Ever since the aquarium scare, Shi Yuxing had decided to keep his treasures hidden away—locking the two Gu Lingzhous up in his tower like a copper sparrow.
It was a solid plan, but even a little dog needs its daily walk, let alone high-energy alphas. If they were cooped up at home all day, they’d inevitably take it all out on him at night.
Shi Yuxing adjusted his collar, tied his bow tie, and prepared to head out.
“Let me drive you, at least,” Xiao Zhou whined, tugging at his arm with a pitiful look. Shi Yuxing almost gave in and let him play chauffeur.
The alpha emerging from the kitchen with a coffee cup shot him a cold glare. “Let go.” He knew exactly what his younger self was like—stubborn, never backing down, unyielding and obsessive. After losing both parents, the young man seemed to have been injected with some kind of “growth serum,” that pride hardening him into someone far more aloof.
“Remember our agreement?” Da Ling, true to form, knew exactly how to handle his past self. Watching the released grip, Shi Yuxing almost stepped in to defend the kid. He’s just a child—what’s the harm? He only acts this way because he likes me too much. What’s wrong with that?
But he swallowed his defense. The 32-year-old Gu Lingzhou was too intimidating—able to impersonate the 24-year-old version of himself in front of over a dozen subordinates. Shi Yuxing doubted he could play his own eight-years-younger self; that bratty young master temperament had long since been worn away.
Back then, he was unenlightened.
Shi Yuxing cleared his throat. “You two stay put. I’ll be back as soon as I can from the old mansion.”
The coffee cup clinked against the marble table. The alpha’s dark eyes turned to him as Gu Lingzhou stepped forward to straighten his clothes once more. “Mm. Be careful on the road. If Grandmother does anything to you, contact me immediately.”
Ah, there it was again—that same line. She’s just a seventy-something old lady. What horrible thing could she possibly do besides nagging me to have a baby?… Retract that thought.
Shi Yuxing sat with his bitter coffee, Grandmother’s chatter droning in his ears. He regretted not bringing a sugar packet—now his mouth was bitter and his heart was too.
“Xingxing.” The jadeite pendant around Grandmother’s neck swayed. Shi Yuxing’s lips twitched as he slowly set down the coffee cup, scooped some tea leaves, and brewed himself a hot cup to calm his nerves. “What is it, Grandmother?”
The old lady’s sharp eyes scanned Shi Yuxing, finally landing on his neck, narrowing slightly. “Grandmother’s getting old. Lingzhou’s father—I barely held him as a child. Lingzhou too. Now that I’m older, I feel like something’s missing from my life.”
Damn it—every word was pushing for a baby. Shi Yuxing’s lips held an awkward smile. He didn’t want kids, but he was rather looking forward to the magnificent union that preceded childbirth—especially since his husband had such a great body.
Three pours of hot water later, the tea had faded to nothing. Shi Yuxing had practically drunk water by the end. Finally surviving until the old lady’s beauty treatment time, he swallowed a yawn and stood.
The matriarch spoke earnestly: “Isn’t it time for a child? I know it’s harder for betas to conceive, but with effort, even a pot-tossing game hits the mark after enough tries. There are specialized fertility treatments now, so there’s no need to worry. Lingzhou isn’t busy lately—you two young people should go out and have some fun. I have a number of nice travel packages here. Take a look—what do you like? I’ll arrange it for you.”
Shi Yuxing let it go in one ear and out the other. The old lady was helped to her feet, and he replied: “I’ll discuss it with Gu Lingzhou when I get back. You go ahead if you have things to do.”
Grandmother sighed. “Never mind. Young people’s affairs—if I say too much, you won’t listen anyway.” With that, she was helped out of the tea room. Once alone, Shi Yuxing stretched, hands on his lower back. “Ooh~ Mm~ Ah—sudden ear assault out of nowhere. Almost fell asleep.”
His eyes wandered and landed on a number of photos of Gu Lingzhou, clearly displayed for show—after all, having the Empire’s Supreme Commander in the family made for great conversation with guests, smoothing over business deals and projects.
In the photo, Gu Lingzhou looked incredibly young—even younger than the 18-year-old Xiao Zhou. A wide grin showed a perfect eight teeth, a peace sign aimed at the camera.
“Pfft…” Shi Yuxing looked and looked, nearly not recognizing him. He pulled out his phone, snapped a photo, and sent it to the two at home with the caption:
You were so cute as a kid.
For the first time in a while, neither replied instantly. Shi Yuxing stared at the screen until his eyes went dry. Not a peep from “10086” or “10085.”
“Weird. Why so quiet today?” He muttered, not really thinking much of it. But that strange feeling tugged at his nerves—so much so that when he went to put the photo back, he fumbled.
“Crash—” The sound of shattering glass made his scalp tingle.
Oh no. He broke Gu Lingzhou’s frame.
Silence hung for a few seconds. Shi Yuxing crouched down, his fingertips gripping the back of the frame. Countless reflections of his face stared back from the shards of glass on the floor. Tiny fragments still clung to the frame—he’d have to take the photo out and find a new frame. As he opened the back of the frame to retrieve the picture, his fingers stopped above it.
