Chapter 26: Alpha with Pheromone Disorder (26)
The snow stopped in the second half of the night.
When it snowed, it wasn’t as cold as when the snow melted. The melting snow absorbed the heat from the surroundings. The wind outside the cave kept howling, and the branches that had been weighed down and broken by the snow occasionally dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
As the night watch shift changed, Qu Jiuchao entered the tent, taking off his coat and gently covering Shui Que, who was half asleep, with it.
Outside the tent, the Alpha was lazily poking at the fire, moving small twigs around in the ashes, creating a soft, constant rustling sound.
When Qu Jiuchao took over the watch, he noticed that the other person wasn’t at all tired from having stayed up late for the night shift, but instead seemed full of energy.
Qu Jiuchao’s gaze lingered on Shui Que’s lips.
As expected.
The upper lip was slightly thinner, the small lip bead in the middle puckered out. The fuller lower lip looked even plumper compared to earlier in the day.
It was a deep red.
But there were no traces of water.
He didn’t know when Shui Que had been kissed.
Nor did he know if it had been voluntary.
When Qu Jiuchao lay down, he gently pulled Shui Que closer. Even in his sleep, Shui Que seemed to instinctively act coquettishly, turning in the direction of the embrace and curling closer into his arms.
Shui Que’s unconscious reaction irritated him.
Was this how he acted with everyone?
“Did you kiss him?”
Qu Jiuchao lowered his voice. It sounded like an accusation, but he didn’t want to wake Shui Que, so his tone softened into something akin to a lover’s whisper.
Shui Que, still half-awake, seemed to trigger some kind of response. His lips, soft and pink, parted slightly, and his tongue emerged just enough to move forward a bit.
Not long ago, when Qu Jiuchao had kissed him for the first time, Shui Que had clenched his teeth and refused to release them.
Now, it was as though he had grown accustomed to being kissed.
It seemed that in order to avoid disturbing his sleeping companion, Shui Que naturally and obediently opened his mouth.
As Qu Jiuchao sucked on Shui Que’s wet, soft lips, he thought bitterly.
How many times has Lu Fengchi kissed him secretly?
Why was he being so cooperative now?
He kissed him forcefully.
Then, turning to lick Shui Que’s rounded lip bead, his tongue gently massaging it, the connection between their lips and tongues sent a shiver down his spine, as if an electric current were jolting through him.
Shui Que, still half-asleep, likely felt uncomfortable, emitting a small, quiet sound.
Qu Jiuchao licked the sweet moisture that had leaked from his lower lip. Because they were lying on their sides, part of Shui Que’s face had become wet from his saliva. Qu Jiuchao kissed it all away, and in the end, he bit down on the soft flesh of his cheek as if he were carrying prey.
“Why do you smell so good?” He held Shui Que’s face steady, kissed him again, and rubbed his nose against his, whispering teasingly, “You’re an Alpha. So sweet and small, your body is all soft, and your eyes are so big. Do you know how beautiful you are?”
“You must know,” he added, lowering his gaze and carefully brushing Shui Que’s disheveled hair, “You’re just relying on your beauty, leading so many people on.”
“Does Song Qin like you too? He nearly lost his mind when he took you away that day.” Qu Jiuchao seemed completely unaware of how strange it was that, on one hand, he was making baseless guesses about the Song brothers’ secrets, while on the other, he was kissing the younger brother.
As he spoke, his anger swelled, and his tongue forcefully pressed into Shui Que’s soft, wet mouth. He sucked and licked, even pressing down on the back of Shui Que’s tongue to make him swallow.
If someone had told Qu Jiuchao, just half a year ago, that he would be kissing a young Alpha like this, he would have thought they were out of their mind. He probably would have tried to stop himself from doing this, at least making the other person pay for their words.
He kissed him too roughly, and Shui Que’s delicate brows furrowed. He weakly pushed him away, his eyelids fluttering. He might wake up any second.
