70 (2nd cp): Gao Tu Only Wanted the Child, Not the Man
After her surgery, Gao Qing no longer needed to be hospitalized long-term — just periodic checkups. That afternoon, Gao Tu accompanied her for a follow-up visit.
While Gao Qing was being examined in the consultation room, Gao Tu stood outside, holding her phone and jacket, waiting.
After turning fourteen, Gao Qing had changed a lot, as if she’d suddenly shed her timid little girl shell and grown into a mature young adult overnight.
My little sister has grown up.
The thought filled Gao Tu with a bittersweet kind of relief, but before he could dwell on it, the phone in Gao Qing’s jacket pocket buzzed, interrupting him.
It was a number saved in her contacts as “Do Not Answer.”
Gao Tu hesitated.
He thought of a recent case that had made headlines — a high school girl who’d secretly gotten involved with shady adults and had ended up missing. Her family, respectful of her privacy and unaware of what was happening, had no clues, and the investigation had stalled.
With that in mind, staring at the screen flashing Do Not Answer, a chill ran through him.
He found himself torn between ensuring Gao Qing’s safety — confirming she wasn’t mixed up with some unsavory people — and respecting her privacy. In the end, he gritted his teeth and decided to be the “bad brother,” sacrificing a bit of her privacy for her safety.
He gently swiped to answer.
The good news: the caller wasn’t some random thug.
The bad news: it was Gao Ming.
“Gao Tu?!” The instant Gao Ming recognized his voice, his tone shot up to a harsh demand:
“Where the hell have you been? Why did your number suddenly go dead?!”
“Dad.” Gao Tu took a deep breath, nervous.
“Sorry… I had some things to deal with, so I canceled that number.”
Then cautiously:
“Why are you looking for me?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Gao Ming said casually.
“That money you sent me two months ago — I can pay you back now. I couldn’t reach you before, so I tried my luck calling Qing instead.”
Gao Tu froze, almost thinking he’d misheard.
Pay… me back?
That was something that had never happened before.
Every time Gao Ming called, it was never for anything good. To hear him say he wanted to return the money — this was a first.
“No need,” Gao Tu replied softly, a little relieved by his father’s rare mildness.
“If you have extra money, just keep it. Just… don’t gamble again.”
“Don’t worry,” Gao Ming actually chuckled, sounding cheerful — a far cry from his usual angry, coarse self:
“I’ve found a great gig now. Won’t have to worry about money anymore, and I won’t gamble either.”
“That’s good,” Gao Tu said, finally able to relax a bit.
Then he added, after some thought:
“Dad… I’ve had some things going on lately, and some trouble at work, so I probably can’t stay in Jianghu anymore.”
“Then where are you now?”
“Qing and I went back home.”
“Oh,” Gao Ming replied.
“Well, that’s not too far from Jianghu anyway.”
“Mm.”
“But you know,” Gao Ming continued,
“Jianghu’s full of opportunities — way more than a small hometown. You went to school for so many years just so you could get a good job, right? Back home, what can you even do? How will you support your sister? Have you thought about that?”
Gao Tu had already asked himself those questions over and over, the night before he resigned.
But he’d found no answer.
It was true: he’d gone through all those years of schooling to get a good job, one that would let him take care of his family — and those jobs only existed in Jianghu.
He had once had such a job — enviable, paying far above industry standards.
Working beside Shen Wenlang fulfilled every financial plan he’d ever had. But he really couldn’t go on anymore.
No amount of money could change that.
Being around Shen Wenlang suffocated him.
Every minute in his presence felt unbearably painful.
Sometimes, brewing tea, he would suddenly think of that night.
Of all the kisses they’d shared, of their frenzied entanglement, of the stolen, unwanted, uncherished little life now growing inside him.
Whenever he thought of it, he felt cheap, greedy, worthless.
Once, he had only hoped that, as an Omega, Shen would treat him as an equal — even just as a friend or colleague. That would’ve been enough.
But now… he’d grown greedy.
It was terrifying.
Shen Wenlang had turned him from a wretched liar into a greedy thief.
