POTINS 26

After kicking Meng Chuan off the couch, Wen Zhongyi pushed himself up with the armrest and, red-faced with anger, gave Meng Chuan’s leg another kick before storming off to the bedroom and slamming the door shut with a bang.

Meng Chuan’s apologies were fruitless, so he tried other ways to win Wen Zhongyi over.

During dinner, he rubbed the gland at the back of his neck and deliberately released his pheromones in front of Wen Zhongyi, thinking it would draw out the omega’s natural instincts and make him come closer.

But he overdid it, accidentally releasing too much. Wen Zhongyi scolded him harshly, and he finally behaved.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t curse often, and the few times in his life he’d actually sworn had all been in front of Meng Chuan.

But saying he wasn’t in pain wasn’t entirely true.

The swelling and tenderness in his chest made it hard to talk about. He could only search online for ways to ease the discomfort.

These past few days, he didn’t even dare walk too fast or wear anything too tight. The slightest brush or bump would cause a sharp sting.

Still, having Meng Chuan help massage him was a line Wen Zhongyi couldn’t cross—not yet. Just imagining that scene made him feel suffocated.

Before bed, Wen Zhongyi used a hot towel for a warm compress, then followed the massage method the doctor had taught him and awkwardly rubbed for a few minutes.

Maybe Meng Chuan’s pheromones really did have a calming effect, because that night Wen Zhongyi actually slept quite well.

The heavy curtains were drawn tight, not letting a single ray of light in, so when Wen Zhongyi woke up, he thought it was still dark.

He lay there with his eyes open for a while. The house was completely silent, not a sound to be heard.

Wen Zhongyi blinked and suddenly remembered how, back in Sanka, every morning when he woke up, Meng Chuan would kiss his face and whisper, “Good morning.”

He used to find it unbearably clingy. Now, for some reason, he missed it.

Back then, Wen Zhongyi wasn’t used to sleeping with another person next to him. He always felt cramped and restricted, and sleeping alone was far more comfortable. Meng Chuan took up a lot of space and liked to wrap around him, making it hard to fall asleep.

He still remembered the first night they shared a bed. On that narrow bed, Wen Zhongyi tossed and turned, unable to stretch out his legs or arms.

In the end, he couldn’t take it anymore. He turned over in the dark and said, “Can you not sleep in this bed?”

Meng Chuan had paused for a second and asked, “Then where do you want me to sleep?”

At the time, they had already confirmed their relationship and were staying in a small inn with only one room left.

They hadn’t originally planned to just cuddle, but Wen Zhongyi had caught a cold and was feeling unwell, so Meng Chuan didn’t try anything—he just wanted to hold him and sleep.

But Wen Zhongyi wasn’t used to being held like that. He kept shifting positions, and in the end, buried his face in Meng Chuan’s neck and mumbled, “I can’t sleep.”

He didn’t know whether the insomnia was because of having someone beside him, or because that someone was Meng Chuan.

After all, when he was at military school, he often lived and slept alongside other omega classmates. During field training, cramming several people into one large bunk bed was nothing new.

So why was it that when Meng Chuan was beside him, he just couldn’t fall asleep?

Wen Zhongyi told Meng Chuan to move to the edge of the bed. Then he curled up in the middle with the blanket, tossing and turning for a while. Meng Chuan watched him in silence, then finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He yanked him into his arms and said in a low, threatening tone, “If you can’t sleep, we can do something else.”

Wen Zhongyi froze, then said, “Actually, I think I’m a little sleepy now.”

It didn’t take Wen Zhongyi long to go from not being used to someone beside him—to being completely at ease in Meng Chuan’s embrace. Maybe three or four nights, at most.

Not that there were many chances like that. Most of the time they were still living at the military base. Wen Zhongyi had his own quarters, and Meng Chuan shared a room with other alphas.

There were too many eyes at the base, and Wen Zhongyi didn’t want rumors, so they kept their distance in public.

After they got married and moved in together, Meng Chuan had a massive luxury bed installed in the bedroom, letting Wen Zhongyi sleep however he liked.

But by then, Wen Zhongyi’s favorite sleeping position was curled up in Meng Chuan’s arms, so the bed didn’t win much favor.

Soon enough, Wen Zhongyi figured out the real reason Meng Chuan bought the bed. He immediately ordered him to throw out all the ridiculous silver chains and handcuffs.

Meng Chuan, holding that clinking pile of stuff, protested with regret, “We haven’t even used them once! What a waste.”

With a faint blush on his face, Wen Zhongyi said sternly, “You’re never going to use them. Get rid of them now!”

So Meng Chuan reluctantly tossed them in front of him.

But just a few days later, Wen Zhongyi found the same items again at home—only now the silver chains had been swapped for gold.

In the end, Wen Zhongyi gave in.

He always had a soft spot for Meng Chuan.

At this point, the memories started drifting into territory too embarrassing to recall.

Wen Zhongyi forcefully cleared his mind, got out of bed, and pulled open the curtains. The bright light stung his eyes, and he raised a hand to block it.

The house was still quiet.

He went to the bathroom, then paused in front of the guest room and knocked.

No reply.

Wen Zhongyi turned the doorknob. The room was already empty.

Meng Chuan’s blanket and pajamas were messily piled on the bed. The sheets were all wrinkled, and Wen Zhongyi frowned in disapproval.

Clearly, all the good habits he’d instilled in Meng Chuan before had completely vanished.

