After chatting, neither could sleep.
Alpha sensitive period symptoms—restlessness, irritability, territoriality, heightened aggression—weren’t obvious in Zhiyu.
Yet his fevered forehead showed the response was still strong.
“Why aren’t you using the suppressant? Aren’t you uncomfortable?”
Back in the office, Li Xi noticed the Alpha suppressants and calming agent on the desk were untouched.
Zhiyu shook his head. “I feel fine. No need.”
Though Alpha sensitive periods aren’t as intense as Omega heat, the sensations are still there.
But medicine can be harsh. After his sister’s incident, Zhiyu had developed a cautious aversion, particularly toward quick-acting Western medicine.
He could smell Li Xi’s fresh, stimulating Omega pheromones in the room. Li Xi, probably worried, had even applied the neck patches generously before sleeping.
After resting, Zhiyu felt much better.
Just as he was about to get up, Li Xi asked, “Want anything?”
Zhiyu: “A drink of water.”
His throat felt parched after sleeping.
Li Xi didn’t let him move, got the water himself, and brought it back.
Zhiyu reached out, but Li Xi fed it directly to him.
Zhiyu: …Alpha in sensitive period isn’t incapacitated.
He paused, then drank along with Li Xi’s hand.
Afterward, Li Xi, still concerned, checked Zhiyu’s neck temperature and asked bluntly: “Stay here or go home?”
Zhiyu blinked. “What?”
Facing Li Xi’s clear, deep eyes, oh… prove himself?
A highly compatible A/O pair carried a natural fit in their genes, and during marking it was all too easy for things to slip out of control.
In his previous life, the reason Ying Zhiyu ended up giving Li Xi a lifelong mark all started with an unexpected incident during his susceptible period after a research-institute dinner.
Now that he’d been reborn, Ying Zhiyu still wasn’t confident he could completely restrain himself under these circumstances.
And right now they were still at the LI Group headquarters, in the lounge inside Li Xi’s office. Outside were thousands of employees—many of them his fans.
Even if this life they were going to form a lifelong bond again,
this absolutely shouldn’t happen here.
Li Xi didn’t need to—had no reason to—wrong himself like this just to accommodate him.
Li Xi was only wearing a shirt when he slept, and maybe because he’d been releasing his pheromones for him, the collar had already been undone.
Ying Zhiyu’s throat bobbed almost imperceptibly as he slid his gaze away from Li Xi’s exposed neck. He lowered his eyes and buttoned Li Xi’s shirt one button at a time.
He even smoothed the collar afterward.
Then he looked up again, smiling. “Of course we’re going home. I can’t exactly perform at my best here.”
Li Xi stared at the handsome, refined Alpha in front of him, his expression complicated. It wasn’t hard to understand what Ying Zhiyu was worried about.
This Alpha always knew his boundaries. Always knew when to advance and when to retreat.
But could an Alpha who was young, full of hot blood, and currently in a highly sensitive susceptible state really stay rational every single moment? Have that much self-control?
Or… was he simply not that attracted to him?
Before Li Xi could spiral too far, Ying Zhiyu casually straightened the wrinkles on his own shirt and asked, “Where do you want to go to celebrate tonight?”
Li Xi froze. “Celebrate?”
“You just wrapped up the board-entry vote, didn’t you?” Ying Zhiyu said.
Li Xi frowned. It had always been a sure thing, so he didn’t see anything worth making a fuss over.
Especially with the Alpha still in his susceptible period.
He was about to say the matter didn’t deserve celebrating when Ying Zhiyu spoke seriously:
“To celebrate my promotion to Chairman Li’s ‘spouse.’”
—
The Li family’s garden villa sat right at the center of the three LI Group towers.
Walking along the glass skybridge leading from the headquarters to the villa, Li Xi asked casually, “I thought you didn’t like coming here.”
He wasn’t wrong—Ying Zhiyu couldn’t say he enjoyed visiting the Lis.
It had nothing to do with the architecture, the location, or the level of luxury. It had everything to do with the people living inside.
Every member of the Li family was formidable in their own way. Dealing with them meant staying sharp, cautious, and diplomatic at all times. Family ties in a powerful clan were tangled with too many other things. If he could avoid the social maneuvering, Ying Zhiyu certainly preferred to.
But today was different.
Today Li Xi had just passed the shareholder vote and officially entered the board. By all logic, he ought to return home.
And Li Xi hadn’t mentioned it once in the office this afternoon—clearly he’d cancelled everything ahead of time because of his susceptible period.
He didn’t need to.
Ying Zhiyu had said it before: in this life, whatever benefits Li Xi offered him, he would accept—gladly.
As for the rest, Li Xi didn’t need to sacrifice anything for him. An Alpha’s susceptible period wasn’t as big a deal as people made it out to be.
So he simply answered, slightly off-topic, “We’ve got to eat anyway, and this place is close.”
Li Songqian was already home.
After the shareholder meeting ended, several senior LI Group board members had come over.
Facing Li Songqian—or any of the Lis who had been suspects in his murder in his past life—Ying Zhiyu was surprisingly calm.
