7 Shallow Water Bay.
When Shen Yanzhou returned home, what welcomed him was not the expected glow of the floor lamps, nor was it that foolish and expectant greeting: “Master, welcome home.”
Instead, there was a dead silence.
The entire villa was empty and chillingly cold, with only the occasional sweep of headlights from cars outside casting pale shadows against the walls. No one took his umbrella. No one handed him slippers, and the air lacked that pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal.
“Thirty Million?” he called out tentatively.
No response.
Shen Yanzhou furrowed his brow, casually flicking on the wall switch.
The living room was cleaned exceptionally well in fact, you could say it was too clean. The cheap mug the man frequently used to drink water wasn’t on the coffee table, and his faded, washed-out old jacket wasn’t draped over the sofa. Even the man’s pheromones, which usually wrapped around him so faintly, seemed to have completely evaporated along with the room’s chill.
Gone?
Shen Yanzhou’s heart sank, and immediately following, an indescribable wave of absurdity and the rage of being toyed with scorched through his logic.
He had actually left?
Shen Yanzhou walked over to the wine cabinet, pouring a glass of ice water, his fingers gripping the glass so hard they nearly shattered it. For what reason? Was it because the lesson this morning had frightened him, loathing being treated as a tool, or detesting making love with him?
Truly laughable what right did Thirty Million have?
In this money-drenched Hong Kong, as long as he, the Eldest Master of the Shen family, hooked a finger, the Alphas wanting to crawl into his bed could queue from Shallow Water Bay all the way to Tsim Sha Tsui. Even if he was an odorless Omega, the people wanting to catch a whiff of his collar or lick the soles of his feet were countless.
What right did that wild dog have to be unwilling?
“Or perhaps…” Shen Yanzhou’s gaze swept coldly across the wallet resting on the entryway cabinet. “He took the money, decided it was enough to squander the rest of his life in the slums, and absconded with the funds?”
Sure enough. There was no such thing as a dog you could successfully tame; compliance and loyalty were merely a mask worn before finding the opportunity to bite through the leash.
A heavy surge of fatigue hit him, leaving him feeling even more exhausted than when he had faced that pack of blood-sucking relatives at the ancestral home moments ago. Shen Yanzhou set down his water glass, massaging his throbbing temples.
Forget it. Tonight was too exhausting, and the rain outside was heavy.
“Run then,” he unbuttoned his tie with a detached expression, tossing it casually onto the sofa. “The further you run, the better.”
“Come tomorrow morning, I’ll have someone track you down and drag you back.”
“Since you refuse to be obedient, I’ll snap your two dog legs, lock you dead inside the basement, and ensure you never see the light of day again for the rest of your life.”
Dressed in a change of pajamas, he was walking barefoot toward the stairs to head up to sleep when—
Click. The electronic lock of the main entrance chimed without a single hint of warning.
The door opened.
A massive silhouette appeared at the threshold. The man was thoroughly drenched from head to toe, looking exceptionally miserable, like a bedraggled dog just fished out of the water. He seemed entirely oblivious to the freezing murderous intent solidifying inside the house. The moment he caught sight of Shen Yanzhou standing at the foot of the stairs, the man’s brooding features unrippled instantly, replacing themselves with a compliant expression as he changed his shoes and spoke lightly:
“Master? Have you returned? Just now, I…”
Shen Yanzhou gave him zero opportunity to explain. He rushed down the steps in a few strides, his pale, slender hand ruthlessly locking onto the man’s wet collar without an ounce of mercy, pinning him down onto the sofa.
Before the man could rise, Shen Yanzhou had already shifted over him, his leg wedged between the man’s thighs, his hands propped on either side of the man’s ears. From an elevated position, he pinned this disobedient beast firmly within that square foot of space.
The silk bathrobe flew wide open from the violent movement, exposing a massive expanse of blindingly white chest skin. A few strands of silver hair draped down, brushing against the man’s rolling adam’s apple.
“Thirty Million, you actually know to return?” The edges of his eyes flushed with an irritated crimson. Giving the man zero opportunity to voice a word, his slender, ice-cold hand rapidly unbuckled the man’s belt.
