"I'm an Omega… or at least, I used to be…"
He found himself once again in that strange grassy field, the one tucked somewhere between dream and memory. The sky above was a soft, idyllic blue—almost too perfect, like a painting. But this time, something was different. Just a few feet away stood a tree—tall, sturdy, and ancient. He didn't know what kind it was, only that its thick branches stretched wide, leaves whispering gently in an unfelt breeze. Its shadow fell cool and broad across the ground, soothing, despite the absence of any visible sun. Everything glowed like midday—warm, timeless.
He sat beneath the tree's shade, letting the quiet settle around him. It was here that fragments of memory began to stir—new, yet unmistakably old.
In his original world, people weren't just male or female. They were also born with secondary genders: Alpha, Beta, or Omega. He is—no, had been an Omega. Fragile in body but sharp in wit, he'd once worked as an escort just to survive. Something had happened… he was fired. But he couldn't remember why. He knew he'd had a family—at some point—but the details were like fog. They hadn't died, but... they were simply gone from memory.
"Why can I only remember bits and pieces of my past life?"
A voice replied—not loud, but present, like a whisper just around the other side of the tree trunk.
'Sorry. Sorry. It's all I can do. Fixing the body for the soul is. Too much. Can't take. All.'
He blinked and sat up straighter. The voice was neither male nor female—gentle and strange, like a dream speaking back.
"Ah! It's you again! Who are you? Where is this? And why did I have to pass out right when Dong Yingming finally came to see me?! Is that your fault!?"
He was pissed now. That man—the one he'd come to crave, to care for—had finally come to him. And he'd collapsed like some tragic fool, bleeding and barely conscious. What if Dong Yingming didn't want him anymore?
'Not possible. He will always want you. Hehe, we made sure!'
…Huh?
"Wait, you can hear my thoughts? Are you actually a God?"
'Mhm! Very exciting. Very naughty, hehe! Small God. One. Many.'
He flushed faintly at the teasing tone, then cleared his throat and pushed forward.
"Why'd you bring me into the book? What's happening with my—or his—no, my body? You said my soul and body are… like what? Fighting each other? Is that because I'm originally an Omega and the body isn't? Also… do you know… what my real name is? What am I?"
Silence followed. Long, weighty. Yet he didn't mind. Time didn't seem to move in this space, and the air was perfectly temperate. Still, an ache of impatience gnawed at him. He just wanted to go back. To see Dong Yingming again.
Eventually, the voice returned, quieter now.
'Sorry. Can't answer most. I bring you, Pitiful Child, to your soul mate because wish. Save him. Tried to make. Soul fit body. Now fix. Body fit soul. Now. Very. Sorry.'
He stared blankly, heart thudding. That's right—he had made a wish. He remembered, faintly, whispering it before falling asleep. A wish to meet Dong Yingming. And then… he woke up here. In this prison. In this story.
'Tried before. Bodies no good. This body. Now good. Yet comes. With… problems now.'
"Huh? There's still a problem with my body? Wait… you're saying you tried to—what? Bring me here before already?"
'Compensate. For problem. Find heroine of book. Touch. I give. Power.'
"You're going to compensate me for the problem with this body? I have to… find the heroine from the book? Wait—Ming Liuyi?! And I have to touch her? And doing that will give me a power?"
The idea of receiving a power was tempting, sure, but the idea of getting anywhere near the female lead was… daunting. After everything the Original Yao Ziyang had done, even being in the same province as that woman felt dangerous. Getting close enough to touch her? That was a death wish. He'd have to work miracles just to be allowed in the same courtyard as the Yao family.
"Not possible."
There was a beat—then a panicked reaction from the voice.
'!!...Sorry. Time. Up. Good. Luck.'
"Hey! Wait! What am I? Who was I? I still have more questions! Wait—!"
But it was too late. The world around him began to dissolve. The deep blue of the sky bled into the grass, colors melting together until everything turned into a radiant white. He was weightless, floating in the brightness. He should have been afraid—maybe he was, a little—but even through the dizziness, one name anchored him:
Dong Yingming.
If he could see him again—touch him again—then maybe, no matter how chaotic or cursed this new life was… everything would be okay.
Right?
...
The sharp smell of disinfectant mingled with the metallic tinge of blood still hanging in the air. Yao Ziyang lay unconscious, now on the soft memory foam mattress, fragile as spun glass, skin pale and damp. The remnants of the nosebleed smeared under his nostrils despite the hurried attempts to clean him up. A damp towel had been pressed against his nose, but the blood still clung to his lips and chin, vivid red against the pallor of his feverish skin.
Dr. Zhang worked with a focused, efficient fury, his hands moving swiftly to secure the IV line and apply a cooling compress to the boy's flushed forehead. He hovered beside him, a hurricane of medical precision—snapping gloves on, barking instructions to the nurse, adjusting fluids with mechanical urgency.
