Liang Yan spent the whole day in Ji Qiu’s dorm. Ji Qiu only had class in the morning, so they stuck together all afternoon until he finally walked him back to his dorm in the evening.
Actually, Liang Yan said there was no need to escort him, but Ji Qiu insisted—short of carrying him on his back.
Luckily, the weather was cold, and they were both bundled up. Outsiders could hardly see anything unusual.
But just because nothing was obvious didn’t mean nobody saw them walking together.
No matter how wildly people shrieked about it on the forum, it had nothing to do with the two involved.
So much so that, when Ji Qiu reached the foot of Liang Yan’s dorm, he even clingily asked for a goodbye kiss.
It’s often said that Omegas are unbearably clingy during their heat, but once they got out of bed, the two of them completely switched roles.
When Liang Yan returned to his dorm, he calmly met Yin Tongguang’s scrutinizing gaze.
Scrutinizing—though there wasn’t really much to question. After all, one was an Alpha, the other an Omega, and it was a heat period… what could happen was self-evident.
But still…
Yin Tongguang asked tentatively, “Yan Yan, Ji Qiu lives in Building 5, right?”
“Mm.”
“Even though that building has mostly Betas, there are still some Omegas living there…”
Liang Yan replied, “So, you want to move there?”
“N-no, no, not at all. I just think it’s not so good for Ji Qiu as an Alpha… Last night, did you two close the windows? If his pheromones leaked out at too high a concentration…”
Liang Yan’s face froze, recalling something. “We closed them.”
Yin Tongguang finally nodded. “That’s good, that’s good.”
Liang Yan didn’t say more. Only he knew—the pheromones didn’t leak outside, but they nearly blew up Ji Qiu’s dorm and bathroom.
He tried not to recall last night’s near-madness.
But that absolute fit and reliance—it felt innate, irresistible, impossible to replicate.
Since that mutually willing heat period, reckless as it had been, beaten as he might have been, their relationship only grew more harmonious.
Sometimes Liang Yan stayed overnight at Ji Qiu’s dorm. Yin Tongguang knew, but didn’t pry.
Although most people supported Yan-Qiu, they gradually realized Ji Qiu was actually the more proactive Omega—caring, attentive, thorough. Their feelings were complicated, but in the end, they had no choice but to accept the fact.
Meanwhile, Ji Qiu’s old fanbase began to revive.
The reason was simple—they felt their precious Xiao Qiuqiu, even in love, ought to be cherished. Not to come home from hospital internships only to rush to meet Liang Yan, and even when busy, still bring him dinner.
This made them very dissatisfied. That tender protectiveness welled up again.
Qiuqiu might not belong to them, but he deserved happiness!
How could he be treated so humbly!
They decided to keep cheering for Xiao Qiu, to help him regain confidence, to remind him that the world was still a beautiful place.
As for this, Yin Tongguang, who saw through it all, only had four words: Wu Ji Ba Yu (nonsense gibberish).
Your precious Qiuqiu is ridiculously happy—you just don’t know it.
The release date for the 3.0 Inhibitor was finally set. KB officially announced that their groundbreaking product had passed numerous tests and would launch in June next year.
Their promotional copy was lengthy, analyzing the upcoming product from every angle, and clearly explaining the pharmacological effects and metabolism of the new inhibitor.
As for side effects, they attached partial clinical trial data and concluded: “Currently, no conclusive research shows this inhibitor causes severe adverse consequences.”
Media outlets eagerly reported this great news for Omegas, full of praise. Only a tiny minority who remembered an earlier report about potential risks questioned it under KB’s Weibo post, but their doubts were drowned in the flood of positive comments.
Even replies like, “I think I’m allergic to inhibitors, I feel awful when I use them,” went almost unnoticed.
Since Jiang Xinglan’s father went abroad, he hadn’t seen Liang Yan for quite a while.
Though he still didn’t understand why Liang Yan chose Ji Qiu, since he had completely let go, there was no regret, and things between them weren’t awkward.
Indeed, finding the right person wasn’t easy.
Law school lasted only four years. Jiang Xinglan was already in his third year, preparing for graduate exams while also interning per school arrangements.
