Xiao Muyi had completely changed, no longer the stone-cold man. After sharing his “past” and receiving a response, he seemed to have handed over his sincerity as well.
His attitude toward Flying Little Rabbit took a 180-degree turn, becoming warm, dependent, even humbly ingratiating.
He inquired about warmth and cold, gentle and considerate. No matter how embarrassing Flying Little Rabbit’s requests were, he never refused, even learning to sing from scratch, as if pleasing Flying Little Rabbit made anything worthwhile.
Yin Sangyu had the illusion that he could be indulged without limits.
Their relationship grew increasingly ambiguous, separated from the next step by only a thin sheet of window paper.
But no matter how well this man performed, when Yin Sangyu checked Xiao Muyi’s stats, they remained a glaring zero, meaning his acting was flawless, indistinguishable from genuine.
With Xiao Muyi acting so earnestly, Yin Sangyu didn’t slack either, always enthusiastic. After all, he was idle, with plenty of time, and gradually found the fun in it.
If the system suddenly vanished, he might even be willing to keep playing along with Xiao Muyi.
The only downside was that pretending to be an omega grew increasingly stifling. Every time he scoured the internet for beautiful women’s photos to send to Xiao Muyi, he itched to send one of his own to see how it’d fare. Yin Sangyu was confident he wouldn’t lose to anyone.
But reason, alongside the system, stopped this suicidal impulse.
One night, after completing his daily task of sharing a few good deeds with Xiao Muyi and “incidentally” listening to two songs, Yin Sangyu was about to say goodnight.
But after singing, Xiao Muyi spoke: “Rabbit, can I ask you something?”
Yin Sangyu, feeling inexplicably warm that day, wore only a shirt indoors and unbuttoned the top two buttons before replying: Big brother, just say whatever you want to ask.
Xiao Muyi took a deep breath, as if mustering great resolve, before saying: “We’ve known each other for so long. I was wondering if we could meet in person…”
Yin Sangyu froze, then, while thinking of an excuse to refuse, instinctively pretended not to hear, typing: Big brother, what did you say? Can you say it louder? I didn’t hear.
“N-Nothing.” Fortunately, Xiao Muyi was playing a shy, reserved persona and was too embarrassed to repeat himself, hurriedly saying: “G-Goodnight, sleep early.”
With that, Xiao Muyi cut off the voice call as if chased away.
Yin Sangyu felt this was bad. His so-called online dating was a whim, and he hadn’t considered meeting in person.
Xiao Muyi’s suggestion to meet was likely just a test of his attitude, but as time passed, Xiao Muyi would surely make the request more frequently and firmly.
The thought of endlessly finding excuses to refuse Xiao Muyi felt troublesome. At the same time, he noticed the room’s temperature seemed to keep rising.
Brushing sweat-dampened bangs back from his forehead, he asked: “System, do you feel the room getting hotter?”
[Host, the room isn’t hotter. Your body temperature is rising.]
Yin Sangyu blinked, suddenly recalling something. He checked the date on his phone and saw it was only two days from the day circled in red. His feeling of heat was because he’d entered the preliminary stage.
It was the small trouble every alpha faced a few times a year, lasting about five or six days, regardless of the interval—the susceptibility period.
Legend had it that long ago, alphas experienced susceptibility periods monthly. But with changing times and racial mixing, the overly delicate omegas couldn’t adapt well to environmental changes, their numbers dwindling.
Most alphas never found their omega in a lifetime, settling for betas who lacked pheromones, couldn’t be marked, and couldn’t fully accept them.
Unable to fully possess their partners or soothe the unease and agitation of the susceptibility period, alphas suffered greatly, and over time, their minds could twist, posing significant safety risks to society.
Fortunately, perhaps due to biological self-preservation, the frequency and severity of alphas’ susceptibility periods decreased. Nowadays, some alphas lived without ever smelling omega pheromones and got by just fine.
Without omegas, they still felt discomfort, but it wasn’t necessary to have one. Enduring it would pass.
Each alpha’s susceptibility period varied. Some became irritable and combative, others sentimental and tearful, and some resentful, at odds with the world.
But regardless of the manifestation, all alphas agreed it was like a drunken outburst—unseemly. Recalling it after regaining clarity made them want to bury themselves in a crack in the ground.
Thus, alphas tried to isolate themselves during susceptibility periods, avoiding outside contact to prevent doing anything absurd.
