How could this be possible?

Tao Fengche’s eyes widened, feeling as if he had just heard a crude and vulgar third-rate joke, the kind you’d find in a cheap five-yuan magazine.

How could Chu Yin be a Beta?! He was clearly an Omega with a plum blossom scent!

To this day, Tao Fengche still vividly remembered the scent of Chu Yin’s pheromones—a crisp plum blossom fragrance that was subtly intoxicating. Surrounded by this scent for long enough, one could easily fall into a daze. And when Chu Yin appeared alongside Zhao Jiayang, the mix of plum blossom and white tea created a dreamlike experience that seemed to transcend time and seasons, belonging solely to the two of them.

Tao Fengche immediately wanted to retort, to ask if Jing Ning’s current research was stuck, or if he was too embarrassed to ask for more funding from Sui Yuesheng, leading him to lose his mind and start making such a terrible joke about the deceased.

Even though Chu Yin had passed away and left no descendants, just as Zhao Jiayang had said before, he and Chu Yin had always treated Tao Fengche as their own child, and Tao Fengche would never allow anyone to insult him like this.

He almost wanted to cast aside all the manners he had cultivated over the years, and point a finger at Jing Ning’s nose, saying, “Director Jing, have you lost your mind…”

These wild thoughts swirled in his mind, but back in reality, Tao Fengche was just standing there, dumbfounded, as if Jing Ning’s words had shocked his soul out of his body.

A very faint voice inside him, small yet firm, said… Jing Ning was never one to joke around, especially not at such a serious moment, and certainly not when discussing the deceased.

There was a longstanding tradition in Jingpu of respecting the dead. Regardless of how many entanglements one had in life, once they passed away, they should not be judged. Jing Ning had no reason to violate this principle. Moreover, Tao Fengche had been studying at the research institute since middle school, mingling with many researchers. Being young and unpretentious, most researchers did not deliberately avoid him when chatting.

Whenever they were scolded by Jing Ning, the researchers would gather together to secretly complain, saying that Director Jing was either a super-strong AI without a humor module or born with a natural emotional dysfunction, completely lacking in humor.

If… if what Jing Ning said was true…

It would mean he had been living in a grand feast constructed entirely out of lies. Tao Fengche thought, bewildered.

He didn’t want to accept this possibility, so he desperately searched his memories for evidence to refute it. But the seed of doubt had already taken root, rapidly growing, and what he had once held as undeniable truth was now teetering, barely holding up.

Chu Yin and Zhao Jiayang never had children. Tao Fengche had previously assumed it was because Chu Yin’s health was too fragile for childbearing, combined with Zhao Jiayang’s glaring diagnosis of “non-obstructive azoospermia.” It seemed like a series of unfortunate coincidences, dictated by fate.

But if Chu Yin were indeed a Beta, then even without Zhao Jiayang’s condition, they still couldn’t have children—Beta males’ reproductive tracts had long since degenerated to the point of near nonexistence, making pregnancy nearly impossible.

Tao Fengche then recalled the scene months ago when he met Jie Yushu.

Jie Yushu had come to the Tao family with Zhao Jiayang at the time, and the bite marks on the back of his neck were dark and bruised, not like a mark but rather as if someone had tried to tear off a piece of flesh—perfectly in line with Zhao Jiayang’s aggressive nature. But Chu Yin’s bite marks had always been faint, more like a gentle kiss.

Tao Fengche had always thought that was proof of how much Zhao Jiayang treasured Chu Yin, but now, thinking about it, if Chu Yin were a Beta, there wouldn’t be any glands on the back of his neck at all, and Zhao Jiayang’s bite was just for show.

There were so many more such memories…

Memories surged forward, and with them came the truth, pushing back the lies. Tao Fengche wanted to grab onto its tail but lacked the courage to think further. His head throbbed as if it were about to explode, and he felt so unsteady that he swayed where he stood, quickly reaching out to steady himself on the nearby lab table to keep from collapsing.

So, when he finally spoke again, his intended retort turned into: “What evidence do you have?”

As if everything had been leading to this moment, the more he remembered, the more doubts arose. But this truth was too shocking; Tao Fengche didn’t want to believe it, nor did he dare to.

He looked at Jing Ning, and for the first time, there was a hint of pleading in his eyes that he himself didn’t notice.

Jing Ning took in everything, but he remained silent, watching Tao Fengche’s expression shift rapidly, watching him struggle, watching him nearly fall…

He remained motionless, like a statue devoid of emotion, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes. Finally, when Tao Fengche spoke, he extended his hand and pointed to the hidden compartment.

“This thing you brought is the evidence.”

Jing Ning’s tone was complex, carrying a trace of nostalgia and some emotions that Tao Fengche couldn’t yet understand.

