The supervisor retrieved the pen, handed it to Liang Yan, and straightened the folder ruffled by the wind. “Do you have any other questions?”
“I do, but it’s more of a hypothetical question,” Liang Yan replied.
“You’re recruiting Omegas exclusively for this experiment, correct?”
The supervisor, surprised by the repeated inquiry, nodded. “That’s right. What does this have to do with Alphas? This is a clinical trial specifically beneficial for Omegas—no need for Alphas to be involved.”
After a moment, sensing his tone might have come off too forceful, the supervisor softened his voice.
The young Omega before him was rare. Most participants in the 3.0 trials were typical Omegas, and the results thus far had been smooth and stable. Liang Yan, however, was unique—an Omega with a rare condition that caused respiratory center suppression due to dosage issues, just like the subject in a previous mishap.
The company was eager to perfect its product and minimize risks. Following improvements to the 3.0 pharmacological mechanism, the drug was markedly better than its predecessor. The only missing data was from subjects with Liang Yan’s particular condition.
“Sign here to confirm your participation,” the supervisor said, sliding two sheets toward Liang Yan. Nervously, he added, “None of the 3.0 trial participants have experienced any adverse events. We just need one more sample to be certain.”
He carefully omitted one thought: None of them are as exceptional as you.
Liang Yan read the forms meticulously, then signed his name in measured strokes.
The supervisor visibly relaxed and began a casual conversation. “You’re still in school, right? What sparked your interest in this trial?”
Liang Yan stood, recalling the name he’d seen earlier on the form. He ventured cautiously, “A classmate who’s also an Omega told me about it.”
“Is that so?” The supervisor’s curiosity piqued.
Technically, participant information was confidential, but if introduced by a peer, some leeway could be granted.
“An Omega named Ji Qiu.”
“Oh, him?” The supervisor’s interest deepened. “Is he your classmate? Funny timing—he’s supposed to drop by today. If you’re not in a rush, maybe you two can head back together…”
“What’s he coming here for?” Liang Yan asked, his tone neutral.
The supervisor explained, “Didn’t he tell you? He was one of the earliest participants. Many Omegas join just for the free suppressants, but he’s different—always punctual with his reports, never misses a check-in.”
Liang Yan found it incredible. Had they never suspected Ji Qiu was an Alpha?
He asked deliberately, “Doesn’t your company include secondary gender verification in its basic screenings? What if an Alpha sneaks in?”
The supervisor laughed. “Why would an Alpha care about this? Participants declare their secondary gender upfront. This is an Omega-specific trial; there’s no need for comprehensive hospital-grade checks. Besides, Alphas don’t have C4 receptors…”
Liang Yan caught onto the last phrase. Feigning indifference, he asked, “C4 receptors?”
The supervisor hesitated, then brushed it off. “It’s just the mechanism of suppressants. You’re still a student, so it might be hard to understand. Anyway, let’s get your basic screening done. It won’t take long, and I’ll give you the assigned suppressant afterward…”
He trailed off as a polite knock sounded at the office door.
The supervisor smiled. “See? Your classmate’s here.”
Liang Yan stiffened involuntarily.
The door opened, and a familiar voice rang out, cheerful and confident. “Uncle Guo! I’m on time again this week. Here’s the report—wait, Yan Yan?!”
Liang Yan closed his eyes briefly.
The previously lively voice turned anxious. “What are you doing here?!”
The supervisor, puzzled, said, “Didn’t you say he found out about this through you?”
Ji Qiu reacted quickly. “Oh, right! But I didn’t tell him the details—I didn’t think he’d actually come.”
The supervisor seemed satisfied with this explanation. “Good. You can accompany him for the screening. After the blood draw, take him to the rest area.”
Ji Qiu hesitated, usually quick-witted but now visibly flustered, unsure of what to say or do.
The supervisor left for the adjacent office, leaving Liang Yan and Ji Qiu standing in silence.
It was an unfamiliar quiet between them, unlike even when Liang Yan had discovered Ji Qiu’s true gender.
Liang Yan broke the silence. “Let’s go. Join me for the screening?”
Ji Qiu hesitated. “Yan Yan…”
Liang Yan didn’t look at him, stepping out of the room first.
Ji Qiu quickly followed.
I didn’t mean to hide this from you.
I pretended to be an Omega to join the trial, leveraging my connection with Lai Qiutong. I’m both a participant and a researcher here.
But when I saw you exhibiting symptoms like my brother’s, I couldn’t ignore it. What if the drug doesn’t work? What if something goes wrong?
“I’m worried, but I don’t know if the worries of someone like me—an Alpha—are something you need.”
But…
Ji Qiu’s mind was in turmoil; this was a scenario he hadn’t anticipated.
After all, he was the one who deceived first.
“Yan Yan,” Ji Qiu said in a low voice, “I’m sorry.”
