Chapter 23

The story of Li Xi’s parents surprised Zhiyu in its second half.

At first, it seemed a familiar tale: a wealthy, powerful Alpha pursued an international supermodel Omega. Under persistent pursuit, pheromone allure, and financial bombardment, the Omega predictably fell. They fell in love, quickly married, and she became pregnant.

The first half was a Cinderella story.

But life isn’t a fairy tale.

After marriage, Li Xi’s mother, Gan Ruyuan, discovered that Li Songqian had deceived her: their pheromones were extremely mismatched.

Li Songqian had used prohibited “inducers,” creating the illusion of high-compatibility pheromones. As the heir to a world-class pheromone conglomerate, possession of forbidden substances wasn’t surprising.

This was the first shock Li Xi’s Omega mother endured after marriage.

Gan Ruyuan wasn’t concerned with pheromone compatibility itself—she was furious about the deceit, the marriage built on lies.

When the deception was exposed, Li Songqian remained arrogantly unrepentant, seeing it as a harmless white lie. Communication failed, leaving a fracture in the trust foundational to marriage—laying the seed for a second, devastating blow.

After giving birth in October, at the full-month celebration for Li Xi and Li Yue, Gan Ruyuan encountered someone who had wronged her.

The fashion world is far from pure; corruption lurks everywhere. Before stepping onto the international stage, she had suffered the industry’s unspoken rules. That painful past resurfaced at her children’s celebration when she saw one of the perpetrators—a friend of Li Songqian.

That night, Gan Ruyuan and Li Songqian had a fierce argument. She suspected he had also been complicit.

Even if Li Songqian hadn’t participated directly, he had at least played an enabling role. Their so-called “upper-class” elites treated ordinary people as objects for amusement.

Gan Ruyuan could not accept that her husband was such a person.

Li Xi recounted flatly: “She felt Li Songqian was disgusting, and by extension, probably found me and Li Yue disgusting too.”

Perhaps unable to endure repeated blows, Gan Ruyuan’s postpartum recovery was poor. Her depression worsened.

Before Li Xi and Li Yue turned two, taking advantage of Li Songqian being away on business, she jumped into the pool and never resurfaced.

“She had removed her health-monitoring bracelet, which would automatically alert if off for more than ten minutes. Rescue teams found her quickly. She was in the ICU for forty-eight hours before being declared brain-dead.”

Zhiyu had assumed Li Xi might resist sharing such details, but he recounted the story calmly.

Li Xi told Zhiyu: “I learned all this as an adult through private investigators. But after knowing, I did nothing—continued studying, returned to the country, joined the company…”

“Now, and preparing to join the board as well.”

He tugged at the corner of his mouth, pulling out a bitter, self-mocking smile.

Zhiyu gently squeezed Li Xi’s knuckles, simply looking at him with tenderness, saying nothing.

But the longer Li Xi stayed under that gaze, the harder it seemed for him to endure.

He lowered his eyes, calmly analyzing himself: “Do you think I’m cold-blooded? I don’t feel sadness, and there’s no anger.”

Zhiyu continued stroking the back of Li Xi’s hand.

“No,” he said softly. “That’s not cold-blooded.”

Li Xi’s Omega mother had passed away when he and Li Yue were still under two years old. He only learned the details when he turned eighteen, long after his worldview had stabilized.

Firstly, he had no emotional connection with his mother.

Secondly, Li Xi was born into an elite, high-society environment, and his perspective and emotions were inevitably different from hers.

As for… being cold-blooded.

If he were truly cold-blooded, truly indifferent, he wouldn’t have been distant from Li Songqian.

If his goal had been to secure the family inheritance, to eventually hold power in the Li Group, Li Xi could have continued to feign filial obedience, keeping the façade of a dutiful son. That would have been far easier than maintaining this lukewarm, awkward, estranged demeanor, which pleased his Alpha father far less.

Over time, Zhiyu realized he was exceptionally good at reading Li Xi’s emotions.

Even though Li Xi’s face was usually impassive, when he lowered his eyes to avoid eye contact, or tightened his sharp jawline, leaving only a stern side profile visible, Zhiyu knew the Third Young Master of the Li family was displeased.

At this moment, with Li Xi’s mood low, Zhiyu admitted to himself that he had partially caused it. If he hadn’t asked, no unpleasant memories would have been triggered.

So, humbly, Zhiyu asked, “How should I comfort you, Your Highness?”

He teased Li Xi with the nickname he’d found online.

Li Xi shot him a sideways glance.

Zhiyu leaned forward, forcing himself close to Li Xi: “Come on, Your Highness, give me a plan?”

The Alpha bent down toward him, and because he was so close, the tip of his head brushed against Li Xi’s chin.

It tickled slightly.

Li Xi’s eyelashes twitched, and he finally looked up at Zhiyu. After a moment, Zhiyu noticed his gaze seemed fixed at the top of his head.

Zhiyu tilted his head: “Huh? Something on my head?”

He reached up but felt nothing.

In the blink of an eye, Li Xi had moved his gaze away—but this time, it seemed deliberate.

Zhiyu considered, then tentatively asked, “Want to touch it?”

Li Xi’s fingertips curled involuntarily at his sides, a brief spark lighting his eyes.

Zhiyu raised a brow, tilted his head, and pressed on: “Wanna feel how it is?”

Finally, the highly esteemed and exalted Young Master Li Xi “graciously” lifted his hand.

Ever since Zhiyu’s mother had patted the Alpha’s head, he had wanted to rub this IQ-140 brain.

