“Jin… when will you… stop being so harsh with me…”
The little creature’s trembling, dew-like voice lightly tugged at Lu Shangjin’s heart. He looked momentarily lost, then carefully pulled the trembling little rabbit into his arms. He handed Yan Yi a tissue to wipe his tears and awkwardly kissed his eyes. “Was I too rough?”
Yan Yi, utterly exhausted and weak, gave a small soft sound of agreement, curling his frail body against Lu Shangjin. He didn’t even have the strength to move.
He really looked like he was in pain.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry anymore,” Lu Shangjin bent down, cupping Yan Yi’s face, wiping away both tears and nose dribbles. “Tsk, what’s wrong with you?”
Yan Yi’s nose was red, like a tiny pale cherry flushed with pink, curled up small from being scolded.
It reminded Lu Shangjin of the first time they met: Yan Yi was just a little milk rabbit, barely seven, still awkward with words, peeking outside the piano room, standing on tiptoe with ears perked up, listening to him practice.
Caught in the act, shy and scared, he’d curled into a tiny ball, a little bundle with rabbit ears and a fluffy tail, softly saying, “Beautiful.”
—
Lu Shangjin cleaned him up and tucked him back under the covers. Yan Yi looked a bit uncomfortable, curled in Lu Shangjin’s arms, drifting toward sleep.
Lu Shangjin couldn’t help feeling a little frustrated—his good mood after finally relieving tension had been mostly worn down.
Yan Yi’s affection toward him was always so sluggish. Why didn’t he like it?
Wasn’t the mating instinct supposed to be relieved through closeness? He had been patient for half a lifetime this time, carefully gentle in every detail—so why did Yan Yi seem uncomfortable?
Even the strawberry milk he had specially bought for him earlier was eaten reluctantly.
It was almost like Yan Yi had grown weary of him, just as he had once grown weary of Yan Yi. Lu Shangjin felt a pang of panic, but quickly reminded himself of something he’d read.
The theory of high-tier reproductive instinct had long been proven. High-tier omegas were rare, and the species’ instincts would increase their attachment to their marking alpha to ensure the continuation of these superior genes. The higher the gland differentiation, the stronger the attachment.
Likewise, the higher the alpha’s differentiation level, the more their pheromones would drive them to seek out omegas to pair with and leave superior offspring—an evolutionary instinct of natural selection.
Although some scholars proposed the “high-tier instinct obeys compatibility theory,” when faced with the unknown, people tended to believe what they wanted to believe.
Everything has two sides. A third-tier, ultra-high omega gland granted abilities far beyond ordinary limits, but it also acted like an invisible shackle, making them prisoners of natural law.
So Lu Shangjin felt confident, almost fearless.
He leaned over, lightly stroking the little rabbit’s soft hair. “Yan Yan, don’t you miss me?”
Yan Yi, not yet asleep, was startled awake by the question, suddenly alert.
Of course he missed him.
Whenever he went home, he would always bring a rose, ready to tell his alpha in that moment: “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
The rose in his pocket had wilted, and Lu Shangjin hadn’t even looked at him.
No point thinking about it.
Yan Yi twitched his little rabbit ears and asked in a hoarse voice, “Is it uncomfortable being with a high-compatibility partner? There are so many omegas waiting for you to pamper them.”
Lu Shangjin froze, then realized that Yan Yi was questioning him about his past indiscretions.
He turned to lie beside Yan Yi, wrapping him in his arm, and spoke with a rare patience: “No… don’t use the word partner. I’m done with all of them. You’re my omega. You’re different from them.”
Yan Yi curved his eyes, forcing a small smile, snuggling into Lu Shangjin’s arms and draping his hand over Lu Shangjin’s lean, muscular waist.
As expected, Lu Shangjin immediately relaxed, holding him close with relief.
Yan Yi was just too tired to argue anymore, and it wasn’t really his fault—no one could understand the pain of high-dose suppressants unless they experienced it themselves.
