39: He Felt Himself Losing Consciousness
That noon, utterly exhausted, Sheng Shaoyou finally managed to take a rare nap.
It had been a long time since he’d slept so soundly.
Lately, he’d really been having the worst luck: first, inexplicably assaulted after a banquet, then left sleepless and unsettled by Hua Yong’s disappearance.
These past few days, Sheng had been on edge, short of breath, drained to the core.
This nap lasted all the way until four in the afternoon.
When he woke, Hua Yong was at the table wearing an apron, setting down a chiffon cake from the oven.
Sheng Shaoyou wasn’t fond of sweets, so Hua Yong had made a reduced‑sugar version. With less sugar, the whipped egg whites deflated more quickly, so the cake wasn’t as airy as usual — but the sweetness was just right, exactly to Sheng’s taste.
It didn’t look great, but Sheng still gave him face, pinched off a piece, and put it in his mouth.
“Very sweet,” he remarked.
Hua Yong looked nervous, crestfallen, his brows knitting.
“Still too sweet? I already halved the sugar.”
Sheng leaned in with a smile and licked the corner of his lips.
“Mm. Anything you make is sweet — even without sugar.”
The young Alpha watched with satisfaction as his beloved’s face flushed bright red, and the gloom of loss and humiliation lifted a little.
His heart felt like a freshly baked cake — soft and sweet.
After reclaiming the quiet orchid scent that was his alone, and sleeping in its embrace all afternoon, Sheng’s soreness and discomfort improved greatly. He felt clear‑headed again; even the bite wound at the back of his neck ached less.
That afternoon, they enjoyed a pleasant tea together, then cozied up in the study to pick out a couple of books to read.
But Sheng wouldn’t walk properly — he clung to Hua Yong, draping himself over him like dead weight. Hua was tripped up and couldn’t move, half laughing, half exasperated, pushing at him:
“Mr. Sheng, how am I supposed to walk like this?”
“That’s your problem,” Sheng replied unreasonably, lowering his head to nibble on Hua’s ear.
“Our Hua Yong is so clever — I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
He was utterly adorable when being clingy, his tone so soft it could drip water, as if he couldn’t survive a day without Hua.
Hua got his wish, smiling as his brows curved, reaching around to stroke his back like an experienced hunter soothing a tamed wolf.
“Mr. Sheng, be good.”
“I already am,” Sheng chuckled low, his breath hot and syrupy.
“If you want to see what I’m like when I’m not good — I’ll show you next time in the bedroom. Don’t get scared then.”
Hua turned to meet his gaze, his eyes sparkling as if to say: Just try it.
Sheng’s bookcase had been moved from his old home. When he relocated, even four strong A‑level Alphas couldn’t lift it entirely — it was made of precious, heavy wood, and the indoor elevator was too narrow. In the end, they had to use a crane to hoist it in through the second‑floor balcony.
It had been part of his mother’s dowry, heirloom wood that still gave off a calming scent in the study.
Standing before the shelves, Sheng pulled out Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy. Beside him, Hua hesitated between Gibran’s Sand and Foam and Zweig’s The World of Yesterday. Sheng watched him out of the corner of his eye, noting how graceful and beautiful those pale fingers were, making his heart go soft and hot all at once.
Hua finally chose Gibran’s essays, fingers resting on the spine — but before he could pull it out, the book trembled slightly. His expression turned alert, hand pausing.
A strange, unfamiliar sound seemed to come from nowhere.
Sheng felt the vibration too — faint and fleeting — but he couldn’t be sure if it was real or imagined. He lifted his head sharply, scanning around.
Then the ground suddenly shook violently.
Thud, thud, thud —
The solid floor seemed to spawn countless whirlpools, waves crashing into each other, swallowing everything bolted down. The heavy bookcase began to sway like a candle stuck in melting butter, and without warning, it toppled toward Hua on the left.
Boom — crash!
Sheng hadn’t expected it, but instinct kicked in before thought. In a flash, he lunged forward, grabbing Hua’s wrist and pulling him tightly into his arms.
Fast as lightning.
The muscles of his S‑class Alpha back were taut to the limit, the crushing weight of the cabinet pressing his organs out of place, bones grinding against muscle in excruciating pain. The sharp wooden frame struck his brow, splitting the skin; blood trickled down his forehead.
Yet his expression stayed calm.
He was decisive, steadfast — born to protect.
Hua stared at him, eyes full of something Sheng couldn’t read — surprised that Sheng would shield him so unhesitatingly, and that this ordinary wooden cabinet could actually injure a powerful S‑class Alpha.
“Seems like an earthquake,” Hua murmured.
Maybe because he was nestled in the Alpha’s arms, he stayed remarkably calm.
Sheng’s temple throbbed with agony, his back felt trampled by elephants, the bite wound on his neck pulsed painfully, the sting radiating through sensitive nerves and mixing with the crushing pain.
“Ah—”
He opened his mouth to comfort Hua, but only a groan escaped his lips.
The shaking continued, cabinet tilting further, forcing the Alpha to his knees, his breaths harsh and labored.
“Hah — hah—”
Hundreds of kilos pressed down — enough to kill any inferior Alpha.
His overworked thighs trembled, the veins in his neck bulged and pulsed violently.
The Omega in his arms watched him, clear hesitation in his eyes.
Furniture all around shook visibly, windows groaned as if about to shatter, walls and ceiling creaked ominously.
Creak— crack— snap!
Dust fell from the ceiling, blinding them. Trophies and ornaments rained down with loud crashes. Above them, the mounted deer head — “The Eternal Deer” — vibrated as if about to fall.
Time itself shattered into pieces — seconds stretched into what felt like centuries.
Sheng’s strength was nearly gone, but still the tremors didn’t stop. Before he completely exhausted himself, he let go of Hua, painfully raised his hand to grip his shoulder, eyes blazing as he reassured him:
“It’s okay… don’t be afraid.”
The quake intensified, the cabinet leaned harder, his back and head screamed with pain, metallic taste filling his mouth. Words of comfort forced out through clenched teeth:
“You… go… find… open space… I’ll… be right… behind…”
His vision blurred, the pale, beautiful face before him fading. Hua’s mouth moved as if saying something, but Sheng couldn’t hear it.
The world fell away.
Crack—
The wall behind them split open.
The metal ring holding the deer head came loose from the violent shaking. The head tipped, its antlers catching the ring, yanking it free entirely.
The heavy deer head fell, uncontrollable —
Bang! Thud—
Sheng instinctively squeezed his eyes shut. But the expected pain never came.
When he opened his eyes again, the deer head lay shattered meters away, one glassy eye rolling to his feet, as if accusing some beast of having gutted it.
Before he could process it, before the darkness swallowed him completely, he looked up.
— The Omega he’d been shielding all this time had extended his slender arm past him, palm pressed to the cabinet.
The crushing weight on Sheng’s back suddenly lifted. His taut muscles slackened, but his knees gave way, sending him tumbling forward.
Hua, still in his arms, frowned faintly — as though angered by his bloody face — his pale features darkened with unprecedented fury.
He caught Sheng around the waist, stopping him from falling further.
One slim arm held the limp Sheng steady, the other rose and — expressionless — shoved the monstrous cabinet upright and flush against the wall with a resounding bang—.
The force left a deep dent in the quivering wall, wedging the cabinet firmly in place so it didn’t budge again.
With the danger finally gone, Sheng’s eyes lost focus.
He slowly closed them, consciousness slipping into darkness.