Zhang Wei's comment clicked into place like a key in a lock.
He whispered.
"No. I need to be the one to monitor him."
Suddenly animated, he rushed to his medical bag from under a counter, and stuffed inside a few medical files—including Yao Ziyang's lab reports and a binder labeled "Unclassified Symptomatology: Case A.", a handful of relevant files and vials, and stormed toward the exit.
He slung his coat over his shoulder and strode out of the lab, pulling out his phone. His fingers flew across the keypad.
Call: National Medical Board Liaison
The lab lights blinked off behind him.
Once outside, beneath a clear morning sky, Miao Ruiming stood beside his car, phone pressed to his ear.
The line rang three times before a woman answered.
"First Medical Licensing Division, this is Director Wen—"
"This is Dr. Miao Ruiming. I'm requesting immediate authority to be appointed primary care physician for the patient Yao Ziyang, currently housed in First Prison. I believe this case may fall under medical special circumstances and anomalous pathology. I'm prepared to submit an appeal and petition for extended jurisdiction."
There was a pause.
"…You want to volunteer to work at a prison?"
Director Wen said flatly.
"Dr. Miao, I know your record. You're not licensed for carceral assignments, and I doubt your reputation would benefit from attaching to a patient under criminal investigation—"
"I'm not interested in reputation…"
Miao Ruiming said through clenched teeth.
"I'm interested in the truth behind his symptoms."
"I'm sorry…"
The elder woman said with finality.
"The board does not see cause to authorize special jurisdiction for this patient. We suggest you submit an official inquiry through the Warden's private channels if you're truly insistent."
The line went dead.
Miao Ruiming stood there a moment longer, phone still in hand.
His shoulders fell, the surge of adrenaline fading into disappointment. Frustration began to simmer beneath his usually calm exterior. The fire inside him—the need to understand, to protect, to fix—did not waver.
He wasn't the type to give up. Especially not when every inch of his being was telling him something extraordinary had just entered his world—something far beyond medical theory.
He glanced at his phone.
Then scrolled again to a second number.
There was one more option.
Call: Miao Wenxun
Miao Ruiming pressed the dial button with slightly trembling fingers. His father's voice answered after two rings.
"Xiao Ruiming? What a surprise! You never call during the day."
"I need a favor…"
Miao Ruiming said, his tone urgent but respectful.
"With the warden of First Prison. You've golfed with him before, yes? You two are friends?"
"Golfed with—? That?"
Miao Wenxun chuckled dryly.
"Yes, but barely. We met through the charity board, I wouldn't call it a close friendship. We just talk shop over bad swings and overpriced beer, son. Why?"
"I need you to contact him. See if you can convince him to authorize me as a consulting medical officer for one of his inmates. I want to be granted long-term access to treat a patient there—Yao Ziyang. He's recovering from a severe, unknown affliction. I need full rights of entry."
There was silence on the line. Miao Ruiming waited, tense.
"…That name…"
Miao Wenxun said slowly.
"…That's the charity fraud one, isn't it? That embezzler from Yao Corporation? The scandal made headlines. I thought you didn't treat people like—"
"Don't call him that and I am treating him."
Miao Ruiming interrupted firmly.
"I want to help him. He's sick—maybe not in a way anyone else understands yet, but I need to know what's wrong. I thought I knew what kind of man he was, but now I'm not sure. What I do know is that something about him—his biology, his transformation—it's beyond what modern medicine can explain. I have to be there. I need your help."
'So, Yao Ziyang is the blackmailer's lover...'
There was silence.
Another pause.
Then, finally, Miao Wenxun sighed.
"I don't know what's gotten into you lately, Xiao Ruiming. But…"
There was a hint of warmth in his voice now.
"Maybe it's a good thing. You're thinking like a real doctor now. Not everything in this world is good or bad, clean or filthy. It's about time you started treating people like patients and not applicants for sainthood. People aren't black and white. You can't just pick and choose who's 'worthy' of care."
Miao Ruiming stood still.
"I know…"
He said quietly.
"You're right. The world isn't black and white. I just… never expected to see color quite like this."
His father hummed.
