Three hours later.
The firefighters had finally extinguished the flames and were beginning to withdraw.
While no one was looking, Zuo Shihuan slipped past the cordon. The plaza was a blackened ruin—nothing left, not even a corpse, since the only body had already been carried away.
He didn’t even know why he was still there, standing in his soot-stained clothes beside a gaping, charred hole, staring into its depth—layer upon layer of scorched darkness— like an abyss with no end.
“Sir, step away from there—it’s dangerous! Even if the fire’s out, don’t go near. The circuits under the mall are burned through—we think bullets might’ve hit the old wiring, which started the fire from below. The boards you’re standing on have been carbonized—they’re brittle as charcoal and could collapse any moment!”
A firefighter rushed over to drive him away.
But Zuo Shihuan kept staring down into the deepest, blackest part of the pit, where it almost seemed a room had been hollowed out.
He asked quietly, “No one down there?”
The firefighter leaned over to look. “Shouldn’t be. That’s where all the mall’s wiring converges. Even electricians don’t go in there.”
Zuo Shihuan’s gaze didn’t move. “Really no one?”
“No,” the firefighter said. “We scanned the area with life detectors—there’s definitely no one left.”
No one left— or rather, no living person left.
Zuo Shihuan rubbed his brow, forcing away the unease, and stepped back from the edge to the safety of the cordon.
But one thought still gnawed at him:
Where on earth had Gu Heng gone?
Sitting on a mall bench, he watched as reporters flooded in after the news of Governor Malz’s death. Flashbulbs went off nonstop; journalists surrounded the federal police, shouting questions.
At first, the officers refused to answer, then, overwhelmed, fell silent— until one of them received a message, exhaled in relief, and told the reporters to check tonight’s federal news broadcast instead.
Soon, the mall’s big screen flickered to life with a breaking story:
“This evening, a fatal fire broke out at Delores Plaza within the Starry Sky Mall on the Federation capital planet. The only casualty was the Governor of Beigang. The perpetrator was the victim’s own daughter, who later turned herself in and provided evidence proving that the current Beigang Governor had long been an imposter— the real Governor Malz had been killed years ago, replaced by a fugitive from the Empire named Ronald.”
“Following verification, federal police have dropped all charges against the Governor’s daughter and will reopen the Beigang case for full investigation.”
Zuo Shihuan was stunned.
But most importantly— Gu Heng’s name wasn’t among the casualties.
Only then did he finally feel relief.
Gu Heng was still alive.
Though if Gu Heng was alive—and not here— it meant he was probably off in some hotel room with another enchanting Omega widow.
…Not that it really mattered.
Zuo Shihuan’s face darkened. He told himself that firmly.
Then, in silence, he left the mall. The cold night wind brushed his face as he crossed the parking lot, started his car, and drove toward the old Zuo family estate.
The tires rolled steadily on.
He stared at the dull, empty road, his mind blank. One last turn, and he’d be home— he could already see the trees, the lights of the house—
“Skrrt—”
A sudden, sharp brake.
Expression hard, Zuo Shihuan swung the wheel, making a sharp U-turn—accelerating away from the Zuo estate.
Through the night, the sleek, expensive car left the smooth roads of the upper city district, speeding instead toward the rough, uneven streets of the lower city.
***
Black Goat Bar.
The bartender was polishing a glass on the surface—but in truth, he’d been watching the man sitting at the bar for quite some time.
The man hadn’t ordered a single drink.
If not for his refined clothes and bearing—clearly someone of status, an Alpha from a distinguished background—the bartender would’ve already kicked him out.
But even the most polished exterior couldn’t excuse the fact that he’d been sitting there for nearly an hour, taking up space, not ordering anything, and cutting into the bartender’s drink commissions.
That was reason enough to ask him to leave.
“Sir, will you be ordering a drink?” the bartender asked through gritted teeth—for what must have been the fifth time.
“No.” Zuo Shihuan replied flatly. He didn’t drink.
The bartender finally lost patience. “Sir, house rules say customers who don’t order can’t sit at the bar long-term—it keeps other guests from taking a seat.”
Zuo Shihuan blinked, seeming to return to himself. Seeing the bartender’s irritated face, he said apologetically, “Sorry. In that case, I’ll order something.”
The bartender exhaled deeply in relief and forced a smile. “Of course, sir. What would you like?”
