The strawberries, all uniform in size and a deep, luscious red, were neatly arranged in a paper box. They must have been freshly picked and air-shipped, still giving off a clean, sweet fragrance. Yan Yi knew that at least half of the value lay in the money spent. He could only muster the leftover strength after resisting the pain to force a look of enjoyment onto his face.
His stomach churned violently, twisting as if a strong man were wringing a towel, threatening to tear apart. Every bite of the cold, watery fruit made the cramping pain resist his swallowing.
He ate ten or so in a row.
It wasn’t the strawberries themselves that he savored, but the comforting pheromones lingering on the hand that delivered each one.
Pheromones in an individual’s gland serve subtle, functional differences—roughly divided into dominance, calming, or mating types—and vary with the alpha’s emotional state.
The calming pheromones required an alpha’s patient, composed presence to be effective. Driven by instinctive protection for a naturally weaker omega, the pheromones would stimulate receptors in the omega’s glands, sending signals to the central nervous system, producing a sense of safety, and easing pain while stabilizing emotions.
Releasing these calming pheromones tired Lu Shangjin; he lacked patience.
And yet, he had an unyielding instinct to protect Yan Yi.
An omega at the pinnacle of the pyramid, with a top-tier third-stage gland even alphas could not match, able to stop two GTRs by hand, catch high-speed AK47 bullets, and break through a helicopter’s double-layer bulletproof glass barehanded—such a rare omega slowly eroded Lu Shangjin’s sympathy year after year.
Lu Shangjin had bought an expensive pair of wedding rings and knelt to place one on Yan Yi’s ring finger, making Yan Yi mistakenly believe they were married.
The mark had been wiped from his gland, leaving no binding. Lu Shangjin considered it a breakup. To Yan Yi, it was like the collapse of a home he’d lived in for over ten years, a place no longer bearing his name.
Love felt like the toothpaste bought in hard times.
When new, a gentle squeeze would release a generous amount, but you wished to suck it back in. After using it a lot, you had to fold and press it, rolling it to squeeze out pea-sized bits—a laborious task, yet always yielding, so you kept it for the moment.
The invincible little rabbit didn’t need protection at all.
Lu Shangjin stroked his head: “I have an afternoon flight, a short business trip. When I return, I’ll take you home.”
Hearing “business trip,” Yan Yi’s heart sank halfway, but the second half of the sentence eased him considerably.
He breathed out a relieved laugh. “Take me home…” Those four simple words felt like a sudden match struck in bitter cold, shining warmly in Yan Yi’s eyes.
“Mm… take me home…” Yan Yi held Lu Shangjin’s hand before it could retreat, kissing his fingertips.
Lu Shangjin bent and kissed his brow. “Be good.”
He left, and the empty, gray-white special care ward was once again Yan Yi’s alone. He took out his usual notebook and pen, turned to a fresh page, and wrote the four words: Take me home.
He added a plus sign and noted: +112 points.
Every time Lu Shangjin hurt him, Yan Yi deducted a point from a perfect score of 100. Reaching zero meant he no longer wanted to love him.
Until now, Lu Shangjin’s score had been negative twelve. Enough to revoke a driver’s license, yet he still loved him.
One word—home—healed the past hurts entirely.
Yan Yi spent two hours leaning over the toilet, finally expelling all the icy strawberry juice churning in his stomach.
An empty stomach felt better.
He crawled back into bed, scrolling through Weibo, bored enough to unfollow everyone he didn’t know in his feed. Previously, he had clumsily followed hundreds of random accounts.
After unfollowing dozens, a protective mechanism seemed to trigger, requiring a verification code for each account unfollowed.
He zoned out, entering them one by one, until only Yuan Mi remained in his following list.
It was possible to be bored alone to this extent.
Yuan Mi’s new drama was airing. In a striking poster, he stood in black, twin swords at his side, cold expression on his face, sharing the center stage with a long-haired, stunningly beautiful alpha.
Fans screamed, screenshotting and flooding the comments with “Ahhhhhh!” as if sending voice messages.
In a moving gif, the beautiful alpha bent to kiss Yuan Mi’s forehead, while Yuan Mi raised innocent, watery, puppy-like eyes, gazing deeply in return. Slightly overdone, yet still with that teasing charm.
The kiss Lu Shangjin had placed on Yan Yi’s brow was similar—perfectly charming, low and graceful, almost as if for a camera effect, casual yet detached.
Yan Yi commented: “Great acting.”
—
Ten minutes later, the comment, with thousands of likes, became the target of online abuse.
“Now the haters hide so deep? Are you all eighty-eight personalities?”
