The next morning, Zhou Le woke up. Seeing his discarded clothes strewn on the floor, he was overwhelmed with shame.
The phone on the pillow had died, powered off. He, still naked under the blanket, was left with the lingering memories of last night.
Scenes from the night replayed in his head, and Zhou Le couldn’t believe it was him.
This is all Lu Jingran’s fault!
Zhou Le consoled himself with this excuse while furiously dressing.
When his phone powered back on, he saw a “Good morning” message from Lu Jingran sent at 6 a.m..
He must have been in a good mood because it was accompanied by an emoji. In the past, Lu Jingran always sent morning and evening greetings, but they never had emojis before.
Of course he was in a good mood—last night, he had even called Zhou Le “baby” with such enthusiasm.
The low, raspy tone from the night before seemed to echo in Zhou Le’s ears, making his cheeks flush. He shook his head, trying to banish those inappropriate thoughts.
While dressing, Zhou Le was careful to avoid touching his chest. It was swollen and sore, almost to the point of breaking skin.
At school, Xia Linchuan greeted him with an enthusiastic hug and a slap on the chest. Zhou Le nearly cried from the pain.
Xia Linchuan, puzzled, asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
Zhou Le gritted his teeth. “Nothing.”
Then he asked, “Why are you so excited today?”
“Why? Can’t I be happy?” Xia Linchuan smirked. “Don’t you know? There’s less than a month until the college entrance exams!”
“In just a month, we’ll finally escape this place!” The prospect of leaving home for university was what excited Xia Linchuan the most.
Zhou Le, however, felt a bit dazed. His eyes fell on the countdown on the blackboard—30 days until the college entrance exams.
So, the tail end of youth was already slipping away.
—
That morning, Zhou Le noticed Chen Nan was absent from class. He sent a WeChat message to check in, but there was no reply.
Over time, their shared concern for people abroad had brought Zhou Le and Chen Nan closer.
But when Chen Nan didn’t show up in the afternoon either, Zhou Le became curious.
It was then that Lin Xiaoxiao said, “You didn’t hear? Sheng Qian is back.”
The campus forum had been buzzing since morning, with posts about someone spotting Sheng Qian at the airport. People were even speculating whether Lu Jingran would also return.
Sheng Qian was back? Was it a holiday? If so, would Lu Jingran also…
The thought made Zhou Le restless.
Would he come back?
He wanted to ask Lu Jingran but was afraid of overthinking it. In the end, he just stared at Lu Jingran’s chat window, tapping his fingers against the screen.
Better to wait for Chen Nan to come back and ask him.
Zhou Le calmed himself with that thought.
But even after evening self-study ended, Chen Nan was still nowhere to be seen.
Chen Nan, of course, couldn’t make it to class.
He had gone home in a huff the previous night, waiting until the early hours, but Sheng Qian never responded. He even wondered if Sheng Qian had left their group chat.
Asking Lu Jingran yielded no results either. Furious, he eventually fell asleep in a rage.
The next morning, just as he was about to leave for school, he saw a WeChat message from Lu Jingran:
[Sheng Qian had a meeting with his mentor, and phones had to be turned off during the session.]
Lu Jingran didn’t need Chen Nan to ask; he already knew what he wanted to know.
Seeing this, Chen Nan felt a little better.
So that’s why Sheng Qian didn’t reply—he was busy. It made sense.
But even with this explanation, Chen Nan still felt dispirited.
Looking at the video in their group chat, he thought back to touching that Alpha’s abs last night. Now, the memory elicited no reaction at all.
The Alpha’s abs had been soft, clearly a product of deliberate gym sessions. Sheng Qian’s abs, on the other hand, were hard, naturally toned from sports like basketball. The texture was firm, powerful…
Though he didn’t want to admit it, Chen Nan found himself missing Sheng Qian.
After packing his schoolbag and grabbing a slice of bread, Chen Nan headed out the door.
The moment he opened it, the bread fell from his mouth.
Standing there with a suitcase, wearing a trench coat, was Sheng Qian.
