Liang Yan froze in place.
“You said…” He doubted his own hearing. “You’re a researcher for 3.0?”
Ji Qiu nodded. “When I enrolled, I took advantage of a loophole. The secondary gender report I submitted was actually my brother’s. I…”
He gave a bitter smile. “It’s ironic— I became an Omega just to qualify as a test subject, but when I applied as a researcher, this very secondary gender got me rejected by KB. If it weren’t for Qiu Tong pulling some strings, I wouldn’t have made it into the lab.”
Liang Yan pondered for a moment, recalling KB’s deep-rooted obsession with strength—or more precisely, their preference for Alphas, a ‘distinguished’ tradition of theirs.
Ji Qiu knew that leaking experimental details was a serious breach of professional ethics. However, Liang Yan’s reactions unsettled him—no matter how much they optimized the target organ replacement, exceptions would always exist. And exceptions…
KB was too eager to dominate the market, often overlooking the minute probability of unforeseen incidents.
A flicker of guilt crossed Ji Qiu’s eyes as he looked at the “exception” standing before him. It was as if he had finally made up his mind.
Liang Yan was a victim—he couldn’t just keep this hidden forever.
With 3.0 on the verge of release, it was only a matter of time before his identity as an Omega was exposed. When the opportunity arose, he would tell Liang Yan everything—whether it was about 3.0 or anything else.
Ji Qiu let out a quiet sigh in the suffocating silence. But now didn’t seem like the right time.
When they stepped out of the lounge, Liang Yan’s legs were still unsteady.
Ji Qiu noticed this right away. Just as he reached out to support him, Liang Yan frowned and sidestepped. “…I’m fine, I can walk on my own.”
How could he possibly let Ji Qiu help him now?
Liang Yan had never once resented his Omega physique, yet at this moment, the self-loathing in his heart surged uncontrollably.
Especially when Ji Qiu said, “It’s nice to meet you.” That single sentence pushed his emotions to the peak.
After clinging to Ji Qiu, dragging him into bed, and using him to temporarily suppress his heat—was he supposed to pretend to be frail now? To continue letting Ji Qiu care for him unwillingly?
Ji Qiu’s hand awkwardly lingered in midair.
He had made a mistake. No matter what, he had undeniably yielded to the temptation. Aside from marking and knotting, they had done almost everything AO partners could do.
Ji Qiu found himself unable to meet Liang Yan’s gaze, afraid that his mind would replay those moments again.
He couldn’t just claim Liang Yan—couldn’t forcibly mark him—simply because their pheromone compatibility was high.
That would be unfair.
At least, not right now.
Yet, as soon as Ji Qiu reached this conclusion, an odd emptiness filled his chest. Understanding this fact left him inexplicably sad.
So much so that he didn’t even realize—back in the lounge, after everything had happened, guilt wasn’t the only thing he had felt. It was guilt… mixed with joy.
Just as Ji Qiu was about to withdraw his hovering hand, he felt a cool touch—an Omega’s fingers wrapping around his.
Liang Yan, having experienced this for the first time, still lacked strength in his hands. His knuckles were pale, fingertips slightly cold. Yet, his grip was steady, without hesitation—loosely holding onto Ji Qiu’s hand.
“I forgot to respond earlier.” His voice had regained its usual cool tone, as if he had carefully adjusted his emotions. “Liang Yan, Omega, Clinical A-Class. I’m also very glad to meet you.”
Liang Yan lifted his gaze to look at him.
After a brief pause, he hesitated before saying, “About what happened earlier… I’m sorry.”
“If possible, I hope you can forget it.”
It was an unreasonable request, but Liang Yan still voiced it.
Ji Qiu remained silent for a moment before smiling again. “Mm.”
Giving each other a way out—it wasn’t a bad thing.
There was no need to keep dwelling on it.
That absurd incident from an hour ago—the overwhelming pheromone fusion that made their heads spin, the unspeakable desires—was ultimately reduced to a simple “mm” between them.
Both seemed to deliberately treat it as nothing more than instinct, something that should not be spoken of.
