Fu Yu walked to Ruan Luo’s door. His long, slender fingers rested on the handle, but just as he was about to turn it, he hesitated.
According to Song Qi’s diagnosis yesterday, Ruan Luo was currently deeply immersed in imprinting. While he relied on Fu Yu, he also suffered from a conditioned reflex of fear. In other words, any attempt Fu Yu made to approach him could trigger an emotional reaction of terror. Perhaps it was better to give him some space to adjust.
Fu Yu, who had always been decisive and ruthless in business and had never known hesitation, now found himself at a loss outside an Omega’s door.
A moment later, he turned and went into the study. With a marker, he wrote eight bold characters on a page of his memo pad:
I am outside the door, waiting for you to wake up.
After writing it, he glanced down and added two more characters:
Fu Yu.
He tore out the page, slipped into Ruan Luo’s room with cat-like stealth, and placed the note by his pillow.
Then he left the room and leaned against the wall outside.
To minimize his presence, he even switched his phone to vibrate mode.
After that, he leaned back against the wall and began to scroll through the unread messages that had accumulated throughout the day.
Yet, his unread messages were few and far between—only five had accumulated all day. And they were all from the same person.
Fu Yu did have a few friends, but his public persona was ice-cold. He was neither reasonable nor socially graceful, refusing to dance at clubs or embrace beauties. In the nightlife scene, no one even dared to throw themselves at him. His friends found him difficult to get along with, so his social life was sparse. Consequently, they rarely bothered to reach out.
His high social standing also meant few people had the standing to invite him to dinner; he didn’t even need to network. His business partners were all his subordinates in the corporate hierarchy, and they never dared to call him directly without a good reason.
While there were plenty of salons and cocktail parties for the elite, these events never reached him directly. All arrangements went through his secretary or special assistant. Thus, most of the messages on his phone came from those two.
The five messages on his screen were all from Special Assistant Wang:
“President Fu, the Ruan family has submitted the documents.”
“[Photo] This is the printed version. It’s quite detailed, and I’ve already filed it.”
“[File] This is the electronic version for your review.”
“[Photo] Guess what this is? I volunteered to stay late to finish it!”
“And Secretary Li! The two of us worked on it together, and we even hired a retired journalist. It’s all about Mr. Ruan, you’ll definitely be interested! (doggy_smile.jpg)”
Fu Yu’s finger swiped across the screen. “?”
It was early morning, not even nine o’clock yet, the official start of the workday. But Special Assistant Wang on the other end had read the message instantly.
The chat box showed “Typing…” for a full five minutes before a line of text, clearly agonized over, finally appeared.
“I’m sorry, President Fu. Secretary Li told me to keep you in suspense. She said that if we pique your interest and you get excited, you’ll send me a red envelope.”
Fu Yu’s finger swiped again, and a 1,000-yuan red envelope landed right in Special Assistant Wang’s face.
“[Wishing you wealth and prosperity!]”
The red envelope was claimed instantly. Special Assistant Wang excitedly tapped the automatic thank-you button on DingTalk.
“Red envelope received, good luck arrives! A happy day begins!”
Then he continued typing furiously:
“[Photo] This booklet: Secretary Li, the journalist, and I split up to visit every place Mr. Ruan ever lived. We collected and recorded accounts of Mr. Ruan from the perspective of different people. It’s all compiled from the oral testimonies of his former neighbors, classmates, and so on!”
“Rest assured, our team has done a thorough job. Our interview methods were professional and natural, ensuring no impact on Mr. Ruan, let alone causing him any trouble! We’ve laid out the content chronologically, like a biography. As you read through it, you’ll even feel the texture of time.”
“Send me the digital version first,” Fu Yu said.
The other end paused for a moment, as if trying to persuade Fu Yu not to rush into the digital version, hoping his first impression would be the meticulously laid-out booklet. But they didn’t dare disobey.
Reluctantly, they sent a document to Fu Yu: “Yes, President Fu! [File.PDF]”
Fu Yu leaned against the wall and flipped through the materials Special Assistant Wang had sent over.
He read about the Ruan Luo described by his classmates: a piano prodigy who never placed lower than first in any competition, bringing immense honor to the school. He was the entire school’s darling, pursued by countless admirers.
He also read about Ruan Luo, described by his neighbors as beautiful since childhood, with a gentle and sweet temperament that made him beloved by all. His face was stunning, and his fingers were exceptionally elegant. He loved music and adored playing his grandfather’s old, worn-out piano. Later, he found a teacher and truly excelled. His grandfather would brag to everyone about his genius grandson. Because he loved playing Chopin the most and played so beautifully, everyone fondly called him “Little Chopin.”
Fu Yu combined the new information with the old files already etched into his mind, chewing over it repeatedly. His expression grew colder by the moment.
This fanfic was written specifically to torment him. Ruan Luo possessed every single trait Fu Yu had ever publicly admitted to loving.
Beautiful, gentle, soft, with elegant fingers, a piano prodigy, a Chopin scholar…
That black-hat fanfic writer deserves to die.
The author had taken every element Fu Yu adored and assembled them into a living, breathing person, only to have “Fu Yu” possess him without cherishing him. Worse, the story had “Fu Yu” brutally shatter him, grinding him into the dust, condemned to eternal damnation.
