◎Zhu Lexing thought, living was just too interesting!◎
The lingering note of that word “like” faded away, leaving the room in perfect silence.
Zhu Lexing said, “I’ll go… turn on the light.”
Yan Mian said nothing, but Zhu Lexing could always sense it—a gaze tracking her through the darkness, shadowing her every move. Yet there was no aggression in it, no prying lust. It felt like it simply wanted to watch her.
Zhu Lexing felt a twinge of regret, but the words were already out. No point dwelling on it now.
As an adult, she needed to act like one.
Light flooded the living room once more, and Zhu Lexing was still the one cutting the cake.
But Yan Mian wasn’t sitting across from her anymore. The hem of her skirt brushed faintly against Zhu Lexing’s thigh. She glanced down and, searching for something to say, murmured, ” …Do you really like white?”
This had to be the umpteenth time she’d seen Yan Mian in something white. Zhu Lexing had lost count.
Yan Mian shook her head. “No. She does.”
She didn’t say the name or use a title, but there was only one person who fit that description: Jiang Yue.
The mere thought of Jiang Yue made Zhu Lexing want to change the subject. “Oh, then let’s just—”
Yan Mian cut in smoothly. “I haven’t been in touch with her for a long time.”
Zhu Lexing paused, staring at her in stunned silence.
Yan Mian continued, “Not since that day.”
She could no longer remember exactly how old she’d been when her father died. The woman never brought him up unprompted, filling her days with work instead. To outsiders, she was gentle and demure, her voice soft and measured. But in the confines of their cramped home, she binged and raged, reeking of booze—only to rise early the next morning, composed and put-together.
Zhu Lexing recalled Jiang Yue’s outburst last time and guessed there might be some mental issues at play. Yan Mian had lived with someone like that for over a decade. How many cold stares or insults had she endured?
She didn’t dare dwell on it. Instead, she poured herself half a glass of wine and downed it all.
The burn of the alcohol scorched her chest, barely holding her growing agitation at bay.
At five years old, the woman had enrolled Yan Mian in the nearest elementary school but never picked her up or dropped her off. Yan Mian always had to walk home alone.
Even after coming to live with the Zhu Family, Yan Mian hadn’t seen anything wrong with it. Not until she chatted idly with Qin Yun one day, who mentioned that kidnappings had been rampant back then—right on the street she walked to and from school.
Zhu Lexing nearly snapped her fork in half.
“Can’t we really call the police?” she asked in disbelief.
Yan Mian replied, “Maybe I got it wrong.”
After all, once someone’s halo faded, everything they did could be twisted into evidence of guilt.
The same seemed to apply to Zhu Lexing. Yan Mian fell silent.
She herself didn’t see the issue, but glimpsing other kids with parents waiting for them had planted a vague awareness: the woman didn’t like her. Yet the human instinct to crave love drove her to rack her brains for ways to earn it.
So she would wait in the living room for the woman to come home, no matter how late. That dark house always had one small light on. It was the only way the young Yan Mian could think of to show love—hoping the woman would see, no matter the hour, that a light was waiting for her.
That someone in the world loved her more than anything.
But all that greeted Yan Mian was the woman’s cold face.
Not a flicker of surprise or any other emotion. She was shoved aside, the only words ringing in her ears: “Have you finished your homework?”
No matter how the woman treated her, Yan Mian kept waiting. At first, out of hope for a response. In the end, it became an obsession. She just wanted the woman to look at her properly, even once.
When she learned Zhu Lin and Jiang Yue were together, Yan Mian was happy for her—and harbored a tiny hope that, beyond being “Jiang Yue,” she might occasionally play the role of “Yan Mian’s mother.”
But reality proved otherwise.
Yan Mian spoke in fits and starts, her words pulling Zhu Lexing’s emotions along with them. By the end, Zhu Lexing suddenly recalled that “as expected” she’d overheard last time.
She’d been puzzled by it then, unsure what Yan Mian meant. Now, it clicked into place, more or less.
Gazing at the Omega’s face, Zhu Lexing’s heart turned to mush. No wonder her cold shoulder hadn’t fazed Yan Mian. Long before Zhu Lexing, she’d been pushed away so many times that it had become habit.
Zhu Lexing tried to comfort her but couldn’t find the words. She had no parents herself, and the love she’d received wasn’t even truly hers. She almost sounded more pitiful than Yan Mian.
With that thought, Zhu Lexing propped her chin on her hand.