What was this?
His brows knitted together. He pinched a yellowed piece of paper hidden behind the photo.
…
On the yellowed, faded medical record was a name he had never heard before.
“Chu, Ke…” Shi Yuxing slowly repeated the name, as if by speaking it aloud he might capture something.
Why was this medical record hidden behind Gu Lingzhou’s photo? Setting that aside, this Chu Ke actually suffered from a rare glandular disease—a case he had indeed read about in textbooks. Due to autoimmune issues, the gland at the back of the neck would experience recurring pain. Patients maintained a constant body temperature of 38 degrees Celsius or higher, often presenting with intellectual disabilities, and the vast majority died young. The only chance of survival was gland removal—but the procedure was agonizing, and the post-operative survival rate was extremely low. Even for determined adult soldiers, the success rate was only about thirty percent; for infants and toddlers, it dropped to a shocking five percent.
The above data came from his mentor, a leading expert in the field who had once told him with regret that he wished he could live longer, so he could eradicate this strange affliction.
The most recent successful case of this rare disease removal was six years ago. The patient’s immune system had been compromised due to a nuclear leak, forcing the removal of the alpha gland. However, whether there were subsequent complications or whether the patient survived was not recorded in the literature.
The light ahead turned red. Shi Yuxing hit the brakes, his mind racing.
Who among the Chus could this be? The old lady’s maiden name was Ke—did Gu Lingzhou’s mother happen to be surnamed Chu? He’d never asked, nor had he ever cared much about Gu Lingzhou’s family background, but he remembered that no one in the entire Gu family had that surname.
Glandular disease, glandular disease… Lin Anran had studied this topic before.
·
“Dr. Shi? What made you think to call me all of a sudden?” Lin Anran’s voice was groggy, as if he’d just woken up, his throat sounding like it was clogged with a motorcycle.
“It’s ten o’clock. You’re still not up?”
Lin Anran yawned. “Dr. Shi, it’s a rare day off. What’s wrong with sleeping in? If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up—I’m too tired.”
“Wait. I have a question for you.”
“Mm…”
“Didn’t you research glandular diseases before? I remember you mentioning it in passing, but the project got scrapped because there were too few cases.”
Lin Anran blinked, struggling to sit up, his hair a tousled mess. “Oh~ Yeah. I originally wrote my thesis on that direction, but my advisor shot it down. Too niche, no useful references—innovative, but I’d definitely fail the defense. Why are you suddenly asking about this?”
Shi Yuxing stared ahead, his starship idling at the curb. “What did you write in your thesis?”
“What?” Lin Anran wondered if he was still half-asleep. Who calls first thing in the morning to ask about a graduation thesis written years ago? “Why are you asking? Glandular diseases are mostly caused by radiation. I remember years ago there was a district where radiation leaks caused babies born there to all develop the disease. Later, people abandoned those contaminated zones, and there haven’t been major issues since. Are you asking because there’s a new case?”
“Do you know about the glandular disease patient from six years ago caused by a nuclear radiation leak?”
“Six years ago, there was a major nuclear leak on planet Bz16. Among those affected, was there one with an immune system disorder? You mean that one?”
“Yes, that’s the one. I remember the gland surgery was successful. Do you have specific data? How was their recovery later? Any aftereffects?”
“Well, since data on glandular diseases is indeed scarce, and clinical experience is limited—”
Shi Yuxing cut off his rambling. “I need the data.”
Lin Anran fell silent. Why was this junior colleague just like his advisor? Data, data—of course he didn’t have it.
“Do you still have the thesis file? Send me a copy.”
Lin Anran: “……………………”
Even after graduation, he still had to have his thesis reviewed—and a rejected one at that.
“I’ll send it when I find it, alright, Your Highness?”
The liquid-metal red starship streaked through the main thoroughfare with a low, howling whir. The villa looked no different from when he’d left, but when he opened the door, the emptiness was unsettling. Strange—with him back this early, shouldn’t those two alphas have come running to greet him?
He called out twice, and dread instantly washed over him.
Could they have been caught and taken away?
His leather shoes were still by the door—but if someone had barged in to arrest them, would they have been considerate enough to let them put on shoes first?
“Gu Ling…” Just as he was about to call out again to confirm no one was there, a heavy thud came from the bedroom, followed by an angry roar: “Get out!”
Shi Yuxing was startled, but the boulder in his heart fell—at least they hadn’t been found.
He changed into slippers and quickly went upstairs to check. As he pressed the doorknob, the door shuddered, as if something had slammed against it. “I said get out!”
The enraged alpha’s eyes were bloodshot. When he saw the person behind the door, he froze. The floor was littered with Shi Yuxing’s clothes dragged out from the closet. The air was thick with pheromones so potent that even Shi Yuxing, a beta, could vaguely detect them—like a blizzard weighing down on fir branches, suffocating.
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