Zuo Shihuan was about to say anything’s fine, but seeing that forced grin, he felt he ought to at least think about it seriously.
Just then, a faintly familiar scent of liquor drifted over.
He turned to the man beside him and pointed at the drink in his hand. “What’s that?”
“Whiskey,” said the bartender.
“I’ll have that,” said Zuo Shihuan.
“There are many kinds of whiskey,” the bartender explained, “and depending on the customer’s taste, we can add olives, lemon, mint leaves…”
But seeing the confusion in Zuo Shihuan’s eyes, the bartender sighed and pulled out an old, rarely used drink menu.
“Here, sir. Take your time. Call me when you’ve decided.”
“I’ve decided,” Zuo Shihuan said immediately, pointing to a whiskey garnished with mint leaves.
The bartender glanced at the menu—at the premium whiskey Zuo had chosen—and his mood brightened at once. The price tag meant a generous commission. Suddenly, waiting on this customer for hours didn’t seem so bad.
“Of course, sir. I’ll prepare that right away.”
Zuo Shihuan gave a quiet “Mm.”
He lifted his eyes to the clock on the wall—11:58 p.m. already. A faint sadness rippled through his chest. Some fantasies were just that—fantasies.
A midnight impulse had brought him here. But the person he’d hoped to see—couldn’t be seen.
Maybe he was asleep in someone else’s bed.
“Sir, here’s your drink. Enjoy.”
A while later, the bartender set the whiskey down before him.
Zuo Shihuan downed it in one go. The strong liquor seared his throat; the mint’s bitterness and chill lingered between his teeth. He bit into the ice cubes—the shards felt like sharp knives cutting through his mouth.
He stared at the clock’s hands crossing twelve. The burn, the bitterness, the cold—all slid down his windpipe together, scraping raw against his breath.
The empty glass hit the counter with a heavy thunk.
The bartender gaped. A man who clearly didn’t drink had just drained a full glass of high-proof whiskey in one swallow—surely he’d be drunk in seconds.
Would he?
Zuo Shihuan didn’t care anymore. He grabbed his coat and stepped outside.
Midnight rain came crashing down—big, cold drops soaking his trouser legs. The alcohol muddied his thoughts, but the dizziness felt almost welcome.
Being drunk really did make it easier to numb certain truths.
His alcoholic mother had once taught him that— Running away didn’t solve problems. But it could make the pain fade, make you forget reality.
He stumbled down the steps, movements sluggish.
Cold rain washed the ash and smoke from the fire off his body. His dark hair was quickly drenched; the heat in his liquor-flushed head was suddenly cooled.
Raindrops clung to his long lashes, blurring his light brown eyes.
But he wasn’t the kind of man who could truly escape. He couldn’t forget reality.
He only wanted to indulge for one night—to forget that ridiculous flash of love at first sight, that fleeting attraction that meant nothing. Just another case of lust dressed up as longing.
After all, that man flitted so easily between him and others.
A man’s weakness—his baser instincts—Zuo Shihuan could match them too.
It wasn’t hard to find another lover.
To drown in lust and indulgence again.
He reminded himself: When he sobered up tomorrow, he’d still be the heir of a prominent family. With his status and wealth, he could find a partner—a lover—a thousand, ten thousand times better than that Beta who worked at a bar.
He didn’t need to be ensnared by Gu Heng, that unremarkable Beta— to be bewitched by him, watching him flirt and charm others with that handsome, aristocratic face.
One widow wasn’t enough; he’d go flirt with another.
Zuo Shihuan could do the same. He could live freer, wilder, more reckless than Gu Heng ever did.
But as he stood in the pounding rain, pressing his key to unlock the car—the black sedan lit up, headlights cutting through the storm—a faint, sober smile curved his lips.
He wouldn’t do it.
Because doing that would only make him into the very image of his shameless, despicable parents— and he’d never escape their shadow again.
So.
Zuo Shihuan knew he’d sober up.
He’d return to being the calm, rational heir of the Zuo family— marry a suitable wife from another noble house, have children, and live a proper life.
But just for this one cold, stormy night— he wanted to be drunk.
To forget everything.
Sitting inside the sealed car, rain pounded on the windows outside.
Zuo Shihuan leaned against the steering wheel, instinctively turning the key— only to realize, belatedly, that he was too drunk to drive.
He couldn’t even read the words on his communicator screen, the alcohol blurring every line of text.
