“Crying easily, big watery eyes, lips a bit red, narrow face, has to be pretty, pale skin…”
The private room was large, and the air conditioner was set to a very low temperature. Yet the waiter standing in the farthest corner was still sweating profusely. He was a subpar Alpha. Even after working in this high-end club for over a year and believing he’d seen his fair share of the world, he had never been in the same room with so many top-tier, fair-skinned, and beautiful Omegas before.
The secretary quickly finished reading the summary, carefully reviewed every page of the file, then looked up to verify the Omegas kneeling in neat rows. After confirming several times, he respectfully handed the printed dossier to the young employer seated on the sofa and said, “All thirty-two candidates you’re looking for are here.”
A pale, slender hand flipped through the file carelessly, then let out a faint, disdainful chuckle. “Terrible taste.”
The secretary echoed from the side, “Mr. Sheng Shaoyou never falls in love. He only associates with young and attractive Omegas. Calling it a relationship is a stretch—it’s really just bed companionship. None of them stay around for long. But his preferences are very consistent. Some even joke that, in his own way, he’s rather loyal.”
The young employer said nothing, but having worked with him for many years, the secretary was adept at reading his expressions.
He noticed the employer’s gaze linger at the top-right corner of the document.
The file, meticulously compiled by the secretary, detailed every Omega who had been involved with Sheng Shaoyou. The top-right corner marked the duration of each relationship.
Before the employer could ask, the attentive secretary volunteered, “Among all his lovers, the longest lasted only six months. His name was Song Huancheng.”
A certain Omega in the corner couldn’t help but glance up upon hearing his name. The man sitting at the center of the room looked like someone not to be trifled with. Song didn’t dare look directly at him and only stole a quick glance—yet he still got caught.
A beautifully shaped hand lifted slightly and pointed casually at him. The secretary immediately caught on and repeated, “You. Come here.”
Song Huancheng was extremely attractive, with eyes that naturally sloped downward at the corners, making him look especially affectionate and innocent. He vaguely understood he was being summoned because of his past with Sheng Shaoyou.
Coming from a modest background, his fling with the prominent young master was more accurately described as being kept than dating.
Thanks to his looks and body, Song Huancheng had now made a name for himself as a singer-dancer idol. He was in the middle of work when he’d been “invited” here today.
One didn’t thrive in the entertainment industry by being naïve. He clearly understood that someone who could bring together all of Sheng Shaoyou’s exes was not an ordinary figure.
He was scared but dared not defy, trembling as he walked over and tried to distance himself. “President Sheng and I have been separated for a long time. We haven’t been in contact for years…”
The man in the seat didn’t respond to his explanation. But contrary to expectations, he didn’t interrogate him harshly. His pampered hands held no whips or knives—only long, fair fingers resting lightly on his knees. His smiling eyes looked over at Song Huancheng, stirring something even in someone used to beauty like him.
The elite young master asked in a gentle, lazy tone, “You were with him for six months?”
The man’s pheromones weren’t particularly strong, but maybe because the Omega was too close, their scent became unusually distinct—cold, sharp, and yet strangely pleasant. Song Huancheng began to feel feverish.
It was a primal reaction—the instinctual submission to a dominant being. More terrified now, the usually articulate Song couldn’t find his words. With his head lowered, he stammered, “Y-yes.”
The next second, his chin was firmly grasped, forcing his head up.
The man who’d questioned him earlier tilted his head slightly, revealing a suppression patch on the pale nape of his neck.
Song Huancheng had seen many top-tier S-class Alphas before, but never had he met someone whose scent could overpower even a suppression patch.
His submissive instincts battled within—panic and fear clashing with an urge to get closer. Tears welled up and rolled uncontrollably down his cheeks, falling one by one onto the marble floor. Ashamed by the raw physical reaction, Song Huancheng trembled, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it might leap from his chest.
“Don’t cry just yet…” the man said softly. “Tell me first—what kind of person does Sheng Shaoyou really like?”
