Around the long table sat more than twenty high-ranking omega individuals, each of them focused on taking notes. Doctor Zhong stood before a holographic projection, delivering a lecture centered on the glandular genetics of high-ranking omega.
Yan Yi rested his chin on his hand as he listened, occasionally twirling his pen and jotting down key points in his notebook.
This place was a villa purchased by Tan Meng herself, usually used as a writing studio. High-ranking omega individuals came here to read and connect with one another, and over time it had turned into a kind of club.
The cohesion of a top-tier writer was frightening. At times, one could see omega individuals from different countries and ethnicities chatting and laughing together here.
When Doctor Zhong brought up dependency psychology related to marking in high-ranking omega individuals, he asked who among those present had experienced something like that.
More than a dozen omega individuals, including Yan Yi, raised their hands. Aside from Yan Yi, most of them were J1-level differentiated omega, with only a few reaching M2 level.
Even Tan Meng raised her hand.
Yan Yi looked toward the back of her neck, where a faint red glandular imprint had formed beneath the skin, shaped like a leaf emblem of Arrow Poison Wood.
He had once thought Tan Meng lived far more freely than he did, but it turned out she had also been tormented by the same kind of pathological obsession.
Doctor Zhong regretfully asked everyone to lower their hands, then invited representatives from different ranks of omega to describe the characteristics of high-level dependency.
When it was Yan Yi’s turn, he sat up straight.
“It means treating the alpha who marked me as my entire world. Everything else in my life loses meaning. I live only for him. My dignity and personality as a person gradually erode, willingly becoming a plaything he can summon or dismiss at will.”
Even though his words remained as clear and structured as always, there was still a trace of helpless sorrow in them.
He was stating facts, but his mind kept replaying what had happened that morning before leaving home.
Before going to work, Lu Shangjin had said to him, “Baby, I’m leaving.”
He felt uncomfortable hearing it—something tight in his chest, something stuck in his throat that wouldn’t go up or down.
So he told Lu Shangjin not to call him that.
Lu Shangjin thought about it for a moment, then quickly wrote three notes. One said “baby,” one said “wife,” and one said “spouse.” Then he held up the “baby” one and asked if that was acceptable.
Yan Yi shook his head.
Lu Shangjin then held up the “wife” note. Yan Yi still shook his head.
In the end, Lu Shangjin put the notes away, walked over, and hugged him. He kissed his ear and said, “Then I’ll remove the two wrong answers. Spouse, I’m going to work. Don’t get water on yourself. I’ll wash the dishes when I get back.”
Yan Yi was left momentarily speechless.
Someone like that alpha made it very hard to attribute all dependency to biological instinct alone.
Doctor Zhong brought up the “marking freedom theory,” explaining that biologically, marking was simply an alpha’s way of asserting possession and had nothing to do with reproduction. Omega individuals should have the right to choose whether or when to accept marking.
However, because high-ranking omega individuals were few in number and geographically scattered, they were difficult to organize into families and were often placed in a prey-like position. At present, the marking freedom theory remained only an ideal.
After the lecture ended, Yan Yi stayed to speak with Doctor Zhong, hoping to clarify the details of his own gland repair surgery.
But Doctor Zhong avoided the core of the topic, and being naturally talkative, quickly shifted the conversation toward marking freedom instead.
“I definitely won’t let someone mark me easily,” Doctor Zhong said with a grin as he poured Yan Yi a glass of fresh fruit juice. “Not just because of high-level dependency, but also because of gland hunters who search for high-ranking omega individuals for major families. Remember to take care of yourself—and your baby.”
The omega individuals chatted happily together. Being among their own kind made Yan Yi feel relaxed. All over the world, in every corner, there were omega individuals in situations similar to his—some forced into childbirth, some trapped in unrequited love, some turned into biological weapons and worn down in endless battles.
Another torrential spring rain arrived suddenly. Heavy downpour mixed with thunder trapped Yan Yi on his way home.
He stood under the awning of a café, waiting out the rain, thinking that if he couldn’t get a ride, he would go inside and wait for it to stop.
After a dull rumble of thunder, a blinding flash of lightning suddenly flooded his vision.
Yan Yi grabbed his rabbit ears and curled them into two small spirals, sealing off all openings where sound could enter. A rabbit’s hearing was too sensitive; every thunderclap made his heart jump violently, and he was afraid it might startle the baby in his womb.
Suddenly, a coat still carrying residual warmth was thrown over his head. Lu Shangjin leaned down slightly, pulling him into his arms and covering his ears in the darkness.
Many years ago, there had also been a pair of small, tender hands covering his ears during a thunderstorm.
After his initial differentiation, Yan Yi had once been locked in a laboratory for observation of energy consumption during fasting. Electronic sound-pattern restraints had been fastened around his neck. The little rabbit, afraid of darkness and silence, had curled up under the experimental table.
The door lock had been gently picked open. Lu Shangjin had crawled in, avoiding surveillance cameras, all the way to the underside of the table. From his small schoolbag, he had taken out his lunch box and fed Yan Yi spoonful by spoonful, whispering that the guards would change shifts in ten minutes and telling him to eat quickly.
Yan Yi had eaten obediently through tears, his small hand tightly clutching Lu Shangjin’s clothes.
