24: Mr. Sheng, you have to be good, okay?
Sheng Shaoyou froze, then opened his eyes.
In the darkness, Hua Yong’s eyes were unusually bright—not the lively brightness of sunlight, but more like a night sky heavy with storm clouds, dark eyes colliding in silent anguish, sparking with fleeting, painful lightning.
There was little expression on Hua Yong’s face. His look, like his will to live, was distant—so faint it made one’s heart race with dread. His slender palm rested gently and obediently against Sheng Shaoyou’s chest, warm and soft, yet it felt like it was tightly gripping Sheng’s escalating heartbeat.
Hua Yong pressed his cheek to Sheng’s chest, eyes lowered. “I’ve gotten some information on the application of gene-editing scissors and a list of X Holdings’ senior executives. I’ll give it all to you, okay?”
After just a month apart, Hua Yong seemed to have become a clumsy businessman. He laid bare everything he still had—and everything he had lost—so openly, so honestly. As if saying: This is all I’ve got left. Do you still want me?
But Sheng Shaoyou was not a customer bartering at a market stall.
He had never wanted to negotiate with this fragile orchid. He only wanted him. Always had.
He didn’t dare consider the word “don’t.” Didn’t dare mention it. Afraid that if he did, Hua Yong would nod without hesitation and say, “Okay.”
And then never return.
Sheng Shaoyou didn’t want to know how Hua Yong had obtained that intel and those names.
He refused to think about it.
There were more important, more urgent matters between them now.
Like: how could Hua Yong get better? How could he find happiness again? How could he decide to keep living, and one day—bathed in light—smile at Sheng once more with that shy but spirited grin?
Sheng missed his unguarded smile. Missed his shyness.
“Do you want it or not?” Hua Yong shifted slightly, trying to pull away. Sheng, afraid of hurting him, loosened his hold.
Hua Yong sat up and reached to turn on the light.
The bright light illuminated his pale, delicate skin like an overexposed photo. His slender, firm waist was wrapped in silk, and the bare part of his chest was so white it gave Sheng the illusion that Hua Yong might recover quickly. —After just a few hours, the marks on his body already seemed to have faded a bit.
Meeting his gaze, Hua Yong backed up and stepped barefoot onto the floor. Sheng’s brows furrowed. “Where are you going?” He grabbed Hua Yong’s thin arm and pulled him back, urging him not to overthink—just to rest and recover. Everything else could wait.
Hua Yong nodded quietly and climbed obediently back into bed, stretching to turn off the light again.
Sheng remembered the way Hua Yong had stretched out his arms to reach the switch—it reminded him that, really, he hadn’t changed much from a month ago. Just thinner, quieter. His beautiful face even paler.
But fattening up a delicate orchid wasn’t hard. If he spoke less, Sheng would talk more. If he didn’t laugh, Sheng would tell him more jokes.
Hua Yong had a low threshold for humor. In the past, when Sheng told him jokes, he would laugh until he couldn’t breathe, his crescent-moon eyes squinting in delight.
“Is it really that funny?”
“Mm, Mr. Sheng’s serious face when telling jokes is just too cute.”
Sheng had plenty of experience making him laugh. It had only been a month—surely those tricks still worked. And Sheng had studied all kinds of negotiation tactics. Getting a silent Omega to talk? That was nothing.
With that thought, he finally relaxed. Surrounded by the faint scent of orchids, he slowly drifted to sleep.
—
The next morning, Sheng bought Hua Yong a new phone and SIM card.
Not long after receiving it, Hua Yong sent Sheng the first WeChat message since his disappearance.
During that long month, Sheng had sent him messages every day.
Their once-balanced chat history had become a one-sided flood of green text bubbles—all unanswered. Every time Sheng scrolled through them, he felt a grief as if saying goodbye forever.
Now, staring at the long-awaited reply, his eyes burned.
It was a cloud drive link. Inside were confidential files on gene-editing scissor applications—information HS Group had never made public.
The list of X Holdings’ executives was long, with names in both Chinese and English. Every single one of them was an Alpha.
Sheng’s vision blurred again. His chest clenched in searing pain, and he let out a muffled groan.
His jaw tightened, his nose prickled. Looking at the priceless intel before him, he was overwhelmed by jealousy and rage—but didn’t dare ask Hua Yong where it had come from or what price he had paid.
Still, thanks to the documents, ShengFang Biotech made swift advancements in gene-editing scissor technology.
—
Time slipped by quietly, and soon it was September. The heat outside remained oppressive, and the garden plants wilted under the relentless sun.
Hua Yong stood by the window, staring blankly at the colorful flowerbed below.
Since returning, he hadn’t gone back to work at HS Group. Sheng wouldn’t let him go out alone. When Sheng couldn’t accompany him, a line of strong Beta bodyguards would follow.
On the third day after his return, Hua Yong moved with Sheng into a villa thirty minutes away from his old apartment. This was Sheng’s home.
Not long after the move, one night, Sheng returned with a bruised face.
Hua Yong stood silently in the hallway, looking at him with worried eyes, lips bitten shut.
Sheng could feel his concern. Hua Yong clearly wanted to ask, but held back.
