Qiu Zheng was woken up by the familiar roar of a power drill.
The sharp noise pressing in from all directions made it impossible to keep sleeping. She pulled out her useless earplugs—no need to check the time; it had to be eight o’clock.
The renovation upstairs always started at this hour. The building was already old and shabby—she had no idea why anyone would bother putting in the effort.
Perhaps she was too used to it. The act of thumping her bed had become a daily ritual. She “got angry,” but only half-heartedly—without any real force—and her irritation quickly faded perfunctorily.
Resigned, she got up.
On the calendar, today was circled, with a note: **3 years**.
Qiu Zheng paused in a daze. Three years—it had been four years since she transmigrated into this ABO world.
Who could have imagined it before? That the alphas, omegas, and betas from novels could exist in reality.
Aside from that, this world wasn’t much different from the one she lived in before, at least in everyday life.
*Ding.* A news notification popped up on her phone.
Seeing a familiar name, Qiu Zheng—who usually cleared notifications without a glance—stopped. As if compelled by something, she tapped into it.
In the video, a man was walking out of an airport. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs—perfect model proportions. His well-tailored suit made him look unmistakably noble.
“WK recently announced that the development of the new fifth-generation inhibitor, QS, has now entered the clinical trial stage…”
As the narration continued, the camera seemed to zoom in. The movement drew the man’s gaze slightly sideways—his cool eyes swept toward the lens.
Qiu Zheng’s breath hitched.
That face… was very familiar.
A year ago, he had been sitting on the sofa across from her, looking at her with the same cold, critical, disdainful expression—as if she were trash—before pushing a marriage contract toward her.
“As long as we find a way to eliminate the compatibility, our marriage ends,” he had said. “Of course, you can refuse.”
In other words, he wasn’t forcing her.
His tall frame occupied the small single sofa, leaning back casually, legs crossed. Though a guest, he carried himself with the ease and composure of a host.
After more than two years in this world, Qiu Zheng had certainly heard of compatibility.
It was determined by a genetic database—the higher the match, the more compatible two people were. A 100% match was extremely rare, said to be the kind that made people fall desperately, hopelessly in love.
Qiu Zheng felt her own utterly calm heart—so calm she even had the urge to punch this “strong male lead” in the face—and then looked at his equally indifferent attitude. The thought crossed her mind: *so this is all that compatibility amounts to.*
Even though the man practically had “I dislike you” written all over his face, Qiu Zheng still slowly picked up the pen on the table.
Under his gaze, she carefully wrote her name, stroke by stroke.
Wen Yan had given her a choice—but at that time, she had none.
A sudden message notification pulled her back to the present. She glanced down. A chat box had popped up with a brief message:
“9 p.m.”
Qiu Zheng looked at the name—Wen Yan—then at the video still playing, where the man’s figure gradually disappeared from the reporters’ cameras.
Wen Yan was the young master of WK and the lead of the inhibitor research project. Because of the closed-off research phase, they hadn’t seen each other for two months.
Although seeing the video meant she’d have to meet him sooner or later… he had just landed an hour ago, hadn’t he?
Well… there went her plans for the day.
At that moment, in WK’s laboratory office—
The man leaned back in his chair, eyes half closed.
It had been an hour since he sent that message.
As expected, there was no reply. He couldn’t be sure whether she hadn’t seen it—or simply chose not to respond. Wen Yan opened his phone again.
The screen was filled with one-sided messages—all from him.
Even if she had seen them, she wouldn’t reply. At some point, silence had come to mean agreement between them.
The previous message was from two months ago: “I’ll be away on a business trip for a while.” As usual, no response. And there had been no communication in between.
His match was as cold as he had originally hoped.
And yet, the slight frown on his face suggested otherwise. He stared at the screen for a long time as it lit up, dimmed, went dark, then lit up again—over and over.
After who knew how many times, he finally typed again:
“Change it. 6 p.m.”
*What kind of ‘evening’ is six o’clock?*
Qiu Zheng complained inwardly as she headed out at five.
But his time was more valuable—everything revolved around his schedule. Luckily, it wasn’t rush hour yet. Though she lived far away, the roads were clear, and she arrived right on time.
As soon as she got out of the car, someone took her keys to park it, while another led her inside with a smile. “Miss Qiu, Mr. Wen is already waiting for you.”
So early.
At least, early for Wen Yan. Maybe after two months of nonstop work, he’d finally gotten a break.
Qiu Zheng tried to distract herself with random thoughts to ease her nerves, but when the elevator dinged open at the top floor, her heart still skipped.
Before her was an upscale restaurant that made her instinctively hesitant.
Not long ago, she had left her shabby apartment with poor soundproofing and no elevator. Now it felt like stepping into another world.
At this hour, it wasn’t crowded yet, but she knew reservations here had to be made weeks in advance. The waiter continued leading the way. “Miss Qiu, this way please.”
She took a quiet breath before following. Whether as a struggling undocumented resident in this life or an ordinary office worker before transmigrating, places like this had never belonged to her.
Even though she had been here twice before, she still couldn’t shake the unease.
After turning a couple of corners, she finally saw the man seated by the window.
In person, he looked even better than in the video. His sharp, well-defined features gave him a stern, unapproachable air.
Sensing her gaze, he looked over.
Their eyes met. She didn’t miss the indifference in his. That wasn’t surprising—but perhaps because she had just seen his video earlier, she felt like something was… slightly different.
Before she could think further, Wen Yan had already looked away.
The waiter pulled out her chair. After she sat down, he left.
With only the two of them, the atmosphere turned slightly awkward. Though technically married, they were practically strangers.
“When did you get back?”
“This morning.” As he answered, Wen Yan took off his suit jacket. A waiter immediately stepped forward to take it, but he stopped them with a gesture and casually placed the expensive-looking jacket behind him.
Qiu Zheng hummed in acknowledgment, but her gaze kept drifting toward his chest—without the jacket, his well-defined muscles were far more noticeable.
After a bit of small talk, Wen Yan pushed the menu toward her. “Order whatever you want.”
This wasn’t her first time here. She picked two dishes she remembered, then passed the menu back. Wen Yan only added a bottle of wine.
The price… Qiu Zheng glanced at it and clicked her tongue inwardly.
*Capitalist scum.*
Moving dinner from nine to six wasn’t all bad—at least she got a free meal out of it. Thankfully, this wasn’t one of those places that were expensive but terrible; the food was actually quite good.
After eating for a while, Qiu Zheng realized the man across from her hadn’t touched his chopsticks at all. He simply leaned back, one hand resting on the table, watching her.
She glanced up a couple of times, and her eating gradually slowed under his gaze.
“Aren’t you eating?”
“Not hungry.”
*Then why are you just staring?*
His gaze made her uneasy, but it didn’t last long. She quickly shifted into a “whatever” mindset.
After all, in Wen Yan’s eyes, she was already full of flaws anyway.