Imperial Hospital.
On the pristine white hospital bed, Chu Xiaoyun slowly came to. An unhealthy flush spread across her cheeks, her eyes clouded with a layer of mist as she let out a pained whimper.
“Xiaoyun’s awake,” her mother hurried over, the back of her hand touching the girl’s cheek. “Sweetie, how are you feeling? Why are you still so hot?” Her cloudy eyes shifted twice before gradually clearing, and she finally saw the people standing by the bed clearly. Chu Xiaoyun’s dry lips parted: “Mom… Mom, I’m so hot… I need water…”
Shi Yuxing picked up the thermometer and beeped it against her forehead. “37.8 degrees—a low-grade fever. Are you sure your heat cycle is within the next few days?”
Chu Xiaoyun’s father nodded. “Yes, Dr. Shi. We usually take time off for Xiaoyun around this time every year.”
“Alright, I understand. I’ll go prepare the suppressants for you.” Shi Yuxing made a few marks on the form, mentally noting everything, then looked up. “If it gets too hot, you can put on a cooling patch first. Remember—don’t drink cold water.”
His tea-colored eyes watched the hand of Chu Xiaoyun’s mother reaching for the already-cooled cup of water on the table. The woman quickly caught on, stood up and bent over, picked up the thermos—steam rising from it—mixed it with the cold water in the cup, and only then handed it to her daughter in bed.
“Mom…” The girl on the bed, her cheeks flushed pink, grabbed her mother’s hand, her lips moist. “Mom, I dreamed about Tang Jue.”
Shi Yuxing’s steps paused.
“Good child, he’ll be fine. The police officers will find him.” Chu Xiaoyun’s mother comforted her gently, rubbing her back, but her eyes held a flicker of sorrow.
“But Mom, I’ve been sending him messages and he hasn’t replied. It’s been half a month now.”
Shi Yuxing turned his head, meeting the girl’s lost gaze. That child—he wondered how he was doing now.
He hesitated for a long moment, then, under the girl’s puzzled gaze, spoke up. He chose to tell them what he currently knew—after all, they might be the only ones in the world who still cared about that child. “The police have found him.”
“Really, big brother? Where is he?” Chu Xiaoyun’s eyes lit up instantly. In contrast, the expressions of the other two froze for a moment. Shi Yuxing nodded in confirmation. “He’s recovering on another planet. He should be able to reply to your messages after some time.”
“Um, Dr. Shi,” the father interrupted, standing up from his chair. These past days, because of Chu Xiaoyun’s condition, he looked much more haggard—scrambling to raise money while also finding temporary work to pay off debts. If not for his daughter, life might have crushed this father entirely. He looked at Shi Yuxing, uncertain: “Is he okay?”
“Mm.”
Chu Xiaoyun’s mother asked: “Was he hurt?”
Shi Yuxing fell silent. Chu Xiaoyun looked at him nervously. “Big brother?”
Shi Yuxing forced a smile. “I don’t know the specifics, but as long as everyone prays for him, he’ll be fine.” As he said this, he felt deeply uneasy inside. He wasn’t sure if a child whose gland had been forcibly removed could survive the surgery—after all, even sterile gland surgeries had a 70% mortality rate for adults.
He hoped Tang Jue would pull through.
The hospital room was very quiet. Shi Yuxing turned his feet and walked out.
The medication required a prescription first. Shi Yuxing returned to his office, his fingers clattering across the keyboard, and soon the printer beside him spat out what he needed.
It was lunch break, and there weren’t many people around. He went down to the first floor, greeted the drowsy nurse at the nurses’ station, then quickly turned the corner and walked to the pharmacy.
As if the universe couldn’t stand to see Shi Yuxing with empty hands, the moment he slid his prescription through the window, his phone rang in his pocket.
“Silence doesn’t mean… beep—” Shi Yuxing swiftly answered. “Hello? I’m busy right now. Wait for me in my office.”
Gu Lingzhou was bringing him lunch.
“That’s a coincidence. I might be a little late—this shop sold out of magnolias.” There was a hint of regret in his voice on the other end.
Shi Yuxing refused sternly, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I told you, you don’t need to bring them every day. I can see the magnolia tree right outside my office window.”
The sound of an engine revved from the other end of the line. The alpha stubbornly said: “No. I told you I’d bring you one every day.”
Shi Yuxing sighed. “Are you an idiot? You’re sacrificing more than ten minutes with me for a bouquet of flowers.” He looked up and happened to see the pharmacist inside the window turning away with a knowing smile—like she’d overheard something juicy. Shi Yuxing quickly turned his back, covered the receiver, and whispered: “I’m hanging up.”
Without waiting for a reply, Shi Yuxing ended the call.
“Little Dr. Shi and the General really do have a wonderful relationship.”
Shi Yuxing was thoroughly embarrassed—he’d just been showing off his relationship in front of an outsider.
The pharmacist was an older beta uncle. He shuffled through the items. “I’ve heard from those nurses—the General basically comes to deliver food every day. Everyone’s envious.”
This is a senior, this is a senior… The words kept echoing in Shi Yuxing’s mind, and he nearly blurted out “none of your business.” At the last moment, he changed his tune: “It’s not that exaggerated.”
“Dr. Shi, don’t be modest. I’ve run into you many times—he brings you flowers.”
“A lot of people used to say that Little Dr. Shi and the General had no feelings for each other. Even back then, I didn’t think that was true.” Shi Yuxing felt a growing discomfort, but the pharmacist continued chattering: “After all, Little Dr. Shi has great skills, looks beautiful, and even greets me.”
His heart stirred. The discomfort from before receded, and Shi Yuxing shifted his eyes, waiting for more compliments.