He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he’d also have to ask who Sheng had fought with. And then he’d hear a name—one he didn’t want to hear and had never mentioned again.
Because once he heard it, he wouldn’t need to ask why.
They both remembered that disaster. The one they chose to forget, pretending it never happened. —But the act of pretending was, in itself, a form of remembrance.
“Have you eaten?” Sheng walked over, cupped his face, and kissed his cheek with bruised lips.
Hua Yong stiffened instantly.
He turned his face away, stepped back. “Yes.”
“What did you eat?” Sheng caught his hand, stopping him from retreating. His gaze was intense but gentle. “Is the air conditioning too cold? Why are your hands freezing?”
Hua Yong’s hands weren’t cold—it was Sheng’s palm that was too warm. The scent of bitter orange mixed with rum tickled his nose, a sharp reminder that the man standing before him was an S-class Alpha nearing his susceptibility period.
Sheng’s grip was firm, his gaze burning with affection. It felt like being loved with everything he had.
Hua Yong took a deep breath, then, trembling, leaned in and gently kissed the corner of Sheng’s bruised lips. “Does it hurt?”
Sheng placed his hand over his heart. “No.” As if to say: the fight didn’t hurt, but this did.
Hua Yong couldn’t help but smile softly.
Sheng gripped his hand tighter. “Why such a rare smile today?”
But Hua Yong’s smile froze. He stopped, though the warmth lingered in his eyes. “Mr. Sheng looks cute with bruises.”
Sheng laughed in disbelief, lifted his wrist to kiss it. “Cute?”
“Mm, very.”
For a moment, it felt like time had turned back to a few months ago—Hua Yong crouched in front of the oven, watching his cookies anxiously. Sheng had leaned over to kiss him, and he’d complained: “Mr. Sheng is too clingy. And not obedient.” Sheng had asked, “Am I really clingy?” Hua Yong had smiled and said softly, “Mm. Very.”
And he’d added:
“Mr. Sheng, you have to be good, okay?”
Those days weren’t long ago, but they now felt like a lifetime away.
Since Hua Yong returned, Sheng hadn’t let him sleep alone. Every night, they shared a bed, warm embraces, soft breathing, and sometimes, even nightmares.
Hua Yong never made a sound during nightmares. Sheng only discovered them by chance.
One night, he woke midway and found Hua Yong’s hands and feet cold as ice, breathing heavy and ragged, his back drenched in sweat.
He shook him awake. Hua Yong jolted up with a cry, yelling, “No!”
He wasn’t rejecting waking up. He was rejecting something deeper.
His eyes were wide, brimming with despair—no grogginess from sleep, only piercing fear.
Sheng held him close, feeling his shirt slowly soak through with tears.
The Omega buried his face in Sheng’s chest like an ostrich hiding from terror. His voice was hoarse as he asked, “Mr. Sheng, can I ever forget?”
Sheng had no answer. He simply stroked his back and whispered, “You will. I promise.”
Some say that only good memories can overwrite the bad. But Hua Yong’s memories of intimacy were so stained—like a pure white page that had been scribbled over in heavy, black crayon from the very first stroke. No matter how bright the colors layered on top, it all turned into despairing black. Even the crayons that tried to save him ended up stained.
Sheng had once believed he would mind.
He was picky about bed partners. He always rejected Omegas touched by other Alphas.
Li Baiqiao had teased him, saying his “cleanliness” was so old-fashioned it belonged in a different century.
Li had joked: “If Sheng Shaoyou ever sleeps with a ‘tainted’ Omega, pigs will fly.”
But it turned out, Sheng didn’t care after all.
By his past standards, Hua Yong was no longer “clean.”
But he refused to think of him that way—because just imagining it made his heart feel like it was being stabbed, unbearable.
He often thought back to that first night after Hua Yong returned. The way he sat on the bed, lips pursed, gazing at him like he was trying to persuade him.
That one fleeting glance—every time Sheng remembered it, it made his heart lurch.
Hua Yong would always be pure. Always lovely. Always worth longing for.
He deserved everything good in the world.
To Sheng, this delicate orchid was as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside. His love was innocent, untainted. Once, Sheng had carelessly lost him. But he could never be dirtied.
—
The day before Sheng’s susceptibility period arrived, he sensed the changes in his body—heat rising uncontrollably. The orchid’s scent at home made it worse than ever.
After his morning meeting, he left work early and had Chen Pinming arrange to pick up an Omega named Shu Xin and wait at the airport.
That night, Hua Yong waited, but Sheng never came home.
At 3 a.m., the room was deathly silent. Hua Yong, still awake, sat cross-legged on the bed. His expression was as calm and cold as ice. In his slender hands, he held an old pocket watch with intricate carvings. His beautiful face, framed by star-like eyes, flickered with a cold but seductive smile.
“Mr. Sheng, you have to be good, okay?” he whispered.
Dim yellow light bathed his lowered face. That pale, breathtaking expression was filled with loneliness and disappointment—like the loneliest wisp of cloud on the horizon.
He had grown used to being admired from afar. Every time he tried to chase something, he always seemed to lose.