He was outstanding, and his mentor valued him greatly. Usually, third-years intern at the courts for three or four months. Since Jiang Xinglan had already done so during vacation, he was sent directly to work in corporate law, handling internal legal matters and lawsuits.
One day, his mentor excitedly told him he’d found him an internship at a major company, and would bring him there in a few days.
“This opportunity is once-in-a-lifetime,” the mentor said. “Only a handful of students get such placements. Follow closely—you’ll gain a lot.”
Jiang Xinglan accepted gracefully, took the materials, and prepared to review the company.
He was curious—which company, what kind of legal issues?
Opening the first page, he saw the name.
It really was a big company.
The workplace was the KB headquarters, on the outskirts of Qicheng.
Winter arrived. Qicheng, being inland, rarely saw snow, but the damp cold was nearly unbearable.
The library and dorms had heating, but not the classrooms. Some weaker-willed students stayed holed up in their dorms, and soon, for attendance and participation, many professors revived the fine tradition of roll call every class.
Class S had a different schedule from other classes. Their courses progressed faster—what took other classes a whole semester, they finished in half, aside from lab work.
Originally, Ji Qiu had to attend Dean Liang’s research project weekly, but perhaps because Liang Chen saw his son and Ji Qiu growing closer, and because Liang Chen himself was often away on business, the project was paused. Ji Qiu now had rare free time.
But a true mischief king could never stay idle.
The med school wasn’t fond of campus events, but during Christmas, the whole university town co-hosted a joint party. Among them, the University of Economics and Business, the wealthiest and most centrally located, was chosen as the host.
Each school sent participants, and no one wanted to lose face. They all picked their most popular students—so, inevitably, Ji Qiu was targeted again.
Liang Yan didn’t interfere. In fact, he was curious what performance Ji Qiu would end up doing.
After all, people still hadn’t forgotten his stunning performance at the freshman welcome party.
But Liang Yan never imagined Ji Qiu would agree to help the anime club with a cosplay.
So, one day when Liang Yan went to Ji Qiu’s dorm, he saw a peculiar outfit.
Shiny fabric, fairly thick—warm enough for winter. Its main color was white, with fine fur trim at the collar and cuffs. The craftsmanship looked decent.
But the key was—
Liang Yan pointed at the big tail and pointed ears hanging on the wall. “What’s this?”
“Cosplay props!” Ji Qiu said excitedly. “They want me to play a fox spirit!”
“?”
“No, no, not really—a, um… a fox character.” Ji Qiu shrank back under Liang Yan’s stare.
Liang Yan knew almost nothing about anime, so he had no idea what character Ji Qiu was cosplaying. He pinched the fabric. “You sure this won’t be too cold? Don’t catch a cold.”
Ji Qiu’s eyes lit up. “Yan Yan, are you worried about me?”
“If you catch a cold, don’t come hugging me,” Liang Yan added.
“When I cosplay, I’ll definitely remember to wear long johns!!” Ji Qiu got flustered and quickly raised his voice to answer.
“…That won’t be necessary.”
Near finals, med school always looked like a disaster movie. Seats in the library were impossible to find. Since both of them had classes today, they couldn’t camp there, and with no heating in the classrooms, Liang Yan, who hated the cold, left their private classroom unused.
Thanks to Ji Qiu’s enthusiastic invitation, his dorm had become their new two-person study sanctuary.
Of course, Yin Tongguang didn’t care what happened after they finished “studying.”
Ji Qiu generously gave Liang Yan his old bear pajamas, then bought himself a new set of fluffy pajamas to force a matching couple look. Every time Liang Yan showered in Ji Qiu’s bathroom and saw those childish pajamas hanging there, he’d sink into thought: how had he let himself be led astray like this?
Still, thinking was one thing—he usually ended up frowning and putting them on anyway.
After showering, he came out, toweling his hair dry, and sat down on Ji Qiu’s other bed.
After all, if they kept squeezing into one bed, it was far too small. Having another bed had many uses—for example, when Ji Qiu acted up, he could be sent there to sleep.
Ji Qiu came over with a hairdryer. Ever since the first time, he always made a fuss until he got to blow Liang Yan’s hair. Liang Yan eventually gave in, and it became a habit: the Omega, dressed in bear pajamas, would shower and sit quietly, waiting for his Alpha to dry his hair.