“Inside joke, round Yuan fans, you try if you dare, nmsl <3”
“Round Yuan fans, please don’t misfire. If you’re new, control yourself; don’t bring hate to Yuan Yuan, thank you.”
Yan Yi: “…”
Yuan Mi, still on set touching up makeup while scrolling Weibo, saw the comment: Great acting.
He squinted at the ID: How can you eat rabbits.
Rage surged up his neck, forcing a swallow down. He ordered two pounds of spicy rabbit heads through Meituan.
Just after placing the order, a call came.
Checking the note: Xia Zong. Someone you don’t dare cross.
“Hello, Mr. Xia,” Yuan Mi greeted politely, covering his mouth with the script and whispering in the corner.
A proud, haughty alpha voice.
—
Soon, Yan Yi received a blocked and deleted private message, unable to comment for three days.
For the first time in his life, so many people had spoken to him, only for the lively moment to vanish in fifteen minutes. Such a pity.
Playing with the movie emperor was an effective way to pass time. Six or seven hours flew by. Exhausted, Yan Yi could barely hold his phone, nestling into his pillow as the throbbing pain in his bones spread like a tide, the drug effects striking, day after day of torment.
Sometimes he wanted to go out, but loneliness wasn’t insomnia—it was the occasional desire for a drink. He thought of calling someone, then decided against it.
Almost eight o’clock, after several trips to the restroom, vomiting nothing, he had no strength left to climb back into bed. He knelt by the toilet, falling asleep there, embarrassed like an uncle trying to show off after drinking a fifth of Wuliangye at a party.
He would never behave so poorly with Lu Shangjin present. He wanted Lu Shangjin to see only his strongest, most composed side, refusing to add the word troublesome to the already faded impression.
At midnight, the ward door quietly opened. A tall, upright figure entered carrying a stack of square boxes. Not turning on the main lights, he used the screen to illuminate the bedside lamp gently, careful not to wake the sleeping figure in bed.
The alpha’s breath was controlled, pheromones perfectly concealed. He scanned the room; the bed was empty.
He searched the ward, discovering the little white rabbit curled up on the bathroom floor, asleep.
So different from the image of the little lop-eared rabbit holding a black helmet in one hand and a Desert Eagle aimed at his forehead in the other—a weak, fragile butterfly, stiff in the first northern wind of winter.
In the uneasy slumber, Yan Yi felt himself lifted lightly. A potent dose of calming pheromones enveloped his frail body. Curled tight, he gradually relaxed, leaning into the warm chest.
He had never felt such comforting reassurance. The alpha released the pheromones patiently, without haste, without mixing in chaotic impurities.
A delicate scent filled the air, difficult to describe—like baby’s breath occasionally smelled in a flower shop.
The sense of security lasted until six in the morning.
Yan Yi slept until noon, awakened by the nurse bringing his medication, a stack of unknown paper boxes beside him.
Opening them, he found three boxes of imported Timothy hay.
The nurse, inhaling her medicine, asked: “Who sent the tea?”
Yan Yi couldn’t remember. The window had been wide open; the faint pheromone hint of the visitor had dissipated before he woke.
“It’s not tea,” he said.
Curious: “Then what is it?”
He popped a small handful of the hay into his mouth. Its aroma was strong, chewy—he couldn’t help eating another handful.
“It’s rabbit food.”
This became the only solid food he could eat over the next few days without vomiting.
But he didn’t dare seek the truth, instinctively fearful of kindness from strangers.
After Lu Shangjin returned, Yan Yi’s condition improved, gradually adapting to the anesthetic’s side effects, finally ready to be taken home to await surgery.
Yan Yi sat in the passenger seat, watching the greenery blur past outside, though in the rearview mirror, he quietly studied Lu Shangjin’s sharp, captivating profile.
Previously, he had always driven, rarely having the chance to quietly observe Lu Shangjin for so long without interruption or rejection.
The car turned in an unfamiliar direction. Yan Yi suddenly realized and asked, surprised: “Aren’t we going home?”
Lu Shangjin kept his gaze on the road. At a red light, his long fingers lightly tapped the leather-wrapped steering wheel.
“We’re going to my place. My parents want me to take you there first.”
During the business trip, Lu Lin had already called internationally to urge him. Lu Shangjin was exasperated.
Yan Yi’s usually slight smile stiffened. His nose twitched, and he stomped his foot in frustration.
“No! I’m not going! Jin-ge, I’m not going!”
He trembled, clutching his left hand, hiding it behind his back, sleeves covering his hand, sweat-cold in his palm, fear gripping the gland at the back of his neck.