Liang Yan turned around and looked at the Alpha in front of him.
The usual playful, “green tea” vibe was gone from Ji Qiu’s face. Instead, he hung his head, his expression unusually solemn. It reminded Liang Yan of the Ji Qiu he had seen at the evening gala.
So which one was the real him?
“But,” Liang Yan spoke softly, his voice scattering with the autumn breeze, “what can I do?”
What could he do without a proper suppressant?
The only option was to try this new batch—an option born of utter desperation. If it worked, it might solve his problem.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Liang Yan added after a moment, uncomfortable with Ji Qiu’s unfamiliar expression. “This is my body’s problem; it has nothing to do with you.”
He hesitated briefly, then suggested, “If you’re not in a hurry, just wait for me in the lounge, and we’ll head back together?”
Sitting on the couch, Ji Qiu could only nod and watch as Liang Yan walked toward the experimental area.
At this moment, he had neither the standing nor the reasons to stop him.
The realization struck him with an unsettling regret.
But the unexpected always seemed to come swiftly.
The medical checkup was indeed quick, and the suppressant was delivered directly. However, during the final step—blood sampling—Liang Yan’s arm was bent, and they took no fewer than seven vials of his blood.
“It’s normal to collect more samples for the first round of testing, so don’t worry,” the nurse reassured him kindly. “It’ll be over soon. Just a heads-up, Omegas might feel a bit lightheaded from the blood loss, but it’ll pass quickly.”
Liang Yan nodded, not feeling particularly uncomfortable.
The nurse, noticing his good looks and recognizing that he, too, was an Omega, couldn’t resist chatting with him a bit. “There are so many trial participants for KB this time. If the 3.0 suppressant hits the market successfully, it could solve a lot of problems Omegas face during their heat. It’s really one of our major weaknesses. Oh, by the way, do you have a partner?”
Caught off guard by the abrupt question, Liang Yan froze. “Huh?”
“I don’t mean anything by it,” the nurse waved her hands apologetically, realizing how forward she sounded. She began tidying up the tools, then suddenly paused, frowning. “Hmm, why is your hand so warm?”
The nurse, being an Omega herself, observed Liang Yan more closely and suddenly seemed to realize something. “Wait… don’t tell me… are you entering heat?”
A blush slowly crept up Liang Yan’s face. “Huh?”
He distinctly remembered that it was still a few days away.
The nurse became anxious. “It might’ve been triggered prematurely by the blood loss. Do you need my help?”
She gestured toward the batch of suppressants Liang Yan had just been assigned.
Unaware of Liang Yan’s unique condition, the nurse kindly offered, “It’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? If you don’t mind, I can inject one dose for you.”
Although his heat had just begun, Liang Yan’s mind was still clear. He glanced at the faintly yellow ampoule in his hand, suddenly feeling a bit at a loss.
Should he use three vials of the older version and endure the suffocating side effects in the lounge?
Or…
The nurse’s concerned eyes bore into him.
“Let’s… just use one dose.” Liang Yan handed over one of the vials.
The nurse skillfully cracked open the ampoule, drew the liquid, and spoke as she prepared the injection. “Are you here alone?”
“No,” Liang Yan replied, feeling a light sting on his arm. “Someone’s waiting for me.”
“That’s good, then,” the nurse said as she administered the injection and disposed of the needle. “Make sure they keep an eye on you in the lounge. By the way, even though this is common knowledge, I need to remind you—don’t let your partner mark you, even temporarily. Your pheromones are too unstable right now.”
As the suppressant took effect, Liang Yan initially felt nervous. But the familiar side effects—difficulty breathing and the bone-chilling cold—never appeared.
Instead, the discomfort seemed to ebb away slightly. Liang Yan stood up, thanked the nurse, and made his way to the lounge.
It appeared that the 3.0 suppressant was indeed more effective than the previous version.
Yet, slowly, something started to feel off.
His mind remained clear, but the thirst—the fiery dryness that had just receded—suddenly reignited, surging like an uncontrollable blaze.
Liang Yan reached the lounge door and turned the handle.
Inside, Ji Qiu had been pacing back and forth, unable to settle his nerves.
He was still searching for a reason—any reason—to convince Liang Yan not to take part in this trial.
The 3.0 suppressant formula was confidential. Unlike its predecessors, which directly suppressed the activity of the C4 receptor, the 3.0 formula targeted a different mechanism. Instead of inhibiting the receptor entirely, it redirected its effects, stabilizing pheromone fluctuations by altering their pathways.
Ji Qiu had signed a non-disclosure agreement, so he couldn’t explain this to anyone outside the trial. He had even tested it on himself. Despite lacking the C4 receptor, his data aligned with expectations, making him believe that 3.0 was a revolutionary success.
But Liang Yan was different.