“Little Dr. Shi is so wonderful.” The pharmacist deftly mixed and bottled the medication—in the blink of an eye, a full cycle’s worth of suppressants was ready. “If I had a partner like that, I’d be running to the hospital every day too—bringing food and flowers, afraid someone might steal them away.”
A small bag was pushed out through the window, containing the suppressants. The translucent liquid swayed, rippling something inside Shi Yuxing’s heart as well.
The pharmacist smiled and handed it over. “Little Dr. Shi, here’s your order. Take it.”
Shi Yuxing snapped back to attention, caught the bag securely, and thanked him.
…
The scent of magnolias brushed against his nose. Shi Yuxing held a bouquet even larger than usual. “Why did you bring such a big one? I have nowhere to put it, General Gu.”
The office door closed behind them.
“The magnolias were blooming beautifully today, so I wanted to give you more.”
Shi Yuxing followed behind him, suddenly remembering the pharmacist’s words—
“If I had a partner like that, I’d be running to the hospital every day too—bringing food and flowers, afraid someone might steal them away.”
“Gu Lingzhou.” His steps paused, and Shi Yuxing peered around. “Why do you bring me flowers every single day? Yesterday’s magnolias haven’t even wilted yet, and you’ve brought more today—it’s too many.” There were still yesterday’s flowers in the corner of his desk—he’d forgotten to take them home. But there were already some at home too—nowhere to put them.
Gu Lingzhou laid out the food containers one by one, a smile hidden in his eyes. “Just because they haven’t wilted means I shouldn’t bring more? Getting fresh flowers every day would make you happy every day.”
Shi Yuxing set the bouquet—twice the size of yesterday’s—on the floor, suppressing his smile and putting on a stern face. “You bringing them every day means a lot of people have noticed.” Gu Lingzhou’s hand paused for a second, then continued arranging the dishes. “Don’t you like it?”
“I do like it.” Shi Yuxing was so straightforward that Gu Lingzhou’s tense lips relaxed. Shi Yuxing cleared his throat and continued: “Don’t get me wrong—I like magnolias. But I don’t like other people secretly gossiping about it. Praise is one thing, but I hate people talking behind my back.”
Gu Lingzhou didn’t fully understand. Somewhat bewildered, he offered: “Then from now on, I’ll hide them in my clothes so no one sees?”
“That’s not necessary either.” Shi Yuxing imagined the scene and couldn’t help laughing—Gu Lingzhou being so clueless, hiding flowers in his clothes would be too strange. The aroma of food wafted into his nose, and his stomach growled in protest. “What’s on the menu today?”
“Scrambled eggs with tomatoes, braised pork, shrimp, and crispy potato slices.” Gu Lingzhou moved aside so Shi Yuxing could see more clearly.
His nostrils flared. Dr. Shi couldn’t wait to wash his hands. Gu Lingzhou’s eyes followed his figure. “So—how would you like me to bring you flowers from now on?”
“The same as always. I don’t really care about gossips anyway—as long as it doesn’t reach my ears.” He’d deliberately wanted to tease Gu Lingzhou, to see how he’d react. Gu Lingzhou let out a breath of relief. Shi Yuxing shook his hands dry, then suddenly remembered something and stopped shaking them. With droplets still clinging to his fingertips, he walked over. Gu Lingzhou noticed, frowned, grabbed a towel, and dried his fingers.
His upturned lashes were thick and dark. Shi Yuxing squinted and suddenly asked: “Gu Lingzhou, if someone else gave me flowers and I accepted them, what would you do?”
Gu Lingzhou folded the towel, met his tea-colored pupils, fell silent for a moment, then walked away and hung the towel back up.
Shi Yuxing raised an eyebrow, dropping heavy hints: “Someone actually did send me flowers before.” Gu Lingzhou didn’t move. Shi Yuxing was burning with curiosity and walked to his side. When he saw him—his fists clenched, his eyes red-rimmed—he froze on the spot, suddenly at a loss.
Gu Lingzhou turned his head. A faint, soft sound of sniffles hung in the air.
“Don’t cry—I was joking. I didn’t accept them. I only accept yours.” Shi Yuxing circled to the other side, only to find the man’s pupils dark and heavy, completely unlike the teary-eyed expression from before. He thought he must have misseen.
The next second, his shoulders were pulled into an embrace. Gu Lingzhou leaned in, circling him tightly, jealousy dripping from his voice: “You’re not allowed to accept anyone else’s flowers.”
This guy wasn’t crying at all—he was just furious to the point of red eyes.
“Other people’s flowers are poisonous. You’re not allowed to take them.” The chest pressed against his cheek hummed with his voice. Shi Yuxing tilted his head up slightly and bumped into Gu Lingzhou’s chin. Gu Lingzhou trembled slightly and held him even tighter.
Shi Yuxing patted his back, telling him to let go. “I didn’t accept them, I didn’t.”
“Other people’s flowers stink.” Gu Lingzhou’s childishness was no less than the two at home—truly, a man doesn’t change even at thirty-two. He stretched his neck and shifted. Gu Lingzhou’s voice turned cold as he quietly added the second half: “Only my flowers smell good.”
Shi Yuxing marveled that such words could come from General Gu’s mouth, but after a moment’s thought, it actually made perfect sense.
With that, the tall alpha rested his chin on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his neck—as if Shi Yuxing was that flower belonging to Gu Lingzhou. There was no omega gland or pheromones there, only the scent of body wash and the fir scent on him.
His neck was tickled by stiff strands of hair. Gu Lingzhou buried his face into his neck, and soft lips pressed against his skin. Surprise flickered in Shi Yuxing’s eyes. “Gu Lingzhou, you’re kissing me again.” He pushed at him and shrugged his shoulders as he spoke.
Once the hedgehog finally pulled away, the shameless General licked his lips with satisfaction, admiring the red mark left on his wife’s neck.
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