To bring a new pharmaceutical agent to market, a company must first submit a clinical trial application to the national drug administration.
In his previous life, the artificial pheromone project Ying Zhiyu participated in at the National Institute of Biological Sciences was only designed for Alpha and Omega populations.
The agent worked by using an external artificial intervention to sharply boost pheromone compatibility during complete AO marking—hoping that, within the next thirty years, it would improve the overall AO secondary-sex presentation rate.
Meanwhile, the artificial pheromone agent developed under Li Xi’s leadership at LI’s lab added something entirely new: applicability to Betas.
At first, Li Xi had probably considered it from a commercial angle—broader applicability meant a larger market and more profit.
But the project ended up providing the very pharmaceutical foundation Ying Zhiyu needed to make his “increase AO differentiation rates” research feasible.
Historically, biology held that pheromone compatibility reflected genetic compatibility—an instinctive choice.
Hundreds of years ago, ABO society believed in this “genetic pairing” so devoutly that they once enforced compulsory matching marriages.
With society rapidly advancing, people of every gender were growing up in vastly different environments, with different levels of education and life experiences. Naturally, their personalities and worldviews diverged. As individuals developed stronger senses of autonomy, they became increasingly unable to accept a system of “forced matching.” The old method of pairing people solely based on “genetic compatibility” could no longer keep up with modern life.
And so, that system was eventually discarded by the times.
However, over the past century, AO differentiation rates had steadily declined, throwing the ABO gender ratio further out of balance. That was when a few so-called “geniuses” proposed that genetic selection was the only correct path, and that society should reinstate the forced-matching system.
Someone like Ying Zhiyu—who had spent more than a decade researching AO differentiation—could never agree with that view.
His research concluded that the key to the development of Alpha and Omega glands lay in the fetus receiving sufficient pheromone nourishment during the mother’s ten-month pregnancy.
He believed that highly compatible pheromone supply essentially created a “false sense of security” for the fetus. Within that protected space, the fetus could safely develop complete glandular structures.
Of course, even high-compatibility pheromones weren’t a guarantee.
After all, the mother wasn’t a machine. An Omega still had independent thought, their own emotions, and constant reactions to the outside world. This, Ying Zhiyu believed, was the true root cause of the recent decline in AO differentiation rates.
As maternal consciousness grew more autonomous and dominant, the “illusory sense of security” created by pheromones became increasingly fragile.
The success of LI Laboratory’s artificial pheromone agents offered a temporary fix. In the near future, it could raise AO differentiation rates among the next generation. It even provided Beta parents—who previously had no chance of producing Alpha or Omega children—with a real opportunity.
As long as pheromone supply during pregnancy was sufficient, their children might also differentiate into fully developed A or O during puberty.
But in the long run, Ying Zhiyu believed that artificial intervention wasn’t enough. Emotional understanding between parents remained the most crucial factor in raising AO differentiation rates.
Bringing a child into the world was never a one-person effort.
Creating a “safe” environment for the next generation was the shared responsibility of both parents.
When LI’s artificial pheromone drug successfully completed its Phase III clinical trials and the lab prepared to submit the application for official approval, a bold idea began to take shape in Ying Zhiyu’s mind.
In this lifetime, he stood on the shoulders of more than ten years of research accumulated in his past life. Naturally, everything progressed at remarkable speed.
Which made him wonder—
That kidnapping in his previous life, the one that had ended in his unexpected death…
Was it really done by someone trying to use him to threaten Li Xi during the battle for the Li family inheritance?
Or had the real motive been his research all along?
Back then, Ying Zhiyu had been known as “the capital’s most famous live-in son-in-law,” a senior national biological research fellow in his early thirties, and the center of heated online discussions—especially after extremist Alpha groups stripped him of his A-status and compared Omegas to “male birds preening in the wild.”
His online notoriety was hardly any less than Li Xi’s.
And with his outspoken views?
He certainly hadn’t made fewer enemies.
Rather than wait for the hidden mastermind from his last life to aim their gun at him again, why not lure the snake out of its hole himself?
His current research progress had already surpassed what he achieved before. And online, the debate over Li Xi’s pregnancy and childbirth was blazing hotter than ever…
Other than the Li family patriarch Li Songqian still being alive and healthy—and the inheritance battle not yet formally underway—the present situation was already startlingly close to what it had been eleven years into his previous marriage.
If he wanted to rule out whether the kidnapping had been motivated by the inheritance fight…
Now was the perfect chance.
If he leaked just a hint of misleading information about his research, he couldn’t help wondering—
would the person hiding in the shadows finally lose patience?
After Li Xi’s thirtieth birthday passed on December 24th and the year drew to a close, Ying Zhiyu wrapped up the last of his work. His plan was fully formed—waiting only for the right moment.
But plans aside, this wasn’t something he could keep from Li Xi. To avoid misunderstandings and unnecessary worry, he had to discuss it with him.
And convincing Li Xi… wouldn’t be easy.
At 8:15 p.m., after finishing up work in the study, Ying Zhiyu returned to the bedroom.
Since Li Xi had just given birth and their baby was still very young, they agreed to stay in the Li family’s garden villa until the New Year. Afterward, they’d move back to their place near the university—then, once Ying Zhiyu graduated in six months, they’d revisit whether to return to Li Xi’s penthouse in the city center or choose a new home.
