Bai Chunian listened quietly outside the door to the father-son conversation, only feeling relieved when he realized that Uncle Jin, the chairman, hadn’t lost his temper.
On his way back, he passed by Bi Lanxing’s hospital room. There was some cut fruit and a few novels with their shrink wrap removed on the bedside table; it seemed his parents had visited as well. He was asleep now.
Bai Chunian sat down by the door, leaning silently against the wall as he listened to the scolding and soothing words inside. The Chairman was unusually less stern, Uncle Jin’s soothing pheromones seeped out through the door crack. The scent of Christmas roses was incredibly gentle; even though it emanated from the alpha glands of an A3-class Peregrine, Bai Chunian felt no sense of oppression or discomfort—a stark contrast to his own brandy-scented pheromones.
Even if he had a child, Bai Chunian wasn’t sure if his intense, sharp, alcohol-scented pheromones could soothe it. Lan Bo was right—he wasn’t old enough to be a father yet.
The more he thought about it, the more depressed he became. Bai Chunian sat on the floor with his head bowed in despair, the atmosphere so heavy it felt as though a dark cloud dripping with raindrops was about to form above his head.
The hospital room door opened gently. Yan Yi walked out with his jacket slung over his forearm and looked somewhat surprised to see Bai Chunian sitting right by the entrance.
“Why aren’t you home?” Yan Yi bent down to ask him.
“Waiting for Lan Bo. He’s in the lab.”
Yan Yi smiled. “Aren’t the lab and the ward area pretty far apart? Did you come to see Lu Yan and Lan Xing?”
“Yeah, they’re both my trainees.” Bai Chunian stood up and brushed the dust off his pants.
After all, as a Beast-type Alpha, he had a natural size advantage over a Rabbit-type Omega. The moment he stood up, Bai Chunian’s gaze shifted from looking up at the chairman to looking down on him.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Me, get hurt? Even if two more A3s showed up today, I’d still…”
Yan Yi suddenly raised his hand and ruffled Bai Chunian’s hair.
Bai Chunian froze, absentmindedly flicking his lion ears, which he’d forgotten to tuck away.
“I’ve seen the experimental footage of Lan Bo at the research institute, and I’ve seen yours too.”
“……Boss, I’m just grateful you didn’t punish me or fire me. Hahaha.”
“You’re a resilient kid. Lu Yan told me everything that happened before. Don’t think of yourself as an outsider. From the day you came to our home, we’ve always considered you part of our family. I’ve never said this to you before—maybe I should have told you sooner. I’ve always been so busy with work that I haven’t communicated with you enough.”
“Really?” Bai Chunian lowered his eyelids; his voice caught in his throat as he replied.
“Yes, of course it’s true. When Lu Yan mentioned you to us, he called you ‘big brother.’ He’s very sensible—he just doesn’t always say what he really thinks. I also know that during this mission, you ordered Lu Yan to halt operations and withdraw. I hope that every time you issue an order, it’s a decision made after weighing their true capabilities, rather than based on who their parents are.”
“Yes…” Bai Chunian thoughtfully mulled over the chairman’s words.
“You did a good job on the mission. Take a break.”
Lu Shangjin had just put Lu Yan to sleep and stepped out of the hospital room. He saw Xiao Bai standing before Yan Yi with red eyes, his hands behind his back and head bowed, looking as if he were about to be scolded. He raised his hand and patted his shoulder: “ “Stop playing the victim, you little brat. I haven’t even scolded you yet for how you handled that contract with the research institute’s batch of serums. Once this is settled, you’d better start working for me right away. Learn how to do business properly from the veterans. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Get some rest. Alright, I’m off.”
Watching Lu Shangjin put his arm around Yan Yi’s shoulder as they walked away down the hospital ward corridor, Bai Chunian leaned lightly against the wall, exhaled, and loosened his collar. The Dead Sea Heartstone collar was designed to suppress the accelerated development of his glandular cells; the tighter it felt around his neck and the more suffocated he felt, the more unstable his physical and mental state became, and the closer he was to deterioration.
Bai Chunian ran a hand through his hair; the strands still seemed to retain the warmth of the Chairman’s fingertips, and he felt instantly comforted. The collar that had been choking him these past few days suddenly felt much looser.
He walked toward the laboratory and happened to run into Han Xingqian coming from the opposite end of the corridor.
“Brother Han, is he okay?”