Yet Liang Yan still didn’t understand why, when Ji Qiu had pinned him against the door, he had repeatedly asked him—who he was.
As if he had answered. As if he hadn’t.
On the way back to school from KB, neither of them spoke.
Liang Yan suddenly found himself interested in the ever-changing scenery outside the window. He leaned against it, his gaze never once landing on Ji Qiu.
Normally restless, Ji Qiu also sat quietly beside him, playing on his phone, saying nothing.
By the time they reached the dormitory building, the sky had completely darkened.
For a brief moment, Liang Yan felt dazed, recalling that rainy night.
Back then, they had also returned from KB. He had been holding an umbrella, both shocked and furious upon learning that Ji Qiu was an Alpha.
Yet before he could even say anything, Ji Qiu, too nervous, had injured his hand.
And after accompanying him to the campus infirmary, the issue had somehow been mostly resolved.
At that time, Ji Qiu had also said he would take responsibility for the marking.
It felt just like now.
Something so absurd had happened, yet in the end, they simply walked side by side back to the dormitory.
“Yan… Liang Yan.” Ji Qiu instinctively tried to call him by his nickname but quickly corrected himself, addressing him properly with careful politeness.
Respectful, but lacking the familiarity from before.
Liang Yan didn’t actually care how Ji Qiu addressed him. After all, he was the one who had made the unreasonable request first, so he had no right to complain.
Ji Qiu paused for a moment, not heading upstairs right away. Instead, he turned around and said, “I… won’t be sneaking into your class to audit lectures for a while.”
Liang Yan lowered his gaze. “Mm.”
He wanted to say it was fine, that attending class together didn’t matter, and there was no need to deliberately keep a distance.
But he had never been good at explaining things, so he simply nodded.
“Tell Yin Tongguang not to save me a seat… Oh, but as for Qiu Tong, it’s up to him. If he still wants to, let him.”
“Mm.”
“Are you… feeling better now?”
Liang Yan’s body stiffened. Saying he was completely fine would be a lie, but after resting for a while, he was undeniably much better. For the first time, he was shaken by the resilience of an Omega’s physiology. He nodded. “I’m fine.”
Their conversation was distant and polite—one was the infamous ‘green tea’ Omega, now acting uncharacteristically cautious, as if afraid of saying the wrong thing.
The other was the untouchable flower on the high mountains, the dean’s son, an Omega known for his cold indifference—yet here he was, listening to the other with unexpected patience.
“Oh, right.” Ji Qiu had just started heading upstairs when he suddenly remembered something. He shrugged off his deep gray, plush jacket and, somewhat awkwardly, said, “I know a heat isn’t this easy to get through. I can’t mark you, but… if you still feel uncomfortable in the next two days, put this on. It might help, at least a little.”
Liang Yan was momentarily taken aback but accepted it nonetheless.
The jacket was of high quality, soft to the touch, and still carried traces of Ji Qiu’s warmth.
Perhaps his body had already memorized Ji Qiu’s pheromones on a subconscious level, because the moment his fingertips brushed against the fabric, that familiar sensation washed over him.
And along with it, vivid flashes of the events that had unfolded that afternoon.
He closed his eyes, shaking those images from his mind.
“Thank you.” Liang Yan politely expressed his gratitude. “I’ll return it to you in a few days.”
“There’s no rush, just whenever you have time.” Ji Qiu’s eyes curved into a smile. “Well then, see you next time.”
Liang Yan watched as Ji Qiu’s figure disappeared before quietly saying “goodbye” in his heart.
Ji Qiu would probably continue to be that “Omega” who, whenever he stepped onto the stage to speak, would be showered with admiration from countless Alphas. Liang Yan knew his secret, but that was all.
Maybe their interactions would gradually decrease, or perhaps…
Liang Yan lowered his eyes, suddenly feeling the autumn air growing heavier with dew.
But no matter what, they probably both needed time to process this unexpected event.
For the next week, Ji Qiu didn’t contact him—not even a single WeChat message, despite previously pestering him from time to time.
