Inside the office, Jian Yuheng’s smile slowly faded, transferring subtly to the doctor’s face.
“Mr. Jian,” the doctor handed him the report. “Your brain physiology is perfectly normal, and all test scores are within the standard range. Here is your confirmed result.”
Jian Yuheng flipped open the diagnosis.
Hmm hmm hmm :), on [specific date], he was officially confirmed as a poet.
“Any other issues?” the doctor asked kindly.
“No,” Jian Yuheng stood, leaving the office.
He walked down the corridor. Near the medical center, a few nurses chatted.
“What about that omega just now?” the head nurse asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to do a genetic test?”
“That test requires a family member,” a nurse explained. “He said he’ll come next time.”
As Jian Yuheng reached the hospital entrance, a heavy rain poured down. Gong Huo, umbrella in hand, was waiting for him.
“Boss, let’s go.” The 1.8-meter assistant held the umbrella open.
Jian Yuheng, at 1.93 meters, blinked at the rain.
His mind flashed back to the scene from the video: Secretary Song had precisely opened the umbrella, shielding Yan Ci from splashing water.
Gong Huo tripped slightly.
“What happened?” Jian Yuheng asked.
“Suddenly felt the threat of layoffs,” Gong Huo replied.
Rain poured relentlessly.
The bus stop shelter was small, covering only a tiny area. Song Ruocheng dodged, pressing against an advertisement board.
“Can you make me an umbrella?” he asked.
【I’m a wallet system, not a convenience store.】
Song Ruocheng: “But last time there was a knife?”
【That was someone’s private toy.】
A gust of wind whipped the rain sideways, soaking half of Song Ruocheng. The chill made him shiver.
Drip—drip—
A car honked.
A familiar car stopped in front of him. The window rolled down, revealing Jian Yuheng’s face.
“Get in,” Jian Yuheng said.
Song Ruocheng: “I’m not.”
Who wants to get into the antagonist’s car?
“Add me on WeChat, got something to say?” Jian Yuheng asked. “Get in and talk.”
Song Ruocheng remembered: oh right, tonight was the Jian family banquet, and he hadn’t invited Jian Yuheng yet.
Soaked about fifty percent, he scrambled into the car. The window shielded him from the pouring rain; the warmth made him exhale deeply.
“Don’t just sit there while mooching a ride,” said Gong Huo from the driver’s seat. “Secretary Song, drive.”
Song Ruocheng tried to get up but was pressed back by Jian Yuheng.
“Sit,” Jian Yuheng said. “I have someone else for driving.”
No more being catapulted into sudden starts.
Gong Huo drove steadily.
“Speak,” Jian Yuheng said, turning his gaze to the person sitting properly beside him. “Why did you seek me out?”
“To welcome you back to the country,” Song Ruocheng said. “Tonight, President Jian arranged a family banquet in your honor.”
“Mm.” Jian Yuheng replied casually. “Where’s the location?”
Song Ruocheng gave him the restaurant name.
Jian Yuheng raised an eyebrow. “Why this one?”
“The restaurant has a modern style, which suits your aura, Second Young Master. The name also fits the warm atmosphere of a family banquet,” Song Ruocheng explained. “It has multiple dining rooms, a large hall, with both staff and guests…”
Jian Yuheng: “…?”
The omega’s half-white shirt was soaked from the rain, clinging in a semi-transparent sheen over his thin shoulders.
A stray drop of water trickled down the side of Song Ruocheng’s neck, leaving a streak along his pale collarbone.
“Oh right.” Song Ruocheng couldn’t keep up the explanation, switching topics. “I’ve updated your personal info at the company, Second Young Master.”
“Thank you,” Jian Yuheng said. “Please update it further.”
Song Ruocheng: “What now? Did you get a year younger again?”
“Hobbies,” Jian Yuheng replied. “Deleted. Left blank.”
Song Ruocheng: “?”
“Then I wish you an early discovery of new hobbies,” Song Ruocheng said.
The car stopped at the Xiaoshi Group entrance. Song Ruocheng took the elevator upstairs to the office of the original story’s protagonist, Jian Feng.
Jian Feng wasn’t there. Yan Ci sat at the desk, streaming a puzzle game.
“The streamer isn’t blind,” Yan Ci said. “Eliminate the ones on the right, there’ll be a chain reaction.”
Hearing the door, Yan Ci looked up.
“Secretary Song is back?” he said. “Today’s dessert is pineapple mini cakes.”
Song Ruocheng: “?”
He felt like this thing was always stealing his lines.
But he was hungry, so he took a few bites.
“While streaming today, my brother called to scold me, and I scolded him back,” Yan Ci said.
“What did he say?” Song Ruocheng asked.