…
All thirty-two Omegas were questioned one by one. Despite the number, the process went surprisingly smoothly, as each was docile and cooperative.
Once they had all left, the young man finally peeled off the now-useless suppression patch and tossed it into the trash. The pheromonal pressure in the room made the Alpha waiter stumble and grab the wall for support. Drenched in cold sweat, he picked up the trash bin and muttered, “I’ll take this out for you,” before quickly fleeing the room.
“One hour and six minutes,” the young man glanced at the time, then looked up at his secretary.
The secretary looked helpless. “I’m really sorry. That was the most effective suppression patch currently on the market. Other inhibitors have no effect on you.” Still, he braced himself and promised, “But don’t worry. I’ll push the lab to accelerate development and create a formula that works specifically for you.”
…
Everything could be traced back to that catastrophe years ago.
At first, it was just wearing masks. Society thought it was merely a mass cold. Everyone wore masks, but otherwise, life seemed normal.
But things quickly changed.
Within a year, individuals with AB or rare blood types began dying en masse.
WHO and top global medical labs held press conferences to announce that the virus attacked more than the respiratory system. It caused systemic infection, affecting eyesight, cardiac muscle, and reproductive functions.
AB and rare blood types had nearly 100% mortality rates. Type A and O had a staggering 86.5% death rate. Only Type B had low severity and a 0.5% death rate.
Despite understanding the virus better, panic continued. People blindly hoarded medications, all to no avail.
The virus spread through droplets, aerosols, and bodily fluids. Its high infectiousness and long incubation period made it unavoidable.
By the time people realized it altered reproductive genetics, it was too late. Human population structure and reproductive patterns had been permanently changed.
After the outbreak’s peak, Type B made up 86.9% of the population, but natural conception had dropped to under 10%.
The belief that the virus caused infertility became mainstream. Deeper studies revealed humanity had evolved into a new gender system—ABO.
Blood tests showed that beyond chromosomes and genitals, humanity had split into three genders: Alpha, Beta, and Omega.
Alphas, regardless of biological sex, could impregnate. Betas had low fertility. Omegas, regardless of sex, could conceive.
This stunned scientists. Despite ongoing research, there was no cure or reversal.
Years passed. With each generation, infected humans developed fangs, glandular structures, pheromones, and periodic heat cycles.
All signs pointed to an atavistic phenomenon. The focus shifted from curing the virus to debating: is this evolution or regression?
Time healed all. Humanity and their offspring accepted it. The disaster became a footnote in textbooks, described as another step in evolution.
“…Natural selection. Survival of the fittest. Many believe we’ve perfectly adapted to the ABO system—why bother tracing our origins…”
The female anchor’s clear voice was laced with fervor. “But in truth, studying human evolution is vital. By learning from the past…” She paused, then said sternly, “Recently, scientists discovered there may be rarer genders beyond Alpha, Beta, and Omega…”
Sheng Shaoyou sipped his whiskey, surprised that his second-gen elite friends were watching an evolution documentary over dinner.
“People are saying S-class Alphas are no longer the pinnacle. The newly discovered Enigma is…”
“What do you think, Shaoyou?”
“Attention-seeking,” he replied bluntly.
He set down his glass. The moody lighting highlighted his sharp, handsome features, casting a striking silhouette on the glossy black tabletop.
As the heir of Shengfang Biotech, Sheng Shaoyou had been deeply entrenched in biotech for years. Having just taken over from his ailing father earlier this year, he was arguably the most qualified in the room to speak on this topic.
He believed the so-called Enigma was just an S-class Alpha misidentified due to a faulty test. Not a miracle—just a misdiagnosed joke.
Even if Enigma were real, the odds of their existence were less than one in a billion. Debating something rarer than a meteor strike was absurd.
Disinterested, he glanced at the time, grabbed his coat, and left.
His secretary, Chen Pinming, was already waiting by the car and opened the door for him swiftly.
“President Sheng, are we heading directly to HS Group?”