Qu Jiuchao pulled back, watching as Shui Que’s swollen, red tongue returned to the safety of his mouth when their lips separated.
He hadn’t woken up.
Maybe it was because he was simply too tired from the day.
Shui Que lay next to him, looking peaceful in his sleep, with the only noticeable change being his full, reddened lips.
Qu Jiuchao, as if to make a point, tucked the cotton jacket more securely around Shui Que. “You made me like this.”
“Once you mark someone, you have to take responsibility.”
After a while, Shui Que, feeling aggrieved, found System 77.
[77… My mouth hurts from all the kissing.]
Shui Que had just managed to deal with Lu Fengchi and hadn’t even slept for two hours when Qu Jiuchao came in. He had actually woken up halfway through the kiss but didn’t dare to open his eyes.
He really didn’t understand why people who were in relationships were so obsessed with kissing. His lips were swollen and numb, and it still hurt even after the kiss ended.
His mind was silent, with no familiar mechanical voice responding to him.
[77?]
Suddenly, the monitor’s voice appeared.
[Their kissing techniques are terrible.]
The tone sounded strangely sour.
[Your lips are all swollen from the kisses.]
[Poor thing.]
When Shui Que realized it was the system talking, he decided to play dead.
He didn’t respond in his mind, choosing instead to replay the situation in his head.
He had just heard Qu Jiuchao mumbling to himself.
Although Shui Que didn’t know why he was bringing up Song Qin, it was obvious that Qu Jiuchao knew he was playing both sides!
Why didn’t he just break up with him!
He Won’t Bring Up the Breakup—What Happens to My Storyline?!
Shui Que was internally distressed, anxiously scratching his head.
He never considered himself particularly attractive. Sure, when he was younger, people often praised him, saying he was cute and would grow up to be good-looking. But Shui Que always felt this kind of thing was inherently unfair—some faces were deemed beautiful, while others were labeled as ugly.
In the end, appearance was just skin and bones put together.
He didn’t think he was the type to make people lose their minds over him, to the point where they would stay even if it meant being unfaithful to their partners.
The Overseer, knowing he was still awake, spoke to him with interest:
[I can’t stand it anymore.]
[Baby, can you just break up with him?]
At dawn, golden sunlight shone upon the vast snowy landscape.
As he was helped to his feet, Shui Que recalled that sentence again.
Setting aside the strange nickname, the latter part—“Can you break up with him?”
A flash of inspiration struck him.
According to the plot, he was supposed to be the one getting dumped.
But in a desperate situation, could he be the one to initiate the breakup?
He shared this idea with System 77.
System 77 was supportive, agreeing: [It’s not entirely impossible. The plot will deviate slightly, but as long as the world’s logic remains intact, minor variations won’t affect the storyline’s progress.]
[However, your final employee task rating might be slightly deducted because of this.]
[Will that be a problem?] Shui Que asked.
System 77: [The ratings only matter for awards; usually, as long as you achieve 80% plot completion, the mission is considered successful, and the rating isn’t taken into account.]
In other words, the rating only mattered if he was competing for excellence. If he just focused on doing his job well, 80% completion was enough to succeed.
[That’s good.] Shui Que muttered. [Didn’t expect the Overseer to say something useful for once.]
If not for that bizarre comment, he wouldn’t have thought of this approach.
The communication channel with 77 was suddenly cut off again.
[Was that supposed to be a compliment?]
[I’m listening.]
The Overseer’s voice returned.
[I wasn’t complimenting you.] The early morning air was chilly. Shui Que put on his coat and unceremoniously shut him down. [I meant that everything you say is usually nonsense.]
The Overseer: [That hurts a little.]
[But every time I talk, you listen carefully.]
His voice carried a teasing lilt, deliberately provoking Shui Que: [Are you just pretending to be indifferent?]
Shui Que: ?
If you’ve got the guts, stop cutting off 77’s channel.
[Don’t call me baby.] He protested in dissatisfaction.
