37: Mr. Sheng, Forget Me. Goodbye
That afternoon, Shen Wenlang delivered the special medicine to Sheng Fang.
A tiny box of medicine, worth over a hundred billion, yet so heavy it felt like a life exchanged for a life.
Sheng Shaoyou sat at his desk, hollow-eyed, clutching his phone, dialing Hua Yong’s number over and over again—but it was always powered off on the other end.
The ache in his chest was numbing. He couldn’t bear to face Sheng Fang just yet, so he sent Chen Pinming to the hospital to collect the medicine.
An hour later, Chen Pinming called, cautiously asking: “You’re not coming in person?”
“Why should I?” Sheng Shaoyou’s voice was tight. Even pretending to bury himself in work couldn’t stop the pain welling up from his heart. He gripped the hard edge of the tablet and said hoarsely, “I’m not a doctor.”
“But…” Chen Pinming hesitated, “Mr. Hua is here too.”
The lobby of He Ci Private Hospital was spacious and, given its steep prices, far less crowded than public hospitals.
That day, a dozen men in black suits filed into the grand lobby of the inpatient wing. The families waiting at the payment counter glanced curiously, wondering which big shot had arrived.
He Ci was the most prestigious private hospital in Jianghu, hosting countless dignitaries and tycoons, but even so, few came flanked by a dozen bodyguards.
Sheng Shaoyou charged straight to the elevator, mind racing with how to kill Shen Wenlang and snatch back Hua Yong.
Chen Pinming tipped him off: “President Sheng, Mr. Hua just went down to the parking garage with Shen Wenlang. I couldn’t follow.”
The elevator descended painfully slowly, floor by floor. Heart searing, Sheng Shaoyou finally turned and took the stairs, his pace so fast his thighs burned unbearably, the tearing ache below making every step feel like torture.
One of the bodyguards, noticing his strange gait, reached out to support him, but Sheng Shaoyou, face pale, shook his head.
Shen Wenlang’s car was as flashy and detestable as the man himself. The silver-gray body gleamed under the garage lights.
Shen Wenlang stood beside it, impeccably dressed, looking as if he’d just come from a conference. And next to him—was Hua Yong.
Hua Yong was dressed properly, yet somehow his back seemed so fragile. Shen Wenlang’s arm was draped over his shoulders, pushing him toward the car. Hua Yong didn’t resist, but to Sheng Shaoyou it looked like he was being forced. The slight arch of his back, the bend of his waist, all seemed to cry out for help.
“Hua Yong,” Sheng Shaoyou called.
That slender back stiffened instantly. Hua Yong straightened slightly, but Shen Wenlang’s hand pressed down harder, and he was shoved into the car without so much as a backward glance.
The engine started. The car crept forward. Sheng Shaoyou’s chest felt as if it had been stabbed through, his eyes reddened, and he couldn’t get a word out.
The bodyguards, seeing his face, blocked the car’s path without being told.
The driver hesitated, honked several times, but no one moved.
Soon the door opened, and Shen Wenlang stepped out, leaning against it as he asked: “What do you want, young master Sheng?”
“Hua Yong. Give him back to me.”
Shen Wenlang chuckled. “Give him back? Was he yours to begin with? And I should just hand him over?” His mocking eyes seemed to say: that person should have been mine all along.
Sheng Shaoyou’s expression turned icy. “Bring him back.”
The bodyguards surged forward, opening the other car door.
But Hua Yong didn’t move. The bodyguards hesitated—no one dared to drag him out.
Shen Wenlang stayed put, leaning leisurely against the frame like he had all the time in the world. Without even turning his head, he asked Hua Yong: “Do you want to go back with him?”
Through the crack of the door, Sheng Shaoyou could only see the faint profile of Hua Yong’s pale face.
“…No,” Hua Yong said.
Sheng Shaoyou’s heart crumpled like paper under that word.
Fury and pain shot through him. The gland at his nape, still sore from the bite the night before, flared with pain, and even the oppressive pheromones he unintentionally released were laced with blood.
The drain on him left his head spinning, the taste of iron on his tongue.
Shen Wenlang’s face blurred for a second, his smug expression faltering into something more complicated.
“Hey—” he said uneasily, “are you okay?”
Sheng Shaoyou’s complexion was like faded old paper, his faintly bloody S-class pheromones enough to make even Shen Wenlang’s heart skip a beat.
Shit—if he dies here, that little madman might just kill me too!
“Hua Yong,” Sheng Shaoyou rasped, voice harsh and commanding, “get out and come with me.”
Shen Wenlang had plenty of cutting remarks, but for once he swallowed them.
Even his silence felt like pressure to Sheng Shaoyou, making his face look even darker.
“Come. With me.”
When Shen Wenlang didn’t budge, Sheng Shaoyou raised a fist, ready to strike—
—but Hua Yong moved first, pale fingers tugging at Shen Wenlang’s sleeve as he softly pleaded: “President Shen… could you let me speak to Mr. Sheng alone?”
Yes, yes, yes—go already, damn it!
Shen Wenlang’s face stayed stiff, but he nodded.
Hua Yong finally stood, gripping the seat handle for support.
Sheng Shaoyou unclenched his fist and quickly moved to help him. Those long, cold fingers in his palm felt heartbreakingly fragile.
“Why didn’t you dress warmer?” Sheng Shaoyou wrapped him up. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
Hua Yong bit his lip, teary-eyed, his fingers twitching in Sheng Shaoyou’s grasp as he whispered, “Can we… talk over there?”
