56: So, Shaoqing… you’re about to have very bad luck
Hua Yong’s pheromones carried no subjective oppression.
Even amidst the thick scent, Sheng Shaoqing barely managed to stay upright and move.
He never imagined that this delicate, fragile-looking Omega would throw himself forward at the crucial moment… to shield Sheng Shaoyou from the blade.
What he also didn’t expect — was that this exquisitely beautiful little creature… wasn’t even an Omega, but… an Alpha?
But once the bow was drawn, there was no turning back.
The blood-streaked knife in his hand weighed heavy, a constant reminder that there was no retreat now.
Gritting his teeth, Sheng Shaoqing let out a roar, raised the knife, and lunged toward Sheng Shaoyou again.
But suddenly — a sharp pain shot through his wrist, and his arm went numb. The blade’s aim faltered.
Clang—clatter—
A shadow faster than lightning struck, leaving his entire arm numb.
The knife flew from his hand, spinning away and landing with a metallic clatter.
Rolling across the floor, a ceramic chopstick rest — used as a throwing weapon — spun to a stop.
Hua Yong slowly straightened up, looking toward the camera with a pitiful expression and murmured:
“Mr. Sheng, you saw it, right? He made the first move. I was only acting in self-defense.”
“You… how are you even standing?!”
His beautiful face was pale from blood loss, almost translucent. The icy severity in his expression made Sheng Shaoqing’s hair stand on end.
Some primal instinct to fear the strong took over — he felt terrified, his legs unsteady.
Backing away, he stammered:
“Impossible. How could this be?”
Hua Yong paused the recording, his lips — usually curled faintly — flattening into a hard line. His voice turned sharp as ice:
“What exactly is impossible?”
Crack—
The absolute predator lightly flexed his fingers, then tore off the bloody suppressant patch at his nape without expression.
“Disgusting trash like you, crawling with cockroach blood, dares share even half of Mr. Sheng’s lineage? There’s nothing more absurd in the world. If you can be his brother, what isn’t possible?”
Hua Yong chuckled lowly:
“You really have a thick skin. You dared say, ‘If you lose him, you still have me.'”
“—If I lose him, what the hell do I want you for? To hang in the pantry like a smoked sausage for Lunar New Year?”
And he hated smoked meat more than anything.
The situation turned on a dime. Before Sheng Shaoqing could react, he’d already lost the upper hand.
That pale, stunning youth stood there as though pain didn’t exist — blood streaming from his damaged gland down his back, soaking his clothes, pooling on the floor like spilled red wine.
But Hua Yong’s expression was calm, as if bleeding was just another Tuesday.
Once the camera was off, his even brows smoothed out — no longer a fragile young man but an emotionless, finely crafted marionette.
Chilled to the bone, Sheng Shaoqing forced himself to bark:
“I just want Sheng Shaoyou dead! If you know what’s good for you, get out of my way!”
Hua Yong suddenly lifted his head — eyes sharp and fierce, blood smeared across his snow-white face, making him look inhuman.
That terrifying gaze pierced right through Sheng Shaoqing’s heart.
An unprecedented, suffocating pressure made his teeth chatter uncontrollably.
The gentle, soft beauty had become something razor-sharp and sinister.
His bloodless lips parted slightly:
“Because you’re the little brother, I’ve been polite. But you dared to take Mr. Sheng’s life — and break my gland. It’ll heal soon enough, but it hurts —”
“—So, Shaoqing… you’re about to have very bad luck.”
!
Outside of a bond, having one’s gland cut was usually fatal — no such thing as “healing soon.”
But looking at this man now, Sheng Shaoqing had no choice but to believe he could.
Because Hua Yong wasn’t human — he was a monster.
Sedatives, blood loss, gland damage…
None of it seemed to matter to him.
Some survival instinct screamed at Sheng Shaoqing — he bolted, nearly tearing the door from its hinges.
Hua Yong pressed a hand to his gland, head spinning from blood loss and cold, but rage kept him too exhilarated to feel pain.
Unlike Sheng Shaoqing’s blind panic, Hua Yong pushed open the door and strolled out as if for a casual walk.
Just outside the room, four of Sheng Shaoqing’s henchmen sprang to block him, tense and hostile.