The nickname made him sound immature and unserious. He was already a full-fledged employee on the verge of completing his mission.
The Overseer hummed a tune unfamiliar to Shui Que, clearly in a good mood, before responding: [But baby, you are a baby.]
Shui Que: ?
Do you even hear yourself?
This was bizarre. Were they even speaking the same language?
If the Overseer was an AI and not a real person, Shui Que would have suggested sending him back to the factory for a language module overhaul.
Deciding not to argue over pointless nicknames, he turned his attention to the outside world. Morning had fully arrived. Last night’s bonfire had burned down to ashes, with only a few half-charred branches remaining.
Qu Jiuchao entered from outside the cave.
He had gone out, seemingly quite far. His shoes were wet, and the soles were caked with mud.
His expression wasn’t good. His glasses had fogged up slightly from the warmth of his breath as he spoke.
“I followed the markers back—the path down the mountain is blocked by snow.”
The main trail leading up and down the mountain was the same. This meant they couldn’t descend on their own, and the rescue team would take longer to reach them due to the additional obstacles.
Shui Que had switched his phone to power-saving mode the night before, yet his battery was still only at a pitiful 21%. There was also no signal.
Qu Jiuchao made a judgment: “We might need to wait another day.”
But they were running out of food.
—
By morning, snow had started falling again, drifting gently from the sky.
Shui Que hugged his knees, closed his eyes, and took a brief nap to conserve energy.
The sounds of an argument filtered into his half-conscious mind, distant and muffled.
“We should go down the mountain. If we keep waiting, we’ll starve.”
“How? The path is snowed in, trees are collapsing, and rocks are falling. The mountain is steep. We don’t even know how long the snowfall will last. What about the risk of hypothermia?”
“…”
More hushed voices followed, but Shui Que had already drifted into a deep sleep, unable to make out the rest.
Time passed in a blur, as if it had all been just another moment on a bright, ordinary day.
“Wake up,” Song Qin said.
The roar of a helicopter’s rotor blades filled the air, flying low overhead. The sounds of snowplows and voices shouting mixed with the howling wind.
Shui Que found himself carried on a firm back. Even through the thick down jacket, he could feel the tense muscles beneath him. Blinking, he tilted his head to look at Song Qin’s face—shadowed with exhaustion, his glasses askew.
Reaching up, he helped straighten them. Then, he wrapped his arms around Song Qin’s neck from behind, resting his cheek against him in relief.
“Brother?”
Song Qin: “Mm.”
“Going home?”
“Mm. We’re going home.”
—
“How did you find us?” Shui Que asked, tilting his head up as warm air from the heater blew against his damp hair.
Song Qin, who was holding him from behind, didn’t answer. He pretended not to hear, as if the noise from the heater had drowned out the question. His fingers brushed through Shui Que’s wet strands, the dampness spreading.
His gaze lowered.
From the very beginning, he had silently installed the latest tracking chip from the lab into his younger brother’s phone. It was just a responsible precaution.
Wasn’t it?
Checking his location every hour, tracking his movements—wasn’t that just normal concern for a loved one?
Nothing more.
Right?
He asked himself.
Shui Que didn’t press further. He had only been curious.
He assumed it was just advanced rescue technology—thermal imaging drones or something similar.
More importantly—
Shui Que sent messages to both Lu Fengchi and Qu Jiuchao.
Shui Que: Let’s break up.
One chat window exploded with 99+ notifications within seconds.
The other remained eerily silent.
Shui Que didn’t dare to read Lu Fengchi’s messages. He quickly blocked his contact on the messaging app.
His name flashed on the screen in large characters—Lu Fengchi.
Shui Que steeled himself and swiped to decline the call.
Blocked.
Qu Jiuchao, too.
His phone stayed silent for a long time.
Before bed, he carefully checked his contact list. Everything was clean and untouched.
Just before locking his screen, two unfamiliar text messages popped up.
“I don’t agree.”
