Before being wheeled out of the ICU, Yan Yi was conscious.
His fingers pressed down on two neatly folded notes, each inscribed with a message of care, concern, and imagined farewells.
A nurse came to perform preoperative preparations. Gently, she parted Yan Yi’s curled fingers and took the notes away, placing them aside.
Along the corridor from the ICU to the operating room, someone chased after him, gripping his hand—hot, trembling, and filled with panic that transmitted into Yan Yi’s mind through their touch.
Yan Yi lightly tightened his fingers, trying to offer this person some comfort.
But soon, that alpha was pushed aside, standing at a distance, watching him.
A dose of anesthetic was injected into his spinal area; just as a sliver of consciousness returned, he was plunged back into the dreamlike haze. When the back of his neck was incised, he could feel nothing.
And yet, he saw that alpha again.
The alpha sat in a disheveled state on the steps, his body marred with wounds, his back forming a solitary arch, gazing into the distance, waiting at the doorway.
Yan Yi walked up, standing in front of him.
The alpha lifted his head, but Yan Yi could not make out his face. He placed his hand on the alpha’s cheek, wiping away the tears and dirt.
Yan Yi could vividly feel the pain radiating from each wound across his body, yet he could not summon pity to embrace him.
Suddenly, his waist was seized. The alpha wrapped him up, tiny, insistent kisses falling upon his forehead and hairline.
Yan Yi struggled to push him away, but the arms constricting him only tightened further, fearing he might be leaving.
“Forgive me… don’t go…” The alpha’s voice was low, almost deferential, a stark contrast to the pride he usually exuded.
Yan Yi could not see his face clearly and therefore could not lightly grant forgiveness.
Disappointed, the alpha lowered his head, hugging Yan Yi’s waist tightly like a child denied candy, carefully lifting him up and retreating into the house behind.
The familiar sense of safety enveloped him once more.
The surgery was a complete success. Using Yan Yi’s own glandular stem cells ensured a higher success rate, and no signs of rejection had appeared.
After the checkup, Lu Shangjin’s injuries were revealed to be severe: slight rib fractures, a cracked shoulder, significant blood loss, and chronically depleted glandular energy. Even basic tasks like using the restroom were difficult.
He refused care and declined to see anyone, instructing the nurses to notify him only when visiting hours for Yan Yi’s room were permitted.
He silently leaned against the headboard, holding Yan Yi’s notebook, flipping through each page, lightly twirling the ring that had slipped from Yan Yi’s left hand between his fingers.
“Brother Jin took me to the movies. My first time at a theater. The screen was huge, the popcorn sweet. The movie was really good, so I bought a DVD to keep. +17 points.”
“Movie,” Lu Shangjin noted, circling the word with a red pen. He hadn’t paid attention to recent releases in a long time; when Yan Yi recovered, he would take him to see it.
Yan Yi enjoyed the ordinary things that small omegas liked; he had no interest in guns.
Flipping a page, there was a casual doodle—a little figure kissing a small rabbit’s ear.
Messy yet endearing, Yan Yi’s drawings had always been charmingly clumsy. Others might see random lines, but Lu Shangjin always understood the meaning behind them.
More than ten years ago, before they were together, Yan Yi had liked Rabbitski—a few black lines forming a squint-eyed cartoon, wildly popular in the early 2000s. Yan Yi liked to pinch his ears small, mimicking that mischievous little expression while wiggling his fingers.
Lu Shangjin had bought him designer clothes he never wore, insisting he wear a simple Rabbitski white t-shirt costing only a few dozen yuan. Lu Shangjin both chided and resigned himself to it.
After they got together, Yan Yi began exploring luxury brands, suits, and red wine. Lu Shangjin was pleased that he was cultivating taste—probably to stand by his side without causing embarrassment.
Their father had said that omegas of their class could live well without ever falling in love.
Yan Yi’s understanding of luxury or cheap things was vague. Even a plastic brooch, Lu Shangjin knew, would please him, though such a cheap gift he could not give.
Reading between the lines, he realized Yan Yi loved the twenty-year-old Lu Shangjin, not him.
He still had a chance to surpass his twenty-year-old self, accomplishing what he had not then, all for Yan Yi.
A gentle knock came at the hospital room door; the nurse entered to change Lu Shangjin’s bandages, a tiny figure following.
Lu Shangjin’s exposed half-arm revealed three slightly pus-filled wounds. Rarely seen, such severe injuries made the nurse uneasy, so she deliberately handled him with care.
He seemed to feel no pain, lazily propping himself up on folded legs, resting his chin on his hand, watching the little gray rabbit lying quietly beside the bed.
“Have you contacted your family?”
“Yes,” the little gray rabbit nodded obediently. “Dad’s coming soon. He wants to know your name and thank you.”
“They’ve met already,” Lu Shangjin said, tossing him an apple from the headboard. He didn’t care who the child’s father was; few hadn’t heard of the Lu family’s young master.
The little omega held the apple, nibbling obediently.
“What did you do these past two days?” Lu Shangjin asked. “Let Xiao Ning take you out to play.”
Xiao Ning, the assistant, had been idle these days, only running errands for Lu Shangjin.
The little gray rabbit said he had called classmates and teachers to report he was safe; Shao Wenchi helped him record assignments. He had been busy with homework.
Lu Shangjin stroked his chin, eyebrows slightly raised. “Your deskmate is called Shao Wenchi?” He vaguely remembered the little spider mentioning him.