There was no way to predict how someone with his condition would react to the drug.
Even a one-in-a-million chance of something going wrong was a risk Ji Qiu couldn’t accept.
As soon as he heard the door open, Ji Qiu turned sharply toward it. “Yan Yan!”
But he quickly realized something was wrong.
Liang Yan stood in the doorway, looking strangely out of sorts.
His face was tinged with red, and his breathing was uneven.
Instinctively, Ji Qiu knew what was happening.
But this… this wasn’t how Liang Yan’s heat had manifested before.
A horrifying possibility struck Ji Qiu.
“You… you used the new suppressant?!” he demanded, both shocked and panicked. “How much did you use?”
Liang Yan shut the door behind him. “The blood loss triggered it early, so I used… just one dose…”
“Yan Yan!”
Ji Qiu lunged forward, catching Liang Yan as he suddenly collapsed into his arms.
“I’m so hot…” Liang Yan murmured, clutching at Ji Qiu’s sleeve. His fingers crawled upward instinctively. “Why does it feel… even worse than before after using that?”
For the first time, Ji Qiu felt a wave of regret so intense it nearly overwhelmed him.
Calling Liang Yan’s name, he could only stand there, helpless, as Liang Yan’s hands grew more and more daring.
It was all his fault.
When Liang Yan pounced fully, Ji Qiu felt the pheromones bursting uncontrollably from him.
Liang Yan felt like he had some level of control, but at the same time, not entirely.
If he had no control, he wouldn’t be aware of what he was doing now. Just moments ago, he had held Ji Qiu—the feel of the other person’s fingertips and palm still vivid in his mind, etched like a brand on his hands. He had touched Ji Qiu’s waist, feeling every muscle’s texture as if it were real beneath his fingertips.
If he did have control, he would never allow his instincts to seize Ji Qiu like this, pulling him close, wanting to possess him, to draw in his pheromones, to be glued together with him, moment by moment, as if only this would make everything right, the thing he should be doing right now.
They had briefly marked each other before. Though Ji Qiu had been extremely restrained and only injected a small amount of pheromone, once two people exchange pheromones, future encounters become deeply familiar—especially when their pheromone compatibility levels are so perfectly matched.
No heat cycle had ever felt like this—so overwhelmingly intense, as if the scorching heat had multiplied tenfold. Every inch of his body, from his scalp to his toes, screamed for release, for relief from this unrelenting disaster.
Liang Yan felt his body weakening, but the pheromones soaking through him, wrapping around him, held him back from taking the next step. It left him in a strange mix of bliss and torment.
He nearly couldn’t speak, only muttering softly, wanting to say something.
He wanted to say, Mark me.
Bite into my nape with your sharp teeth. Fill my body with your pheromones…
Hurry, mark me.
Yet, Ji Qiu stood frozen, rigid in place, his usually restless demeanor replaced by a solid, unyielding stance. His body, already trembling slightly from the pheromones Liang Yan had carelessly released, still held his hand, attempting to push Liang Yan away gently.
“…Liang Yan.” Ji Qiu didn’t call him affectionately, his voice rough, restrained. “Do you know what frequent marking between AOs means? And with your current condition, it’s not suitable for you to be marked.”
Liang Yan couldn’t speak. His eyes were hazy with desire and yearning, making him look impossibly captivating.
Ji Qiu sighed, his voice thick with helplessness. “I don’t want to… ugh—”
Liang Yan felt himself spiraling into madness.
Surely, he had lost his mind.
Otherwise, why, when he couldn’t wait for the mark, did he lean in toward Ji Qiu, involuntarily pressing his face closer? And then he sealed his lips onto Ji Qiu’s.
Liang Yan had never kissed anyone before. Hell, this wasn’t even a proper kiss—it was a desperate, ravenous brush against Ji Qiu’s lips, trying to claim what he yearned for in this moment of fleeting softness.
As their lips parted, Ji Qiu inhaled sharply, reaching out to grab Liang Yan’s waist, pulling him upright from nearly slipping to the ground. “What are you—”
But Liang Yan ignored it.
He wanted the pheromones of this person. Or, more precisely, he wanted this person.
It didn’t seem to matter which.
Liang Yan stared deeply at Ji Qiu, his gaze sharp and unblinking, unclouded.
He licked his lips, feeling the heat deep in his throat.
Thirst…
Liang Yan leaned in again, but this time, before he could reach Ji Qiu, the immovable Alpha, like a stone wall, finally snapped. Ji Qiu grabbed Liang Yan’s chin, almost roughly, and pressed their mouths together in a searing kiss.
When Liang Yan’s back hit the wall, his eyes half-lidded, releasing a soft, almost contented sigh from his throat.
He knew what would happen if this continued, but the exchange of pheromones in their mouths, though dangerous, felt almost… permissible.
…
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