The more she thought, the more the mood felt like a farewell before parting.
She fell quiet. Yan Mian hadn’t snapped out of it either. In the stillness, she recalled Zhu Lexing’s earlier “like.”
Maybe it had just been a polite deflection.
Or maybe… Zhu Lexing actually liked her, even a little?
The possibility had always hovered vaguely in Yan Mian’s mind, but she’d never dared confirm it. She didn’t think she had any lovable qualities, yet she yearned to be loved—so she probed carefully, inching forward within the bounds of Zhu Lexing’s tolerance.
Her thoughts grew jumbled. She looked to Zhu Lexing, hoping for confirmation on her face.
But the Alpha had her eyes downcast, her expression as impassive as ever, a flicker of anger still simmering in her gaze. Clearly, she hadn’t recovered from the story of Yan Mian’s past.
Noticing the look, Zhu Lexing turned her head, mistaking it for interest in the wine. “You can’t drink this.”
Only then did Yan Mian notice that the bottle was already half-empty.
This question sparked a flicker of rebellion in her, and she pressed, “Then what can I drink?”
Zhu Lexing pondered seriously for a few seconds. “Milk okay?”
When her fingers brushed the warm side of the cup, Yan Mian caught a faint whiff of alcohol emanating from Zhu Lexing.
Zhu Lexing sat nearby, watching Yan Mian. The Omega drank lightly and slowly, like a kitten lapping at water, a faint white rim lingering on her lips.
Zhu Lexing looked away, wondering what this ambiguous atmosphere even was.
But she had no plans to head upstairs. Instead, she sipped her wine slowly, her thoughts drifting aimlessly. Old memories would always give way to new ones. Even if Yan Mian never forgot the past, as long as she remembered in the future—when these moments came to mind—that someone had been there with her, then everything happening now held meaning.
When Yan Mian spoke again, Zhu Lexing had lost track of how many glasses she’d drunk. Yet she felt clearer-headed than ever, as if she could seize control of everything, invincible.
She paused before making out Yan Mian’s question: why hadn’t she accepted Zhu Lin’s gift?
Clearly, this wasn’t what Yan Mian truly wanted to ask. It was something Zhu Lin had tasked her with uncovering.
Zhu Lexing showed Yan Mian the box from earlier.
Yan Mian pulled out her phone, snapped a careful photo, and sent it to Zhu Lin. No further explanation was needed—the other person got it immediately and quietly wired a transfer.
The next second, Zhu Lexing’s phone chimed.
She glanced down to see Yan Mian had forwarded every bit of the money to her.
“Why give it to me?”
Zhu Lexing’s voice came out hoarse.
Yan Mian let out a soft laugh, echoing Zhu Lexing’s earlier words. “Wanted to give it to you. That okay?”
She caught a heavy wave of alcohol scent and instinctively eyed the bottle, only to find it nearly empty. Stunned, she said, “Xingxing? Maybe ease up a little.”
She reached to take the glass from Zhu Lexing’s hand, but the Alpha—whose breathing had steadied—suddenly gripped her wrist. Their eyes met, and Yan Mian saw Zhu Lexing’s face flushed deep red, the color spreading even to her neck.
The next moment, Zhu Lexing’s pheromones scented the air.
Yan Mian hesitated. “Xingxing, you…”
Drunk?
But before she could finish, Zhu Lexing leaned in close—close enough that Yan Mian’s heart stuttered. In the end, though, the Alpha simply pulled her into a hug, burying her face in Yan Mian’s shoulder. Then, with a mumble, she burst into tears. “Mianmian, you’re so pitiful.”
Yan Mian: “……?”
The abrupt shift in emotion left Yan Mian’s hand frozen midair, words failing her.
Hot tears rubbed against her neck, the moisture blooming across her skin and leaving an exquisite itch.
She went rigid for a long moment before gently patting Zhu Lexing’s back. “Xingxing…”
More tears spilled from Zhu Lexing. “No one’s ever called me Xingxing before. Mianmian, why are you so good? So good it’s not even human.”
A fracture appeared in Yan Mian’s composure.
She let the Alpha’s feverish body press against hers, tears soaking into her hair, and sighed helplessly. “Zhu Lexing, if you didn’t reek of booze, I’d swear you were insulting me.”
In her haze, Zhu Lexing felt herself tumbling into a dream.
What she’d been doing before the dream—what had lulled her to sleep—everything blurred into a foggy void. Her only clear sense was that she was dreaming. This seemed to be a living room, two cakes sitting before her, Yan Mian beside her.