He apologized, though he wasn’t even sure what he’d done wrong.
Lu Shangjin didn’t care what Yan Yi wanted. He just acted on impulse, giving freely and hoping for a reciprocation.
He had cut ties with all the others—they were expendable, replaceable in a moment.
But Yan Yi was different. Of course, pampered omegas always had plenty, flashy cars, and houses—but Yan Yi had nothing else. Truly different.
The night before, Lu Shangjin had fought an M2 rhino alpha. He wasn’t sure if the other alpha had survived. Fighting always took a toll, and he had exhausted his glandular energy.
During their quiet time earlier, he’d been releasing calming pheromones to ease Yan Yi’s discomfort. Holding the soft little rabbit in his arms, it wasn’t long before Yan Yi fell asleep.
Yan Yi gently touched his own belly, feeling the baby remain still, unsure if Lu Shangjin had accidentally hurt it.
The baby’s life was tough, having such a carefree father.
Yan Yi turned to look at Lu Shangjin’s face. His deep eye sockets seemed gentle only when closed, and the straight nose cast a small shadow on his face. His broad chest held Yan Yi completely, pressing him against the clearly defined eight-pack abs.
How could such an enticing exterior contain such a cold, distant heart?
“Jin…” Yan Yi opened his mouth slightly, tracing Lu Shangjin’s brows with his fingertips. Lu Shangjin’s even breathing brushed against his fingers.
This was the scene from his dreams: Lu Shangjin lying beside him, holding him, protecting him, releasing calming pheromones so the little rabbit could sleep safely even in dreams.
“One day of your care is enough. I’m not greedy,” Yan Yi said, placing his hand over Lu Shangjin’s, fingers intertwined.
He didn’t dare go back with him.
It was enough to leave a good memory for now.
—
When Lu Shangjin woke, the bed was empty.
He sat up, looking out through the thin curtains at the approaching evening sky, feeling a bit lost.
Turning his head, he saw a bowl of still-warm chicken porridge on the nightstand. He relaxed again, picking up the bowl, noticing the faint milk candy scent on the rim, a trace left by the little rabbit’s delicate fingers.
For some reason, the usually ordinary sweet smell now carried a strange lingering affection, compelling him to finish every grain.
His shirt was neatly hung in the wardrobe, not a wrinkle in sight.
Lu Shangjin went downstairs. The bar was lively, the rotating stage lights casting countless circular patterns across the floor. The husky alpha sat on a high stool, guitar in hand, live camera in the corner capturing the perfect angle, lost in a song requested by fans.
A crowd of various customers gathered by the bar. Several young omegas gazed admiringly at the rabbit-eared bartender.
A shy omega boy asked Yan Yi, “Your ears are so cute, can I touch them?”
Yan Yi, as usual in his bartender vest, pushed a glass of Holiday Sweetheart toward the omega, twirling a tiny daisy onto the rim with one hand, resting his chin on his hand with a faint smile. “Touching comes at a price.”
He snapped his fingers, flipping a pastel card toward the omega. “The boss is making a wishing tree. Want to be the first to hang something on it?”
The omega’s face turned bright red like a balloon, puffing his cheeks as he carefully wrote a card for Yan Yi. Yan Yi lifted a rabbit ear, letting the omega touch it.
“So soft…” the boy whispered, face still red.
A few alphas approached, whistling and leaning on the bar, teasing: “Little bunny, can we touch your ears too? Tail’s okay too.”
“Ears are only for cute omegas,” Yan Yi replied lightly from behind the bar, smiling. “Gentlemen shouldn’t touch an omega’s ears without permission.”
The flashing lights highlighted Yan Yi’s side profile, making the little rabbit seem to glow.
Lu Shangjin stood by the wooden stairs. The little white rabbit who focused so attentively on chores at home could look so good outside.
Yan Yi noticed Lu Shangjin by the stairs and slightly toned down his smile.