Hua Yong clicked his tongue lightly, frowning faintly:
“Don’t block the way.”
Weak little bugs ought to know to move aside — before someone squashed them and dirtied the floor.
Surveying the four men coolly, he murmured:
“B-rank, C-rank… and two Betas? So weak, I don’t even dare to hit you.”
His doctors and trainers agreed on one thing: Enigmas are natural-born predators, fighters, sadists.
Adrenaline from combat and rage let him overcome anything.
Hua Yong was well-trained, able to suppress his primal instinct to crush the weak — crucial, because in his eyes, all other humans were frail.
But suppression was a thousand times harder than release.
A bright, beautiful flame of anger blazed in his eyes.
One provocation after another — his fury boiled like magma, held back only by sheer will.
Don’t act. Don’t act. Mr. Sheng wouldn’t like it. Killing is a crime.
He folded his arms to keep himself from reaching out and snapping these ants in half.
“I don’t want to fight,” he said slowly.
“Will you move aside? I just want to give Shaoqing a little lesson.”
He lifted a delicate hand, his fingers pinched into a small gap:
“Just a little, I promise.”
The four of them froze — overwhelmed by his impossibly strong pheromones, like gazelles facing a lion.
No one dared move.
“Any volunteers?”
“Ah? No one?” Hua Yong shrugged lightly, fished out his phone, and dialed a number that had been tracking his location.
A cheery children’s song rang out under the same roof — unsettlingly bright:
“Daddy always praises me~ praises me~
I have a pair of magical hands~ magical hands~
Can wash clothes, sew buttons~ fix socks~
Do everything myself~ myself~ do it myself!~”
The four exchanged nervous glances, their brows damp with cold sweat.
It was like a horror movie — a bloody Alpha, a desolate industrial park, and a chilling nursery rhyme.
Hua Yong ended the call, licked his pale lips, and sighed:
“Following someone and forgetting to silence your phone? What are you even doing?”
Whoosh—
A black figure appeared, fast as lightning.
“Bea and the kid went to the amusement park. I was afraid I’d miss a call, so I didn’t mute it.”
The four henchmen stared at the newcomer — a tall, lean man clad in a black robe like an ancient swordsman, a golden five-clawed dragon emblazoned across his chest.
“Long Zuo,” Hua Yong said. “Since you’re here, I won’t bother. I’m too angry, and they’re too weak — if I move, I’ll kill them. Can you deal with this for me… is that okay?”
Long Zuo hesitated:
“But Bea told me not to fight so casually…”
“Casually? You forget who got you your warm home and family? Helping me is not fighting casually.”
“Guess not,” Long Zuo relented.
“By the way,” he added, “one of them ran. Do you want to chase him?”
“Mm. He’s Mr. Sheng’s family — I’ll see to him personally.”
Long Zuo nodded, frowning at the blood soaking Hua Yong:
“That from the one who ran?”
Hua Yong didn’t answer, only murmured:
“What rotten luck. Stuck with this kind of relative.”
The two of them spoke as if chatting at home, while the four henchmen panicked and lunged at what they thought was the weaker target — Hua Yong.
“Ah, don’t—”
Don’t throw your lives away, Long Zuo thought. Better to hit me than him.
Hua Yong’s expression darkened.
Crack—
The windows shattered. A crushing wave of pheromones swept the room, rattling the lights and making the floor quake.
The broken gland was like a breached dam, flooding the air with oppressive force.
Long Zuo clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, retreating at lightning speed.
“I’ll handle the runner. You take care of this.”
Before he even finished speaking, the orchid-scented pheromones erupted like wildfire, suffocating everyone in the room.
Had Long Zuo not bolted, he too might have been crushed under that monstrous presence.
The restaurant was on the third floor. He descended quickly, searching each level, until he spotted Sheng Shaoqing fleeing down the stairwell.
The echo of his frantic footsteps resounded through the empty corridors.
Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.
Sheng Shaoqing dared not take the elevator, running madly down the stairwell.
At the landing between the second and first floors, he suddenly saw Long Zuo leaning casually against the railing, looking up at him.
Tall, lean, his sharp features cruel and imposing — but the sweet scent of milk candy in the air betrayed him:
—This wasn’t a fierce Alpha at all.
But a naturally delicate Omega.