Today was no exception. Ji Qiu’s blow-drying skills had improved a lot—no more explosive messes. Now he styled as he pleased. Liang Yan once looked in the mirror and said if Ji Qiu ever gave up being a doctor, he could open a cheap barbershop outside the hospital: ten yuan a head, guaranteed profit.
Ji Qiu turned off the dryer, set it aside, and while Liang Yan was still fiddling with his hair, leaned over to hug him.
A green dinosaur hugged a brown bear.
The dinosaur rested his head on the bear’s shoulder and eagerly asked: “Yan Yan, are you going back to your dorm tonight?”
The bear answered coldly: “Yes.”
The dinosaur pretended to cry, even rubbing his “horns” against the bear.
So the bear, annoyed, curled his lips: “Cut it out. Later. I still haven’t reviewed microbiology. Don’t you have to go to the hospital tomorrow?”
“Mm. But it’s fine—I already arranged with that grandma to visit her in the afternoon.”
The bear ruffled the dinosaur’s head. “Okay.”
Ji Qiu once said he wasn’t sure what he’d be doing if not for the matter of Ji Yang.
But Liang Yan remembered the first time he saw Ji Qiu in the hospital, wearing a white coat, smiling so sincerely. He thought being a doctor suited him just fine.
Both studied efficiently. If Liang Yan didn’t understand something, he could ask Ji Qiu. Mischievous as he was, Ji Qiu’s knowledge was solid, and he often gave useful perspectives.
With his help, Liang Yan quickly finished the exam review booklet printed by the teaching department and was soon dozing off against the bed.
Ji Qiu also finished his work, then, like clockwork, drew the curtains and turned the air conditioner up.
His little bear gave him a sideways glare.
“I have class early tomorrow.”
“I promise I won’t keep you too long.”
“So fast?”
“…Yan Yan, that’s not what I meant QAQ.”
“Talk properly.”
“Yan Yan! I like you!”
“……”
“Yan Yan?”
“One more word of nonsense and you won’t get another chance.”
So the little dinosaur finally kissed the little bear he longed for.
The little dinosaur was careful, gentle.
After brief affection, he lowered his lips further.
His little bear lay quietly on the bed, not saying much—especially at times like this.
The little bear had a jar of honey.
The little dinosaur, too impatient, accidentally knocked it over. Honey filled his mouth.
He thought for a moment, then swallowed it all down.
After all, that was his most beloved little bear.
And in the boundless tide, Liang Yan thought—except for that first night when Ji Qiu had lost control and accidentally knotted him, Ji Qiu’s dorm was now well-prepared with the usual tools.
So… things should be fine, right?
Ji Qiu’s cosplay was really just standing on stage, striking a pose or two, showing off to Alphas from other schools what an outstanding Omega Med School had. After trying on the costume, he only had to join one or two rehearsals—no need to gather every day.
On the first day of a dress rehearsal, Ji Qiu eagerly invited Liang Yan to watch his fox-spirit outfit.
Yin Tongguang, with nothing better to do, tagged along.
Ji Qiu hadn’t even finished putting on the outfit but already had the ears and tail on.
“Yan Yan Yan Yan!” He ran toward Liang Yan excitedly, tail swishing, though it slightly messed up his walk. “I got a new title today!”
Liang Yan honestly didn’t want to know what it was.
But obviously, Ji Qiu was going to share.
The fox spirit taller than him wagged his tail, threw him a wink, and bashfully said: “Everyone… everyone’s calling me Little Sweet Qiu!”
Liang Yan looked at the “Omega” who had gotten way too into character and said emotionlessly:
“Oh.”
Yin Tongguang stood by, calmly watching the domestic violence scene unfold.
Pitiful—but not worth pity.
That was his conclusion.
This time, Ji Qiu finally learned that if you get hit on the left cheek, you should masochistically offer the right one. So, teary-eyed, with fluffy ears perked up, he pleaded: “Yan Yan, I want to eat fists! Don’t hold back—let them fall on me!”
Liang Yan was at a loss for how to respond. He tugged at the corner of his mouth and lightly thumped Ji Qiu’s chest twice. “There. Big chunks. Two punches enough?”
Little Sweet Qiu, eyes brimming with tears, gratefully said: “Enough! Thank you, Yan Yan, you’re the best!”
“……”
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