His demeanor made it clear he’d already decided not to go back home.
Sheng Shaoyou’s chest tightened, rage boiling beneath the surface—but he couldn’t do a thing.
—Because he owed this delicate, stubborn Omega his life.
“Why won’t you come home?”
In the corner of the garage, their eyes locked.
Hua Yong stared at him without blinking, eyes slowly welling up, the corners turning red.
It made Sheng Shaoyou ache. He reached out, wiping the tears from the corners of Hua Yong’s eyes. “Don’t cry,” he murmured. Seeing the person you loved standing there like they were about to say goodbye—anyone would break.
“Mr. Sheng.” Hua Yong’s voice trembled, like he wanted to bury himself in Sheng Shaoyou’s arms and cry but didn’t dare. “I’m not crying,” he lied through bitten lips.
“Alright, you’re not crying.” Sheng Shaoyou brushed his cheek. “So come home with me, okay?”
Hua Yong cast a nervous glance at Shen Wenlang and shook his head. “Better not.”
“Why?” Sheng Shaoyou’s jaw tightened. “If it’s because of Shen Wenlang, I’ll kill him right now.”
Hua Yong grabbed his arm. “Don’t. Your father’s medicine—one bottle a month. Today he only brought one.”
In other words, to secure the next month’s supply, he had to go back with Shen Wenlang.
Sheng Shaoyou pulled him close by the wrist, staring him down as he asked cruelly: “Did that bastard… do anything to you?”
The question salted Hua Yong’s wounds—and cut Sheng Shaoyou’s own heart to ribbons.
Hua Yong’s face went pale. He bit his lip and couldn’t speak. There was a fresh bruise on his neck.
Even a fool would know what had happened last night.
Sheng Shaoyou closed his eyes in anguish, breath rough. “I don’t care. Hua Yong, I don’t care about that anymore. Just come home with me.”
“What about the medicine?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Mr. Sheng,” Hua Ying whispered, pulling his hand free. “You have to care. That’s your father.”
Only then did Sheng Shaoyou notice his lip was split and purpling.
That ambiguous wound made his breath stop.
Hua Yong lowered his head, staring blankly at the ground. “Don’t feel guilty. I chose this.” He reached out, brushing Sheng Shaoyou’s hand once before withdrawing quickly, as if that fleeting touch was enough.
“Someone like me… it doesn’t matter who I’m with. If it helps you, I’m happy.”
Sheng Shaoyou stared at his downcast face. There was no joy in it—only shame, endurance, and resignation.
His heart pounded painfully.
Sensing his gaze, Hua Yong looked up and forced a small, understanding smile. “You didn’t wrong me. I chose this. Don’t feel guilty.”
He backed away as if to leave, then suddenly darted forward and hugged Sheng Shaoyou lightly—then pulled away before Sheng Shaoyou could hug back.
“One day, you’ll find someone better, someone more suitable,” Hua Yong said softly, his eyes dark and distant, as if bidding a final farewell. “Mr. Sheng, forget me. Goodbye.”
Forget?
How?
Sheng Shaoyou had always been good at forgetting past lovers. He’d had many. Some faces he remembered but not names; some names but not faces. Passing them on the street, he’d just think: ah, someone familiar, and move on.
But he couldn’t forget Hua Yong.
The one who baked him cookies, left him notes, saved up to repay him, blushed when kissing him, ran away and cried when saying goodbye… this delicate yet stubborn Omega.
Hua Yong loved Sheng Shaoyou for a year—longer than anyone else ever had.
This beautiful orchid respected him, loved him, cared for him, but never once clung to him.
He loved Sheng Shaoyou with dignity, as an equal, giving him a kind of love he’d never experienced before.
He was the only Omega who could stand on equal footing with him—the first person Sheng Shaoyou ever truly loved.
Even though he was wealthier, stronger, and held all the power, in love, they were equals.
If anyone owed anything, it was Sheng Shaoyou who owed Hua Yong.
Sheng Shaoyou owned much and rarely remembered his own kindnesses—but he never forgot his debts. Just as he always remembered Zheng Yushan’s help, he remembered every person who had been good to him.
He could never forget Hua Yong.
Not even in death.
Because Hua Yong wasn’t just a friend who had helped him, who’d sold himself to save his father.
Hua Yong was… his life.
He couldn’t forget. And he would never let him go again.
Sheng Shaoyou grabbed the cool-fingered Omega who was trying to slip away, holding him tightly:
“Don’t go, Hua Yong. Come home with me. I can’t forget you.”
“Why?”
This fragile, heartbreaking little creature still asked why? Why else?
“Because I love you.”
Just thinking of Hua Yong leaving—to be with another Alpha—made his knuckles crack.
He couldn’t imagine it.
Couldn’t lose him.
Hua Yong had said: You’ll find someone better, someone more suitable.
But Sheng Shaoyou knew he wouldn’t.
Better? Where?
If he lost this Hua Yong, he’d never find another who could stand as his equal.
Hua Yong had said: It doesn’t matter who I’m with. But how could it not matter?
He should only stay with Sheng Shaoyou—eat at his table, sleep in his bed, wake in his arms, that drowsy beautiful face only for him.
Hua Yong should only be with Sheng Shaoyou.
Not standing under the harsh lights of a parking garage, by someone else’s car, crying as he said: Forget me. Goodbye.