Off-duty hours.
The doctors’ office area was empty—clearly showing how today’s workers didn’t want to spend a single extra minute in the office. The eerie sound of footsteps scraping against the floor made Shi Yuxing’s back stiffen with a shiver. From his angle, Jiang Chusheng, wearing his glasses, had half his face hidden in the shadow of the hallway lights. Those eyes were still smiling, but now carried something more unsettling.
“Had to step out earlier. Come in.” He walked past Shi Yuxing and headed straight into the office. Shi Yuxing closed the door behind him, unable to hide the rising fear in his heart. His nails dug into his palm; the slight sting steadied his breath.
Jiang Chusheng made no attempt to hide the bottle on his desk. Instead, he slowly pushed it in front of Shi Yuxing. “Xiao Shi, you know what this is, don’t you?”
Shi Yuxing nodded. “A gland specimen.”
His tea-colored pupils reflected the thing suspended in the liquid. The more Shi Yuxing looked, the more it seemed as though the gland had a life of its own. He averted his gaze and looked at Professor Jiang before him—not knowing whether he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing or a sheep in wolf’s clothing. For the first time, his perception of people wavered. Could he have misjudged someone?
A highly respected professor, a mentor praised and admired by all—yet in the end, he stood on the same side as a bloodthirsty demon like Grandmother, engaging in deeds that devoured people without even spitting out the bones.
This realization made Shi Yuxing’s heart seize up, like the feeling of a blood clot blocking a vessel. He couldn’t accept this outcome, yet faintly, from the depths of his memory, he dug up things that aligned with it—perhaps it was during Chu Xiaoyun’s surgery, or perhaps it was something the other party had said during their last meal together.
“I told you last time, didn’t I? About the gland transplantation research.” Beneath his reading glasses were sagging eye bags. Those aged yet clear eyes looked at him without reservation. Under normal circumstances, Shi Yuxing would have faced him openly, but now, he even wanted to leave this place immediately.
Seeing him retreat, Jiang Chusheng’s gaze fell on the bottle of gland tissue. “I’m not forcing you. I currently have an assistant. If you’re unwilling, I won’t pressure you to join. The work at Imperial Hospital is indeed taxing, and you’ve been away from the lab for so long—you might not be able to handle the workload.”
“Teacher, I have a question.” Shi Yuxing composed himself.
“Go ahead.” Jiang Chusheng graciously allowed him to speak.
Shi Yuxing parted his lips, revealing white teeth. “Is your research truly only about the success rate of gland transplantation surgery?” His light-colored pupils held a trace of suspicion, along with the wariness of a feline probing the night—as if he could tell with just one sentence whether the person before him was lying.
Having lived for so many years, Jiang Chusheng had rarely encountered someone like this. His curiosity got the better of him—this person always teetered on the edge of danger, yet at the final moment, could easily slip out of the trap and return to the position of an observer. Such people seemed to know everything, yet when trouble came, they were never among those caught in the flames.
They would quietly watch those moths throw themselves into the fire, burning and perishing—not knowing whether they were watching the terrified expressions of those people or their own unescaped selves.
In his early years, he had intensely disliked interacting with such people. However, after so many years of being tempered by time, he had eventually become one of them—because such people were the best suited to survive in this circle. The reason he had broken convention and taken on this child before retirement was not just appreciation for his academic work, but also… those captivating eyes.
Jiang Chusheng curved his lips. “I don’t mind telling you, but this is a secret. Keep it to yourself—not even your husband can know.” Shi Yuxing nodded in agreement, his fingers digging into his palm, looking like he was all ears.
The risks of gland transplantation surgery were no different from a heart transplant. A successful gland transplant was as precious as a heart beating again. This high-risk, high-level technical difficulty had an even lower success rate than gland removal surgery, mastered only by a select few elites. Ordinary people might view glands merely as a matter of pleasure and dominance between Alphas and Omegas. Few knew that this small patch of skin had been explored to less than ten percent of its potential—what could be uncovered from it was no less than what lay beyond the stars above.
“This research isn’t about transplanting one person’s gland into another,” Jiang Chusheng said. “That carries too much risk—both parties could die.”
“What I want to research is how to create glands, and how to implant those created glands into humans for normal use.”
Shi Yuxing drew in a sharp breath. “You mean you want to create usable artificial glands?” It was as absurd as the innovation point of a graduation thesis—so innovative that there were no reference materials whatsoever and no predecessors who had set foot in this area.
Even current technology for removing a gland while ensuring survival was difficult. The person before him actually harbored the delusion of creating glands compatible with human genes—truly a fantasy.
“Teacher Jiang, we all know that artificial ears, noses, and other human organs are mostly decorative and cannot truly be used by the disabled. Even if the nerves and blood vessels of artificial fingers and toes are successfully connected, they can’t restore the level of function before injury. Do you really think such a gland can be created?” His words were spot on. Jiang Chusheng couldn’t possibly be unaware of this logic.
At the same time, there was another enormous hidden danger—the emergence of any technology means its side effects are unknown. Perhaps the original intention of this technology is good, but it’s hard to guarantee it won’t eventually become a sordid transaction. Hallucinogenic drugs started out that way.
Shi Yuxing stared intently at Jiang Chusheng, wanting to know how much truth and how much falsehood was in his words—whether this was all just an excuse to hide his gland experiments.
“Nothing is impossible.” Jiang Chusheng’s rough finger tapped the thing in front of him. “This—this is the bionic gland I made.”