Yan Mian reached out, though Zhu Lexing wasn’t sure why. Instinctively, she assumed it was for her hand and took it.
In those few seconds, memories flooded back—all tied to Yan Mian. The past Yan Mian had spoken of, Zhu Lexing’s own feelings for her. Suddenly, she felt adrift. Had she completed her task? Was this the final montage before leaving this world?
The fragile world shattered around her, and Zhu Lexing’s gut reaction was to cling to Yan Mian. Pressing their bodies together like this felt the most intimate, the most secure. She leaned into her, unclear what had short-circuited in her, and by the time awareness returned, her tears had already drenched Yan Mian.
Even she found the tears baffling, but they were falling now, so she let her innermost thoughts tumble out in fits and starts.
Mianmian, you’re so pitiful.
Pitiful seemed the only word that fit Yan Mian.
Mianmian, you’re so good it’s not even human.
The phrasing carried odd connotations, but Zhu Lexing meant it purely. Yan Mian was the female protagonist, after all—of course she wasn’t human.
Mianmian…
I like you so much.
Yan Mian murmured something near her ear, but Zhu Lexing couldn’t make it out. The other woman didn’t seem to like the tightness of the embrace, so—reluctant as she was—Zhu Lexing eased her hold.
Pheromones thickened in the air, closing in from every direction to envelop her. This wasn’t right. Yan Mian realized it too, belatedly: Zhu Lexing’s heat period had arrived.
An Alpha in heat either temporarily marked an Omega or dosed with an inhibitor for temporary relief.
Yan Mian opted for the latter in her mind, but at this range—with the Alpha pressed right to her neck, breath ghosting that soft patch of gland—her body had already gone half-melted.
If they stayed like this, she’d likely sync up and enter her own heat, influenced by Zhu Lexing.
Being temporarily marked then… it would feel inevitable. The thought quickened Yan Mian’s breath, but she remembered how Zhu Lexing blushed at mere hand-holding. Biting her lip, she fought for clarity.
Zhu Lexing noticed, catching the faint iron-rust tang of blood. Her fingers trailed up to Yan Mian’s face. “Don’t… bite.”
Last time, when Yan Mian had taken Zhu Lexing’s hand and nuzzled it against her cheek, Zhu Lexing had ached to touch her in return.
When a similar scene appeared before her eyes once more, Zhu Lexing’s palm instinctively began to slowly caress the young woman’s face. Her knuckles stretched out casually, brushing against the soft earlobe that burned scorching hot.
Yan Mian fought back the urge to nuzzle into that warm palm. She let out a soft breath and tried to reason with Zhu Lexing. “I’ll go grab the inhibitor. Just wait here for me, okay?”
With that, she attempted to sit up. But Zhu Lexing still clutched her hand on instinct.
“Don’t go,” Zhu Lexing said.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Yan Mian replied.
“You’re trying to leave right now,” Zhu Lexing insisted.
Clearly, her words weren’t getting through.
In the silent standoff, Yan Mian felt her mouth go dry. She also sensed an inexplicable restlessness bubbling up from deep inside.
She wanted to leave, but Zhu Lexing refused to let her.
After a few seconds of silence, Yan Mian suddenly said, “Then I’ll go with you. Is that okay?”
Zhu Lexing felt like all the good things in life only happened in dreams.
Not only could she hold Yan Mian freely and speak her true thoughts aloud, she could even touch her. After crying her heart out without restraint, the pent-up emotions seemed to pour out, leaving her feeling much lighter.
It wasn’t until Yan Mian seemed about to leave that she hardened her expression, unwilling to let her go.
Wasn’t this perfect just as it was? Zhu Lexing wondered. Why did even dreams have to involve goodbyes?
She still couldn’t make out Yan Mian’s words, but she could sense the Omega’s helpless gaze. A few seconds later, Yan Mian suddenly said, “Then I’ll go with you. Is that okay?”
Footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Yan Mian was half-dragged upstairs, her fingers tightly interlaced with Zhu Lexing’s. She stared at the Alpha’s back, her eyes flicking toward the first floor where the inhibitors were kept.
She tried to keep her breathing steady. “Xingxing, going with you means back to your room, right?”
But Zhu Lexing seemed to only register “go with you.” Her grip tightened on Yan Mian’s fingers, but there was no other response.
Yan Mian’s heart began to race. Silently, she foresaw what was about to happen.