Sheng had a post-dinner meeting with Shen Wenlang, HS Group’s young CEO.
He nodded and got in.
The car smelled good—top notes of bitter orange and rum, followed by rich woody scents.
Chen, a Beta nearing forty and a capable worker, wasn’t sensitive to pheromones. But once Sheng’s face darkened, Chen frowned and asked the driver, “Did you change the car fragrance?”
“Yes,” the driver said, puzzled. “It’s ‘Drunk Branch’ from HS Group.”
Chen looked like he could kill. The driver stammered, “It’s popular right now…”
Popular? It was more than that—it was everywhere.
Just like Shengfang Biotech, HS Group specialized in biotech. Shengfang invented the “gene scissors,” while HS mastered their application.
In layman’s terms, Shengfang made the tool, but HS knew how to use it effectively.
This made HS a rising biotech unicorn. Then they bought a cosmetics company and launched pheromone-based products, claiming their scent could turn anyone into “walking hormones.”
Their flagship scent, “Drunk Branch,” was wild yet elegant. It became the market leader, mimicked by everyone—even cleaning products boasted having it.
“Is this your first day?” Chen snapped before Sheng could speak. “Change it immediately!”
The driver apologized as Chen rolled down the windows. The night wind diluted the scent, and Sheng’s mood eased.
Chen knew Sheng hated “Drunk Branch” because it was nearly identical to his own pheromone scent.
What should’ve been his unique signature had become mass-produced trash. He loathed HS and had never interacted with its CEO—until now.
With Shengfang’s succession settled, and as the rightful heir, Sheng decided to put aside his hatred to discuss a potential collaboration.
But Shen Wenlang made him wait, claiming to be “busy” and insisted Sheng visit his office instead.
A mutual friend awkwardly relayed this, trying to smooth it over: “He’s really just busy, not trying to be difficult.”
Sheng wanted to curse Shen out but instead smiled, “Of course, expansion comes with a full schedule. I understand.” He even thanked the friend for the introduction and said, “I heard your new club opens soon—invite me.”
The friend, who ran upscale clubs, eagerly agreed.
Before hanging up, he warned, “Shen hates Omegas. Don’t bring one if you want to talk business.”
Sheng was flirtatious but not vulgar. His friend assumed sex appeal was key to deals—but Sheng took the advice in stride.
“A valuable tip. Thanks, brother.”
But upon arriving at Shen’s office, Sheng started to doubt the tip.
He was greeted by Gao Tu, a tall, slender Beta who handed over a business card. Sheng barely glanced and said, “Pleasure.”
Chen quickly took the card and exchanged his own. “Working late too, huh? That’s dedication.”
Gao, despite his humble look, wasn’t stupid. “We’re all working hard. It’s a pleasure, President Sheng.”
But Shen wasn’t exactly busy as claimed.
When they entered, even Gao froze. Shen was holding a new secretary named Hua close, their posture intimate. Shen’s expression was cold.
Hua, an Omega, looked overwhelmed. His shirt was untucked, his collar open, exposing his trembling chest.
An Alpha holding an Omega, red-eyed and short of breath—any adult would know what was happening.
Sheng, an Alpha himself, could clearly tell Shen didn’t hate Omegas at all.
The two were so engrossed they didn’t notice their visitors.
Sheng stood at the door with his hands in his pockets, coldly watching the show.
Hua whispered tearfully, “President Shen, please don’t…”
Shen smirked and yanked him closer by the nape. Their lips were inches apart.
Gao couldn’t bear it and loudly coughed to signal his boss.
Shen finally looked up, his expression softening. “President Sheng, welcome. Please, have a seat.”
But his hand didn’t let go.
The Omega, unlike Shen, clearly panicked. He broke free, hurriedly fixed his disheveled clothes, then finally dared to look up.
Wet eyes, thick lashes, lips like petals, skin shockingly pale…
Sheng’s heart skipped a beat. Words slipped out of his mouth—
“You?!”