“Everything’s normal. We’re still waiting for the data too.” Han Xingqian patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I think he’s… more mysterious than we ever imagined. With our current technology, it’s simply impossible to kill him. You can rest easy.”
“Cut the crap. He can’t be that powerful—he’s so tiny. Lasers, strong acids, and extreme heat—what could possibly hurt him?”
Han Xingqian shook his head. “If he chooses to, his radiation can control photon transitions, manipulate electric charges, or reverse magnetic fields. His body can continuously generate high-voltage electricity—far exceeding the energy of any lightning strike ever recorded by humans. by a conservative estimate, his energy output exceeds that of any existing nuclear power plant in the world. And he actually has the ability to accept the faith of his followers and grant their specific wishes. Seriously, he’s not just the mermaid leader that naturalists have observed—the scope of his abilities might be beyond our understanding.”
Bai Chunian: “…Actually, he’s just a very soft and gentle little guy. You’ve never seen him make a heart shape with the tip of his tail—it’s especially cute.”
Han Xingqian: “Is that so? Is that how you see him? If it were you, we’d define you as the ceiling of what biological functions can achieve. But for a creature like Lan Bo, in the human dictionary, we define him as a ‘god.’”
“……”
Han Xingqian: “So even though he was brutally mistreated by the research institute during his weakened state, he still hasn’t sought revenge to this day. Do you know why?”
Bai Chunian pursed his lips in thought: “Is he saving up for a big move?”
Han Xingqian sighed: “It sounds harsh, but I’ll be honest: from the perspective of both land and sea, the downsides of human existence outweigh the benefits. The disappearance of humanity wouldn’t spell destruction—especially for the oceans—but merely a slow rebirth.
“As it stands, although Lan Bo is furious, he hasn’t shown it yet. But judging by his attitude—letting the submarine leak and allowing the infection agent to spread—he’s already deeply dissatisfied with, or even disgusted by, humanity. He’s adopted a ‘let it be’ mentality, having given up on controlling the situation.” “All I can do now is hope you live a little longer. As long as you’re here, he’ll still have some reservations. He’ll consider your thoughts and safety in everything he does. That’s exactly what ‘shooting a mouse but fearing the vase’ means.”
Bai Chunian frowned and retorted, “Which of these things can you blame him for? A bunch of people are wreaking havoc on your turf—would you be happy about that?”
Han Xingqian chuckled. “You get all worked up whenever I mention your wife. I didn’t say he was wrong—he’s just doing his job. Never mind. Go lie down in my office for a bit. I’ll call you when the data is done. Thanks for this time.”
“Oh, come on, at least don’t use him as a guinea pig.” Bai Chunian took the keys, opened the door, and stepped into Han Xingqian’s office. He turned on the light and glanced at his watch; it wouldn’t be long before dawn. He decided to just lie down on the desk and catch some sleep.
Sitting in Han Xingqian’s armchair, he looked down and saw several X-rays tucked under the glass panel on the desk—all images of dog tails. Judging by the bone structure, they looked like a Lhasa Apso.
“Damn, what a pervert—watching X-rays during work hours. And dog tails, no less. How am I supposed to sleep with my head on a pile of dog tails?”
A minute later, Bai Chunian was snoring softly with his head on the desk.
At seven o’clock in the morning, someone knocked on the office door.
Bai Chunian woke from his slumber, his eyes still heavy with sleep. His double eyelids looked deeper than usual; sleeping with his head on the desk had left his back and legs aching.
“Who is it?” Bai Chunian replied lazily, picking up the stethoscope from the desk and just as he was about to hang it around his neck, he suddenly remembered this was Han Xingqian’s office.
The office door opened, and an omega in a hospital gown walked in.
Bai Chunian yawned and waved his hand. “I’m not the doctor on duty here. We’re not open yet. I’ll call Han Ge over for you in a minute… Shit.”
The omega at the door wore a striped hospital gown, his bandaged left hand tucked into his pocket, while his right hand held a carton of orange juice with a straw. A few strands of his light golden short hair stood up lazily, and his sapphire-blue eyes were like a pitcher of water scooped straight from the Milky Way.
That wasn’t the point. The point was why he hadn’t crawled in but walked in.
Bai Chunian shot up, bracing himself against the table. His gaze drifted downward, landing on a pair of long, straight legs clad in the ward’s standard gray slippers, with slender toes as white as glazed porcelain.
