Chapter 29

Lin Si furrowed his brow. “Check on me? Suddenly saying the call I answered was some sort of check-in? This must be a setup.”

“Who exactly called you?” Liao Ji asked.

“Huh?” Lin Si’s frown instantly softened, and he touched the back of his neck guiltily. “Just… a friend.”

Liao Ji pressed, “Which friend calls you during a livestream? Was it Hu Ling, the composer? Or Wanwan, the one you did that duet with?”

“No, no, it wasn’t them,” Lin Si replied. “It was… just someone.”

Liao Ji slapped his thigh. “I know who it was! Was it Lu Nan? Not answering, huh? It was Lu Nan, wasn’t it?”

Lin Si pushed him away. “Stop guessing randomly. It’s nobody. The most important thing right now is figuring out why Qin Xiao said that during the livestream.”

“What else could it be? He’s just being snarky,” Liao Ji cursed. “That magazine rejected doing a joint cover shoot with him, and then we scheduled a summer issue with Twilight. People like him… probably have their eyes so red they’re about to bleed.”

Lin Si tapped on the window pane , hesitating for a while before saying, “There might be another reason.”

He recounted the time he caught Qin Xiao and Liu Shenyan together at the hotel.

“And you’re only telling me this now?!” Liao Ji shot up in surprise.

Lin Si muttered, “It’s their personal business…” After thinking for a moment, he asked, “Do you think Qin Xiao is targeting me?”

“Not necessarily just targeting you,” Liao Ji replied. “If this were the old days, though—” He paused for effect. “He might kill you to silence you.”

Lin Si chuckled briefly but soon returned to thinking about the livestream that evening.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Lin Si said. “I have a bad feeling something is going to happen.”

Liao Ji met his gaze. “I’ll have someone keep an eye on things for now.”

Lin Si nodded, pulled out his phone, and messaged Y: [I’m off work now. Are you busy?]

Y quickly replied: [Not busy.]

The hotel was nearby, and Lin Si chatted with Y as he headed upstairs: [Want to play a game later?]

Y: [Maybe next time.]

Truthfully, Lin Si wasn’t in the mood either. After a long day of running around—from auditions to dealing with a fake heat episode, topped off by an eventful livestream—he was too drained to expend more energy. But at the same time, it felt like a waste since Y had taken the initiative to suggest gaming today.

After showering, Lin Si decided to give Y a call. He wanted to chat for a bit before going to bed.

Even when life was grand and full of waves, even when he was surrounded and adored by many, in the stillness of the night, when he was alone, Lin Si still found himself longing for Y’s low, soothing voice. He missed the way Y would respond with a gentle “mm” whenever he rambled on.

But Y didn’t answer his call.

Lin Si tried calling again, but there was no response.

With a hint of regret, he pursed his lips and sent Y a playful nudge with the virtual ball they often used. Not long after, a fierce wave of drowsiness overtook him. Barely managing to send a simple wanan (T/n: goodnight) to Y, he hugged his pillow and drifted off to sleep.

---

The rarely-used sound system was turned on. In the dimly lit, black-and-gray office, the clear and sunny voice of a young boy echoed.

It was the voice of Lin Si at 15.

On the computer screen, lyrics scrolled down in neat lines.

Composer: Lin Si
Lyricist: Lin Si

The screen’s glow reflected in his eyes like beautiful starlight, yet also like the shadow of pain.

“A warm corpse,” “helpless,” “unable to see my own funeral”…

The words flashed across the screen one by one, cutting through the silence, until Lu Wei pressed the pause button.

At that moment, his phone buzzed twice on the desk—message notifications from “Bubble.” Lu Wei lifted his gaze.

It was Lin Si, or rather, “Forget Love.”

Without hesitation, Lu Wei replied to each message. Yet when Lin Si suggested they play a game together, he declined.

Half an hour later, he still didn’t answer Lin Si’s two calls.

The last message he received was a simple wanan (T/n: Goodnight) from “Forget Love.”

Seeing that goodnight text, Lu Wei knew Lin Si must have fallen asleep, exhausted and unaware.

The night deepened into absolute stillness. The entire office building was empty now. Lu Wei grabbed his suit jacket from the chair back and headed down to the underground parking lot alone.

The driver had left the car, so Lu Wei took the driver’s seat himself, driving at a steady pace out into the quiet night. But once he hit the empty overpass, he suddenly pressed the accelerator hard.

The withdrawal symptoms hit too quickly.

He had rejected Lin Si’s game invitation and calls, but he still felt like he had wronged “Forget Love.”

Even though he was certain now that “Forget Love” was Lin Si, he couldn’t immediately reconcile the two as the same person. The realization left him at a loss, unsure of how to act around Lin Si because he was “Forget Love.”