She bit her lip, but this time she was careful not to let Zhu Lexing notice.
Guided by instinct, Zhu Lexing led Yan Mian to what felt like a safe place. The familiar scent surrounded her, yet it only made her mouth feel drier. She wanted to ask if Yan Mian felt the same.
She looked at Yan Mian, who seemed like a source of water itself in that moment.
On impulse, Zhu Lexing drew closer and closer.
Some awareness told her this place was safe.
A faint alcoholic scent brushed Yan Mian’s ear, and her mind began to blur. The Alpha slowly pressed against her.
Everything seemed to slip back into that previous dream.
Zhu Lexing recalled how she had approached Yan Mian like this before, then touched her.
She didn’t rush to slide her knuckles downward. Instead, she watched Yan Mian closely, not wanting to miss a single expression.
Her fingers unconsciously rubbed slowly against the Omega’s lips. The touch was far softer than she’d imagined, a hint of moisture clinging to her skin. In the next second, Zhu Lexing felt her knuckle gently caught between teeth.
It was like a thick, sticky dream. She was drawn by the only scent she truly trusted, enveloped by something soft.
That savage urge seemed to be a deep-rooted human flaw, carved into the very marrow. When Zhu Lexing finally withdrew her knuckle, Yan Mian’s breathing had grown much more rapid.
Zhu Lexing stared at her, then leaned down to kiss her. The sensation was soft, and she instinctively gripped the back of Yan Mian’s neck. Her damp knuckle rubbed against that tender spot, and she felt the Omega in her arms go almost limp, leaning against her and trying to muffle her sounds in the fabric.
But in the darkness, every sound stood out sharply. The young woman’s voice was restrained, yet the end of each note trembled upward.
A trail of fine kisses fell unknowingly. Zhu Lexing tasted the faint gardenia scent on Yan Mian’s tongue.
Her palm slid down from the nape of the neck, and the fabric bunched up and fell away in wrinkles.
【Host!】
“Xingxing.”
Two voices suddenly rang in her ear. Zhu Lexing tried to ignore them and keep quenching her thirst. In the next instant, an electric current surged through her entire body.
The sharp pain jolted Zhu Lexing awake from that half-dreaming, half-awake state.
She snapped her eyes open. She was holding a feverish body against hers, skin pressed to skin. The rotten-sweet lily of the valley fragrance wrapped around her, craving even more affection in an intimate embrace.
Yan Mian had no idea why Zhu Lexing had suddenly stopped.
Her panting paused slightly. She lifted her dazed eyes to meet hers, her own eyes shimmering with moisture, her earlobes flushed bright red.
Meeting that gaze, Zhu Lexing suddenly remembered what she had just done. “…”
The clock ticked past 11 p.m., ushering in a new day amid swaying snowflakes.
Zhu Lexing thought nothing could be worse than this moment.
Before her, the Omega’s collar hung half-open, her exposed skin flushed with arousal. The air was thick with pheromones, nearly drowning Zhu Lexing. Her fingers were still gripped around the other’s waist, hard enough to leave marks—visible even now as faint imprints.
On her first day as an adult, holding Yan Mian in her own bed.
And in her ear, the System droned on with its little essay: 【We are terribly sorry. To bring you back to full awareness urgently…】
Zhu Lexing’s already fragile mental defenses crumbled instantly.
She couldn’t make out what the System was saying, but she had no idea how to face Yan Mian. On instinct, she sat up. “I—I’ll just—”
But Yan Mian snapped out of her haze after a few seconds and grabbed the hem of her clothes. “Lexing, I—”
The roles had suddenly reversed. Shock and confusion filled Zhu Lexing’s eyes.
Yan Mian wondered why. They had been so close—just one step away.
The System kept repeating in her ear: 【Please, Host, leave this room immediately and head to an unoccupied area to carefully listen to the rest of the System’s instructions.】
Zhu Lexing’s head throbbed as if it might split open.
Zhu Lexing cursed without hesitation: 【Won’t you stop time and make Yan Mian let go of me first? How am I supposed to walk like this—】
Until she glanced sideways at the clock on the table.
The hands had stopped moving at some point. In the utter stillness, even the pheromones seemed to have ceased their spread.
The only change was that Yan Mian, right in front of Zhu Lexing, shifted from clutching her clothes to grasping her hand.
“. . . Xingxing.” Yan Mian drew a deep breath and said earnestly, “I want to talk to you.”
