Of course, Qiu Zheng didn’t reply again.
She felt she had made herself clear enough, and besides, the opportunity to respond had passed—she’d deal with it next time. So the two of them had no further contact.
Recently, The Rose Trap she had been reading had gone viral. Thanks to all kinds of video edits, and because people in this world were already into this setup.
The little “broken” Rose turned into a full-fledged “Little Rose,” and the CP (couple pairing) took off. But with that came fan disputes. Qiu Zheng spent her days watching both sides bicker online. Eventually, she went from being a CP fan to a devoted fan of the female lead.
Even Kang Ya followed suit.
The homepage feeds shifted from CP videos to ones focusing solely on her.
Bai Ruxuan’s career was doing well. Soon she announced a jewelry endorsement. The brand wasn’t hugely famous, but it was a start.
Qiu Zheng immediately forwarded the good news to Kang Ya.
Her most frequent chats were in their small group, so she instinctively scrolled to the top. Only after clicking did she notice Wen Yan’s message had somehow popped up.
For a moment, it became the top message in her inbox. She had mistakenly sent the news to him. Luckily, she noticed immediately and recalled it. She then checked Wen Yan’s message.
Wen Yan: I stay up late every day. From now on, you can reply whenever you want.
She was confused. Was he messaging the wrong person? She scrolled up and realized this was in response to her earlier explanation: that she hadn’t replied because she thought he was asleep.
Qiu Zheng had no idea how many times Wen Yan had gone through the chat to find a way to respond—she could only marvel at his reflex… It was impressively long.
Qiu Zheng: Okay.
Wen Yan had missed her earlier messages because he was on a call. When he looked back at his phone, all he saw was her “ok” and the notice: “Qiu Zheng retracted a message.”
Oh, she just retracted a message—maybe it was a typo.
Yet at 3 a.m., the man suddenly sat up in bed.
What did she retract?
It was already sent to him—it belonged to him. Why retract it?
So what did she send? And why change her mind?
Unable to sleep, completely unable to sleep.
A sleepless night didn’t affect Wen Yan the next day.
He arrived at the company early.
He didn’t go to the lab but sat in his office, staring at his computer.
The research on pheromones and genetic matching had always been one of Wen Yan’s major projects, so he had extensive data on hand. He had reviewed it countless times.
The door knocked, and his assistant entered.
“Professor Wen.”
“Mm.”
The assistant reported the market feedback on a new inhibitor. As he was about to leave, Wen Yan asked:
“Do you think anyone can remain unaffected by a 100% match?”
The assistant instinctively wanted to answer decisively, “No.” But remembering Wen Yan’s strong dislike for the matching score concept, he softened his reply:
“Based on previous data, no. Even over 80%, there are no known cases of no influence.”
“Of course, this is just historical data. The future is unpredictable.”
He adjusted his glasses, silently approving his own answer—factual but unlikely to irritate the professor.
Wen Yan sipped the coffee his secretary had prepared. Whether it was the bitterness or his own thoughts, his brows didn’t relax.
“What if she shows… no abnormalities at all?”
“That’s unlikely, isn’t it? Not a single abnormality?”
“Would being unusually cold count as abnormal?”
From Wen Yan’s slightly chilly tone, the assistant already knew who he was referring to. Compared to discussing academic matters, Wen Yan seemed more like he was consulting about a relationship problem.
Makes sense—academic questions wouldn’t be directed at him.
The assistant thought for a moment.
“Is it possible that Miss Qiu… is just restraining herself?” he suggested. “I don’t think she could truly resist the effects of the matching score. Perhaps… you’ve been too cold and rational, so she’s protecting herself this way.”
Wen Yan wanted to argue he wasn’t that cold, but he recalled that, initially, he had been. He pursed his lips and said nothing.
The assistant, taking this as an opening, continued:
“In fact, Miss Qiu initially cared quite a bit about you. During a few interactions, she even asked me about your preferences.”