“M-Master?” The man’s breath hitched violently, his entire muscular frame locking tight instantly. “What are you…”
“An examination,” Shen Yanzhou spat out two syllables coldly.
The hand that lived in total luxury, always holding a wine glass or a fountain pen, directly climbed onto the man.
The man let out a muffled grunt. He smiled as he traced Shen Yanzhou’s features, instinctively extending a hand wanting to touch his beautiful face. But catching sight of his own hand the one that had just beaten Su Muran, still oozing blood he gave up.
How could a hand this filthy touch a pale, flawless face like this?
Shen Yanzhou didn’t notice the expression on the man’s face. He leaned down, his nose bridge drawing so close to the man’s neck line they were practically touching, deeply inhaling like a discerning Persian cat inspecting his property.
The dampness of the rain, cheap tobacco, a trace of blood.
And the scent of another Alpha.
Zero warmth remained within his beautiful silver-gray eyes. “This late, who did you go see?”
He exerted force with his hand, pinching him viciously as a punishment. The man furrowed his brow from the pain, yet he was smiling.
“Silent? Still smiling?” Shen Yanzhou extracted his other hand, tunneling inside the man’s drenched raincoat.
“Since you refuse to speak, I’ll find out myself—let’s see what exactly was important enough to warrant you rushing out in the middle of a Number 3 Typhoon Signal.” His hand roughly forged into the inner layer, his fingertips brushing against the old phone inside the tight pocket.
The man’s body turned rigid to an absolute extreme.
“M… Master…” His adam’s apple rolled violently, his voice dry as he tried to raise a hand to block. “Don’t…”
“Don’t move!” Shen Yanzhou barked sharply, his knee顶 ruthlessly against the man’s hip bone, his eyes entirely filled with a fierce aura. “Guilty conscience? What is hidden inside?”
His fingers slid across the hard object.
Only an inch away. As long as he pushed in a fraction further, he could pull that old phone out.
However, at this ultimate juncture, the back of his hand brushed against another object in the adjacent pocket that was far more bulbous and obvious, wrapped in layers of oil paper and carrying a strange warmth.
Shen Yanzhou’s movement paused. Compared to that cold, hard block, this object shielded so closely by the man clearly triggered more suspicion. He shifted his wrist, bypassing the lethal phone, grabbed the bundle of material, and yanked it out violently.
Whoosh— Along with his movement, several items tumbled out with a roll. First to catch his eye was a transparent, streamlined bottle bearing a completely English label: 【Extra Silky & Pain Relief】.
Shen Yanzhou’s fingers, which had been clutching the man’s collar, froze midair. The beautiful face that had been filled with brooding murder moments ago now settled into an intensely awkward expression.
This was the “contraband” this dog had braved the middle of the night to “abscond” and bring back?
“Where did all of this come from?”
“This afternoon in the study, when you were teaching me… I took everything down in my notebook.” The man tilted his head a bit uncomfortably, not daring to meet Shen Yanzhou’s eyes. A highly rare one could even say “shy” flush actually surfaced across his handsome, wild face, his voice dropped so low it sounded as if he were whispering an embarrassing secret:
“You pointed at the anatomical diagram and mentioned the door is very narrow, very tight.”
“You also mentioned it tears easily, will bleed, and Master will hurt very much.”
Speaking to this point, the man lifted his eyes again, his pitch-black puppy eyes entirely filled with sincerity and seriousness, along with a trace of “concern” for the future:
“I have self-awareness. Dr. Su mentioned it as well it isn’t easy to swallow.” As he spoke, he clumsily lifted a hand, pushing the lubricant toward Shen Yanzhou’s hand. “If we only use the ordinary stuff outside, it will definitely bleed.”
“I don’t want Master to hurt.”
“Therefore… I went to beg Dr. Su to prescribe this. He mentioned this is used for surgeries—the most gentle, and it relieves pain.”
Shen Yanzhou stared at this cold bottle of liquid, then looked at this massive hound drenched from the rain, explaining things to him with total innocence.
What did this count as? Using the most innocent tone to play the rogue with him?!