Outside, it was pouring rain. A flash of white lightning illuminated the room. Lu Shangjin set down the lunch box and draped his school uniform jacket over both of their heads, covering the little rabbit’s ears.
Yan Yi had stared blankly at the boy’s face so close to him.
Ten minutes had been far too short. When Lu Shangjin stood up to leave with his backpack, Yan Yi had grabbed the hem of his pants and crawled after him, trembling as he begged, “Stay one more minute… I’m scared alone.”
Lu Shangjin had returned, placed his hands on Yan Yi’s shoulders, and said seriously, “I’ll come again tomorrow. I’ll definitely take you out eventually.”
Every day, Yan Yi would sit quietly in the corner, staring at that door, because he knew that every night, a beam of light would come through it.
The café wind chime rang in the wind. Yan Yi froze slightly, wrapped in a coat that still carried a water-lily scent.
Lu Shangjin held him with one arm while holding an umbrella with the other, tilting it toward him. Half of his white shirt was soaked at the shoulder.
“It’s wet…” Yan Yi subconsciously reached to adjust the umbrella, only for Lu Shangjin to hook him closer with the handle and kiss his forehead mischievously.
Only then did Yan Yi remember they were no longer in that kind of relationship. He stiffly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his pocket.
Lu Shangjin pulled his hand out again and placed it into his own coat pocket, holding it there to warm it.
In the car, Lu Shangjin glanced at him. “Did you argue with a friend? You seem distracted.”
Yan Yi unscrewed a bottle of mineral water and took a sip, resting his head by the window, forehead against the glass, listening to the pattering rain.
“A long time ago, I thought of something,” he said quietly, “but its feasibility is almost nonexistent.”
Lu Shangjin raised a brow. “What is it?”
“To form a high-ranking omega alliance organization.” Yan Yi lightly scratched his hair and gave a self-deprecating smile. “I tried it with a few PBB members before, but it failed. It’s ridiculous. Maybe nature has already placed us on the prey list as the weak.”
“A high-ranking omega alliance organization,” Lu Shangjin repeated, tapping the steering wheel as he thought.
Yan Yi already knew there was no point discussing such things with Lu Shangjin. Alphas, as the dominant species on Earth and the backbone of most industries, were inherently too proud to empathize, let alone understand.
“It should be an anti-hunting organization,” Lu Shangjin said, eyes fixed ahead as a rabbit charm swayed gently from the rearview mirror.
“I can provide weapons, ammunition, and funding.”
At the red light, Lu Shangjin turned slightly toward him. “If I’m allowed to join, I can draft four proposals for you tonight.”
Yan Yi’s grip on the water bottle slipped slightly.
The car stopped outside the Lu family cemetery. The rain had stopped, but dark clouds still covered half the sky.
Lu Shangjin held a bouquet of lilies and brought Yan Yi to a gravestone.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Lu Shangjin said as he crouched down, brushing away leaves and dust from the tombstone and placing the fresh lilies down. “Today is my father’s death anniversary. I thought long and hard about whether I should come.”
When he was very young, he had once accidentally peeked into an adult bedroom and seen Lu Lin holding Ye Wan on a windowsill, kissing. At that time, the alpha’s eyes were clear and full of affection.
“Lu Lin was once an A3 alpha, the rarest peregrine A3,” Lu Shangjin said quietly, clenching his fist. “But during a mission, because of my father’s mistake, Lu Lin’s gland was shattered by a sniper. Even after transplantation, he could only differentiate down to J1 level.”
“Lu Lin hated my father. My father felt indebted to him. Because of high-level dependency, even after being tormented to death, he still couldn’t leave him.”
“What happened afterward—I’ve already told you. The child my father left behind died of organ failure. I treated that child as an extension of my father, but my father left nothing for me.”
“He didn’t love me.”
Lu Shangjin had donated his younger brother’s remains to Anphia Hospital. Perhaps some healthy organs could still be transplanted, allowing other children to see the world in his place.
“Yan Yan, I haven’t formally apologized to you,” Lu Shangjin said, looking into Yan Yi’s eyes. “I don’t want to become Lu Lin, but the more I fear it, the more I resemble him. I’m as violent and suspicious as he is, as arrogant and dismissive as he is.”
“At first, removing your mark was only because I was afraid that if Lu Lin targeted you, you wouldn’t be able to escape. But later, even I forgot the reason. I overestimated my own loyalty, and I never asked for your consent.”
“Only after my father died did I realize that omega individuals, no matter how strong, still need protection.”
“I’ve done many things that hurt you—too many to ask for forgiveness—but I still want to ask for a chance. To properly protect you and the baby.”
Yan Yi rarely heard Lu Shangjin speak so many words at once. He stared blankly and took a step back.
Lu Shangjin stood two steps away, palms open, holding an old platinum ring.
“If one day in the future you’re willing to accept my apology, would you allow me to mark you?”
Yan Yi’s fingertips trembled. He grabbed the ring tightly in his hand but did not put it on.
He quickly ran to Ye Wan’s gravestone, bowed, and then hurried back to the car.
That night, Yan Yi did not allow Lu Shangjin into his bedroom. He clutched the ring tightly and lay awake in bed the entire night.
Early the next morning, four drafted proposals were neatly placed on the table.