He didn’t feel much hatred.
Before dying in his previous life, he had never even imagined rebirth. His thirty-two years, though imperfect, were something he was generally satisfied with.
And hatred… was nothing more than an emotion that punished oneself over and over while accomplishing nothing.
If, in this life, he never found the real mastermind who killed him, was he supposed to live forever in fear and hatred?
If that were the case, his rebirth wouldn’t count as living again—more like being stuck in the shadow of death, a walking corpse.
So Ying Zhiyu met Li Songqian.
He called him “Dad” when he should, played the dutiful son-in-law in front of the board members, and offered compliments and courtesies as expected. He didn’t leave anything undone.
When Li Xi led him over to greet Li Songqian, the older man and several board members were in the rooftop garden—some playing chess, some chatting.
Since they were juniors, it wouldn’t be polite to greet them and leave immediately.
In situations like this, Ying Zhiyu didn’t need to deliberately perform. He simply stayed helpful and quiet, fiddling with the tea set on the table.
Before he could finish brewing a pot, Li Xi stopped him, his tone stiff. “You don’t need to do this.”
Ying Zhiyu looked up, meeting Li Xi’s faintly furrowed brows.
He smiled and turned his hand over, lightly squeezing the back of Li Xi’s hand. “It’s just making tea. In tea ceremony, this is part of the fun.”
Li Xi studied him for a while. Only when he confirmed the young Alpha wasn’t forcing himself did he slowly release his grip.
Ying Zhiyu continued brewing and pouring the tea, and even stood to exchange a few polite words with each of the board members.
When he sat back down, Li Xi’s dark eyes were already fixed on him.
“What is it?” he asked.
Li Xi opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Li Songqian called, “Zhiyu.”
Both men looked up.
“Yes, Dad?” Ying Zhiyu responded.
Li Songqian gestured toward the chessboard. “Come take a look. What should the next move be?”
Ying Zhiyu walked over, and Li Xi followed.
Sensing Li Xi getting ready to move closer, Ying Zhiyu subtly reached back and took his hand where no one could see.
He rubbed the back of Li Xi’s hand; Li Xi’s posture stiffened slightly, understanding this was meant to soothe him.
The Alpha began studying the chessboard.
Then, after exactly five seconds of thoughtful silence, Ying Zhiyu pointed to a black piece.
Li Songqian followed his gesture, surprise flickering in his eyes.
“You know chess?”
It was a sharp insight for someone who’d only stood there a moment.
But Ying Zhiyu shook his head and scratched his hair a little, as if embarrassed. “Dad, you’re flattering me. I don’t know chess at all. I just saw you staring at that move for a while and took a gamble.”
His tone clearly implied the real expert was Li Songqian.
“Looks like I guessed right?”
He turned with a smile, as if seeking confirmation from someone who really understood chess.
If it weren’t for the Alpha’s hand still rhythmically stroking the back of his, Li Xi might have been fooled by that rookie act.
He followed Ying Zhiyu’s lead, nodding. “Dad’s testing your chess skills, not your observational skills.”
His words both affirmed that the guess was correct and gently scolded him for taking shortcuts.
Li Songqian was pleased.
Even though Ying Zhiyu kept himself restrained, another Alpha at such close range couldn’t miss the signs—his pheromones were restless, volatile.
So… his son wasn’t satisfying his Alpha during a susceptible period?
Back when they were preparing the wedding, Li Xi had custom-ordered matching meteorite watches and filmed a birthday video for him. When Li Songqian received those reports, he’d felt a subtle, unpleasant tug.
So what if he was a PhD Alpha?
LI’s pheromone lab was full of them.
If not for the compatibility—and his good-looking face—someone like this “outsider phoenix Alpha” wouldn’t have been qualified to match with his son at all.
But seeing him tonight, Li Songqian relaxed a little.
His son clearly hadn’t fallen too deep under the sweet facade of this young Alpha.
—
Dinner at the Li residence was lively that night.
In celebration of Li Xi joining the board, the senior directors all stayed to dine.
Second Young Master Li Lü, however, didn’t come back.
Judging by Li Songqian’s expression when the servants relayed the message, Li Lü’s blatant refusal to even “pretend” tonight seemed… interesting.
Li Qin, the eldest daughter, did return to congratulate Li Xi. Her Omega and their youngest daughter also came, and this time they didn’t avoid being seen—everyone ate together in the main dining hall.
After dinner, the directors were sent off.
Then Li Songqian called his eldest daughter and third son into the study to give them some instructions.
Half an hour later, Li Xi left the study.
He found the young Alpha in the basement gaming room, playing mobile games with his teenage niece.
Sixteen-year-old Li Zhiyin shouted while tapping furiously at her screen, “Uncle-in-law! Here, here! Damn, they’re camping in the bush!”
“Crap crap crap—uncle-in-law, save me!”
“Hit them! Teach them a lesson for ambushing me! Wipe them all out!”
The match seemed to end amid Li Zhiyin’s triumphant, “HELL YEAH!”
