“Too little? I’ll deposit some more tomorrow.”
It wasn’t about the amount at all. Ying Zhu tossed the card back onto the table. “Given our relationship, talking about money is inappropriate.”
Cen Xie inexplicably disliked that way of drawing a clear line. He dug his heels in, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “How is it inappropriate?”
Ying Zhu: “You’re asking what you already know.”
Cen Xie: “I don’t understand. Why are you so sensitive? Does taking the money suddenly turn our relationship into me sponsoring you?”
Cen Xie’s words were incredibly crude. Ying Zhu’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Arguments aside, those words reminded them both of a stark fact: they had shared an intimate physical relationship. This made the mood for both of them intensely complicated. Compared to their previous life-and-death rivalry, this “sticky” feeling was far harder to endure.
Ying Zhu realized that persisting would only look like he was trying too hard to cover something up. After a moment’s thought, he picked the card back up and tucked it away. “You’re right. Since it’s your memory, you should fund the recovery. It’s logical.”
Cen Xie watched him slide the card into his wallet and put the wallet back in his pocket. After a beat, he couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you going to ask for the PIN?”
Reminded, Ying Zhu asked, “What’s the PIN?”
Cen Xie: “My birthday.”
Ying Zhu: “…”
Cen Xie had a hint of a smile in his eyes as he watched him.
Ying Zhu was forced to ask, “When is your birthday?”
Cen Xie: “February 22nd.”
Ying Zhu let out an “Oh” and said, “What a coincidence.”
Cen Xie raised an eyebrow. “Your birthday too?”
Ying Zhu: “My friend’s dog has the same birthday.”
Cen Xie: “…”
Ying Zhu wasn’t making it up just to spite him. He really did have a friend whose dog shared that birthday. Because the friend adored the dog and threw it a birthday party every year—and because the date was so easy to remember—it had stuck in Ying Zhu’s mind.
However, that friend had died on the battlefield. Of the warriors who graduated from their school back then, very few survived. The dog, on the other hand, had only passed away from old age early that year, having lived over a decade. The friend’s parents had even held a funeral for the son’s beloved pet.
Cen Xie looked like he wanted to say something more, but he was interrupted by the server bringing their food.
They ate in silence. Seeing that Ying Zhu liked the mud carp pot with salted plums, Cen Xie stopped touching that dish, letting him finish almost all of it.
After the meal, Ying Zhu paid the bill—using Cen Xie’s card.
…..
Leaving the restaurant and getting into the car, Cen Xie asked while turning the steering wheel, “Where do you live? I’ll drop you off.”
Ying Zhu gave a cold laugh. “You don’t know where I live?”
Cen Xie rubbed his nose. Right. Last time, he had personally ambushed and held this man hostage in his own parking garage. He stopped talking and dutifully drove him home.
The next morning, Ying Zhu received a WeChat message from Cen Xie. They had exchanged contacts the day they ate at Golden Vienna.
Cen Xie: [I put another million on that card. Enough to spend? [Dog head emoji]]
Ying Zhu hadn’t expected him to actually do it. He typed back: [I don’t need that much.]
Cen Xie: [Just take it. Don’t try to save me money.]
Ying Zhu: ……
After replying with those dots, he put down his phone to shower. When he came back, he saw Cen Xie’s reply.
Cen Xie: , , , , , ,
Ying Zhu dried his wet hair with a towel and typed with one hand: [What the hell is that supposed to be?]
Ding—
Cen Xie replied almost instantly: [You sent me a string of egg cells, so I sent you back a string of little sperm.]
“…” Ying Zhu tossed the phone aside. He shouldn’t have asked.
He didn’t reply again. After blow-drying his hair, he lay down on the bed.
The bright moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a hazy, cool light over the bedroom. The air held a faint, lingering scent of osmanthus. The high-potency suppressor from last time had delayed his heat. Based on past experience, he estimated that in about half a month, the suppressed heat would return with a vengeance.
He closed his eyes, preparing for sleep. A thought drifted through his mind: What does Cen Xie’s pheromones smell like?
…..
A few days later, in the morning, Ying Zhu personally escorted a convoy. Several large trucks rumbled along, carrying hundreds of inmates to an open lot in the East District.
Cen Xie was already there, standing on the roof of an off-road vehicle, looking out toward them. The rising sun was behind him, bathing him in a fierce, wild brilliance.
Sitting in the car, Ying Zhu recalled the evaluations of Cen Xie he’d heard from others. The rumored “Scorpion Beauty,” a leader wrapped in beauty and power. Others only saw the murderous aura around him, but they didn’t know this man could also show pity for the elderly and children.
He had only found out yesterday from the engineer redrawing the plans that this project was to build a school.
Cen Xie watched from the car roof as Ying Zhu stepped out. The Warden still looked every bit the elite—crisp suit, polished leather shoes, gold-rimmed glasses.
Ying Zhu spared him a distant glance but didn’t say hello. He turned to watch the guards unload hundreds of prisoners from the trucks, assembling them for roll call.
Cen Xie leaped nimbly from the roof and walked over to Ying Zhu. He didn’t speak either; they just stood together, their long shadows stretched out by the morning sun.
The guards finished the count quickly, organized the prisoners into neat columns, assigned tasks, and handed out tools.
Cen Xie watched. “Wow, everyone’s wearing a Gland Lock. Quite the investment.”
A Gland Lock wasn’t cheap to manufacture.
Ying Zhu was looking down at a roster. “Want one? I can put one on you, too.”
Cen Xie chuckled. “I remember Gland Locks have tracking functions. If they have those, how did those two guys manage to escape back then?”