“Don’t let me catch you.”
*
The illegitimate son the Song family of Haicheng had taken back had long been the subject of rumors, but this was the first time he had made an official appearance in the elite circles of power and wealth.
He was just a young boy.
He wore a fitted, light brown vest with a six-button, three-fastening design and a peaked lapel, paired with a crisp white silk shirt and a Cravat-style bow tie.
He raised a hand to smooth a few unruly strands of black hair that curled slightly out of place. His delicate eyelids were lowered, and when he lifted them, the folds formed just the right shape—like the slender arc of a crescent moon.
Silently, he followed beside the current head of the Song family, a man whose influence dominated all. Since the two were brothers without any blood relation, there was not a hint of resemblance between them.
Most of the other guests at the banquet either had business dealings with the Song family or hoped to establish a partnership, eagerly waiting to catch whatever small benefits might slip through the cracks of the family’s vast enterprise.
The Song brothers: one was a true blood-related illegitimate son, and the other was an adopted son who officially inherited the Song family’s business. Their relationship was inevitably awkward, and anyone who had caught a glimpse of the rumors privately discussed it among themselves.
But now, it seemed their relationship wasn’t quite what everyone had imagined.
The younger brother followed his older brother around, and the older brother seemed to willingly offer his wings of protection, giving off an image of brotherly respect and care.
Someone tried to comment, “With a younger brother like that, he must be well-behaved and easy to manage. Our son is mischievous beyond belief; if he could be even half as obedient as the young master, we’d be happy.”
Song Qin placed his hand on Shui Que’s shoulder, his thumb gently rubbing the slender scapula. His tone was thoughtful, “Mm, he’s quite obedient.”
Shui Que’s face flushed slightly, feeling a bit embarrassed.
What was going on?
Did Song Qin have some kind of filter on him?
His character in the storyline was supposed to be the troublesome younger brother who caused nothing but headaches for the Song family.
At that moment, someone from the outer circle interrupted, “I wonder which Alpha the young master will eventually belong to. I’m sure his older brother can’t bear the thought…”
There was a brief silence in the room.
Song Qin turned his gaze to the speaker, locking eyes with him. Slowly, he said, “Shui Que is an Alpha.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, offering a sheepish laugh, “Sorry, sorry. That was a slip of the tongue.”
He probably wanted to correct his words and praise Shui Que, but he couldn’t find anything to match the usual criteria for evaluating an outstanding Alpha.
He was smaller in stature, his skin paler, and lacked the muscles that would intimidate other Alphas.
If Song Qin hadn’t revealed the truth, everyone would have assumed he was an Omega spoiled by the Song family.
How could he possibly be an Alpha?
He was frail and fragile, like something that could be crushed with a single blow.
The atmosphere in the room shifted sharply downward.
The banquet hall was decorated in a medieval-modern fusion style, brilliantly lit.
Sweet treats covered in cream and honey had no value in this setting, merely scattered around the hall in every corner. Fresh fruits and flowers flown in from across the ocean were only there as decorations. The sizzling lamb chops and food being frantically prepared by chefs were piled on dining tables and carts, but only a few people bothered to visit them.
Everyone had their own thoughts.
Everything around them was just the perfume of the vanity fair—insignificant, but necessary seasonings for the event.
Shui Que glanced around. He couldn’t understand the business talks of these people, and he felt out of place here.
Song Qin noticed his small gesture and lowered his head to ask, “Are you feeling uncomfortable? Or are you just tired?”
“I just want to step outside for some fresh air, brother.” Like a child accompanying their parents to a gathering, he had to stay close to Song Qin, or else he’d risk being taken away by someone else. Even leaving for a moment required asking for permission.
Song Qin replied, “Go ahead.”
Making his way through the crowd of people, their shoulders brushing, and glasses clinking, they reached the outdoor garden. The garden was full of flowers—unknown pale blue ones, some tinged with purple. Cupid and other unfamiliar Western deities stood in the center of the pond, where the fountain sporadically splashed water under the varying lights.