“You’d better be here. I’ll kill you with my own hands.” Fu Yu’s nails dug into his palms, his very breath laced with scorching killing intent. Whether it was a side effect of the acupuncture or just sheer rage, for the first time, he acted like the same “emotional slaves” he had always despised, coldly spitting out a curse: “Fucking idiot.”
He seemed to have forgotten time, frozen in place like an ice sculpture for one or two hours. His tall silhouette, backlit, cast a massive, aggressive shadow across the wall and floor, startling the maid who had come to do the morning cleaning.
Ruan Luo woke up around nine o’clock.
Ever since his amnesia, it always took him about five minutes to clear his head after waking from a deep sleep.
He would have many chaotic dreams while asleep, making it hard to quickly distinguish between the scenes he saw upon opening his eyes and the remnants of his dreams.
As his mind gradually cleared, he realized his entire body was enveloped in a gentle warmth.
This was something he felt particularly acutely every time he woke up recently. He craved it, as if this warmth had never belonged to him before, and now it was merely a fleeting pleasure, a flower in a mirror, a moon in the water.
He craved it, yet dared not crave it too much. He feared it would be stripped away from him one day.
So, he quickly threw off the covers and got up. As he rose, he saw a note by his pillow.
“I’m outside the door, waiting for you to wake up. Fu Yu.”
Ruan Luo froze.
He remembered that when he fell asleep yesterday, he had indeed clung to Fu Yu and made this demand.
What stunned Ruan Luo was that Fu Yu had actually agreed to such a childishly arrogant and unreasonable request.
How had he even made the request?
Oh, right. He’d had a brief hallucination, then he’d fallen ill, and in his delirium, he had even hurt Fu Yu.
At that time, his mind was overwhelmed by extreme fear, leaving him completely disoriented. One moment he was kicking and striking the other person, and the next he was clinging to them as if they were the only piece of driftwood in a vast, bitter sea.
He really knows how to torment a good person… Ruan Luo felt exhausted on Fu Yu’s behalf.
Now that he was clear-headed, Ruan Luo felt that his behavior yesterday had been utterly excessive and uncomposed.
Yet, he was also more curious than ever: what was his relationship with Fu Yu? To be tolerated to such an extent… did it mean he could ask him about it openly and without worry?
Ruan Luo’s fingers brushed over the note. A thought struck him, and he suddenly shivered.
His pupils constricted. He pinched the note and took a deep breath, sniffing it; there was no scent of pheromones.
No pheromones?!
How is that possible?!
The Alpha traits Fu Yu exhibited were so distinct they were practically dazzling, and he had to be a high-ranking one at that. Someone like him couldn’t possibly be a beta.
Ruan Luo unconsciously gripped the note tighter. Almost the instant he realized the problem, the answer revealed itself.
Fu Yu knew Ruan Luo was afraid of him. Not only was he not angry, but he was also using some method to suppress his Alpha pheromones, all to… protect him.
He treats me so well, so he isn’t angry… But won’t he be heartbroken?
Ruan Luo gripped the note, his knuckles turning even whiter than before. He bit his lower lip hard. A fragment of his earliest memory in this world surfaced.
It was a voice in the endless darkness, guiding him toward the light. It was Fu Yu’s voice, counting sheep for him.
He had never known where he came from or where he was going. Back then, as he fell through a cold, bottomless abyss, it was this voice that caught him, lifting him up to the human world.
The human world was a frightening place, too. But the owner of that voice had given him a home.
Ruan Luo sank into a deep well of self-reproach. Only when a sharp pain tore through his lip did he snap back. He turned around abruptly, touching the blood on his lower lip with his finger.
I’m really sick. How can I be so distracted I bite my lip open?
Ruan Luo went to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and took a deep breath at the door before slowly opening it.
Outside, the light shifted and danced. A tall figure blocked the sudden, blinding glare, giving him enough time to adjust to the drastic change in brightness.
Ruan Luo looked up and saw Fu Yu’s face; his features sharp and his expression usually cold and stern. But right now, the look on his face was nothing short of gentle.
“Good morning, Ruan Luo.”
Ruan Luo felt his body start to tremble again. His fingertips shook uncontrollably, and a cold sweat broke out across his nose.
But he forced himself to endure it, a form of self-torture that left the corners of his eyes red. He struggled to steady his voice, making it sound calm: “Good morning, Mr. Fu.”
The man opposite him kept his distance. Seeing that Ruan Luo hadn’t turned and fled, and had even greeted him, he visibly relaxed. He smiled. “Last night you were still calling me Fu Yu. Now that you’ve woken up, I’ve become Mr. Fu. Have I been upgraded or downgraded?”
He seemed to be speaking casually, as if trying to ease someone’s anxiety.
But hearing this, Ruan Luo couldn’t help but bite his lower lip, which had only just stopped bleeding. He fought against his body’s screaming rejection, his feet and back chilled to the bone. Yet he endured it, taking a small step forward to get closer to Fu Yu. “Fu Yu, good morning.”
Fu Yu’s eyes darkened. He instinctively reached out toward Ruan Luo’s lower lip, only to lower his hand just before making contact. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his suit pocket, his voice deep and hoarse. “Don’t bite.”
“Okay.” Ruan Luo obediently released his lip. But he didn’t take the handkerchief.
He looked up at Fu Yu and whispered, “Fu Yu, I can’t see. Can you help me?”