, with temperatures plummeting.
It looked like rain was imminent—likely a heavy downpour.
The shuttle bus finally arrived late, and the group, after a long day of touring and activities, hurried toward the meeting point, eager to avoid being drenched by the impending rain.
Most students boarded quickly, and a student responsible for headcount pulled out a checklist to mark attendance.
Yin Tongguang, as before, occupied two seats. Liang Yan sat by the window, staring out with an unfocused gaze.
Yin Tongguang had considered moving to the back, but since Ji Qiu was still absent, the seat next to Liang Yan had caught the attention of several Alphas. They hovered nearby, clearly interested in striking up a conversation and sitting with him.
Though Liang Yan remained his usual cold self, Yin Tongguang had the distinct feeling that his roommate was on the verge of losing his temper.
As the roll call neared its end, a few students were still missing, including Ji Qiu. Yin Tongguang seized the opportunity to sit back down beside Liang Yan and hesitated before asking, “Yan Yan?”
“Mm?”
“Are you feeling unwell today?”
He didn’t expect Liang Yan to answer, but it was a habitual question.
“Mm, a little,” Liang Yan replied decisively.
Yin Tongguang’s jaw dropped as Liang Yan turned back to stare out the window.
Something was definitely wrong with him today.
The sky grew darker by the moment, with gusts of icy wind howling past. The accompanying teacher climbed onto the bus and asked, “Who’s still missing?”
The students began talking over each other.
Five people hadn’t arrived yet, Ji Qiu among them.
“Does anyone have their phone numbers? It’s about to rain—tell them to hurry up,” the teacher urged.
Some students started texting, others made calls.
“Only Ji Qiu’s left… Does anyone have his number?” one asked. “S-Class didn’t send many people, and no one seems to have it. Where did he go?”
“No idea. Haven’t seen him much today.”
“Let me check… Oh, never mind. I thought I had it, but he didn’t give it to me when I asked before.”
Liang Yan, holding his silent phone, finally pulled up Ji Qiu’s number. His finger hovered over the call button for a moment.
Forget it. Whatever it is can wait until later, but he couldn’t let Ji Qiu miss the bus.
Just as Liang Yan was about to make the call, he caught sight of a figure running toward the bus. A voice grew closer: “Sorry, sorry! I’m late. I couldn’t find my way earlier—sorry for keeping everyone waiting!”
Liang Yan lowered his gaze, silently putting his phone back into his pocket.
Ji Qiu boarded the bus, his jacket half-worn, one sleeve hanging off his shoulder. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed his arms, and his thumb pressed against the crook of his elbow.
It looked as though… he had just drawn blood.
Why would Ji Qiu, here on a practice tour, need to draw blood?
Ji Qiu kept bowing and apologizing, smiling sheepishly as he climbed aboard.
“No worries, it’s just two minutes. Get on—time to head back,” the teacher said, waving him over. After confirming everyone was present, the teacher closed the door, signaling the driver to start the engine.
As soon as the bus doors closed, the dark clouds above seemed to flip a switch, unleashing a torrential downpour.
Everyone felt relieved at their timing; had they left any later, they’d have been drenched. Ji Qiu steadied himself on the seats as he slowly made his way to the back of the bus.
Reaching the spot where he had sat in the morning, Yin Tongguang smacked his forehead. “I actually saved a seat for you two, but since you didn’t show up, I just sat with Yan Yan. Hope you don’t mind.”
Liang Yan, seemingly oblivious to Ji Qiu’s presence, continued staring out of the window, lost in thought.
Ji Qiu smiled and replied to Yin Tongguang, “I’ll sit at the back; it’s no problem.”
From start to finish, Liang Yan leaned against the window, as if he were tired, and didn’t spare Ji Qiu a single glance.
Although the return trip wasn’t particularly late, the unrelenting rain and heavy traffic extended the journey to three hours before the bus finally reached the school.
The rain poured so heavily that students had already started calling their friends on campus to bring umbrellas. When the bus arrived, many were already waiting with umbrellas to pick them up.
Yin Tongguang, ever considerate, had brought two umbrellas when leaving that morning, one for himself and one for Liang Yan. As he prepared to disembark, he noticed Ji Qiu standing and stretching his arm before slipping on his jacket.
