After Zhao Jiayang expressed his support for Chu Yin, he privately convinced the other family members one by one. From then on, it was settled that Chu Yin would regularly go to the research institute to inject artificial pheromones.

His true gender became a secret that could not be spoken of, and almost everyone thought that Chu Yin was an omega.

Among the few who knew, they became Chu Yin’s accomplices, silently maintaining the secret and weaving a colorful illusion for him, allowing him to live in that crystal-clear glass ball.

Having lived in lies for so long, even the original liar began to believe them.

Zhao Jiayang knew that Chu Yin was very insecure. After graduating, he married Chu Yin and went to discuss with Old Master Tao, eventually buying a house half an hour’s drive from the ancestral home, moving in with Chu Yin.

It wasn’t really a separation; it was merely a sign of starting their own small family.

Chu Yin did experience some tough times during his childhood, but after being adopted by Old Master Tao, he grew up in luxury, never knowing what it was like to lack money.

He had no extravagant hobbies; his personal account mostly saw money coming in rather than going out. He could easily buy several floors of office buildings in the center of Jingpu City, yet he was particularly fond of this small villa with both his and Zhao Jiayang’s names on the property deed.

Even the property deed was kept together with the marriage certificate and seriously locked in a safe.

Though they had moved out to live alone, Zhao Jiayang still brought a few servants and cooks from the ancestral home and would often take Chu Yin back for meals, living a fulfilling married life.

No one expected Zhao Jiayang to marry so early, especially to Chu Yin, who was also an adopted son of the Tao family and hardly appeared in public. This marriage brought him no career benefits, leading many to secretly speculate whether Zhao Jiayang was coerced by Old Master Tao or whether he took this step to prevent Tao Zhixing from feeling wary.

Yet Zhao Jiayang’s happiness was evident.

After getting married, whenever there was an occasion that required a partner, Chu Yin would accompany Zhao Jiayang as much as possible. He knew many people were jealous of him, but he reveled in those envious gazes.

Through this way, Chu Yin declared his claim.

Zhao Jiayang understood his little thoughts; on the surface, it looked like he was socializing, but he always kept an eye on Chu Yin—who was leaning on his arm and looking rather smug.

Zhao Jiayang smirked, his gaze indulgent.

At first, some doubted they were acting, but a performance could only last for so long. Over time, anyone who had seen how the two interacted could not honestly say they weren’t together out of love.

Thus, the rumors that initially questioned whether their marriage was a contractual one gradually shifted—

The purpose of an omega’s biological function is to bear offspring; once an alpha mates, the pregnancy rate is nearly one hundred percent. However, over a year after marrying, Chu Yin remained slender and showed no signs of pregnancy, leading to rumors that he might be infertile.

As a result, some omegas eyeing Zhao Jiayang began to stir.

The probability of a male beta becoming pregnant through biological means was already low, and injecting artificial pheromones merely catalyzed specific cells to produce pheromone-like substances; it did not fundamentally change gender.

Zhao Jiayang had always been indifferent about having children, and Chu Yin, due to his tragic childhood experiences, had never expressed a desire for kids. Zhao Jiayang thought they had reached a consensus on this matter, but one night, Chu Yin unexpectedly brought up wanting to undergo reproductive surgery.

This was something from a black-market clinic; Zhao Jiayang didn’t even trust Chu Yin to go to a public hospital, let alone allow him to go to such a place for a procedure with a very low success rate and a high chance of death.

Before he could say anything, Chu Yin directly said, “All the other alphas have kids, and I want to give you one too.”

Hearing this, Zhao Jiayang knew he couldn’t dissuade him. Chu Yin’s obsession with “providing a normal AO family for his lover” had once again resurfaced, but he couldn’t just stand by and watch Chu Yin put himself in danger. After racking his brain for a few days, he suddenly had a bright idea and secretly went to get a vasectomy.

As Old Master Tao aged, his health deteriorated, and Tao Zhixing gradually began to take charge.

Zhao Jiayang took advantage of the fact that his brother was now in charge and directly had the surgery done at a hospital funded by the Tao family. Not long after he came out of the operating room, Tao Zhixing received the news and called Zhao Jiayang back to the ancestral home, scolding him fiercely.

“What the hell were you thinking? A vasectomy? Are you crazy?”

“If you want to scold me, go ahead. I had to act in haste, and I didn’t have time to consult with you,” Zhao Jiayang shrugged nonchalantly. “But remember to help me trick him after you’re done scolding. I’ve already told the doctor I’ll get a check-up tomorrow; we just need to slightly alter the results and say I have congenital azoospermia.”

“You…”

“Isn’t everyone saying we don’t have kids lately? You know he’s a stubborn fool, and he’s been contemplating going for reproductive surgery these days.”

Tao Zhixing’s expression was complex: “… Is it worth it?”

“Yes.” Zhao Jiayang nodded, “He actually doesn’t care what others say about him, nor does he mind how they view him, but he just can’t get past this mental barrier. As long as the reason we don’t have kids lies with me, and it’s a congenital condition that can’t be treated, he won’t feel guilty for not being able to give me a child, thus he won’t torture himself for it.”

Tao Zhixing rubbed his brow, wanting to persuade him again, but Zhao Jiayang made a gesture to stop him, retorting, “With his body, if you really let him go for surgery, will he even survive the operating table?”

Tao Zhixing fell silent.

“Moreover…” Zhao Jiayang smirked, “Having kids is so troublesome, worrying all day long. I never intended to have children; having him is enough. If you’re feeling sorry for me, just let me borrow the child for a couple of days when you have one, I’ll ensure to return it in one piece.”

Tao Zhixing: “…”

At that time, Tao Zhixing had fallen for an omega who grew up in an orphanage, but Old Madam Tao looked down on her background and opposed this relationship fiercely.