“Who are you, handsome?”
Lan Bo held up the orange juice in his hand: “They gave me two huge boxes of snacks as payment. What a bargain.”
“What are you spacing out for?” Lan Bo walked up to Bai Chunian, whose brain had completely shut down, and took his hand.
Bai Chunian jerked his hand back in shock: “Don’t come over here. I have a wife.”
Before, when Lan Bo used his fishtail to support himself and stand upright, Bai Chunian had assumed Lan Bo was around 1.7 meters tall. But now, standing there, he was only a centimeter or two shorter than Bai Chunian—at least 183 centimeters tall. He also had the same broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, upright build. Aside from his slender waist, he wasn’t the sweet, petite type of omega commonly seen in the Alliance.
Without his fishtail, Lan Bo’s aura of sacredness had faded considerably. His skin was very pale, making him look more like a blond-haired, blue-eyed French youth.
Bai Chunian bent down to examine his legs, then gestured with his hand. “Where’s my mermaid? Where’s that huge fish of mine? That serum you tested—it couldn’t possibly be…”
“It turned out to be a mimicry potion.” Lan Bo casually slung an arm around his shoulder and held the orange juice to Bai Chunian’s lips. “So this is what it feels like to eat normal human food and speak fluent human language. I think it’s not bad.”
“Can you turn back? How are you going to get home like this?”
“Yes, I can control it.” Lan Bo held out a hand; the human-shaped hand gradually grew webbed and sharp nails, then immediately returned to normal.
“That’s practical. I won’t have to wrap moisturizing bandages around myself on land anymore. I’m going to keep this ability and not let the serum metabolize away.”
“Let me see.” Bai Chunian parted his lips; sure enough, the shark teeth at the back had flattened. He ran his fingers over them—they no longer felt sharp.
“There’s one more thing I’m really happy with.” Lan Bo took Bai Chunian’s hand and placed it on his crotch. “What do you think? Is it big?”
Bai Chunian stood on the ground, mortified, and raised his hand to cover his face.
Lan Bo loved teasing his little Alpha, but unexpectedly, Bai Chunian suddenly crouched down, effortlessly picked him up, and pressed him against the wall. His strong forearms locked around each of Lan Bo’s legs, holding him securely in his arms.
“You’re at least half as light as before.” Bai Chunian weighed him in his arms. “Without that three-meter-long fishtail, you’re as light as a feather.”
Lan Bo struggled a couple of times but realized he couldn’t move at all; things didn’t seem to be going as planned.
“Do you really think you can compete physically with land animals like this?” Bai Chunian tossed him lightly into the air and caught him in his arms again. Without his fish tail, Lan Bo struggled to maintain his balance; as he fell from the air, he instinctively wrapped his arms around Bai Chunian’s neck and his legs around his waist, clinging tightly to avoid hitting the ground.
“Are you scared? Call me ‘husband.’”
“Husband.” Lan Bo had never been one to shy away from such verbal flattery.
The unexpected words slipped from Lan Bo’s mouth. Bai Chunian froze for a moment, then felt the glands at the back of his neck throb and swell.
“Fuck… that sounds so good.” Bai Chunian sat down in Han Xingqian’s office chair while holding Lan Bo, spinning around excitedly. He wrapped his arms around Lan Bo from behind, inhaling the faint scent on his body. Lan Bo wasn’t cold anymore—he was warm. Holding him close to his chest, Bai Chunian felt the warmth radiating from him. There was nothing inside his clothes to block the way; without the moisturizing bandages in the way, Bai Chunian could directly feel Lan Bo’s abs and pecs.
“This feels way too good… Honey, you’re so toned. You’ve got shark-like muscles without even working out—it’s not fair. Your hip bones are so delicate… Your legs are so slender and pale.”
Lan Bo indulged him, letting him inhale for as long as he wanted.
Before long, the fingers Bai Chunian had wrapped around Lan Bo’s waist turned red, and the cheek pressed against his neck gradually grew hot, his breathing growing increasingly ragged.
Lan Bo noticed his unusual state: “What’s wrong?”
Bai Chunian wrapped his arms around him from behind, his hands gripping Lan Bo’s wrists. The tip of his nose, pressed against the skin at the back of Lan Bo’s neck, turned red. He had no energy left to control himself, and the tufts of fur on his ears, which had been sticking out, now lay flat against his head.
“I… I’m in heat.” (in a whisper)