“Don’t wanna. I won’t bite.” Liu Ran slumped on Ming Siyu’s shoulder, panting in small huffs, muffled and wronged.
“You sure you can hold back?”
Facing an S-Level Omega’s pheromones, it was hard for an Alpha not to mark.
Liu Ran nuzzled the smooth, tender crook of her neck like a puppy. “I can hold back.”
She hated wearing the bite inhibitor. The bar in her mouth made her drool undignifiedly.
“What’s with you today? So distracted.” Ming Siyu, sated, toyed with the wolf ears, listening to Little Wolf’s heated pants by her ear. “Unhappy?”
She still hadn’t fully escaped Ming Siyu’s notice.
Liu Ran made up an excuse. “No, just a bit tired.”
“I told you not to take school classes too seriously. No more evening classes from now on.”
“Mm.”
Ming Siyu paused, then said, “You still mind what I did to you before?”
Enough to remember it now and get petty revenge at a time like this.
Liu Ran looked up blankly, gazing into those deep black eyes. Was this side of Ming Siyu something only she’d seen?
Did she mind? Of course she had—back then, she’d hated Ming Siyu to the point of itching teeth.
But looking back now, it wasn’t to the point of life-or-death unforgiveness. Those events had become a faint, harmless shadow—not something to dwell on constantly, but impossible to forget entirely.
“Why stare like that?” Ming Siyu’s lips curved in a surprised smile. “Waiting for an apology?”
A flicker of hope lit Liu Ran’s eyes.
“Don’t even think it. It’s all because you weren’t obedient back then. I told you early on that good things come to those who listen. You had to be stubborn and butt heads with me.”
However, Little Wolf’s initial disobedience gave her the chance to train her, which took some effort. If Little Wolf had been obedient from the start, she might not have carved out such a place in her heart now.
“Alright, let’s wash up and go to bed.”
Liu Ran stood up from the water with a splash. “I still have some homework to finish, so I’ll head back to my room first.”
She wasn’t going to stay and sleep together?
Ming Siyu frowned slightly. It was probably because her answer had upset her.
Little Wolf was quite sensitive and prone to overthinking.
But she hadn’t said anything wrong.
She didn’t try to keep her. She let Liu Ran wrap herself in a bath towel and leave.
A couple of days later, Liu Ran returned to the Ming Group. A few years ago, the real estate company had invested in building a Film And TV Shooting Base, which had finally been completed recently. The Ming Group was one of the major investors—essentially Ming Siyu investing in herself. The production team for an upcoming TV drama from the Group was preparing to rent the venue, and the contract had been sent to Liu Ran. After her review, it went to the Group’s finance department for payment.
Liu Ran thought that if she directly asked finance whether a drama crew from a few years ago had been involved in money laundering, she would probably be treated like a lunatic and hauled away.
She found Secretary Wen.
“Secretary Wen, has Group Media ever stopped filming midway through a production? Has there been anything like that?” Liu Ran came up with what sounded like a reasonable excuse. “Our teacher assigned us to pick an industry for a case study, and I chose film and TV.”
President Ming and Secretary Liu had been acting like they were in a relationship lately. Secretary Wen knew to treat Liu Ran like half a Liu Executive and answered seriously without brushing her off. “Yes, for example, if they discover bugs in the script, or issues arise during filming with the theme, producer, or actors. Minor problems can be adjusted and filming continued, but serious ones might get scrapped. Better scripts might be bundled and sold off. But interruptions aren’t common. They do thorough research and preparation beforehand, avoiding most foreseeable risks and issues upfront. Halting midway means the early investments go down the drain—it’s too costly.”
Liu Ran put on a diligent, eager-to-learn face. “Are there any specific cases? I’d like to learn from them.”
Secretary Wen mainly handled work for Ming Siyu and only knew such situations might occur. Investment failures like that were generally serious and rare.
“There was that recent one overseas where the lead actor got caught with drugs. If you want details, you can have Secretary Zhou get some specific materials from Media. But just look at them yourself—don’t spread them around or copy them verbatim into your homework. Or you can use my account to check the Group system.”
“Then I’ll borrow your account, thank you, Secretary Wen.”
Although the internal system was open to staff, truly problematic documents involving core Group interests wouldn’t be uploaded. And the account was read-only, so Secretary Wen confidently lent her login.
Liu Ran borrowed a laptop from the secretary’s office and logged into Secretary Wen’s account on the Group’s internal system.
Secretary Wen’s account had high clearance—nearly all Group documents were accessible. Liu Ran didn’t find any legal files on money laundering, but in the detailed financial reports from Ming Media a few years back, under other operating income, she found the record of selling the script to Xin Cheng Entertainment. The date was before Shen Yunhe’s death.
Secretary Wen said enthusiastically, “Once you finish that homework, show it to me. I’ll check it for you.”