He was troubled when he saw Zhao Jiayang showing off their affection, feeling a toothache and cursing how each of his younger brothers was a handful, causing all sorts of trouble that he had to clean up in the end.

Chu Yin was one thing, but the most frustrating was Zhao Jiayang, quietly digging such a big hole, yet still appearing nonchalant, daring to come here to reserve the next generation as a toy!

Tao Zhixing was furious, grabbing the jade paperweight on the table and throwing it at Zhao Jiayang.

Xu Song, standing nearby, was startled and didn’t dare to say a word, standing in the corner with his eyes observing the situation, pretending to be an antique porcelain vase.

Zhao Jiayang grew up alongside Tao Zhixing and wasn’t afraid of his hard-hearted older brother. He skillfully dodged to the side, reaching out to catch the paperweight in his palm.

“Ge, why do you act like a little girl, throwing things when you’re angry? Isn’t it a pity to break such an antique?” Zhao Jiayang grinned, waving the paperweight in his hand as he took a few steps forward and placed it on the desk. “If you’re done scolding and feel better, I’m leaving. He hasn’t eaten much lately, hasn’t taken his medicine properly, and I still need to rush to the hospital for a check-up to get the report for our little performance.”

“Get lost!”

…

“… This is all I know.” Xu Song said slowly.

The story was too long, and Xu Song spoke without a pause, his voice hoarse to the point of almost being inaudible.

Sui Yuesheng took out a throat lozenge and handed it over. Xu Song thanked him quietly, took it, and put it in his pocket without the intention of eating it, waiting silently for Tao Fengche to speak.

But Tao Fengche remained silent.

In the same study, Tao Fengche had heard Xu Song recount Sui Yuesheng’s past, and now he listened to the same person speak about Chu Yin and Zhao Jiayang.

To be fair, Xu Song actually had a talent for storytelling. Perhaps when he retired, he could find a teahouse to tell stories and relieve boredom; he might even be a very good storyteller.

But Tao Fengche was not a very good listener.

The last time, he felt a pain in his heart, a sharp ache, followed by a wave of anger that was difficult to quell or express, leading to somewhat overreacting; this time, his heart was blank, as if he had entered a trance.

His mind was empty, and he felt like he was traversing through mist without a clear direction or any tangible sensation.

He stood there dazed, his expression somewhat comical due to his physical stillness, yet no one present could laugh.

At that moment, time seemed to lose the meaning humans had given it, and it was unclear how long had passed when Tao Fengche finally stiffly nodded.

“I understand. Uncle Xu, you can leave now; I want to be alone for a while.”

When he nodded, he resembled a robot malfunctioning after being infected by a virus. Xu Song felt some concern and opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped short when he met the warning gaze from Sui Yuesheng.

After a moment, Xu Song sighed inwardly, slightly bowed, and turned to leave.

As the door closed again, another wave of unsettling silence ensued, and suddenly, Tao Fengche spoke up: “Where is Zhao Jiayang’s body now?”

“It’s still in the morgue.”

“… Just bury it next to Chu Yin. He bought the spot many years ago.”

Sui Yuesheng thought for a moment: “Then the funeral or the coffin…”

Tao Fengche lowered his eyes and pondered for a moment before slowly shaking his head. “Forget it, keep it simple.”

He could understand the reasons that led Zhao Jiayang to his eventual paranoia and felt pity for the tragedy caused by fate, but after all, Tao Zhixing had lost his life because of it.

He couldn’t behave as if nothing had happened while helping Zhao Jiayang with his coffin, nor could he calmly send him off for the last time.

“Just take care of it,” he said, looking directly into Sui Yuesheng’s eyes.

“Alright.”

Knowing all this at once left Tao Fengche feeling uneasy, and Sui Yuesheng took it all in.

Even as an outsider, he felt a bit complicated, let alone Tao Fengche, who was so closely related to the situation.

He didn’t blame Tao Fengche for his weakness or demand that he become strong immediately; instead, he opened his arms to him: “Do you want a hug?”

Tao Fengche almost imperceptibly nodded.

Sui Yuesheng sat on a stool, and Tao Fengche crouched down, curling up into his embrace.

Tao Fengche had grown quite tall, over 1.8 meters as an alpha, long-limbed, yet curled up in Sui Yuesheng’s arms, he resembled the eight-year-old boy from their first meeting, or like a big dog feeling wronged, shrinking into its owner’s hug.

Sui Yuesheng kept silent with him, wordlessly running his fingers through Tao Fengche’s hair, his touch reminiscent of how dogs were massaged at a pet shop.

“Ge,” Tao Fengche suddenly called him.

“Hmm?”

“… It’s so good to have you here.”

Sui Yuesheng smiled, not saying anything more, just reaching out to pinch Tao Fengche’s neck lightly.

He was actually a very awkward person, with many thoughts hidden deep inside, unwilling to voice them, and unsure how to express them. Thankfully, Tao Fengche understood.

He rarely felt regret and didn’t particularly enjoy reminiscing about the past, believing in the principle that the past should not be pursued. Yet, at this moment, he felt a bit of relief at surviving the ordeal.

Thank goodness he had nodded that day and hadn’t once again pushed Tao Fengche away.

The torrent of fate swept in, carrying them forward, unstoppable by human effort. But thankfully, they were now by each other’s side, ready to face whatever hardships lay ahead, supporting each other.

He and Tao Fengche would never end up like Zhao Jiayang and Chu Yin.

It was too tragic.

Sui Yuesheng lowered his head and lightly kissed Tao Fengche’s hair, as soft as moonlight shining on his strands.

All the words that were about to be spoken yet remained unspoken melted into that one kiss.