He couldn’t call a driver.
Half-asleep and dizzy, he slumped deeper into the seat, trapped in the car for the night.
The air grew heavy and still; rain blurred the windows— and breathing became harder and harder.
Zuo Shihuan, half-unconscious, was slumped over the steering wheel. Even in sleep, his breathing grew rapid, and his brows furrowed unconsciously.
Suddenly, a rapid knocking echoed against the window.
Bang, bang, bang—as if someone were pounding on the glass.
Zuo Shihuan opened his blurry eyes, turned his head, and saw a hand wipe away the fog on the car window. Squinting to look more clearly, he found an unexpected person standing outside.
A look of urgency and severity—emotions that had no place on Gu Heng’s usually refined, cold face.
So this must be a dream.
Even in dreams, he couldn’t escape him.
Zuo Shihuan’s lips curved into a delighted smile, completely unaware that Gu Heng’s voice, face, and very presence were right there in front of him.
“Open the door!”
“Zuo Shihuan, hurry up and open the door!”
…You idiot, you’re about to suffocate yourself to death.
Outside in the rain, Gu Heng’s face was tense and anxious as he pounded on the car window, trying to wake the drunken Zuo Shihuan. If he didn’t open the door soon and get some fresh air, the sealed, unventilated car would lead to suffocation.
He had originally come in for his night shift when he unexpectedly saw Zuo Shihuan stumbling out alone, clearly not just drunk but in a strange state.
Yet all Gu Heng could think of was seeing Zuo Shihuan earlier that day—with a cute, coquettish Omega, shopping together. No doubt another Alpha being used as an Omega’s fool and wallet.
With his pride, how could Gu Heng possibly bother with an Alpha who reeked of someone else’s pheromones?
So at first, he pretended not to see him—let Zuo Shihuan walk into the rain, then into his car, rain still pouring down. Eventually, the windows fogged over completely, and he could no longer see inside.
But time passed. The car didn’t start. No movement.
Gu Heng couldn’t hold back anymore and went over to check.
He found that idiot passed out inside, the doors locked, his face pale and his breathing labored—clearly in danger.
But when he knocked on the window, Zuo Shihuan didn’t sense anything wrong. Instead, he smiled at him—
—and even dimples appeared on his cheeks, sweet enough to dazzle the eyes. Nothing at all like a drunken Alpha on the verge of suffocating to death.
Gu Heng couldn’t help but let out a half-angry laugh.
He stopped knocking and instead pressed his hand against the door handle.
With a hard twist, he ripped the entire handle off, pressing the mechanical latch underneath.
The car door slowly creaked open.
The rush of cold, fresh air made Zuo Shihuan cough. He turned toward the window, eyes widening in dawning shock.
Gu Heng stood there, as if stepping out of his dream—right in front of him, holding a broken car handle, lips curved in that same unruly, mocking smile.
“You don’t mind me breaking your car, do you?”
Even if he were sober, Zuo Shihuan would never be able to mind anything Gu Heng did—let alone now, drunk as he was.
With the influx of cold air came a faint trace of mint and whiskey—so faint it was almost gone, yet Zuo Shihuan caught it immediately.
Just like he caught Gu Heng.
Half-lidded drunk eyes, fingers tangled in the hair at the back of Gu Heng’s neck, Zuo Shihuan leaned in with a faint smile. “Your scent.”
“What?” Gu Heng frowned in confusion, one hand still braced on Zuo Shihuan’s back to keep the drunk from collapsing.
“Your scent—it’s different from everyone else’s.” Zuo Shihuan’s normally calm, self-possessed face flushed faintly red. His light brown eyes were hazy yet focused as he met Gu Heng’s gaze. “It’s like very cold liquor—bitter, burning down the throat, straight into the lungs… whiskey.”
Gu Heng’s pupils contracted sharply, his hand on Zuo Shihuan’s back tightening.
“Cold whiskey—completely different from anyone else in the bar…”
Gu Heng’s eyes darkened. He slowly let go. “What are you talking about? I’m a Beta. I don’t have a scent.”
“Don’t you?” Zuo Shihuan lifted his dazed eyes, brown pupils hazed with drunken mist.
“None,” Gu Heng said flatly.
There was no emotion in Gu Heng’s eyes as he looked coldly at the Alpha who had so easily seen through his true identity—an Alpha from the Federation, no less, dressed in fine clothes and driving a luxury car.