He felt the lubricant in his hand was a bit scalding. Tossing the bottle back onto the sofa, he rapidly shifted his target, pointing toward two blue glass ampoule vials scattered nearby. They bore red skull warning logos, instantly recognizable as high-concentration suppressants, typically utilized only when confining rioting Alphas in prisons or heavy psychiatric wards.
“Then what about this?”
“Is this meant for me too?”
“No, it isn’t for you,” Thirty Million shook his head in a hurry, water droplets on his hair tips flying off with the movement. His deep eyes locked tightly onto Shen Yanzhou, an exceptionally deep darkness rolling within them.
“It is for myself.”
“You?”
“My rut is arriving soon.”
“I am S+ tier. The doctor mentioned before that my genetic sequence is highly unstable. Once I enter my rut, there is a high probability I will turn into a lunatic who only knows mating and slaughter.”
Speaking to this point, he looked at Shen Yanzhou’s snow-white, fragile neck close at hand, his adam’s apple rolling with difficulty. A wave of self-loathing laced with blood leaked from his gaze:
“I fear when the time comes, I will lose control.”
“I fear I will act like a beast, disregarding your will, locking you away, day and night…” He paused, squeezing out cruel words from between his teeth: “…raping you.”
“You…” Shen Yanzhou opened his mouth, only to discover his throat felt a bit dry. His gaze fell back into his hand bag.
“Then what is packed inside this bag?”
His hand bag was stuffed with ingredients wrapped in newspapers: golden-hued premium dried shrimp from Tai O, plump dried scallops from Japan, a perfectly cleaned free-range chicken with yellow skin and tender meat, and several packs of Chinese medicinal herbs that looked highly nourishing. All premium dry goods for stewing soups and boiling congees.
“Why did you buy these?” he asked, thoroughly puzzled.
Though these items weren’t ultimately expensive, one couldn’t find local ingredients of this quality inside the premium supermarkets of Central; they could only be scavenged from those chaotic old street markets.
The man gazed at Shen Yanzhou’s waist, which was thin enough to look as if it would snap with a single bend. His brow worriedly knit into a tight furrow, his tone honest and serious:
“Master mentioned… wanting to conceive.” He extended a hand, appearing as if he wanted to touch Shen Yanzhou’s waist, yet he restrained himself and pulled it back, wiping it against his drenched trousers.
“Conceiving is a task that consumes essence and blood. You are too thin; if your physical foundation isn’t good, you won’t be able to bear it when the time comes.”
“I heard that inside the old street markets over by the Kowloon Walled City, there are several dried seafood shops that have been open for decades. Although the items lack packaging, they are meant for locals to eat the flavor is richest, and they are most nourishing.”
“You don’t know how crowded that place is.” As if to prove his sincerity, he kept his head lowered, speaking with a muffled voice: “When I went, it was exactly closing time. The alleys of Yau Ma Tei were entirely filled with people, the ground covered in fish blood and rotten vegetable leaves left behind from slaughtering.”
“But I heard that ‘Chan Kee Dried Seafood’ has the best dried scallops freighted directly from Hokkaido, Japan. I queued in line at the entrance for an hour.”
He extended his large, heavily scarred hand, pointing toward the dried scallops inside the bag. “That boss saw I looked fierce and didn’t dare sell to me, thinking I was there to smash the place. I explained to him for a long time, mentioning that my… the one at my house has a weak body, and I wanted to buy them back to boil congee.”
“To pick this free-range chicken, I was nearly pecked by a chicken,” he gestured clumsily. “But I felt it, this chicken has very little subcutaneous fat, the meat tight. The soup stewed out will definitely be golden, not greasy, perfect for you to drink.”
“Although we can’t… that yet,” he pointed toward the bottle of lubricant. “I can first stew soup and boil congee for Master. I want to feed you until you’re a bit plumper.”
“Once your body is nourished well, when you conceive, you’ll also suffer a bit less.”
Shen Yanzhou said awkwardly, “Meddlesome.”
What did this count as? He, Shen Yanzhou, called the shots in Hong Kong; what rare and precious delicacies could he not obtain?
He felt he couldn’t remain sitting on this sofa, wanting to rise and leave this spot, loosening the hand that was holding the man down.
However, the exact instant his fingers loosened.