Through it all, Ying Zhiyu barely spoke, expression calm, eyes focused on his phone.
But judging from Li Zhiyin’s final shout, it wasn’t hard to guess—
the Alpha played really well.
After the match ended, Li Xi heard Li Zhiyin gushing to Ying Zhiyu: “I had no idea you could dodge like that! You avoided every single skill! Didn’t die once! You were insane!”
Probably because they’d just won, Li Zhiyin was hyped—her eyes were practically sparkling as she looked up at the Alpha.
Li Xi had been standing silently at the entrance of the gaming room.
But at some point, Li Qin and her Omega husband, Han Qiyu, had also come downstairs. When they heard their daughter throwing around “damn” and “screw them,” Han Qiyu raised his voice immediately: “Li Zhiyin! How many times have I told you—watch your mouth!”
The couple dragged Li Zhiyin away soon after.
Once she was gone, only Ying Zhiyu and Li Xi were left in the room.
Ying Zhiyu sat back down on the gaming sofa. Seeing Li Xi looking at him, he lifted a hand toward him. “Come sit for a bit.”
Li Xi walked over and followed the motion of his arm, settling down beside him.
“You actually study this stuff?”
Li Xi had never known Ying Zhiyu could play games at all.
It was hard to connect the image of a poor kid who’d been bullied, spent years keeping his head down, got into college before turning sixteen, and earned a PhD by twenty-two—a full-on prodigy Alpha—with the idea of being a “gaming addict.”
Ying Zhiyu chuckled. “Doesn’t matter if I’ve played before or not. Play one round and you figure it out.”
Li Xi paused and turned away.
The Alpha slouched lazily against the sofa, maybe tired from the match, and explained casually, “The minions, towers, skill animations—they’re all easy to calculate.”
Zhiyin wasn’t playing anywhere near high-rank matchmaking, and there aren’t that many abilities in one round anyway.
“As long as you don’t miss last-hits early on, then in mid to late game it’s ten people brawling. Skills have startup frames—you just watch their movements and direction, predict where they’ll land, and dodge.”
He said it like it was nothing.
Li Xi actually believed he hadn’t played this game before.
Who else would call the defense towers “attack–defense structures,” call heroes “characters,” or describe teamfights as “ten people fighting”?
But… from the way Zhiyin described her match, Li Xi guessed Ying Zhiyu had been playing ADC.
And in a teamfight, every skill gets thrown at the enemy carry.
And all he had to say was “just predict and dodge”?
Li Xi stared at him, unblinking.
Ying Zhiyu eventually scratched his head under that strange stare and sat up straighter. He pulled out his phone, opened a solo practice round, and explained: “If something moves fast, I can predict its trajectory. And the phone screen’s tiny—how fast can anything move on this thing?”
“If I really can’t dodge something, I just hit this key and blink into a spot the enemy absolutely can’t chase in time. Either way, I survive.”
Li Xi lowered his gaze to the flash-skill key under his fingertip.
“…”
So having an IQ of 149 really meant you could bend the laws of gaming?
Li Xi lifted his eyes, unable to stop himself. “Your IQ is really only 140?”
Ying Zhiyu raised a brow. “Is 140… low?”
It wasn’t. It was genius-level.
But for him, somehow it still felt off.
Meeting Li Xi’s eyes, Ying Zhiyu paused, then tried again: “You mean the prediction stuff? That’s because my dynamic visual processing is faster than normal.”
Meaning—his visual cortex handled light-rod cell signals better than average.
He was simply good at tracking fast-moving trajectories. That was why he’d looked like a natural at tennis in his last life, even though he never kept up consistent practice.
As for everything else people liked to attribute to “high IQ”—bridge, piano, chess, plus the way he handled the Li family and the sly old foxes on the LI Group board…
Most of that actually came from Li Xi in his past life…
“When the hospital tested me, I intentionally answered a few questions wrong. At home I timed myself again and compared with the original test’s pacing. First run was 149. Second run, it hit 170 before I stopped.”
He couldn’t talk about his previous life, so he could only justify the “140” somehow. “I figured the home test wasn’t precise, so… I just treated it as 140.”
Sure, the second run of a test is always easier—especially when you have a perfect memory—but still…
Who rounds 149 down to 140?
And by his logic, someone 188.8 cm tall should call himself 188, not 190?
With his height, any other Alpha would be rounding up.
Li Xi had no way of knowing about that previous life. He stayed silent for a moment.
Ying Zhiyu finished explaining and rubbed his temples.
Li Xi stiffened. “What’s wrong?”
“Feels like I’m getting sleepy,” the Alpha murmured.
Li Xi reached over and pressed at his temples.
Ying Zhiyu looked a little surprised, his brows lifting, but he quickly relaxed into it.
Only when Li Xi’s fingers reached him did he realize how hard the Alpha had been pretending. He looked calm on the surface, but his temples were pounding like crazy.
At this rate he’d burn that 149 IQ down to 49.
Li Xi yanked open his own collar in irritation, grabbed the Alpha’s overheated head, and forced it toward his neck.
“Bite.” He ordered.