“He said: shameless, shameless, shameless,” Yan Ci frowned.
“And you?” Song Ruocheng asked.
“I said, ‘You’re the shameless one,’” Yan Ci replied.
“Improvement,” Song Ruocheng said. “Next time, if he says ‘shameless, shameless, shameless’ again…”
“Just tell him to transfer to a human operator,” Song Ruocheng finished.
Yan Ci: “……”
In this ABO world, scents were understood deeply, and the food reflected that—each dish better than the last.
A single pineapple mini cake doubled Song Ruocheng’s good mood.
“Secretary Song,” Yan Ci said, “stop eating. Why are your clothes so wet?”
“The bus went too fast,” Song Ruocheng said.
Yan Ci: “?”
“Better not wear wet clothes,” Yan Ci said, carrying away the cake. “You’ll feel awful if you get sick.”
Song Ruocheng stabbed at empty air with his fork, faintly hearing the rollback wallet notification ping.
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” he said.
“I have some,” Yan Ci said, standing and pulling a suitcase from the office corner. “We’re about the same height. What fits me will fit you.”
“This one’s new.” Yan Ci rummaged.
“Madam,” Song Ruocheng asked curiously, “why do you keep such a big suitcase in President Jian’s office?”
He’d seen it several times coming to work.
“For when I need to storm out during an argument with my husband,” Yan Ci said.
Song Ruocheng: “……”
Typical melodrama protagonist.
“Found it,” Yan Ci said. “You’ll wear this one.”
Song Ruocheng took the white hoodie and sweatpants from him and went to the changing room.
Facing away from the mirror, he glanced back at the hoodie’s two dangling rabbit ears, silently studying them for a moment.
Indeed, the story had mentioned the protagonist’s style leaned toward cute.
“Secretary Song, this looks so good on you!” Yan Ci exclaimed.
Fits? Song Ruocheng didn’t feel it, but warmth was enough.
“Madam,” he glanced at the wall clock, “it’s almost time for the banquet.”
Jian Yuheng sipped tea and finished a bit of work. At six o’clock, he headed downstairs and drove to the family banquet location.
The spot Song Ruocheng booked was tricky—close to the company, yet the road was difficult.
He didn’t know what exactly drew this perfect little secretary to it.
The perfect little secretary wore the same white shirt every day, with a cold, unreadable expression.
Jian Yuheng shut the car door and turned to see a pair of wobbling, snowy white rabbit ears.
Jian Yuheng: “?”
“I finished scolding him like you said,” Yan Ci said, having just hung up with his brother. “He’s mad now.”
“Good,” said the rabbit.
“Is that really okay?” Yan Ci asked. “He’s my brother… am I causing trouble at home, not recognizing my own family?”
“No,” the rabbit said. “That’s called keeping the essence while changing the form.”
Yan Ci: “?”
Jian Yuheng: “……”
“Hello, President Jian,” Song Ruocheng greeted curtly from the corner of his eye. “Just waiting for you. Please take a seat.”
The banquet wasn’t crowded—besides a few Jian family relatives, most attendees were company executives.
Jian Yuheng sat across from Song Ruocheng. The family dinner officially began.
“Welcome home, little brother,” Jian Feng said.
Everyone raised their glasses. Song Ruocheng’s gaze, however, was fixed on the salted egg yolk chicken wings across the table.
Smelled so good… wanted to eat.
Jian Yuheng, sitting close, had already taken two pieces.
The entire table lowered their cups.
Jian Feng reached for the roast duck—snatched away in a flash.
Song Ruocheng was shuffling through the table, turning plates frantically… and the salted egg yolk chicken wings were right there in front of him—
Song Ruocheng: “……”
Why are you all looking at me! Why is everyone staring at me!
Why is it that only the villain isn’t watching me!
Jian Yuheng lowered his head to deal with the chicken wings. He was a bit hungry, and just one wing made his whole body feel warm.
Sensing the movement across the table, he looked up, then slowly lifted the corner of his mouth.
The perfect little secretary slipped up—this was truly satisfying…
Clink.
Jian Yuheng: “……”
The warmth vanished. The chicken wing he had just eaten reappeared intact at the bottom of the plate.
Here we go again. Fine, he wouldn’t eat for now. This time, he wanted to watch the little secretary’s blunder unfold in full.
Jian Yuheng lifted his head, waiting for the show.
Across the table, Jian Feng just glanced at the roast duck. Song Ruocheng’s gaze flicked up, and he picked up the serving chopsticks, put the roast duck on Jian Feng’s plate, and pushed it toward Yan Ci.
“Madam, here,” Song Ruocheng said. “This is for you from President Jian.”
Jian Yuheng: “?”
Jian Yuheng: “?????”