And, because “Forget Love” was Lin Si, he didn’t know how to face Lin Si either.

For Lu Wei, an Omega didn’t represent a future partner. He didn’t like Omegas—he even despised those who carried overly sweet scents, like Deng Tian, who scattered pheromones everywhere. The moment he met someone like that, they were instantly added to his blacklist.

Lin Si’s pheromones, however, Lu Wei had encountered once, four years ago.

At the time, Lin Si had just differentiated into an Omega, and his pheromones had surged uncontrollably in a short period. Even though people had bundled him in thick clothes and sealed his nape gland with pheromone suppressants, the scent still lingered, detectable from several meters away.

Lu Wei remembered that smell vividly—like sweet milk chilled on a snowy day, tinged with the faint freshness of freesia. But back then, the concentration was too high, and the cloying sweetness left him breathless and suffocated.

He only experienced it that one time, but it left a lasting impression, and he had paid a heavy price for it afterward.

When he reunited with Lin Si later, the only message he could read in Lin Si’s eyes was: mutual hostility.

Fate had played a cruel joke on him, introducing “Forget Love” into his life and forcing him, step by step, to piece together the truth of their identity.

To Lu Wei, “Forget Love” was different. Among all Omegas, they were the only one he was willing to interact with patiently.

“Forget Love” clung to people like an Omega might, but their affection was simple and straightforward. They loudly proclaimed their feelings, then pouted and asked for reciprocation. Every word carried a faint sweetness that felt pure and warm. It made Lu Wei imagine that, even from dozens of meters away, “Forget Love” would open their arms and smile, ready to offer him a heartfelt embrace.

Because of this, it was difficult for Lu Wei to neatly equate Lin Si with “Forget Love.”

Luckily, Lin Si wasn’t home.

If the door had opened and Lin Si had appeared in the next second, Lu Wei wouldn’t have known how to face him—whether to treat him as “Forget Love” or to act as if he knew nothing.

The light in the entryway flickered on. Lu Wei didn’t see Lin Si waiting behind the door but was instead reminded of an early morning long ago, when Lin Si had clung to a pillar in fright after being startled by him.

The living room looked the same as it had when he left. Lu Wei, following his usual routine, carried his briefcase back to his room. On the way, his eyes fell on two slips of paper on the coffee table.

The top one was neatly written in Aunt Li’s handwriting:

“To the gentlemen, I found this note in the top left corner of the second marble tile in the hallway. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I placed it on the coffee table.”

Lu Wei set the note aside, revealing the second slip beneath it. Unlike the first, it was roughly torn, as if ripped haphazardly from a notebook.

The handwriting on the note was immature, disorganized, and, frankly, could only be described as “ugly.”

Yet Lu Wei held it in his hand for a long while, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. In the empty living room, he let out a soft laugh.

How could someone be such an idiot, needing a cheat sheet just to lie convincingly?

Two seconds later, however, his smile vanished almost instantly, his lips pressed into a straight line.

At the very bottom of the note, a line read:

“Living with a silent and incompatible Omega.”

Lu Wei hadn’t expected that, in Lin Si’s eyes, he wasn’t just a walking pheromone dispenser or someone to help with suppressant injections. He was also considered an unfriendly, unapproachable Omega that couldn’t even be introduced to others.

He stood there in silence for a long time before folding the note carefully and placing it in his palm. He turned to head back to his room but hesitated mid-step.

Lin Si’s bedroom door was slightly ajar.

It must have been left open in the rush of the morning.

Lu Wei clenched his fists, and for the first time in over twenty years, the thought of snooping crossed his mind.

He dropped his briefcase onto the floor of his own room, hesitated for a few seconds, and eventually found himself walking toward Lin Si’s door.

He didn’t go in, only stood at Lin Si’s door, observing for a moment.

The floor was covered with a soft, fluffy carpet.

The bed was a mess. Though it was large, it was piled with a chaotic assortment of plush toys, some of which, even from a distance, looked a bit worn.

The desk held no books, just a scattered handful of fluorescent pens, likely used for marking up scripts.

Lin Si had once mentioned that he didn’t enjoy reading but dreamed of opening a bookstore.

The wardrobe took up an entire wall, complemented by two additional rows of clothes racks brimming with garments that spilled onto the carpet.

It all fit the standard image of a male celebrity.

Yet despite the abundance of clothes, Lin Si still chose to wear a single old, worn-out pajama top, its neckline so loose it hung off his shoulder.

There were so many little details like that—details Lu Wei couldn’t begin to understand.

---

By early March, the weather in Beicheng had finally warmed up. On set, everyone switched to wearing cozy sweaters, and even when clustered together, there was no sense of discomfort.