Meanwhile, Dong Yingming hadn't moved from where he knelt beside the bed, hand limp by Yao Ziyang's shoulder, his palm cold from shock. His blue eyes were locked on Yao Ziyang's face, wide and blank. For the first time in years, he looked like a man who didn't know what to do.
Chang Xiao had only just returned after the doctor to see Dong Yingming still in his stunned crouch beside the bed. Chang Xiao hovered nearby, watching warily, until Dr. Zhang's muttering and the scent of antiseptic finally seemed to stir the boss from his trance. His trembling hand moved to hover near Yao Ziyang's cheek and stayed there for far too long—frozen by fear, helplessness carved deep into his features. But as the doctor moved past him without a word, ignoring the presence of his being entirely, something else ignited in Dong Yingming's gut.
A shift came.
Slowly at first—his hand curled into a tight fist against his thigh, knuckles whitening. Then, abruptly, the calm cracked.
Rage.
Hot, blistering rage.
His body rose like a drawn bowstring snapping, rigid and cold-eyed. He stared down Chen Bo, who stood awkwardly in the corner, holding the crumpled towel still stained with red.
"What the hell happened? You were on shift!"
Dong Yingming's voice was a thunderclap in the suffocating air.
"You were supposed to be watching him! How the hell did he get this sick again? Why wasn't I told?"
Dong Yingming roared, spinning on Chen Bo so fast it startled even Chang Xiao.
Chen Bo flinched, stepping back protectively. He blinked, his mouth flapping for a beat before he straightened his back instinctively under the weight of the man's fury.
"Boss Dong—I didn't know anything was wrong—he looked fine earlier! He was just lying in bed reading. I swear!"
"You swear?"
Dong Yingming snarled, voice low and deadly.
"Then why is there blood all over him?"
Chen Bo scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, trying to defuse the tension with a half-hearted chuckle.
"I don't know! I just brought him a BL book I picked up… I thought it'd make him happy."
Chen Bo cried, hands up.
"He was laughing earlier—laughing! Maybe—maybe it was too smutty? You know how those A/B/O stories get. Those alpha/omega tropes can get intense and he—"
Before Chen Bo could finish, Dong Yingming rushed and grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the cold stone wall with a thud. The towel dropped from Chen Bo's hand, landing in a crumpled, red-streaked heap on the floor.
"You think this is funny? A goddamn joke?"
Dong Yingming growled, his face inches from Chen Bo's.
"You let him read something that got him worked up enough to faint and bleed? Do you understand what you've done?"
"I—I didn't mean—"
Chen Bo stammered, heart racing.
Dong Yingming didn't wait. With a snarl of frustration, he shoved Chen Bo aside. The younger man stumbled, knocking over a metal instrument tray in his fall. The loud crash rang through the room like a gunshot.
"Enough! All of you—out!"
Dr. Zhang thundered, slamming his gloved hand down on the side table.
"Yelling in here, accusingpeople, while he's fighting off another fever—do you want him to die right in front of you next time? If you're done beating the walls, I have a patient who's still burning up and barely conscious!"
The boss turned, chest heaving, his face twisted in fury and confusion.
Dr. Zhang pointed a bloodstained glove at Dong Yingming.
"You want to help? Then get the hell out of my way and let me work. Out! I can't treat him with you pacing like a caged animal, and your anger's not helping. Go scream in the hallway if it'll help you breathe. Unless you want to add his death to your body count."
That made the air still. Chang Xiao's eyes widened, and even Chen Bo, still crumpled on the ground, froze.
Dong Yingming's mouth opened, then closed again. His shoulders were trembling—but whether it was from rage, guilt, or the panic he refused to show, even Chang Xiao couldn't tell.
"Boss…"
Chang Xiao said quietly, stepping forward.
"Come on. Let him work."
There was a long pause.
Dong Yingming remained for a second longer, his jaw clenched so tightly a vein had risen in his temple. Then, with a harsh breath through his nose, he turned and stalked out of the cell, his coat flaring behind him like wings of a storm. Dong Yingming cast one last glance at Yao Ziyang—who hadn't stirred, his breath shallow under the cooling compress—before turning and storming out of the room. His boots pounded the floor like hammer strikes.
Chang Xiao gently pulled Chen Bo to his feet and guided him toward the door as well, murmuring.
"Just go. Let him cool down."
Chen Bo, pale but calm now, nodded and stepped out the door. Behind them, Dr. Zhang returned to the patient with grim efficiency.
Chang Xiao gave the doctor a final apologetic nod and followed after them, gently closing the door behind him. Inside, only the low clang of metal against metal and Zhang Wei's quiet murmurs to his patient remained.
The cell door shut with a soft, final click.