Earlier that morning, the assistant had brought in materials, revealing that this little rabbit came from a privileged background. His alpha father had substantial overseas business; his omega father was a jewelry brand designer even Lu Shangjin had heard of.
Excellent.
Now, Lu Shangjin felt goodwill toward the entire rabbit species. His concern for the little rabbit was more a reflexive comfort born of anxiety.
Once rationality returned, Lu Shangjin would habitually calculate gains and losses. Saving the child meant he expected something in return—because he was not Yan Yi.
Ultimately, it was love by extension; he wanted to treat Yan Yi better.
While talking, the assistant knocked on the door. “Boss, they’re here. Do you want to see them?”
“No, you know what to say,” Lu Shangjin said, nudging the little gray rabbit. “Your dad’s here. Go.”
The child’s omega father arrived, teary-eyed, holding him; an alpha beside them embraced the wife and child, kissing them excitedly, approaching to ask if they could meet Young Master Lu to express thanks in person.
The assistant politely declined: “The boss is too injured, exhausted—cannot receive visitors for now.”
The alpha had no choice. He wasn’t one to owe favors. There was little business interaction with Lu Shangjin, and the gift he brought was insignificant. So he casually inquired through Xiao Ning about Lu Shangjin’s preferences, hoping to take this opportunity to establish a connection.
The assistant whispered: “Our boss’s only preference is his wife. She’s currently in ICU. Details are unclear; all we know is the boss has a grudge against Mr. Shao.”
The alpha paused, touching his chin lightly. “Which Mr. Shao?”
“Which Shao could provoke our boss?” The assistant brushed it off, then mentioned Lu Shangjin’s upcoming jewelry exhibition.
The alpha could no longer pretend not to understand—Lu Shangjin’s intention was clear.
After seeing the little gray rabbit and the two men off, the assistant returned to report.
Lu Shangjin was engrossed in copying notes in his notebook, the top line reading Care and Management of Lop Rabbits.
As the assistant approached, Lu Shangjin paused momentarily, then decided to continue copying openly.
Having worked beside Lu Shangjin for years, the assistant was attuned to his moods. Earlier, while out buying lunch, she had gone to the nearby library, paid a deposit, and borrowed a stack of books on rabbit care for him.
When Xia Ping Tian came to help his brother change bandages, he happened to see it, wondering if Lu Shangjin’s business instincts were shifting toward agriculture.
He quickly returned to reality with a scream during the bandage change, leaning against the wall to mock: “Serves you right, little brat.”
The books piled on the headboard like a high school student’s desk. Lu Shangjin immersed himself in learning about rabbits.
He read quickly, finishing a book in half an hour, meticulously remembering key points.
“Timothy hay, alfalfa,” he jotted down a few types of rabbit feed, then researched brands on pet rabbit forums.
Previously unaware, he learned that lop rabbits were delicate, timid, easily frightened, sensitive to temperature, and required food that was neither too cold nor too rich.
Before, he had fed the little rabbit shrimp and fresh meat dumplings, plus many cold strawberries. Yan Yi must have been uncomfortable but didn’t dare complain.
Rabbits enjoyed being petted. If one quietly approached, raising its hindquarters and lying in front of someone, it was inviting touch; being denied could lead to depression over time.
During their three-year separation, Lu Shangjin had rarely shown care, let alone gentle touch. The little rabbit mentioned having “skin hunger,” meaning he wanted affection.
Glancing at the clock, Lu Shangjin wondered when visiting hours began.
It had been long since he had held the soft, fragrant little rabbit. Was he okay? Did it hurt after the anesthetic wore off? Was he lonely in the ICU?
After much thought, he slid off the bed and rode the elevator to the ICU entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of Yan Yi through the door.
Xia Jing Tian leaned lazily against the wall, raising his bandaged arm. “I heard visiting is allowed, but not for long. Do you want to go in?”
Lu Shangjin hesitated, fingertips brushing the door.
“I didn’t go in,” Xia Jing Tian said, “just came to change the bandage.”
Confirming the visit was allowed, Lu Shangjin tiptoed inside. Yan Yi lay curled in bed, still asleep, the glandular area on the back of his neck covered with clean, non-bleeding gauze.
Lu Shangjin carefully contained his pheromones to avoid triggering Yan Yi, sitting at the bedside and cupping his frail left hand.
An omega’s frame was naturally small; these past days, only nutrient and energy supplements had sustained him. His arm was thin, almost a mere layer of soft flesh, weightless in Lu Shangjin’s palm.
He wanted to hold him, cradle him on his shoulder.
Following medical advice, Lu Shangjin cautiously released a tiny amount of calming pheromones, watching for any reaction.
Dr. Zhong had said that once the glands were completely damaged and replaced, previous markers would disappear.
Still, Lu Shangjin controlled the pheromones subtly; his previous scent had caused pain and resistance, so he dared not act recklessly.
The fragile hand in his palm twitched lightly, closing slightly to grasp his fingertip.
It was cool, yet Lu Shangjin felt a warm comfort flowing into his hand, seeping along tiny wounds in the palm, mending him through the blood.
He restrained himself from leaning closer. Yan Yi’s slumbering face reflected in his eyes, each stroke etched into memory, never to be forgotten.
He wanted to make a solemn promise to compensate, but a sudden pang stung his nose, his throat caught, his voice hoarse and ugly. So he simply lowered his head and kissed the center of his brow:
“Thank you, baby.”