The night was falling.
In the distance, there were two or three people already standing by the pond. They probably, like him, had been dragged here by their elders and were now aimlessly wandering about.
He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but they didn’t seem intent on hiding their conversation either, speaking in a normal tone that carried easily.
“Is the Xie family planning to shift their focus back to Haicheng?”
“Yeah, their only heir is planning it that way. The Xie family only has one child in this generation, so of course, whatever he says goes. Don’t you remember him? But then again, when we were younger, we couldn’t get into their circle…”
“We didn’t really hang out much, I don’t remember. You know me, I was just option C, trailing behind my older siblings. The heirs never played with someone like me.”
“But didn’t I hear that the big boss had rebelled and pursued dreams in esports? He even made his father collapse from anger?”
“Your news is a bit outdated… ‘Chasing dreams’ was just a phase. He ended up coming back to inherit the family business anyway. Can’t turn down the food that’s handed to you, right?”
“Did he come today? I vaguely remember that the Xie and Song families had a big fight at a gathering when we were kids. It made things really awkward between the two families.”
“It’s been years since then. Even though they were enemies when we were younger, we’ve all matured now. Everything they do is for the benefit of both families working together.”
“Didn’t there used to be rumors that if the Song family had an Omega, they’d arrange a marriage with the Xie family?”
“…That’s far-fetched. Where did you hear that?”
“The two families are so large, they don’t need a business marriage. If they really became in-laws, would our small families even survive? We’d all be cleaning shoes for the young masters.”
“Well, it seems like fate. Both families only have Alpha heirs.”
“Who knows? Maybe there’s an illegitimate child they’ll bring back from outside.”
Suddenly, the fountain sprayed a large amount of water, and the cool water splashed onto Shui Que’s face. He stood frozen by the fountain for a long moment, too shocked to react. His hair got a little wet, and his bangs clung together in damp strands.
The unexpected surprise made him let out a small noise.
The people by the pond noticed and turned their heads to look at him.
It was incredibly awkward to be caught eavesdropping.
Though, he wasn’t intentionally listening.
The courtyard was small, and since it was just them, if they didn’t control the volume of their conversation, the whole garden could hear them clearly.
Shui Que awkwardly crossed his arms behind his back and stepped back, inadvertently kicking his own heel with his shoe.
The three people exchanged looks, laughed awkwardly, and then left.
Learning from their previous mistake, they deliberately lowered their voices, and what they said next was unclear to Shui Que.
Only a few scattered words slipped through the breeze.
Song family, Omega, marriage alliance.
Without getting any useful information, Shui Que started pacing back toward the banquet hall.
As soon as he stepped inside, he heard someone calling from a distance—
“Young Master Qu, a pleasure to meet you.”
The voice was full of flattery, coming from a middle-aged man with a bulging belly, directed at a tall and striking Beta, who was still in the transition between boyhood and adulthood.
The scene appeared somewhat comical for a moment.
That Beta clearly belonged to the ranks of promising young elites, someone who attracted attention. His silver-rimmed glasses rested perfectly on his well-defined nose bridge, and the chandelier’s light cast subtle shadows that highlighted the contours of his face.
He had delicate features, yet his eyes did not exude warmth. Instead, his aloof and noble demeanor made him seem distant and unapproachable.
But this had always been the Qu family’s way—an attitude inherited from their origins in the gray areas between the underworld and the business world many years ago.
Cold and indifferent.
This was the common impression that the families stationed in Haicheng had of the Qu family.
Unlike the Song family, who were adept at pretense, the Qu family didn’t even bother with basic social niceties. They had enough influence to ensure that others always needed them, which gave them the air of an insufferably arrogant, old-fashioned family.
“Qu Jiuchao…?” Shui Que instinctively muttered the name.
He had spoken so softly that only he could hear it.