Fortunately, Jing Ning didn’t intend to keep him in suspense. Before Tao Fengche could ask more, he provided the answer: “We call it artificial pheromone.”

“I was only twenty-one when I joined the institute, going straight into my mentor’s lab. At the time, he had already developed the first generation of this drug, and it had begun circulating on the black market. After I joined, I worked with my mentor to perfect it, upgrading it to make it more effective, more astonishing…” Jing Ning’s voice was as light as a breeze but carried a sigh. “I was too young then, smugly thinking I had opened a new window for humanity, and would be remembered forever…”

“It wasn’t until later that I realized I was probably destined to be remembered for all the wrong reasons.”

“This was not some new direction in human evolution; it was Pandora’s Box.”

Tao Fengche had never seen such deep sorrow in Jing Ning, as heavy as the sky before a thunderstorm, suffocating. Instinctively, he held his breath: “Artificial pheromone? Does it change one’s gender?”

“No.” Jing Ning shook his head. “The three ABO genders are determined from birth. Even though humanity has begun its conquest of the universe, no one knows why we differentiate into one of these three genders. The end of science is philosophy, and the end of philosophy is theology. Anything beyond our current understanding falls into the realm of theology. That’s why we call differentiation ‘God’s will.’”

“If we could develop a drug that triggers secondary differentiation, it would mean redefining ‘God,’ but at least for now, humanity cannot reach into the realm of the divine. What we developed is merely a disguise, allowing a Beta to emit pheromones similar to those of an Omega or Alpha.”

Jing Ning smiled faintly, with a hint of self-mockery: “Yet countless people are willing to pay any price, spend vast sums, even everything they have… to obtain such a lie.”

“Is it worth it?” Tao Fengche asked in confusion.

According to Jing Ning, it was just self-deception, and he didn’t understand the significance.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” Jing Ning looked at him.

This man, often called an “anomaly among Betas,” a “freak,” or “AI,” displayed a profoundly human expression: “You will never understand.”

How can you be so sure I won’t understand if you haven’t even explained it to me?

For a teenage Alpha, nothing was more unacceptable than being belittled by others. Tao Fengche instinctively wanted to argue back, but then a nerve named reason suddenly tightened. In a flash, he realized Jing Ning was right—he probably couldn’t understand.

Because he was born an Alpha, and not just any Alpha, but the only son of the Tao family.

The Tao family, with nearly a thousand years of history, had been in the pharmaceutical business even before the reforms in Kyushu, with its own research institutes.

And Jing Ning was the only Beta director.

Even though he had pushed through many reforms since taking office, there were still very few Beta employees in the institute, and almost none in key positions. After all, this was the “Tao Central Research Institute,” a place even Alphas had to fight tooth and nail to get into.

A Beta would have to be a hundred times more exceptional than others to have a place here.

But that was as far as Tao Fengche could understand.

The ABO genders had long formed a stable triangular structure, with Alphas at the top, the most powerful and dominant; the weaker Omegas, who needed protection, in the middle; and the majority Betas, silent at the bottom.

As society progressed and awareness grew, in developed countries, Omegas had long broken free from the endless cycle of reproduction. The Omega Rights Association and Omega Protection Organization effectively safeguarded their rights, allowing them to compete on equal footing with Alphas most of the time.

After all, “Omega equality” was politically correct, and violating it would surely invite the wrath of the fierce Omega rights organizations.

The vast number of Betas were like the silent worker ants in an ant colony, or like the middle child in a family with three children. The eldest was full of expectations, the youngest was doted on, but the one in the middle was often neglected.

Just like the numerous Betas, who mostly worked in lower-level, mediocre jobs.

Tao Fengche sighed, unwilling to continue discussing this issue, and instead asked, “If it’s just about the high price, why call it Pandora’s Box? Kyushu has no shortage of rich people; there’s always someone who can afford it.”

Jing Ning didn’t seem interested in discussing it further either and directly gave the answer: “Because it gives people false hope and then shatters it with its own hands.”

“Simply put, it’s a hormone-like drug that, once injected into the body, reacts with specific target cells, thereby activating a set of genes that catalyze Betas to form their pheromones. In other words, if these Betas had differentiated into Alphas or Omegas at birth, this would be their scent.”

“It took an enormous amount of money to develop, and with the expensive raw materials and being a patented product, the price has remained high. Additionally, the drug contains a certain bioactive substance, so once produced, its shelf life is only sixty days. But to keep it effective, it needs to be injected monthly.”

“And it also has an impact on lifespan. Chu Yin is the most tragic example of that.”

TN:

“Non-obstructive azoospermia.” Is a severe form of male infertility.