He’d lied, he’d stolen — not only tricking his way into Shen’s company, but also stealing a night of the worst kind of intimacy.
And the most frightening part? He still sometimes caught himself imagining — foolishly — that maybe, just maybe, Shen could one day accept his feelings.
When he realized this, it felt like starring in a horror film — his heart pounding with fear.
Maybe he was delusional. Or crazy.
And worse was yet to come.
When he discovered he was pregnant, his mind went blank.
The pheromone specialist sternly recommended immediate termination.
“As someone with pheromone disorder, it’s impossible to carry a pregnancy to term alone! Mr. Gao, you can’t be reckless like this!”
The doctor was right.
Over the years he’d come to know Gao Tu well, and had even assumed he had a partner — someone who despised his scent and discriminated against him.
“For your own life, I advise you to give up the baby,” the doctor said.
“Isn’t there another way?” Gao Tu asked, pale.
“I heard there are synthetic calming pheromones now, or maybe I could try using a more compatible Alpha’s pheromones—”
“That’s unrealistic,” the doctor scolded, looking at the pitiful Omega before him — gaunt, sleepless, nauseous — and even he couldn’t bear to see him like this.
“The Alpha you like is a real bastard.”
“He isn’t,” Gao Tu interrupted, murmuring.
“It’s my fault.”
“What’s your fault?” the older Omega doctor slammed his clipboard on the table.
“Even if you’re flawed, you couldn’t have gotten pregnant alone! Doesn’t that bastard bear any responsibility for knocking you up while despising Omegas?!”
Gao Tu didn’t want to argue about who was responsible. At this point, it was pointless — better to focus on finding a solution.
“Doctor,” he said softly,
“I know you mean well, but… I really want this child.”
He felt ashamed even saying it — wanting to keep Shen’s baby — and lowered his head further.
After a long silence, he added hoarsely:
“Why can’t I use someone else’s pheromones?”
The doctor sighed.
“Patients with your condition already suffer more than most. Without your Alpha’s pheromones, pregnancy will be extremely hard to sustain. You’ve already seen how severe your symptoms are.”
“What about synthetic pheromones? Or another Alpha’s?”
“Synthetic ones don’t work very well. And other Alphas’…” The doctor paused, glaring at him.
“That carries serious moral risk!”
Gao Tu blushed furiously.
The doctor relented a little:
“If you find a volunteer, you can use extracted pheromones.”
“Extracted?”
“Yes. We can isolate pheromones from blood. But with your disorder and severe symptoms, even that might not help you carry to term. I still advise you to terminate.”
“But what if I try?”
“What?”
Sitting in that consultation room, trying over and over to negotiate for the baby’s sake, Gao Tu closed his eyes in shame. He didn’t even know how to describe Shen Wenlang — the man who’d accidentally given him this child.
“The baby’s father’s pheromones,” Gao Tu whispered.
“If I can convince him to give me an extract… then I could keep it, right?”
At that time, he still naively believed Shen was someone he could reason with.
He even drafted a full plan — had a lawyer prepare property waiver forms, inheritance renunciation, and custody termination agreements.
He tried to make it clear he wanted nothing else — to prove his intentions were pure:
Gao Tu only wanted the child. Not the man.
But reality slapped him in the face.
After all his careful preparation, after finally summoning the courage to bring it up, Shen’s reply had been:
“Of course you’re aborting it.”
In that moment, Gao Tu gave up completely.
Synthetic or not, another Alpha or not — he would no longer ask Shen for help.
He didn’t even want to speak to him again.
Standing outside Gao Qing’s exam room, lost in thought, he stared blankly at a stain on the floor, motionless.
When he didn’t answer, Gao Ming’s voice came again — still forcedly calm, but impatient:
“You’ve given up your job, given up staying in Jianghu. So what are you going to do now? Have you thought about it?”
That snapped Gao Tu back.
These cold, unavoidable realities — the ones he tried so hard to forget but others never stopped reminding him of — weighed on him so heavily that he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Like a bird with its wings clipped, he gasped for air.
At last, he said softly:
“…I don’t know.”