Out in the corridor, the silence felt too loud. Dong Yingming stood with his back against the opposite wall, fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms, eyes burning a hole through the concrete. Dong Yingming's fury had only just begun.
He hadn't felt fear like that since he was a boy.
And now that fear had turned into something far more dangerous.
Behind the door, Dr. Zhang worked in silence, the luxury cell room thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and medicinal herbs. Outside, in the dimly lit hallway, the tension was suffocating.
But Dong Yingming didn't move. His shoulders rose and fell with silent fury, and his gaze was on nothing but the metal door—until he turned sharply on Chen Bo. His coat swayed as his boots echoing off the concrete floors. His eyes locked on Chen Bo—wide-eyed, pale, and cornered.
The younger man flinched again as Dong Yingming closed the distance in just three strides. He slammed one palm against the wall beside Chen Bo's head, trapping him in place. His other hand clutched the collar of Chen Bo's uniform, jerking him close.
"I want the truth, what the hell happened in that room?"
Dong Yingming hissed through clenched teeth.
"You were on duty, you were supposed to watch him."
"I did!"
Chen Bo sputtered, attempting to step back in a weak attempt to gain distance. However, his shoulders hit the wall and his collar made him remain unable to escape. It dug deeper into his skin, choking him but he gave no reaction to it other than fear.
"He didn't seem sick, Boss Dong! He was just reading—quiet, relaxed—I thought he was fine!"
"He was bleeding out of his nose…"
Dong Yingming snapped, slamming one hand into the wall beside Chen's head. Hard enough it left spiderweb cracks on the stone.
"He collapsed! Again! And you didn't think to report anything unusual?!"
"I didn't know there was anything unusual!"
Chen Bo's voice cracked.
"It was just a damn romance book! He asked for some of them before, so I gave him a BL novel. A funny one! I didn't think—"
Dong Yingming's hand shot out, gripping the front of Chen Bo's uniform harshly, slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the pipes.
"You thought?"
Dong Yingming snarled, eyes gleaming.
"You're supposed to observe, not guess! He collapsed in a pool of his own blood and you thought he was fine? You let him suffer in silence?!"
Chen Bo's lips trembled, but his eyes—dark, distant, and hollow—didn't flinch. There was fear in his posture, yes, but also a strange stillness. A deadened familiarity. Like a dog that had been beaten so often, it no longer barked.
Dong Yingming saw it—and it only made him angrier.
Dong Yingming's eyes darkened. He let go only to strike Chen Bo's stomach violently into the wall with a loud thud. The younger man crumpled to the cold floor, wind knocked out of him, but still didn't cry out.
"I should break your jaw…"
Dong Yingming growled.
"Maybe then you'll stop treating this like a goddamn joke."
"Boss!"
Chang Xiao stepped in quickly.
"That's enough."
"He could've died…"
Dong Yingming growled, half to himself.
"And no one would've known why."
"We still don't understand…"
Chang Xiao replied carefully. There was a pause—long and simmering. Dong Yingming's shoulders rose and fell once more, breath shaking. His mind flashed with the image of Yao Ziyang's limp form, pale and burning, the blood on his lips.
Then Chang Xiao said, quietly:
"What would Master Miao think if he knew Dr. Zhang had to treat a collapsed patient again? And without the proper equipment?"
That made Dong Yingming stop for a moment.
Miao Ruiming.
Dr. Zhang's 'mentor'. One of the most ruthless minds in traditional Chinese medical science, who walked away from national contracts and the kind of man who could cure what others thought incurable. But he'd rejected prison contracts outright—especially ones tied to "men like Dong Yingming." A man who refused every offer Dong Yingming had ever floated, no matter the price. Too proud. Too untouchable.
Dong Yingming turned, slow and dangerous. His voice was flat.
"Find something..."
He said to Chang Xiao.
"On Miao Ruiming. On his father. On his goddamn ancestors. I don't care how far back you dig—someone, somewhere, made a mistake. If he won't come willingly, I'll drag him in."
There was a pause. Then, like steel scraping against stone:
"I don't care if he walks in smiling or in shackles…"
Dong Yingming growled.
"I want him here. Fixing Xiao Yao."
He spoke with finality, as if it was meant to be done long ago.
Chang Xiao hesitated.
"You mean—?"
Dong Yingming turned, his face hard with decision.
"If there's even one scandal, one mistake, I want it in my hands. If I have to blackmail him to bring him here, I will."
"Understood."
Chang Xiao said, already pulling out his phone.
Dong Yingming stalked down the hallway, rage and guilt twisting through him. He felt poisoned. Yao Ziyang had finally been smiling again, finally healing—and then this. It felt like a curse, like some divine punishment.
But as he turned the corner, a familiar figure stepped into his path.
Wei Jiang.