Wen Song hummed, pretending to scratch his temples, using his arm to cover the crimson flush on his neck and ears. 

He was always flustered by Zhou Yan Zhi’s concern. 

After dinner, he wanted to help clear the dishes, but was stopped by the housekeeper. He then wanted to iron Zhou Yan Zhi’s suit for the next day, but was stopped again. Zhou Yan Zhi casually dismissed him, “Go for a walk in the yard, digest your food.” 

Wen Song harbored a deep resentment, thinking: Last summer, he worked two jobs a day, busy all the time. He didn’t expect that being two months pregnant would turn him into a fragile vase. 

Zhou Yan Zhi asked, “What’s wrong?” 

Wen Song shook his head and turned to go downstairs. 

Even if it was a dismissal, Wen Song still obeyed. He walked into the yard and stared blankly at the last rays of the setting sun. 

His heat cycle was indeed approaching. 

Like the tides pulled by the moon, his body was also being pulled by Zhou Yan Zhi’s pheromones. When Zhou Yan Zhi was near, he felt good; when he was far, he felt bad. He was dizzy and disoriented. 

The marking was more intense than he had imagined, or perhaps it was because of the strength of his husband’s pheromones. 

If Qiao Fan hadn’t called, Wen Song would have fallen asleep in the swing chair in the yard. He sluggishly took out his phone, holding it to his ear for a long time before remembering to press the answer button. 

“Wen Song, another week has passed!” 

A clear voice rushed into Wen Song’s ears through the receiver, startling him awake. “Xiao Fan?” 

Qiao Fan’s pressing question came from the other end of the phone: “A week has passed, have you been fully marked?” 

Wen Song glanced at the house and remained silent. 

“He hasn’t fully marked you yet?” 

“There was a temporary marking, Xiao Fan, don’t worry. My husband’s pheromone level is very high, my body is in good condition now, I don’t feel uncomfortable, and I eat a lot—” 

Qiao Fan interrupted Wen Song’s sharing, getting straight to the point: “Xiao Ke said he saw you buying strong suppressants and painkillers at a pharmacy near the university town.” 

“I—” 

Qiao Fan’s tone was brutally frank: “You’ve been married for almost two months, and he’s still unwilling to fully mark you?” 

Wen Song lowered his eyes, fiddled with the hem of his clothes, his nose sour, and he still couldn’t help but speak for Zhou Yan Zhi, “It’s normal. My husband doesn’t like me. Full marking is lifelong. Without mutual affection, how can it be done? It’s not his fault.” 

“Then why did he marry you?” 

“For the baby,” Wen Song said matter-of-factly. 

“Baby my foot!” Qiao Fan was exasperated. “Wen Song! Do you remember you have pheromone disorder? Didn’t the doctor say that this disease either requires gland removal or complete marking, otherwise it’s a dead end? Didn’t the doctor tell you to get fully marked as soon as possible after pregnancy?” 

“If not, your pregnancy side effects will be ten or a hundred times stronger than those of a normal pregnant person, it will torture you to death!” 

“Have you been blinded by Zhou Yan Zhi’s sweet words and forgotten everything?” Qiao Fan’s breathing was heavy with anger. 

Wen Song thought: My husband doesn’t say sweet words, but he’s almost losing his mind too. 

“Xiao Fan, I remember, but my husband doesn’t like me, I don’t want to force him. When I’m close to him, I can feel his pheromones, and it’s much more comfortable. I’m generally okay now.” 

“You—” 

Wen Song said softly, “You know, I’ve liked him for more than a year or two, I cherish the present situation.” 

Qiao Fan angrily retorted, “I don’t know!” 

Children who grew up in orphanages had little from the beginning, so even if they received a little kindness, they had to cherish it carefully. 

Looking up, night had fallen. 

A few stars dotted the southern sky. Wen Song suddenly remembered many years ago, when he looked up from the playground of the orphanage, he could also see such a distant night sky, dotted with stars. 

He had been living so comfortably in Zhou Yan Zhi’s house that he almost forgot his days in the orphanage. 

His parents died in a car accident when he was three years old. He didn’t have many close relatives, and no one was willing to take him in, so he could only drag his luggage from one relative’s house to another, either being maltreated or sent back. 

The worst time, a photo of him being abandoned on the roadside even made local news, causing a public outcry. Finally, the police station and the neighborhood committee had no choice but to send six-year-old Wen Song to the Chaoyang Orphanage in their jurisdiction. 

There, he met Qiao Fan, who was abandoned by his parents because of his disability in his right leg. The two became good friends, but life in the orphanage was not easy, loneliness and hopelessness were constant companions. 

Ninety percent of the children in the orphanage were disabled and could not take care of themselves, forgotten by the world. The bad-tempered caregivers often punished them. Seven-year-old Wen Song, because he helped Qiao Fan change his diaper and disturbed the caregiver’s rest, was beaten with a feather duster on his buttocks and scolded for being restless. 

Wen Song was beaten for no reason. It was fine during the day, but at night the pain kept him awake. He secretly ran to the playground, clasped his hands together, and begged the lucky god to come soon and make his life easier. 

Unexpectedly, there were miracles in the world. 

A month later, his lucky god came. 