Lin Si took the bouquet handed to him by Xu Xiangyang, officially marking the wrap of his scenes.

“How many scenes do you have left, Xiangyang-ge?” Lin Si asked as they walked and chatted after taking a group photo.

“Seven more. The day after tomorrow, I’ll wrap up too.”

As they approached the cameras recording behind-the-scenes footage, the cameraman poked his head out with a smile, trailing behind them to film. Xu Xiangyang leaned toward the camera and announced, “Lin Si has wrapped!”

Lin Si held up a victory sign, saying, “I’m done!”

Xu Xiangyang naturally slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. “What’s next for you after this?”

“I should get a few days off. I have an endorsement shoot lined up, but I can’t remember what else. I’ll have to ask Liao Ji,” Lin Si replied.

Xu Xiangyang glanced around before leaning in to whisper near Lin Si’s ear, “What about that Qin Xiao incident from last week? Should’ve blown over by now, right?”

That night during the livestream, Qin Xiao’s comment—“Checking up on someone, huh?”—had indeed been picked up by the mic. Anyone turning up the volume on the playback could hear it clearly.

While Lin Si slept soundly that night, a flurry of marketing accounts jumped on the moment, stirring up discussions about the identity of Lin Si’s Omega. The speculation even dragged in several unrelated singers.

Liao Ji and the team worked tirelessly overnight to suppress the buzz, shifting public attention instead to Lin Si’s performance of Drifting Back to Youth during the livestream.

Xu Xiangyang had always been the sharpest. After hearing Qin Xiao’s pointed “checking up on someone” during the livestream, he immediately suggested Lin Si sing Drifting Back to Youth. The long-silent old song stirred nostalgia among many, and Liao Ji seized the opportunity, pushing it onto the trending list. This not only shifted the narrative but also silenced rumors that Lin Si had abandoned his music career to make quick money in movies.

The “checking up on someone” topic soon died down.

Though a few unethical marketing accounts later tried to revive it, fans managed to control the narrative before it could gain traction.

However, one unexpected side effect was the rise of the “Feeding CP” (Lin Si and Xu Xiangyang) fandom, which skyrocketed to the top of the celebrity CP rankings.

For CP fans, the livestream that night was a treasure trove of moments. “The unsmiling Alpha grinning brightly at his Omega gege,” and “A song Lin Si hadn’t sung in four years, but at Xu Xiangyang’s request, he sang it without hesitation,” were enough to fuel wild fantasies.

“Keep in touch,” Xu Xiangyang said as he walked Lin Si to his car. “Stay safe on the road.”

Lin Si waved at him before climbing into the van. As the car slowly pulled away, he glanced back.

“Reluctant to leave Xu Xiangyang, huh?” Liao Ji asked hesitantly. “You’re not really into him, are you?”

Lin Si leaned against the window, staring outside. “I’m just a bit reluctant, that’s all. But Xiangyang-ge is great,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s my first time filming a movie. Feels like it ended so quickly…”

“Do you like acting?” Liao Ji asked.

Lin Si hummed softly, then, after a moment of hesitation, admitted, “I do, but I feel like my acting isn’t good enough.” He thought for a moment and added, “Director Ye still hasn’t given any updates. I don’t even know if there’s a chance—”

Before he could finish, his phone chimed. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced at the screen.

It wasn’t Y.

Just a push notification from Bubble, promoting a virtual reality feature.

Disappointed, Lin Si put down his phone, slumping back into his seat with a sigh.

Y hadn’t spoken to him in a while. Lin Si couldn’t pinpoint the exact day it started, but Y’s work had seemingly gotten busier, leaving their conversations shorter and void of calls or voice chats.

If not for the consistent good morning and goodnight texts and the virtual love tree’s watering log in the game system, Lin Si might have genuinely believed he’d lost his gaming partner.

By the time he returned to Xijiang, it was already 10 p.m. He waved goodbye to Liao Ji and headed upstairs.

Dragging two suitcases behind him, Lin Si stopped in front of his apartment door. The automatic door failed to open. Tilting his head, he moved closer to the scanner, blinking as he tried to get it to work.

The sound of leather shoes echoed from behind. Lin Si turned to see Lu Wei standing at the corner of the hallway—

Staring at him in silence.

---

Author’s Note:
Lu Wei: “This ‘silent, incompatible Omega’ has finally waited for his roommate to come home…”

T/n: Lu Wei really did dirty to our Si baby😭🔪 but in the end he is also suffering 😏😏. Stay tuned guys 😺. If you want to support me you can buy me a Ko-Fi or go to my paypal page. Happy Reading 🤩😍!!