Yin Sangyu was particularly unlucky. His susceptibility period symptoms were, without exaggeration, the most humiliating among alphas.
After one susceptibility period, his worst injuries were to his psyche and a pair of red, swollen, stinging eyes from crying. Paired with his delicate, enchanting features, he looked pitiably fragile, evoking sympathy.
Focused entirely on Xiao Muyi, Yin Sangyu hadn’t noticed his susceptibility period approaching.
He loathed his susceptibility period. Now that it was imminent, he had no time for villains and told the system: “My susceptibility period is coming. Don’t bother me then.”
System: [Host, I’m not trying to disturb you.]
“I’m not lying. If you give me headaches during my susceptibility period, I really will cry.”
Yin Sangyu, with utmost seriousness, repeated word by word: “I really. Will. Cry.”
System: […I’ll handle it appropriately.]
[But, Host, what about the villain during your susceptibility period?]
With Xiao Muyi’s redemption value still at zero, Yin Sangyu felt his presence or absence made no difference.
But having worked hard and even “sacrificed his charms,” he said, slightly sullen: “I can’t control him. Whatever.”
System: [But if an unexpected event alters the book’s plot…]
In the preliminary stage of his susceptibility period, Yin Sangyu’s temper was a bit more willful than usual. He interrupted without listening: “That’s got nothing to do with me.”
System: […]
During this period, Yin Sangyu lost interest in everything, faintly feeling like the world’s most wronged person, unwilling to coax anyone.
But it hadn’t reached the eruption stage, so he could still interact normally online.
The next day, wanting to hear Xiao Muyi sing, Yin Sangyu patiently opened the chat window, though far less enthusiastic than usual.
His obvious perfunctoriness was noticeable to Xiao Muyi.
Black: Rabbit, are you unhappy today? You seem out of sorts.
Yin Sangyu, eyes half-open, half-closed, with thick black hair hanging over his vision too lazy to brush aside, replied listlessly: No, it’s your imagination.
Receiving this, Xiao Muyi fell silent.
Normally, Yin Sangyu might have wondered why Xiao Muyi stopped talking, but now he couldn’t be bothered.
After a while, Xiao Muyi sent a voice message: “Rabbit, did I upset you by saying something wrong yesterday? If so, I apologize.”
Yesterday? What did he say wrong yesterday?
Sensing Yin Sangyu’s confusion, the system reminded: [Yesterday, Xiao Muyi suggested meeting you.]
Oh, that. Yin Sangyu replied without thinking: Oh, I’m not upset. No need to apologize.
This indirectly admitted he’d pretended not to hear yesterday.
Black: Then is something else making you unhappy?
Flying Little Rabbit: No, I’m just tired. Why don’t you sing me a song?
After replying, Yin Sangyu remembered he wouldn’t be available for a few days and should take leave, typing: By the way, I’ll be busy for about a week and won’t be able to chat.
Xiao Muyi quickly started a voice call, not asking what Yin Sangyu was busy with, only saying “okay” before singing a slow, gentle tune.
Once the song ended, the voice call cut off immediately. In the dimly lit rental room, Xiao Muyi moved the phone from his lips, a faint, cold smile curling his mouth.
He figured this alpha was probably tired of playing and, since he’d brought up meeting, was now acting cold and distant to shake him off.
But trying to leave now—did he think it would work?
Xiao Muyi lifted his dull, lifeless eyes to the wall before him, plastered with photos of several alphas in various settings, annotated with analyses.
One alpha, blond with dark eyes and a mixed-race look, was circled prominently in red marker.
These alphas were well-known, showy rich heirs, making it easy to gather their information.
After this period of probing and analysis, Xiao Muyi had locked onto a target. As expected, Flying Little Rabbit was Shen Ruifeng, the second young master of the Shen family.
Shen Ruifeng was flirtatious, always seeking amusement, recently inseparable from his phone, and had bragged to friends about a new “toy” days ago—highly suspicious.
In two days, Shen Ruifeng would attend a friend’s birthday celebration at the Laivien Hotel.
Xiao Muyi planned to approach and test him then. If he confirmed Flying Little Rabbit was indeed Shen Ruifeng…
Xiao Muyi lowered his gaze to a large bag under the bed, its bulging shape revealing numerous sharp tools—his carefully prepared “little gifts” for Flying Little Rabbit, to be sent to the forest cabin tomorrow.
He would ensure Shen Ruifeng had an unforgettable memory until death.