That year, fifteen-year-old Zhou Yan Zhi’s mother did charity in his name and signed a “one-to-one” sponsorship plan with the Fei City Charity Association. The Chaoyang Orphanage carefully selected for half a day, and finally decided on the good-looking Wen Song. 

Zhou Yan Zhi didn’t object after learning about it. From that day on, he began to sponsor Wen Song, 3,000 yuan per month, including Wen Song’s tuition and living expenses. He also donated 200,000 yuan to improve the living environment of the orphanage, all deposited into the orphanage’s account. 

With Zhou Yan Zhi’s sponsorship, Wen Song successfully enrolled in school and started first grade. He sat in a bright and clean classroom, using new textbooks and wearing new school uniforms, like an ordinary child. 

Although he didn’t know that most of the money Zhou Yan Zhi gave him was embezzled by the orphanage, after paying tuition and accommodation fees, he only had 80 yuan in pocket money each month, but he never used it. He saved up several hundred yuan, all used to buy books and snacks for Qiao Fan and other friends. 

During that time, Wen Song lived a fulfilling life. 

He didn’t know what the “Mr. Zhou” the director talked about looked like, but every time he looked up at the stars, he would silently pray in his heart: I hope Mr. Zhou is happy and healthy, and lives a long life. 

Later, in order to promote, the director specially invited Zhou Yan Zhi and Wen Song to meet. That autumn, the still-growing Wen Song was thin and small, wearing a yellow short-sleeved shirt and blue school uniform pants, standing timidly in the office. Looking up, he saw the director and leaders escorting a young man walking in. 

Elegant and refined, breathtakingly handsome. 

Twelve-year-old Wen Song understood the meaning of these two idioms concretely, and in an instant understood what “self-abasement” meant. 

Twenty-year-old Zhou Yan Zhi extended his hand to Wen Song, smiling and greeting, “Wen Song, hello.” 

Wen Song trembled as he grasped that slender hand, feeling the dry warmth in his palm. 

From that day on, Zhou Yan Zhi lived in his heart. 

After entering high school, he was allowed to call Zhou Yan Zhi at 5:30 pm every Friday afternoon. The two were eight years apart, their identities vastly different, they didn’t know each other well, and they didn’t have much to talk about. Zhou Yan Zhi would say some polite greetings and encouragement, and Wen Song would respond. 

Their relationship should have ended there. 

Unexpectedly, in Wen Song’s 22nd year, fate took a sharp turn. 

Wen Song was caught off guard, still dizzy and bewildered. 

Qiao Fan was still yelling on the other end of the phone: “…If he’s really responsible, he should fully mark you! Don’t be immersed in the happiness you’ve imagined, wake up!” 

He scolded Wen Song for drinking poison to quench his thirst, and Wen Song accepted it with relish. 

“But I like him so much, I’ll never like anyone else in my life.” This was not an exaggeration, nor was it impulsive. 

The other end of the phone fell silent. 

“Xiao Fan, how are you doing recently?” 

“Having your child, I don’t need you to worry!” Qiao Fan, who was halfway through his outburst, suddenly gasped, probably hitting something. Wen Song immediately stood up and anxiously asked, “Xiao Fan, what’s wrong? Did you fall?” 

“No,” Qiao Fan stood up, supporting himself against the table, his body unsteady, but he still roared into the receiver, “Wen Song, you’re a super invincible coward!” 

Wen Song’s ears were about to be deafened, he quickly raised his phone high, just in front of Zhou Yan Zhi. 

“Sir?” 

Qiao Fan hadn’t finished venting yet, and roared again: “Wen Song, you super coward, if you dare to spend your heat cycle alone, I’ll kidnap you back from Zhou’s house!” 

Wen Song froze. 

Zhou Yan Zhi glanced at the screen, then looked at Wen Song, and calmly asked, “Who are you going to spend your heat cycle with?” 

“I…” 

Wen Song’s brain had already crashed, Qiao Fan’s call had just hung up, no one could answer for him. 

“Can he help you?” 

When Zhou Yan Zhi didn’t smile, his eyebrows and eyes looked sharp, the alpha’s oppressive aura came over him, and Wen Song suddenly felt an itch in the glands at the back of his neck, an unspeakable discomfort. 

Qiao Fan certainly couldn’t help him, neither could strong suppressants and painkillers, only Zhou Yan Zhi could. 

But Zhou Yan Zhi couldn’t. 

Wen Song lowered his head under that gaze, stammering, “It’s a friend from the orphanage, he’s an omega.” 

Hearing the word “orphanage,” Zhou Yan Zhi’s tightly furrowed brows suddenly relaxed, “Sorry, I was harsh.” 

“No.” Wen Song shook his head. 

Zhou Yan Zhi supported the swaying swing, after a moment of silence, he asked, “Then what do you think?” 

Wen Song was afraid to dwell on this matter, he was afraid that Zhou Yan Zhi would remember the mistake that night. Because of that night, he now had varying degrees of post-traumatic stress disorder to words like heat cycle, suppressant patches, pheromones…it was simply too unbearable. 

“I really can handle it myself, sir.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of being kidnapped by your friend?” 

Wen Song couldn’t tell whether Zhou Yan Zhi was teasing him or being serious, so he quickly explained, “Qiao Fan was joking, sir, don’t take it seriously.” 

“Qiao Fan,” Zhou Yan Zhi had some impression of this name, “Is he the same age as you?”