He had never bothered to investigate this man whom he’d only met a few times. But anyone close enough to the Yu family’s eldest daughter to accompany her shopping could hardly be of low status—certainly not beneath a viscount of the Empire.
Unfortunately, this Alpha who had managed to pique his faint interest had, in an instant, uncovered the secret of his concealed pheromone scent—with detail so precise it could not be denied.
Before coming to the Federation, Gu Heng had used special methods to disguise the distinct scent of his high-grade Alpha pheromones, masking himself as a scentless Beta.
Ninety-nine point nine percent of his scent should have been neutralized and erased.
So how could another Alpha possibly perceive it?
But no matter how he’d found out, Gu Heng could not allow a Federation Alpha to know.
His gaze turned icy. His hand brushed across Zuo Shihuan’s flushed cheek.
A cruel thought flickered through his mind.
Yet his palm continued to move slowly—so slowly—feeling the lingering warmth of Zuo Shihuan’s skin against it. His fingertips brushed over the man’s thick lashes, and for a moment, he found himself caught by those soft, light brown eyes gazing up at him.
For the briefest instant, something like reluctance passed through Gu Heng’s heart.
He would give him one more chance.
“How did you know… the scent?”
“What?” Zuo Shihuan, still drunk and smiling, remained oblivious to the danger hovering near.
Gu Heng’s cold eyes softened slightly as he asked again, “The scent you mentioned just now—whiskey.”
Zuo Shihuan blinked in confusion for a moment before answering dazedly, “I don’t know. It’s just there on you. So faint—like someone’s perfume brushed across your shoulder in passing. So light, but still… it’s from you. Did you drink?”
Gu Heng countered, “What do you think?”
Zuo Shihuan lowered his head slightly. “You did… probably. Otherwise, how could there be a scent? Sorry, I’m a secondary-differentiated Alpha. The doctor— the doctor said my pheromone sensory organs aren’t very sensitive…”
He trailed off, pressing his hand to his throbbing forehead.
Gu Heng’s gaze turned intent. “And what does that mean?”
Zuo Shihuan frowned in discomfort and lifted his gaze. “Because my pheromone sensory organs didn’t fully develop during differentiation, they’re not sensitive. I can’t tell the difference between ordinary smells and pheromones. At social events, I often mistake the smell of food for a guest’s pheromones. After that, I stopped daring to distinguish whether it was a scent or pheromone at all…”
Gu Heng’s expression eased slightly, but his guard didn’t drop. He released more pheromones to test Zuo Shihuan.
“Then what about now? What kind of scent is it in your perception?”
The faint whiskey-like pheromone scent instantly swelled, surging and thick like the sea—cold and dangerous, it overwhelmed every other smell in the space.
Even the chill of the air, the damp rain, the faint car fragrance—all of them were crushed beneath that strong, domineering whiskey scent.
It directly made even scent-insensitive Zuo Shihuan choke, his cheeks flushing a deeper red, as if he’d just downed another full glass of strong liquor.
“Such a strong… liquor scent.”
Zuo Shihuan looked at Gu Heng in confusion, light brown eyes filled with unhidden worry. His drunken, slow hand reached toward Gu Heng’s forehead but brushed against a few wet strands of hair.
As his hand slid down, it traced a line of fresh blood from Gu Heng’s temple to the corner of his eye—sharp and dangerous, tinged with a bloodlust.
He stared blankly at the red near Gu Heng’s eye and at the blood now smeared on his own hand.
“Why did you drink something so strong… Why is there blood on you?”
A hint of satisfaction flashed in Gu Heng’s dark eyes as he leaned in close enough for his breath to touch Zuo Shihuan’s lips and murmured, “It’s not my blood.”
“Then why—mm—”
Zuo Shihuan’s question was cut off, his lips covered by another’s—cold at first, then gradually burning hot.
The overpowering whiskey-scented pheromones filled the air, forcing out every trace of oxygen, consuming all space—burning until even the last breath felt aflame.
Just when Zuo Shihuan was about to suffocate, Gu Heng suddenly let him go.
Gu Heng’s black eyes locked on him, his voice low and dangerously tempting as he curled his lips and said, “Shall we change places—to finish what was interrupted last time?”
Zuo Shihuan, drunk and dazed, found himself unable to resist. He heard his own voice slip out unconsciously.
“Okay.”