Feeling guilty like a thief, Liu Ran couldn’t refuse the kindness and unwittingly added another assignment for herself.
“Sure, I’ll email it to you when it’s done.”
She returned the laptop to Secretary Wen and took her leave.
No sooner had she left than Ming Siyu arrived.
“What was Liu Ran doing here?”
“President Ming.” Secretary Wen stood respectfully. “Secretary Liu asked me about some Media cases for her homework.”
Business majors did often write industry analyses. Ming Siyu didn’t think much of it and proceeded to discuss work arrangements with Secretary Wen.
Liu Ran was now 100% certain that something serious had gone wrong inside the Glass Sea Has No Echo production team. So serious it couldn’t be fixed, forcing them to disband the crew and terminate the project.
Had Shen Yunhe left early because she discovered the problem with the crew?
Ming Siyu forbade mentioning it, so even Secretary Wen, who’d been with her the longest, avoided the topic prudently. Secretary Zhou, who was easier to pry info from, had only joined less than two years ago and was clueless about the drama when Liu Ran asked privately—she had no idea it even existed.
Liu Ran thought of someone: Ming Siwei.
But approaching Ming Siwei alone, bypassing Ming Siyu, would easily raise suspicions. Why would someone who rarely visited the Group suddenly be interested in a failed investment from years ago?
Liu Ran fell into unprecedented distress.
Her social circle now mostly revolved around the Group and companies. The only one outside it was Auntie Chen. She had no choice but to ask Auntie Chen for help again, requesting her to see if she could dig up any info on Ming Media and Glass Sea Has No Echo.
A few days later, Auntie Chen actually found something.
Glass Sea Has No Echo wasn’t directly produced by Ming Media but, like most large film companies, operated through a separate project company. After the issue arose, a special audit team investigated, leaving records. The amount uncovered was small, and the nature wasn’t too egregious. The main linked party was a recently established shell company overseas. They paid a fine, the primary culprit got a few years in prison, and by now, their sentence was probably almost up.
Still, it was serious if blown up. Though the project company was independent from Ming Media, it fell under Media’s umbrella. The Group executives definitely didn’t want a scandal, so they quietly resolved and buried it.
Auntie Chen couldn’t get more details.
Because of this news, Liu Ran spent the following days in a daze. The medical park development project entered a new phase, demanding more of her energy. At school, Zhu Xinghan kept cornering her. Several times, she wanted to just smash the jar and confess everything—that she was Zhu Xinghan’s high school classmate, that she wasn’t normal anymore—but she held back, fearing even more trouble if she spilled it.
Human energy was limited; focusing on one thing meant neglecting another.
Ming Siyu had already noticed Liu Ran’s recent off attitude.
There was something indescribably… half-hearted about her.
When they were together, Liu Ran often zoned out. When asked, it was either work fatigue or thinking about schoolwork. Then she’d come over sweetly to cuddle, trying to gloss over it.
Once or twice, Ming Siyu let it slide. But as it piled up, she wanted to grab Liu Ran by the ear and demand what was really on her mind.
Before, she’d constantly mocked and teased Liu Ran, who though annoyed, had been fully focused on her, every nerve taut for her sake. Now that she’d softened toward Liu Ran and wanted to treat her better, Liu Ran had been sweet for a while, then lost interest and stopped taking her seriously?
Or had Liu Ran sensed her higher tolerance and started pushing boundaries, testing her limits?
The mere possibility made the idea of breaking Liu Ran’s legs and locking her up grow ever stronger in her mind.
“What exactly have you been busy with lately?” Ming Siyu couldn’t hold back anymore. Her patience was thin to begin with; she’d only endured a few days because she didn’t want to fight with Liu Ran.
“I’m your boss. Is that bit of work really leaving you half-dead every day? If this continues, just quit and stay home obediently.”
Liu Ran thought, I can’t exactly say I suspect my mother’s death is connected to your company.
She felt her theory was a bit far-fetched; there was no direct link between the crew’s money laundering and Shen Yunhe’s death. But the thought lingered, making her zone out even during intimacy with Ming Siyu—despite the alluring pheromones drawing her deeper, she couldn’t stay focused.
Lately, she really did lack energy for everything.
She said to Ming Siyu, “Sorry, President Ming. I’ve just been getting tired easily lately…”
“Are you sick?”
“Probably not, just not in great spirits?”
Ming Siyu decided on the spot. “Skip breakfast tomorrow morning and go to the hospital for a checkup.”
The next day, she took Liu Ran to her familiar private hospital, where the doctor gave her a full checkup—even taking a separate X-ray of her tail to check bone development.
Results came out on the spot: Liu Ran’s body was normal, but there were minor issues with her gland and pheromones.
The doctor asked, “Do you often go into heat without full relief, forcing interruptions or suppressing it until the heat passes?”