He looked at Chen Nan silently, his face showing traces of exhaustion from travel.
Chen Nan… Chen Nan lost it.
Before he could say a word, Sheng Qian pulled him into a tight embrace, cradling his head and kissing him feverishly.
Chen Nan was pinned against the living room table as dishes clattered to the ground.
The housekeeper, stunned, covered her mouth in shock.
After causing a mess on the dining table, Sheng Qian carried Chen Nan upstairs.
Realizing what was happening, Chen Nan struggled in his arms.
“Let go of me! What kind of tantrum are you throwing in my house? Who do you think you are? This is my home!”
“Mmpphh!”
“Sheng Qian, you b*stard!”
“Mmpphh!”
Each time Chen Nan tried to speak, Sheng Qian silenced him with a fierce kiss, almost biting. Within moments, Chen Nan’s lips began to bleed.
The pheromones in the blood only fueled the Alpha’s beastly instincts. Sheng Qian kicked open the bedroom door and slammed it shut behind them, pinning Chen Nan onto the bed. The overwhelming Alpha presence enveloped him entirely.
“Where did he touch you?!” Sheng Qian’s heavy breath landed on Chen Nan’s neck.
The oppressive rush of pheromones made Chen Nan feel dizzy. Weakly, he landed a punch on Sheng Qian’s chest. “Let… go.”
Instead of releasing him, Sheng Qian restrained Chen Nan’s wrists with one hand above his head. Chen Nan’s struggles only brought his chest closer to Sheng Qian.
“Speak! Where did he touch you?!” Sheng Qian’s voice was sharp, and the Alpha’s domineering aura was suffocating.
Chen Nan, despite being at a disadvantage, retorted defiantly, “What does it matter to you?! I like calling Alphas! It’s my business! Who are you to tell me what to do?!”
Every word was sharp, hitting Sheng Qian like a sledgehammer to the chest.
At last, he loosened his grip on Chen Nan’s hands.
He had been prepared for this day ever since he saw the video. Logically, he understood this was inevitable—it was, after all, Chen Nan.
But no matter how many times reason told him this was unavoidable, Sheng Qian couldn’t help the pain.
Why does Chen Nan treat him this way? If he doesn’t like him, why give him hope only to dash it repeatedly? Why this cycle of torment?
Almost crazed, Sheng Qian had skipped all his classes and flown back from abroad just to get an answer. But what was the answer?
What does it matter to you?
A wave of despair washed over him. Sheng Qian felt utterly drained—physically and emotionally.
“Chen Nan, what do you want me to do?!” he asked hoarsely, his voice on the verge of breaking.
Perhaps the pain in his voice struck a chord, because Chen Nan stopped arguing. He looked up and locked eyes with Sheng Qian’s tear-filled, desperate gaze.
For a moment, Chen Nan was at a loss. His words failed him, his struggles ceased. He stared at Sheng Qian in a daze.
Finally, he found his voice. “I… I didn’t mean to make you like this. Every time you coax me, I’m fine again.”
“It’s your fault. You didn’t reply to me for so long, so I got angry and looked for another Alpha. I didn’t even touch him for long. He wasn’t even good to touch. After filming the video, I left. How was I supposed to know you’d fly back from abroad?”
Sheng Qian was silent.
Painfully, heartbreakingly silent.
His expression was so devastated that Chen Nan felt his own heart ache in response. He panicked.
He tugged at Sheng Qian’s sleeve. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“But from now on, you have to reply to me. I didn’t even know where you were.”
If Chen Nan’s friends saw him now, groveling and apologizing, they wouldn’t believe their eyes. Chen Nan never bowed his head to anyone—not even Lu Jingran. But now, he was desperately pleading for Sheng Qian not to be angry, not to ignore him.
“I didn’t reply to you?” Sheng Qian let out a bitter laugh. “We’ve been apart for 221 days. I sent you 1,768 messages, including 442 good mornings and good nights. Do you know how many times you replied?”