After he finished speaking, Shi Yuxing was stunned for a few seconds, then picked up the bottle and carefully examined this thing that was most likely a lie. Last time, he hadn’t looked at it particularly closely and had already gotten goosebumps. This time, with the chance to observe it up close, he got a second wave of goosebumps. He ran his fingers along the cylindrical container, slowly and carefully rotating it. Suddenly, he saw something that could absolutely not be a fake. His pupils contracted for a second, then he quickly suppressed his pounding heart and pretended nothing had happened as he placed the bottle back on the desk.
“Is this really the bionic gland you made, Teacher?”
“I’m guessing you’re about to say it looks realistic.” Jiang Chusheng’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and at this moment, Shi Yuxing saw it clearly for the first time. He suddenly felt like he was reacquainting himself with the mentor who had accompanied him through nearly his entire academic career. A chill rushed through him like water finding its way through cracks, surging into every cell of his body.
A tingling numbness spread, wave after wave, until his limbs went completely numb.
…
Shi Yuxing didn’t know what expression he had on his face when he returned to his office. He collapsed limply onto his chair, his feet still weak. His current feeling was no different from suddenly discovering that the husband he’d lived with for years was a serial killer.
To be both in danger and quietly spared by that danger—he had to pretend to be ignorant and continue interacting with the other person, then wait for the right moment to escape.
Thrilling, nerve-wracking. Under this double blow, Shi Yuxing let out a hiccup. He pressed his chest, then shuddered again. Gu Lingzhou’s call came in at just that moment.
“Baby, why did it take you so long to answer?”
“Hiccup,” Shi Yuxing covered his mouth. “I—hiccup—can you come pick me up and take me home as fast as you can?” There was no night shift today, so Shi Yuxing at least had a chance to rest. The moment he heard Gu Lingzhou’s voice, he suddenly felt like crying. Besides Gu Lingzhou, he didn’t know who else he could confide in about this.
The omega, still hiccupping, heard the person on the other end say: “Okay, I’ll buy you some fruit tea. Drink some water first—I’ll be there soon.”
“Don’t buy—hiccup—just come quickly.” Shi Yuxing’s tone was urgent. “I want to see you right away.”
These heartfelt words flowed into Gu Lingzhou’s mind, feeling no different from a confession. He broke into a jog, bag in hand. “Okay, I want to see you right away too.” Shi Yuxing knew he’d misunderstood but didn’t correct him. “Then hurry up. I’m hanging up—hiccup.”
“No need. Just stay on the line. Wait a few minutes.”
Listening to the noisy sounds on the other end of the phone, Shi Yuxing calmed down and walked toward the ground floor entrance. The agonizing seconds passed quickly. Gu Lingzhou closed the car door, his footsteps as dense as raindrops. Shi Yuxing had barely taken two steps before he was pulled into a tight embrace.
The fruit tea in his hand was still misty with condensation, the droplets not even having time to fall. Shi Yuxing took Gu Lingzhou’s hand and hurriedly walked to where the starship was parked.
“I—I—hiccup!” He covered his mouth, breathless, looking at Gu Lingzhou. The next second, the other man reached over and fastened his seatbelt for him. “Take your time. No rush.”
Gu Lingzhou wasn’t in a rush, but he was!!!
The shadow was about to fade. Shi Yuxing’s open mouth was caught, his wide eyes meeting the cunning alpha’s gaze. The trapped air in his throat that he couldn’t seem to expel was suddenly sucked out in an instant, vanishing completely.
“A long-overdue apology.” Gu Lingzhou smiled. Immediately, Shi Yuxing flushed red and forgot what he was going to say.
By the time he came to his senses, the starship had already traveled some distance. He stared at the detestable man in the driver’s seat. “I have something important to say.”
“We’ll talk when we get home. If you don’t drink the fruit tea now, it’ll get warm.” Gu Lingzhou faced forward, pressing his foot down harder on the accelerator.
Shi Yuxing suppressed the urge to share his news, stabbed the plastic seal with a “pop,” and obediently sat on the side sipping his drink. His tender lips, just ravaged, reddened as they wrapped around the straw. His thick, fine lashes lowered. The refreshing peach oolong relaxed his muscles. Gu Lingzhou withdrew his peripheral gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
The villa’s door had barely recognized his fingerprint when Shi Yuxing brushed past Xiao Zhou, who reached out to him, and the hands beside him that were about to take his coat. In one second, he kicked off his shoes and headed straight for the sofa.
The three alphas looked at each other by the door. Gu Lingzhou changed his shoes, picked up Shi Yuxing’s discarded slippers, and walked over. “Not wearing shoes will make you catch a cold.”
“Forget the slippers for now. You have no idea what I discovered!” He pulled his feet up onto the sofa, and both sides were quickly occupied. Da Ling glanced down and finally chose to sit on the edge of the coffee table. “What’s wrong?”
The air fell silent. Shi Yuxing suddenly didn’t know how to begin. A warm hand pressed against his back. “Is it about the hospital?”
“Yes!” Shi Yuxing nodded. “You remember my mentor Jiang Chusheng, right? He told me about his research on gland transplantation surgery. And since you guys previously suspected his connection with Grandmother—today, he slipped up!”
He took a sip of his still-cold fruit tea, but even that couldn’t hide his fear: “The gland bottle he showed me was the same as the one in Grandmother’s basement. He tried to tell me it was a bionic gland. But you know what I saw on that supposed ‘bionic’ gland?”
All three shook their heads. At this, Shi Yuxing decided to draw it out. “Bionic organs can only mimic appearance—but they can’t mimic one thing.” His gaze fell slowly on Gu Lingzhou to his left, burning with intensity, laced with a bit of resentment. “You should know.”
Gu Lingzhou straightened his back. “Baby, I don’t know.”
Shi Yuxing pouted and deliberately brought it up: “My gland is covered in your marks, and you still say you don’t know?”
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