“Gland Locks are expensive,” Ying Zhu said without looking up. “Anyone below A-rank doesn’t qualify to wear one. Usher has over ten thousand inmates; besides S and A-ranks, we only put them on prisoners doing outside labor.”
Once they left the enclosed environment of the prison, the self-destruct function of the lock ensured those powerful Alphas remained as submissive as lambs.
Cen Xie did the math. This was no small sum. He squinted in the bright morning light. “Interesting.”
Ying Zhu looked up. “What is?”
“Do they know the locks around their necks were bought with the money they earned from their own labor?”
Ying Zhu folded the roster. “Why are you empathizing with them?”
Cen Xie turned to him with a grin. “I’m not empathizing. I’m admiring your methods.”
Just then, a guard led about fifty prisoners over. “Sir, this is Squad Two.”
Ying Zhu nodded. “Take them over.”
After the guard left, Cen Xie asked, “Why is there a Squad Two?”
“This group is here to rebuild your Chairman’s building.”
Cen Xie looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, a smile spreading across his face. The sun was too bright; Ying Zhu looked away slightly. “How many floors was the original building?”
Cen Xie: “Five.”
Ying Zhu: “I’ll build it to six.”
With that, Ying Zhu started walking toward Squad Two. “Let’s go take a look.”
Cen Xie followed.
At the site of the Canaan Society headquarters, the debris from the explosion had been cleared, and work could begin immediately. Only a floor and a half of the original structure remained standing, looking dilapidated with rebar and concrete sticking out.
The construction crew of inmates was already hard at work. All the prisoners brought out were Alphas. This wasn’t due to Ying Zhu’s personal bias; Alphas made up over 70% of Usher’s population, followed by Betas, with Omegas only accounting for about 5%. Alphas were physically strong and naturally high-energy; if they weren’t given strenuous physical labor, their tempers became explosive and unmanageable.
Heavy machinery, cranes, and trucks filled the area with noise and dust. Ying Zhu frowned at the sight. Seeing this, Cen Xie had chairs brought out and a sun umbrella set up. They sat across the road, drinking tea—a spot where they could supervise without breathing in the dust.
Ying Zhu took a sip of tea. “I’ve been thinking about something these past few days.”
“What?”
“Why neither of us noticed we had lost our memories.”
Cen Xie was nearly scalded by his tea. “Did you figure something out?”
Ying Zhu hummed. “Have you tried reviewing your memories lately? Have you found any blank spots?”
Cen Xie had clearly tried. He shook his head. “No.” When he looked back, everything seemed fluid. Nothing felt like it was missing.
Ying Zhu nodded. “My analysis is that if the thing you forgot didn’t have a lasting, continuous impact on your daily life, it’s very hard to notice a gap.”
He paused. “For example, do you remember exactly what you were doing in August when you were twelve years old?”
Cen Xie thought for a moment. “August… I would have been on summer break.”
“Right. But you ‘know’ that based on logical reasoning, not necessarily a specific memory. You were a student, schools are out in July and August, so you deduce you were on break. But what did you do specifically during that break?”
Cen Xie blinked, saying nothing.
“Can you recall it?” Ying Zhu pressed. “Where did you go? What did you do? What games did you play? Who did you meet?”
Cen Xie shook his head. “I don’t remember.”
Ying Zhu continued, “That’s exactly my point. You can’t remember the specific events of that summer because nothing happened during that time that had a lasting impact on you. But suppose you were twelve years old in August and you accidentally fell from a building, cracked your head open, and it left a scar.”
Cen Xie frowned at the analogy and cut him off. “Can’t you pick a better example?”
Ying Zhu, seemingly indifferent to his feelings, pressed on. “If something like that had happened, you would remember that summer because the scar would still be on your body. Or say you learned how to swim that summer. You’d remember it because swimming is a skill you acquired and can still use today.”
Cen Xie processed this, nodding slowly. “So that’s what you mean by ‘continuous impact’?”
“Exactly,” Ying Zhu confirmed.
“Does this conclusion actually help us with our current situation?”
Ying Zhu shook his head. “No.”
Cen Xie: “…”
“But,” Ying Zhu added, “we can at least draw two conclusions. One: we probably weren’t acquainted for very long. Two: the people around us didn’t know we knew each other.”
Cen Xie leaned back. “The more I hear, the more it sounds like a one-night stand.”
Ying Zhu closed his eyes briefly. “I told you, the one-night stand theory doesn’t hold up logically.”
Cen Xie huffed but stayed quiet.
Ying Zhu continued, “Think back to when I came to your headquarters last time. In our conscious minds, that was our first interaction. Did you want to go to bed with me then?”
Cen Xie looked at him. He actually wanted to point out that their true first interaction was that glance outside the Twin Star Towers, but he just clicked his tongue. “That’s a loaded question. I’m not a sex addict. Why would I be thinking about such things the first time I meet someone?”
“Exactly,” Ying Zhu said. “And since we aren’t sex addicts, why would we seek out a stranger for a one-night stand?”
Cen Xie fell silent for a moment before asking abruptly, “How do you spend your heat?”
“Find an Alpha and put a muzzle on him,” Ying Zhu replied. “You?”
“Find an Alpha and hold a gun to his head.”
A heavy silence fell between them.
After a while, Cen Xie murmured, “I really hope that one day, the Omega heat just disappears.”
“That’s unlikely,” Ying Zhu said. “Only Omegas can reliably give birth. The heat exists to ensure reproduction, otherwise the species would go extinct.”
Cen Xie whispered, “I don’t want to have kids.”
Ying Zhu’s voice was hollow. “Neither do I.”