Yet, across the champagne glasses and the layers of elegant attire, the man in the distance suddenly looked over. His gaze swept across the room and then locked onto Shui Que with the precision of a hawk fixating on its prey.
His eyes were chilling.
“Don’t let me catch you.”
Shui Que immediately recalled the tone of his messages.
The tall Beta still maintained a semblance of courtesy, but his movements were visibly rushed and perfunctory. He murmured apologies and excused himself, yet his eyes never left the distance.
The crowd instinctively followed his gaze.
On the spiraling staircase leading to the second floor, the railing was as high as the walls. Only a fleeting glimpse of dark hair was visible before it disappeared in the blink of an eye.
The first floor was the banquet hall, while the second floor mostly housed tea rooms and resting chambers for guests.
Rounding a corner, Shui Que accidentally bumped into a waiter carrying a tray. Deep red liquid splashed onto the carpet and stained the front of his shirt, the scent of alcohol thick in the air.
“I’m so sorry! My deepest apologies, sir.” The waiter hurriedly pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, eager to help clean up the mess.
Shui Que couldn’t afford to care about this right now. After all, he was partly to blame as well. “It’s fine.”
But the waiter, still feeling guilty, insisted on pressing the handkerchief into his hands. With no other choice, Shui Que took it and hastily said, “If anyone asks, just say you never saw me.”
Probably a young master being hounded by an ex-lover.
The waiter thought.
Scenes like this played out at banquets every now and then.
But none of the protagonists had ever been as breathtaking as the one he had just seen.
Shui Que slipped into the last room. Most of the second-floor rooms were empty, though faint conversations drifted from the nearby tea room.
Sofa, coffee table, bed—everything was tidy and neat, with hardly any place to hide.
He spun in place, his nerves fraying, before squeezing himself into a wardrobe.
It was so silent that even his unsteady breaths felt deafening.
The enclosed space made the air stifling, so he carefully cracked the wardrobe door open just a sliver.
Footsteps, slow and deliberate, echoed against the floor. The doors of the adjacent rooms clicked open one by one, followed by the faint creak of wardrobe doors being pushed and pulled.
They were getting closer.
Shui Que anxiously clamped a hand over his mouth and nose.
His instincts, always keen in times of danger, warned him that getting caught wouldn’t just mean a scolding—so the moment he locked eyes with Qu Jiuchao, he had chosen to run.
The door handle turned, footsteps entered the room, and Shui Que shrank back even further. Through the narrow gap, he could see the looming shadow cast on the floor.
It seemed like the person stood there for a while after scanning the room.
Then, he turned and left.
Shui Que finally let out a slow breath, his taut nerves gradually loosening.
He hugged his knees and rubbed his aching calves.
Knock, knock—
A sudden knocking startled him. It wasn’t at the room door.
It was at the wardrobe.
Shui Que’s head jerked up.
Against the dim light, a pair of pitch-black eyes peered at him through the crack.
“Knock, knock.”
Two more rhythmic taps followed. The corners of those eyes lifted in amusement.
Shui Que broke out in a cold sweat, his panic-stricken eyes locking onto the intruder’s gaze.
A bead of sweat dripped down.
With a loud swoosh, the wardrobe doors were yanked open, and bright light flooded in!
A stranger with tousled navy-blue hair crouched in front of the wardrobe, grinning. His phoenix eyes curved mischievously. “Did I scare you?”
Shui Que said nothing. Lips pressed into a tight line, his back was completely tensed against the wardrobe.
“But I knocked,” the man said, as if trying to justify himself.
At those words, Shui Que only glared at him in anger.
Who the hell knocks on a wardrobe?!
Wasn’t this exactly the kind of thing that murderers in horror movies did before they attacked their victims?!
As he glared, Shui Que suddenly realized that the man before him looked familiar.
But the only way he had ever seen him before… was in the photos sent to him via WeChat.
The difference was that, fully clothed, Shui Que hadn’t recognized him at first glance.
Huge shoutout to @candycorns2 on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.