Wen Yan’s heart moved slightly. She actually cared about him?
“All omegas need care. Any omega in a home is a treasured gem, right? But look at Miss Qiu—she still lives in her old place, drives her old car.”
“The last time I mentioned you were married to the lab team, no one believed me. You’ve never acknowledged her identity to anyone, nor worn a ring.”
“Except… on special occasions, when you don’t meet or contact her.” The assistant glanced at his boss, who seemed speechless, and delivered the final blow: “With how you are, how could Miss Qiu possibly show that she cares?”
Qiu Zheng wasn’t here. If she were, she would have been grateful hearing this.
During her half-month of no contact, she had been carefree, and even the once-cold reception of her serialized novel had begun to gain traction. Daily warm comments brightened her mood.
As for travel, she had her plans ready—everything but the courage.
Travel also required physical effort.
On top of that, she had found a useful tool: a pheromone cover, like perfume, masking her natural pheromones.
This would be very helpful.
Qiu Zheng couldn’t detect pheromones herself, nor knew how to control their release. With this, she’d be safe.
Her good mood, however, abruptly ended when she saw a comment on her novel:
“Feels like the style of this novel is similar to Wulan.”
Seeing the name, she froze. The events from her first two years in this world now felt distant.
Annoyance rose in her chest. She exited the page to calm down, then decided to use admin privileges to delete the comment before leaving again.
She exited, uninterested in looking at her phone. Her mind was fully occupied with the incident.
In fact, when she first came to this world, Qiu Zheng had a tough time—struggling in an unfamiliar place, undocumented, and penniless.
But she gradually got better.
If not for what had happened, she wouldn’t have had to start over.
She didn’t know how long she had sat in the dark until her phone buzzed with a new message. She glanced down.
It was Wen Yan, who hadn’t contacted her for over half a month.
“Tomorrow afternoon, six o’clock.”
Still brief, cold, emotionless. But the screen lighting up in the dark felt like the only source of light.
Just like back then, when she was stuck in the mire, Wen Yan had appeared similarly.
At that time, Qiu Zheng, newly relocated, relied on day jobs to make ends meet.
One day, after finishing work late, she went to the market. Though the fresh goods were gone, the vendors sold at a discount to go home quickly.
Carrying two bags to the fifth floor, she rested for a while. After a long day and her weak stamina, the effort was overwhelming.
Once rested, she turned into the fifth-floor hallway. The lights were voice-activated. But she was too exhausted even to stomp her feet.
Two steps in, a crisp clap sounded. The voice-activated lights came on.
Qiu Zheng saw the person standing at her door—it was her first time seeing Wen Yan.
He wasn’t alone. His bodyguards and assistant stood nearby, but at that moment, she only noticed Wen Yan.
Even in this unclear situation, instead of fear, her first thought was: this man… is incredibly good-looking.
Handsome, noble—like a deity misplaced into this gray, dull world.
“Miss Qiu, right?” he said. “I’m Wen Yan. I want to talk to you.”
Her admiration lasted only a moment. The instant he looked at her, his superior aura pierced her pride.
Yet she couldn’t deny that Wen Yan’s appearance was the only light in the darkness at that moment.
They had an arrangement—mutual benefit, no obligations. Though Qiu Zheng had been frustrated by his arrogance countless times, she acknowledged a debt of gratitude.
Those moments of recognition were rare.
Now, it was a rare act of conscience on his part.
Qiu Zheng retrieved her phone to reply.
Qiu Zheng: Mm, okay.
Qiu Zheng: I will arrive on time.
Her mood calmed significantly. After this meeting, she decided to go out for a walk. Staying home too long, even if she was content indoors, still affected her mood.
Meanwhile, Wen Yan stared intently at the screen, lips pressed into a straight line.
For over half a month, he had been holed up in the lab, returned from the hotel to his villa, and had no contact with Qiu Zheng. This was his way of keeping himself steady.