The lingering effects of Liang Yan’s heat lasted about a day and a half. Fortunately, it was the weekend, and Yin Tongguang had gone home, leaving Liang Yan alone in the dorm for two days. He didn’t dare use the 3.0 suppressant for now, and when the heat waves hit at night, he inevitably had to drape Ji Qiu’s jacket over himself. The faint plant-like scent of his pheromones wrapped around him, and, surprisingly, it actually helped.
Liang Yan didn’t hold any grudges about the incident—after all, he had initiated it himself, so there was no point in being overly reserved about it.
When he told Yin Tongguang that he didn’t need to save a seat for him, his roommate was momentarily surprised and immediately asked if he and Ji Qiu had fought.
But before Liang Yan could even respond, Yin Tongguang continued, “But you Omegas, huh… Emotional fluctuations are common. It’s normal, I get it.”
The “understood” Omega stared at him speechlessly.
Having figured things out in his own way, Yin Tongguang was very understanding toward his roommate. He still occasionally saved a seat for Lai Qiutong, who showed up twice, chatting and laughing with Yin Tongguang as usual, completely unfazed.
Lai Qiutong’s overly natural demeanor actually made Liang Yan feel a little self-conscious.
But a few days later, Liang Yan finally saw this long-absent “Omega” again.
That day, after class, he and Yin Tongguang had some time to kill, so they decided to study in the library before grabbing dinner.
The library was next to the Clinical Skills Center, which was currently hosting a clinical knowledge competition—meant to encourage students to remember key information while adding a competitive element to make it more engaging.
Liang Yan had always avoided events that required showing off, so he only glanced at the lively scene in passing before planning to leave.
But just as he reached the entrance, he heard a familiar chorus of cheers.
“Qiuqiu! Qiuqiu, you’re the best!!”
“Go, Qiuqiu! Good luck in the competition!!”
“If it’s Xiao Qiu, he’ll definitely get first place!”
“Ji Qiu is amazing! Ahhh, truly the pride of all Omegas!”
Following the voices, Liang Yan spotted Ji Qiu in a white coat, surrounded by a fan club at the entrance of the Skills Center, smiling and interacting with his supporters.
His voice was still as sweet as ever, laced with that signature flirtatious charm: “Got it~” “I know~” “I will~”
Despite not seeing him for a while, Ji Qiu hadn’t changed at all—his popularity had only increased. Liang Yan felt a bit conflicted, unsure whether to go up and say hello.
After all, their relationship hadn’t reached the point of completely ignoring each other.
But to Yin Tongguang, Liang Yan’s hesitation was as good as permission. Without hesitation, he waved enthusiastically. “Ji Qiu! Long time no see!”
The person surrounded by admirers immediately turned to look in their direction.
In that brief moment, his gaze met Liang Yan’s.
No one else noticed the subtle shift in atmosphere between them.
But Ji Qiu quickly masked his surprise, effortlessly slipping back into his crowd-favorite smile. “Mm! Long time no see!”
The people around him also turned to look, their excitement only growing upon realizing it was Liang Yan—someone they knew had a history with Ji Qiu.
Just as Ji Qiu was about to walk toward them, an overly enthusiastic Alpha, caught up in the moment, wildly flailed his arms in an attempt to grab Ji Qiu’s attention. “Xiao Qiu! You got this!!”
Startled, Ji Qiu instinctively let out a small, dramatic yelp—
“…Ying!”
And just like that.
Liang Yan, who had been telling himself to keep his distance from Ji Qiu, heard that unmistakable, signature sound—his gaze cut coldly in that direction before his brain could even catch up.
Meanwhile, the Alpha, who had sworn to take himself seriously and act like a proper Alpha from now on, shrank under Liang Yan’s icy glare, instinctively pulling his shoulders in and looking pitiful—his face practically spelling out three large letters: QAQ.
…So what now?
This Alpha pretending to be an O was still ridiculously effective.
A very exasperated Liang Yan, currently online, very annoyed.
[mfn]If you enjoy my translations, you can show your support by leaving a comment or donating to my Ko-fi. It will be much appreciated. Thank you! -TL: YSIAD[/mfn]