“Ji Qiu!” Yin Tongguang called out. “Do you have an umbrella? If not, take one of ours! I can share with Yan Yan.”
“No need.”
“Wait a moment.”
Both Ji Qiu and Liang Yan spoke simultaneously.
Ji Qiu paused, signaling for Liang Yan to go first.
“You go ahead with the umbrella,” Liang Yan said to Yin Tongguang. “I have something to discuss with Ji Qiu. I’ll head back later.”
“Oh, alright.” Yin Tongguang nodded. “You guys take care. Yan Yan, don’t be too late.”
He got off the bus without noticing Ji Qiu’s despairing and pleading glance after hearing Liang Yan’s words.
Liang Yan shifted slightly to signal Ji Qiu to disembark first.
Ji Qiu hesitated, trying one last desperate attempt to escape his fate. In a pitiful tone, he murmured, “Yan Yan…”
“Mm,” Liang Yan responded calmly. “Went to draw blood?”
“Ah… yes.” Ji Qiu hadn’t expected that to be the first question.
Liang Yan opened the umbrella. Being slightly shorter than Ji Qiu, he raised it a bit higher to cover them both.
After that single question, Liang Yan didn’t speak again, walking silently with Ji Qiu toward the dormitory.
While Liang Yan could hold his silence, Ji Qiu grew increasingly uneasy.
Liang Yan deliberately slowed his pace, steering them toward a quieter path by the flower beds, still refusing to say anything.
After a few minutes, Ji Qiu finally couldn’t hold back. Hesitantly, he began, his voice trembling: “Yan Yan…”
If this were social media, it would definitely be followed by a “QAQ.”
But Liang Yan remained unmoved. “Mm?”
“I… um… you don’t need to walk me. I can go back on my own.” Ji Qiu’s voice grew softer and softer, avoiding eye contact.
“It’s pouring rain. Where are you going without an umbrella?”
Ji Qiu stammered, still not daring to look up. “It’s just a few steps. I… I can run back.”
He then tried to pull the same trick as earlier, hoping to slip away while Liang Yan wasn’t paying attention.
Unfortunately, Liang Yan was ready this time. He grabbed Ji Qiu just as he was about to dash off.
Ji Qiu panicked. Though Liang Yan wasn’t holding on tightly, Ji Qiu insisted on pulling away. The rain-soaked ground was slippery, and Ji Qiu’s foot slid out from under him. He stumbled forward, nearly falling.
Startled, Liang Yan quickly pulled him back. Ji Qiu also reacted fast, steadying himself with his hand. However, they were standing near some broken tiles by the flowerbed. Though Ji Qiu managed to stand upright, his arm grazed against the sharp edges, leaving two shallow but bleeding cuts.
The wounds weren’t deep, but blood streamed down noticeably.
More importantly, the pheromones carried in the blood were unmistakable, impossible to conceal.
For a brief moment, both of them froze.
But that moment was all Ji Qiu needed to decide to bolt again. Without even looking back, he prepared to run—
“Stop.”
The icy word sliced through the sound of the rain.
Ji Qiu’s shoulders trembled, but he stopped.
In that instant, his figure looked so desolate.
He stood under his umbrella, wandering in the long, lonely, rain-drenched alley.
…And behind him, a certain brooding Liang Yan stood, his face clouded with unresolved frustration.
However, Liang Yan had no idea that Ji Qiu was mentally composing an impromptu poem in his despair. Taking two steps forward, Liang Yan grabbed Ji Qiu’s wrist.
The wound was still bleeding, carrying pheromones that Ji Qiu couldn’t hide.
Liang Yan’s eyes reddened slightly, his lips pressed into a tight line as he stared intently at the injury on Ji Qiu’s hand.
He had planned to confront Ji Qiu and get a clear answer, trying to figure out what exactly Ji Qiu was so desperate to hide from him.
But this was not the scenario he had envisioned—certainly not one involving blood.
Clenching his teeth for a moment, Liang Yan finally found his voice.
When he spoke again, it carried a hint of mockery.
“Marked me and now pretending it didn’t happen?”
“Hmm? What, bro, big bro?”
He barely moved his lips, coolly adding those last words.
[mfn]You can support me if you like my translations by leaving a comment below, or by sending me a Ko-fi. Thank you and Enjoy reading! ❤️ -TL: Ysiad [/mfn]
