Extra: The Liar 04 (Wolf & Rabbit) – Who the hell said he could resign!
The Shen Wenlang that Gao Tu liked had always been the classic “good student” in the traditional sense.
He was aloof, diligent, gentle yet proud.
From admiration to shock, the angel in his dreams shattered in just one second.
Gao Tu stared blankly at the radiant boy in front of him, as if something had lodged in his throat—he couldn’t say a single word.
He had never been the kind of person to argue with others, even when he was in the right. He always ended up speechless during conflicts—let alone this time, when he was in the wrong to begin with. Stuffing food into Shen Wenlang’s desk without permission was presumptuous.
Gao Tu didn’t have much. This was just his way of showing gratitude and kindness to the person who had helped him.
But it never occurred to him that the snacks and food he had scrimped and saved for would be nothing but worthless garbage in the eyes of someone like Shen Wenlang, who lived a life of wealth and ease.
The gap between imagination and reality was far too great. Gao Tu stood there, stunned, not knowing how to react.
Shen Wenlang’s beautiful brows and eyes carried a streak of arrogance. His direct, almost disdainful gaze made Gao Tu’s face burn even redder.
He felt utterly ashamed of himself, like some small animal trying to share its scraps with someone it liked. If he’d known it would turn out like this, he wouldn’t have acted on impulse just now.
Even though he knew he wasn’t capable of dealing with what would come next, those snacks had meaning to him—he couldn’t just stand by and watch Shen Wenlang throw away the rice ball he couldn’t even bear to eat himself.
Seeing that he still didn’t speak, Shen Wenlang almost immediately lost patience. His perfectly-shaped brows knitted slightly as he said:
“Alright, stop standing there like you’re being punished.”
The teenage Shen Wenlang caught the rice ball midair, glanced at it with disdain, and handed it back to Gao Tu, saying coolly:
“I rarely eat junk food. Here, take it back. Don’t randomly give me things again—it’s a waste of my time to throw them away. Really annoying.”
That scene, which had haunted Gao Tu in his nightmares countless times, replayed itself ten years later.
“What kind of report is this? Why do you keep making such elementary mistakes?”
Shen Wenlang was pointing to a punctuation error in a document, his tone severe.
“Did you even go to school? You can’t even get basic things like full-width and half-width punctuation right?”
“This email was sent out under my name. Are you trying to make people think I’m an idiot who doesn’t even know how to use punctuation?”
“I—I didn’t…”
With a sharp smack, Shen Wenlang set the tablet down, his expression full of contempt.
“You can’t even handle this, yet you still have the nerve to take leave to go home and ‘accompany your Omega’? Gao Tu, do you think money is that easy to earn?”
Damn it!
This wasn’t even what he wanted to say.
Shen Wenlang berated him while simultaneously scolding himself inwardly.
What he wanted to say wasn’t this at all.
The reason he’d called Gao Tu into his office was simply because not seeing him made him inexplicably anxious.
Gao Tu stood there with his lips pressed tight, head down, clumsily defending himself.
“I’m sorry, President Shen. I didn’t mean to…”
“What good is an apology?” Shen Wenlang ground his teeth, already regretting the words the moment they left his mouth.
Because he noticed that Gao Tu’s face was pale, his forehead slick with sweat, standing there in front of the desk looking about to collapse—he really didn’t look well.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“What?”
The abrupt change in topic left Gao Tu bewildered. He looked up blankly.
This Beta’s features were unremarkable, not what anyone would call handsome, but they held a quiet, enduring appeal.
Beyond that, he was reliable and serious about his work.
Though sometimes overly mild and lacking the aggressive edge prized in today’s workplace, he was one of the rare people Shen Wenlang actually felt comfortable around.
Hot and cold flashes swept over Gao Tu, and the shame of being rejected all over again surged through him.
He shivered. His gland throbbed painfully from the suppressants, each beat irritating and untimely.
For a long time, Gao Tu had felt tormented by the fact that he was an Omega.
That identity brought him nothing but inconvenience.
By nature, he wasn’t good at lying—yet he often had to tell detestable lies just to conceal what he was.
Like right now.
He couldn’t tell Shen Wenlang he was in heat. He couldn’t admit that the side effects of overusing suppressants were making him dizzy and nauseous.
But he really was cold. He really just wanted to go home and rest.
Facing the furious man he loved, Gao Tu kept his head down for a long moment, then softly said:
“I’m fine.”
“If you’re fine, then pull yourself together!” Shen Wenlang barked. “Stop being so distracted and half-dead all the time. The company didn’t hire you to retire here! If you want to slack off, you might as well take leave and keep ‘accompanying’ your Omega who seems to go into heat at the drop of a hat!”
Gao Tu stood there, dazed, taking the scolding—until the phrase “Omega who seems to go into heat at the drop of a hat” made him stiffen.
“I—I’m not…”
“Not what?” Shen Wenlang’s expression darkened even further.
“If you really feel unwell, then just get out of here and go home to rest.”
“But… the work…”
Impatient, Shen Wenlang cut him off, his tone sharp:
“You’re not so important that the company can’t function without you! Go home! Don’t let me see you again until you’ve recovered.”
Damn it.
Why were his words getting worse and worse?
Shen Wenlang felt annoyed with himself, his emotions growing more volatile.
He’d grown up in a twisted family, with an extremely cold Alpha father and an Omega father who was endlessly obedient and utterly devoid of self-respect.
That environment had left him with a profound sense of insecurity, making it hard for him to truly control his emotions.
But ever since he was old enough to understand, Shen Wenlang had learned to restrain himself.
He’d always done a good job of it, rarely letting emotions get the better of him.
The temperamental, strange boy he used to be seemed to have disappeared—but he was still there, buried deep beneath all the fake calm and smiles.
And then Gao Tu came along—and the shackles in Shen Wenlang’s heart fell away.
That unruly, sharp-toothed bad boy leapt out of his cage again.
With Gao Tu, he didn’t have to be the fully-armored adult. He was allowed to be petulant, allowed to be abrasive.
All the selfish, unreasonable, ill-tempered parts of himself resurfaced—because Shen Wenlang vaguely sensed that Gao Tu would accept them.
Gao Tu never seemed to get angry with him, never even seemed to know how.
He was so much like Shen Wenlang’s Omega father, the one who had died under his Alpha father’s gun—yet somehow also different.
Just like back in school, when he’d flush red and tell Shen Wenlang not to waste food, Gao Tu was gentle to the extreme—but when Shen Wenlang went too far, he’d quietly remind him: “You can’t do that.”
Like now.
After being told to “get out,” the always-silent Gao Tu suddenly spoke up, voice low:
“Taking leave or coming back to work is my own choice. If President Shen doesn’t want to see me anymore… I can resign right now.”
Resign?
Shen Wenlang’s anger flared instantly.
He was just trying to be considerate and let him go home and rest!
Who the hell said he could resign!