Monday came, and Zhiyu returned to school.

That week, his doctoral advisor, Academician Xia Xianru, was taking him to attend a genetics conference.

Zhiyu had explained the situation to Li Xi in advance by phone.

Li Xi asked, “Should I send an assistant with you?”

Zhiyu laughed: “I am the assistant.”

A PhD student, after all, is basically a research assistant for their advisor. There’s no need for an “assistant” to accompany the “boss” and then have a personal assistant of their own.

Arriving a day early in Shenzhen, the host city, Zhiyu and his advisor went straight to their reserved hotel.

Xia Xianru was a titan in domestic biology—there was no reason to share a room with anyone else.

Another colleague attending from the university’s biomedicine department was Ma Congya, the instructor whose undergraduate genetics exam Zhiyu had helped make last semester when unforeseen circumstances left her stranded abroad.

Ma Congya had brought her daughter along. Her daughter, a freshman in the university’s foreign languages department, had skipped military training for health reasons and thus stayed with her mother. Both mother and daughter were Omegas and naturally shared a room.

Zhiyu had a double room to himself.

By 7 p.m., after settling in, Zhiyu checked in with Li Xi. Li Xi seemed busy and didn’t reply.

Xia Xianru called Zhiyu to join her for dinner at the hotel restaurant.

Zhiyu had just showered and hadn’t even dried his hair, but he rushed out.

Before leaving, he noticed the bedside charging outlet seemed faulty—despite charging for a long time, his phone still displayed a low-battery warning.

He had no time to deal with it, so he unplugged it and took his nearly dead phone down to the elevator.

At the restaurant, Ma Congya and her daughter were already there.

The four of them shared a table, with Zhiyu seated to the daughter’s right.

“Zhiyu, did you wash your hair?” the young girl whispered, noticing his damp hair.

“Yeah,” he replied politely, then returned to cutting his steak.

She reminded him softly: “The AC’s pretty cold. Be careful not to catch a cold.”

Zhiyu just shook his head: “I’m fine.”

At the table, the professors discussed the genetics conference.

Ma Congya said, “AO differentiation is becoming increasingly unpredictable.”

In earlier times, before modern biology developed, people assumed Alpha-Omega unions would always produce AO offspring. But now, with rapid societal development, whether due to genetic changes or other factors, more and more AO couples are producing Beta children.

Some argue that high pheromone compatibility is necessary for AO unions to produce Alpha and Omega children, though exceptions remain.

Zhiyu listened closely; the discussion reflected real scientific questions.

For example, Li Xi’s fraternal twin sister, Li Yue, was a Beta. Both parents were standard AO, yet Li Xi became an Omega while Li Yue was Beta.

Even in high-compatibility couples, like Li Xi’s older sister Li Qin and her Omega spouse, all three children were Betas.

As they ate, the professors continued the discussion.

Ma Congya’s daughter, somewhat bored, chatted with Zhiyu: “Do you know any seniors from our foreign languages department? I’ve heard it’s full of cliques, very exclusive.”

“I didn’t participate in military training because of health issues, so I feel like an outsider. By the time classes start, everyone else will have bonded, and I’ll still feel like a newcomer.”

Zhiyu thought about it: in any school, there are social hierarchies. The foreign languages department just happened to have more Omegas, which attracts attention and gossip.

He recalled one person: Zhiyu’s former roommate Xu Kuo’s girlfriend, Ni Lu, was from the foreign languages department. Through her, he had met their class monitor, who was the vice president of the student council.

Zhiyu suggested: “During freshman military training, the student council supervises logistics. If your health permits, I can try to get you involved in helping—like delivering water. It might help you integrate faster.”

The girl brightened: “Really?”

Zhiyu nodded: “If you want, I can send you her WeChat—”

Before he could finish, his advisor called: “Zhiyu.”

“Yes, professor?”

Xia Xianru asked: “What’s your view?”

Though he had been chatting with Ma Congya’s daughter, Zhiyu had been listening attentively to the professors’ conversation.

Modern genetics places great importance on AO differentiation because of the unique traits of Alpha and Omega within the ABO tri-sex system.

Alphas tend to be tall, strong, and energetic. Omegas’ heat cycles, though troublesome, are linked to longevity, making Omegas the longest-lived among the three sexes. Betas, comparatively, are less exceptional.

Zhiyu had specialized in this field at the National Institute of Biological Sciences in his past life and already had findings and insights.

He was confident sharing his academic perspective now, even after marrying Li Xi:

“I think AO differentiation, aside from genetics and pheromone compatibility, may also be influenced by the emotional bond between the Alpha and Omega, or by the Omega’s mood and hormonal changes during pregnancy.”

Meanwhile, at a private hospital in the capital:

Li Xi sat up on the examination bed.

Qin Baoyan, his private doctor, casually said while reviewing the paper report: “Your pheromone fluctuations during this heat cycle were huge. I almost jumped when the alert went off in the middle of the night.”

Li Xi pressed his lips together. “So, did the checkup show any issues?”

Qin Baoyan shook her head. “No real issues. You’ve always been in good health.”

Hearing the conclusion, Li Xi put on his clothes and prepared to leave.

Qin Baoyan almost laughed in exasperation. She and Li Xi had been friends for many years. Leaning against the examination table, she folded her arms and reminded him, “Did you use contraception?”

“Usually, such a large pheromone fluctuation during heat also affects hormone levels—it’s a physical sign of arousal. Omegas are extremely likely to conceive.”