"You know, Warden Liu's a man known for his upstanding principles…but I'll see what I can do. No promises—but I'll see about calling in a favor."
"Thank you."
As the call ended, Miao Ruiming lowered his phone, staring down at the binder in his bag.
On the top, in hastily scrawled ink: "Unclassified Symptomatology: Case A"
Miao Ruiming didn't return to the hospital. He got into his car, set his files beside him, and drove off—with his thoughts lingering on Yao Ziyang's soft smile, the warm nape of his neck, and the mystery waiting behind his midnight-colored eyes.
…
The hospital doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing the sun-drenched street beyond. Morning light spilled through the glass entrance in golden sheets, illuminating the freshly waxed floors and casting long shadows behind Dong Yingming as he stepped forward. Dressed in a new all dark prison jumpsuit with a bellowing coat securely resting on his broad shoulders and a sharp presence, pushing the wheelchair with careful precision.
Seated in it, Yao Ziyang looked serene, wrapped in a pale ivory blanket, the fabric soft enough to blend into the gentle gleam of his equally pale hair. His platinum-blond locks caught the sunlight like silken threads of moonlight.
He wore a light cashmere turtleneck in cream and soft grey slacks that highlighted the elegant lines of his recovering frame, all provided by Dong Yingming earlier that morning. His once-pale complexion now glowed faintly with the kind of health that seemed almost… unreal.
'It wouldn't have mattered to me what I wear for our trip back but I'm glad Dong Yingming prepared clothes for me to change into. He's so thoughtful.'
Yao Ziyang hummed softly as they approached the sleek black car parked just outside. He tilted his head back slightly to look at the man behind him, catching sight of the way sunlight outlined Dong Yingming's sharp jaw and firm shoulders. The warmth that bloomed in Yao Ziyang's chest wasn't just from the sun.
Waiting just outside was an obsidian black car—its lines sleek, understated but fortified. A vehicle built for power, privacy, and protection. The windows were smoked deep, the tires clearly reinforced, and the engine purring so softly it was like the car had been waiting all night to carry its precious cargo.
Dong Yingming came to a gentle halt just in front of it.
Without a word, he bent down, his arms sliding beneath the small of Yao Ziyang's back and under his knees in a single, fluid motion. He lifted him as though he weighed no more than a bundle of silk.
Yao Ziyang raised a brow and chuckled lightly, one arm lazily hooking around Dong Yingming's neck for balance.
"You know…"
He said, voice teasing and warm.
"I don't think my feet have touched the ground once since I woke up."
Dong Yingming didn't even flinch. He looked down at him as he placed him inside the back seat with the delicacy of someone handling a sacred artifact.
"If I let you walk, you'll fly away in the breeze…"
He murmured under his breath, voice husky but affectionate.
"Better to keep you off the ground. Less risk of losing you."
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. A faint, real smile.
Yao Ziyang's lips parted with surprise before a soft blush dusted his cheeks.
"I've been too spoiled by you."
He added, smiling in teasing amusement. Dong Yingming chuckled under his breath, a sound surprisingly warm and low, while tucking a blanket more snugly around Yao Ziyang's lap. He flashed a faint, almost bashful smile.
A few paces away, Chang Xiao was frozen.
On the surface, his expression was professional and unaffected—he kept a calm, composed face, hands behind his back, posture firm—but internally? He was spiraling.
He'd followed Dong Yingming for years. Through gang wars, betrayals, prison politics, bloodshed, and cold, ruthless decisions… and never once had he seen that man smile like this. Or joke. Or look at someone like that.
'What the hell… did I just see an actual smile? On him?'
He and Dong Yingming had been through hell and worse. Chang Xiao had witnessed that man murder someone with a tea spoon in a restaurant because the waiter brought green tea instead of oolong. He'd seen him burn down an entire casino over a debt and laugh maniacally about it.
But this?
This gentle version of his boss—carrying someone like porcelain, joking, smiling?
It terrified him more than any bloodshed ever had.
Once Yao Ziyang was safely seated and the blanket tucked carefully around his lap, Dong Yingming straightened, closed the door carefully, then turned to Chang Xiao. The softness instantly gone like a snuffed flame—returning to its usual cold, unreadable slate.