Wherever they went, every one of their residences already had a baby room prepared well before Li Xi gave birth, so moving again wouldn’t be troublesome.
The nursery in the garden villa was right next to their bedroom.
Li Xi was there now, watching over Little Love Letter.
The baby, only a few months old, spent most of each day eating and sleeping. She had just finished her milk and wasn’t asleep yet. Ying Zhiyu played with her for a while too, but when her gaze began to drift and she stopped reacting to her two AO dads, the nanny stepped in to coax her to sleep.
Leaving the nursery together, Ying Zhiyu suggested going for a walk.
They took the elevator downstairs, and as they reached the front entrance, Li Xi asked, “Where are we walking?”
After thinking for a moment, Ying Zhiyu answered, “The tennis court?”
The tennis court sat right beside the garden villa—close, spacious, quiet at night, and perfect for a relaxed conversation.
But the moment he heard “tennis court,” Li Xi stopped walking and glanced at Ying Zhiyu.
Ying Zhiyu assumed the weather outside was too cold and Li Xi didn’t want to step out into the wind. He had just opened his mouth to suggest going to the villa’s rooftop garden instead—there was an observatory deck there, quiet and kept at a constant temperature.
Before he could speak, Li Xi’s eyes landed on how lightly dressed Ying Zhiyu was. He simply called out to a passing housekeeper and told them to bring him a coat.
Ying Zhiyu: “…”
President Li really was treating him like a little “cub,” wasn’t he?
A few minutes later, Butler Zhou Shen arrived with not just a coat for Ying Zhiyu, but scarves and gloves for both of them. He even asked politely if they needed snow boots with anti-slip soles or if he should prepare hot drinks for when they returned.
“We’re only taking a quick walk to the tennis court,” Ying Zhiyu said. “No need to trouble yourself.”
Once Zhou Shen left, Ying Zhiyu slipped on the soft leather gloves and laced his fingers with Li Xi’s.
Curious, he asked, “He’s always so attentive—how come he didn’t question us going to the tennis court?”
After all, Zhou Shen had spent more than ten years caring for Li Xi abroad. With his meticulous personality, Ying Zhiyu assumed he’d at least remind them that an Omega still recovering from childbirth shouldn’t engage in strenuous exercise.
Li Xi shook his head. “He won’t interfere in the masters’ affairs.”
A proper housekeeper knows exactly what should and shouldn’t be said or done. That sense of boundaries was the reason Li Songqian valued Zhou Shen so highly.
They soon arrived at the tennis court.
A year and a half ago, the very first day they met in person, they were about to rush off to register their marriage—until an ambush interrupted them, and Ying Zhiyu accidentally ended up returning home with Li Xi instead.
Li Xi’s younger sister, Li Yue, wanting to test Ying Zhiyu, had dragged him into a match on this very court.
Walking across the court now, Ying Zhiyu tilted his head and asked, “What were you thinking that day when you watched us play?”
Li Xi didn’t answer right away.
It had only been a little over a year, yet it felt like a whole other lifetime.
That day had been their first face-to-face meeting—first conversation, first discussion of the marriage agreement, and the decision to get married.
And now… they already had their little “Love Letter.”
Standing in the exact spot he’d stood in back then, Li Xi remembered thinking that perhaps the private investigator the Li family hired needed to be replaced.
The young, handsome Alpha in front of him possessed far too many “surprises” that hadn’t appeared in the investigation reports—each one drawing Li Xi in deeper, yet making him increasingly suspicious.
Suddenly, Li Xi asked, “How do you know how to do all those things?”
Tennis, piano, chess, golf.
And even that moment he faced a gunman—speaking calmly, answering Li Xi’s “Do you know how to handle a gun?” with a simple, steady “Yes.”
It was as if there was nothing Ying Zhiyu didn’t know, couldn’t do, or wasn’t capable of.
And many of those things clearly weren’t skills one could master in a short amount of time just by being smart.
Ying Zhiyu lowered his gaze with a small smile, half joking, half not. “Maybe I learned it all in my previous life.”
Li Xi halted.
Ying Zhiyu kept the same light, teasing tone. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t drink my bowl of Forget-Sorrow Soup clean enough before reincarnating. Carried over some memories. Makes it easy to pick up all kinds of things.”
Li Xi studied him with a probing look.
Ying Zhiyu raised a brow. “Did you actually believe me?”
The last time, on their wedding night, he had told Li Xi he’d “come back” from another life and that they even had two kids together there. The Third Young Master Li hadn’t believed a word.
Li Xi said slowly, “If someone else said it, I wouldn’t believe them. But you…”
Ying Zhiyu leaned in, interested. “But me what?”
Lì Xi exhaled six words: “All the more reason not to believe you.”
With an IQ of 149, even his nonsense could sound perfectly convincing.
Of course, Ying Zhiyu never intended for him to actually believe it.
What happened in his previous life was something he would never tell anyone—least of all Lì Xi. There were too many regrets, too much that couldn’t be changed. Bringing it up now would only cast unnecessary shadows over the happiness they had finally built.
He figured the timing was right. Just as he was about to bring up his plan to lure the snake out of its hole—
Lì Xi lowered his head and kissed him, cutting him off.
“Ying Zhiyu,” he said quietly, “I don’t care what memories you had in your last life. In this one, your memories belong only to me.”