A scalding large hand suddenly clamped over them, pressing his ice-cold palm dead back onto its original spot.
The man let out a strained muffled grunt, tilting his head back, his long neck tracing an intensely sexy curve. The eyes that had been filled with honesty moments ago were currently scorched a burning red by lust, staring at Shen Yanzhou with a wet gaze, carrying a humility that verged on begging:
“Master…”
“Don’t leave…”
“Can I beg you… to touch me a bit more.”
Shen Yanzhou lowered his eyelashes was this an S+ tier Alpha? He exerted a tiny bit of force with his fingertips, scraping lightly without a shred of weight.
“Ugh!” The man clamped his teeth dead, the back of his hand clutching Shen Yanzhou’s wrist bursting with blue veins, yet he didn’t dare truly exert force, terrified of crushing his master’s fragile, exquisite hand bones.
“Master’s hand,” the man murmured incoherently, his voice humble to the absolute dust. He wanted to chase that ice-cold hand, yet the exact instant his fingertips were about to touch
Shen Yanzhou pulled his hand back.
The withdrawal was too rapid, too heartless. For a split second, the man actually experienced the weightlessness of falling from a cliff. The emptiness of gaining and then losing was ten thousand times more agonizing than never having obtained it at all.
“M-Master?” His eyes dilated blankly, the edges scorched a burning red like an abandoned large hound. His fingers curled, wanting to grab the hem of his clothes, yet he didn’t dare. “Why… I beg you…”
“Tired,” Shen Yanzhou furrowed his brow, leaning back lazily against the sofa back, spitting out two words.
“Hand is sore.”
“My web space hurts, out of strength.”
Hand is sore? Simply because… his hand was sore?
The man froze on the spot, looking at his own strained state, then looking at Shen Yanzhou’s detached profile. “But…”
“That is your own business.”
Shen Yanzhou stood up, stepping barefoot onto the soft long-haired rug, half an instep sinking into it, blindingly white. “However, since you’re so uncomfortable…” His fingers settled onto the drawstring of his silk bathrobe.
A gentle tug.
The already loose belt slid off instantly, and the dark silk fabric slid down his lean, pale shoulders like flowing water, pooling on the rug like a pool of unraveled ink.
The man’s breathing stopped completely. Under the lights, Shen Yanzhou’s body was breathtakingly beautiful meticulously sculpted, a cold brilliance untouched by a single speck of dust. From his long neck, to his exquisite deep-set collarbones, to his chest covered by a thin layer of muscle… every inch of skin radiated light, sickly and fragile.
His eyes instantly filled with bloodshot veins, his adam’s apple rolling violently as his gaze roamed over his body with ultimate attachment.
So beautiful.
“Looked enough?” Shen Yanzhou bent over, picking up the bathrobe from the floor. With a light flick of his wrist, “It’s yours.”
The black silk bathrobe traced an intimate arc through the air, accurately draping over Thirty Million’s head, masking his eyes.
“How to do it, I shouldn’t need to teach you, right?” As he spoke, he walked toward the stairs. “Clean yourself up. Don’t soil the sofa.”
“I’m heading to sleep.”
With that, he walked upstairs completely naked. The thick carpet lining the second-floor corridor swallowed all footsteps.
Shen Yanzhou didn’t enter his room immediately, leaning against the ice-cold wall, his fingers tightening around the door handle. The commotion downstairs was exceptionally light at first, containing only the rustle of fabric rubbing against flesh. Immediately following, a muffled grunt compressed to an absolute extreme echoed, like a trapped beast driven to a dead end unleashing a sorrowful cry.
“Ha… Master…”
This low roar pierced through the floorboards, climbing all the way up his spine. He could practically visualize the scene: the man currently kneeling on the rug, that handsome, wild face buried deep within the black silk he had worn, greedily inhaling the residual red wine scent and body heat upon it, treating that garment as his surrogate.
The air seemed to turn entirely sticky.
The sounds downstairs grew frantic, accompanied by the man’s increasingly chaotic voice: “So fragrant… entirely filled with Master’s scent…”
Shen Yanzhou’s cheeks gradually turned hot. He bit his lower lip, cursing in a low voice:
“Truly a…”
“Lunatic.”