"Drive slow…"
He ordered, voice suddenly cold and sharp as steel.
"No bumps. If the car jostles even once…"
His gaze darkened into something lethal. He let his words linger ominously
"…expect punishment when we get back."
A cold sweat prickled at Chang Xiao's neck.
'There he is.'
Chang Xiao thought in relief and stiffened into attention.
"Understood, Boss. I'll be the smoothest driver this side of the nation."
Dong Yingming nodded once, approving but expressionless, and rounded the vehicle. In a blink, he was seated beside Yao Ziyang again, reaching over to buckle the seatbelt with uncharacteristic patience and checking to make sure it wasn't pressing too tightly against Yao Ziyang's chest.
"Is the strap too tight? Are you uncomfortable anywhere?"
Yao Ziyang shook his head, cheeks still faintly pink.
"No. It's perfect. I'm fine, especially with you looking after me like this."
'He really is being so sweet to me…'
Yao Ziyang mused, his heart fluttering faintly. His lips curved as he leaned slightly onto his man's shoulder.
'Almost too sweet. I wonder what happened since I last collapsed. Hmm…maybe I'll ask Chen Bo or Wei Jiang.'
He thought while warmth spread throughout his chest.
As the car began to roll forward—Chang Xiao sweating at every turn—the Omega's mind was focused on something else entirely.
Something new. He noticed it when it was two Alpha's expressing dominance against the other in a small compact room. It was obvious but now…he was noticing other things, too.
A gentle thrum in his senses. Not quite physical… not quite mental. Not strong now. Not as obvious anymore. It was like the world had taken on a new layer. A subtle aroma hung in the air—not from colognes or fresh linens, but from people. But they were there, drifting faintly around people like invisible auras.
Pheromones.
He turned his head slightly and looked at Chang Xiao's reflection in the front mirror where he gripped the wheel.
'Beta…'
He thought instinctively. A perfect support role.
'Calm energy, balanced posture. Controlled. Neutral energy, strong self-control. Textbook Beta. Hmm? Little to no scent is usually the case for a beta. He has a low scent. Smells like…ash and firewood.'
There was something unshakably stable about Chang Xiao.
Then his eyes flicked to Dong Yingming beside him—and his heart gave a squeeze, he almost shivered.
His Alpha smelled incredible.
His scent curled faintly around him—like sandalwood and smoke on a winter night, with something spicy underneath, crushed pepper maybe? There was definitely a heat that made Yao Ziyang's instincts hum. Something inexplicably dark and warm—like hot iron and red wine. It was dizzying. Powerful. And undeniably, Alpha.
If there were Alphas in this world… then Dong Yingming was the embodiment of one.
Even if no one in this world knew what an Alpha, Beta or Omega was, Yao Ziyang did. He remembered. And Dong Yingming fit every inch of the term. Dangerous. Protective. Intoxicating.
'You're dangerous…'
Yao Ziyang thought again with a soft blush, his head turning toward the window as they cruised through the city.
'And perfect. Mine.'
As the car pulled away from the hospital, the streets rolled by slowly—intentionally slow. Chang Xiao glanced repeatedly at the speedometer, then at his rearview mirror. He slowed for every bump, carefully gauging the turns.
Sweat gathered at his temples, one bead ran down the side of his face as he hit the brakes two seconds too early at a red light. The last thing he wanted was for Yao Ziyang to shift in his seat and Dong Yingming to notice.
Inside the car, the atmosphere was warm and quiet.
Yao Ziyang looked out the window, admiring the cityscape sliding by, the way the leaves caught the light, filtering through them and the glass, the normalcy of it all. He watched as the trees blurred past.
"So pretty."
He murmured to himself, thinking;
'I should definitely start waking up early more often to see mornings like this… Nah, I'd still much prefer to sleep in.'
But Dong Yingming didn't look at the scenery.
He only looked at him.
Every blink. Every smile. Every flick of his platinum hair in the breeze from the car vents. Dong Yingming committed them to memory with a longing that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with obsession.
This being belonged to him.
And if the world wanted to tear them apart, Dong Yingming would burn it all down before letting that happen.