“…” Chen Nan was stunned.
“You replied 48 times.” Sheng Qian’s tone was cold and detached. An average of once or twice a week. And each time, it was only for what you needed. Nothing else.
When they were together, Chen Nan used to ramble on to him. Now, apart, Sheng Qian couldn’t even hear his idle chatter.
He had reached his limit.
Even if he didn’t want to, Sheng Qian knew he had to let go.
He stood up, his towering figure looming over Chen Nan. The Alpha’s expression was cold, distant.
“Enjoy yourself with that Alpha.”
And just like that, Sheng Qian walked away. Chen Nan didn’t even manage to grab the hem of his coat.
—
Time flew by.
In the blink of an eye, it was almost graduation.
Two days remained until the final exams.
Zhou Le was anxious. The night before the exams, he was so nervous he couldn’t sleep. In the end, Lu Jingran had someone deliver him sleeping pills, which he took before finally drifting off.
The morning of the first exam, Zhou Le received a text from Lu Jingran:
[Do your best on the exam. I’ll take care of everything else.”]
With that, Zhou Le felt an unexpected calm settle over him.
The exam venue was bustling. An hour before the test, the area outside was already crowded with students and parents.
Lin Xiaoxiao’s parents were there, fussing over her.
Xia Linchuan’s parents also came, though Xia Linchuan seemed reluctant to have them there.
His father said firmly, “Do well. If you score high enough, I’ll agree to you pursuing a professional gaming career.”
Xia Linchuan froze. Then, in disbelief, he said, “Dad, why didn’t you say so earlier? I don’t have time to cram now!”
“You little rascal! You weren’t studying earlier either!” Father Xia retorted. “If you’d studied properly before, would I have stopped you from playing games?”
The two were about to argue when Mother Xia intervened, diffusing the tension.
Just then, an ambulance pulled into the exam venue’s courtyard.
Such measures were standard, as students often fainted from extreme stress during exams.
Father Xia glanced at the ambulance from afar and said gravely, “Don’t get nervous. Just do your best. Everything else can wait.”
Xia Linchuan accepted the awkward display of concern with a simple, “Mm-hmm.”
Sensing the tension, Mother Xia quickly changed the subject and turned to Zhou Le. “Lele, why didn’t your mom come today?”
The question hung in the air for a second, freezing the atmosphere. Mother Lin immediately stepped in, giving Mother Xia a light slap. “What are you saying?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean…” Mother Lin glanced at Zhou Le, hinting at Mother Xia with her eyes.
Realizing her mistake, Mother Xia quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, Lele, I completely forgot. But it’s okay! Auntie’s here with you, all the way to the end. If you need anything, just let me know, and I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t stress, Lele. Just focus on your exam. You’ve got this!”
Zhou Le masked the disappointment on his face and replaced it with a smile. “It’s alright, Auntie. I’ll do my best.”
Even though he told himself it wasn’t necessary, Zhou Le couldn’t deny that he wished his mom were here. Seeing others with their families made him long for the same, a simple desire rooted in human nature.
He glanced up at the sky. It was a beautiful day, the kind with a bright blue canvas and soft, scattered clouds—perfect weather.
Under that clear sky, Zhou Le walked toward the examination hall.
The next day, after the final exam, the weather remained sunny, with the setting sun painting the clouds in shades of orange and red.
As students exited the exam hall, the atmosphere was jubilant. The first student out raised their arms and cheered, their laughter spreading quickly among the crowd.
“Finally done! We’re done!”
“Ahhhhhh! It’s over!”
“Graduation forever! Long live youth!”
“Long live!!!”
Zhou Le watched as students embraced their families with joy, their excitement filling the air. The crowd’s energy jostled him a few times until he found himself pushed into an empty space.
There, amidst the chaos, stood a single figure holding a bouquet of flowers, their presence serene and out of place.
Zhou Le froze.
It took him a moment to realize this wasn’t a dream. Tears welled up in his eyes as he ran toward the figure—toward his future.
Main Story Finished.
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