Not wanting to be annoyed by what he saw, Wen Zhongyi closed the door. He’d intended to go cook some noodles, but passing the dining table, he found that Meng Chuan had already made him breakfast.

Beside it was a note, scrawled in Meng Chuan’s flamboyant handwriting: I went to work. If the food’s cold, heat it up. I already ordered lunch—it’ll be delivered to you on time.

But since Wen Zhongyi had woken up so late, only half an hour after eating breakfast, someone called him.

“Hello, Mr. Wen, I’m Mr. Meng’s secretary.” A young woman’s voice came from the other end. “Are you home right now?”

“I am,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

The secretary continued, “Here’s the thing, Mr. Wen. Mr. Meng asked me to help handle your identification documents. I need to bring you some materials, along with the lunch he ordered. If it’s convenient, I can deliver everything to you in one go.”

“Okay.” Wen Zhongyi thanked her politely. “Sorry to trouble you.”

The secretary arrived quickly, carrying a towering stack of lunch boxes and a folder. After entering the house, she said to Wen Zhongyi, “Mr. Meng asked me to let you know that from now on, a dedicated person will be delivering your lunch every day. If there’s anything in particular you’d like to eat, you can tell me in advance and I’ll arrange it.”

Wen Zhongyi was taken aback, then gave a small smile and said, “Alright.”

Getting an ID processed wasn’t exactly simple. The secretary gave him many instructions, and Wen Zhongyi made a note of them all.

After she left, he opened the somewhat excessive stack of lunch boxes—what was inside was practically a miniature Manchu-Han banquet. ¹A style of cooking and a type of grand banquet that combines elements of Manchu and Han’s Chinese cuisine developed in the Qing dynasty of China (1644–1912).

Wen Zhongyi messaged Meng Chuan: I can handle lunch myself. You don’t have to go through all this trouble.

Meng Chuan was probably busy; he replied after a while: It’s no trouble.

Wen Zhongyi: It’s too much. I can’t finish it.

Meng Chuan: Then I’ll get you less next time.

Wen Zhongyi was still typing when Meng Chuan sent another message: Alright, that’s enough chatter. I’ve got work to do. Be good and eat your food.

Wen Zhongyi’s gaze lingered for a few seconds on the words “be good,” then he pressed his lips together.

Figuring the CEO of a corporation must be extremely busy, Wen Zhongyi didn’t message him again.

But the lunch really was too much—no way he could finish it alone. He sent a message to Yang Jiaran asking if he wanted to come over and help.

Yang Jiaran just happened to be free and replied immediately: Sure! I’m coming over now!

He never came empty-handed. This time he brought over a whole load of snacks.

“Next time, don’t bring anything,” Wen Zhongyi said helplessly.

Yang Jiaran grinned. “I just picked some up on the way. Thought we could eat them together.”

The lunch was so rich and nourishing that Yang Jiaran ended up stuffed. After eating, he voluntarily cleaned up the table and went to the bathroom.

Neither of them had anything planned for the afternoon, so Wen Zhongyi turned on the TV, intending to pick a movie to watch with Yang Jiaran.

In the bathroom, as Yang Jiaran was washing his hands in front of the mirror, his eyes happened to glance up and land on a new set of toiletries on the shelf.

Toothbrush, toothpaste, rinsing cup, everything was there, placed side-by-side with Wen Zhongyi’s. The toothpaste cap wasn’t even closed properly, and the paste around the rim was still damp, clearly used that morning.

Yang Jiaran froze, then his mouth slowly rounded into an expression of stunned surprise.

Meanwhile, Wen Zhongyi was still indecisively browsing through sci-fi and suspense movies when the bathroom door suddenly swung open.

“Let’s go with suspense. Sci-fi’s always too far-fetched,” Wen Zhongyi said without looking up.

When he didn’t get a response, he looked up, confused, and met Yang Jiaran’s wide-eyed stare.

Wen Zhongyi tilted his head. “What is it?”

“Is someone else living here with you?” Yang Jiaran asked, eyes full of suspicion, and excitement.

Wen Zhongyi was stunned. He hadn’t expected him to notice so quickly.

Taking his silence as confirmation, Yang Jiaran’s curiosity surged. “Is it your partner?”

Wen Zhongyi cleared his throat. The word “partner” didn’t quite seem appropriate for describing Meng Chuan at the moment, so he said, “Roommate.”

“Roommate?”

Just as Yang Jiaran was about to ask more, the door suddenly opened with a loud bang.

Meng Chuan walked in dragging a suitcase. Without even noticing the extra pair of shoes by the door, he announced, “I went home to pack a few things. From now on I’m living here. Even if you try to kick me out, I’m not leaving. I’m the baby’s father—I’ve got to take care of both of you.”

In the living room, Yang Jiaran froze in place, looking like he’d been struck by lightning.

Staring at a face he’d seen countless times in financial news, he stammered, “M-Mr. Meng?”

Meng Chuan also hadn’t expected someone else to be in the house. He blinked and asked, “And who are you?”

“I-I-I… I’m Yang Jiaran,” he stuttered.

A strange silence fell over the room. Meng Chuan stood at the doorway, and Yang Jiaran stood stiffly in place. Both of them turned to look at Wen Zhongyi in unison.

Sitting on the sofa under their burning gazes, Wen Zhongyi sighed and covered his face.

He hadn’t expected things to unfold like this at all. After a moment of silence, he pinched the bridge of his nose and said to them, “Let’s sit down and talk.”

Meng Chuan promptly set down his suitcase, changed into house slippers, took off his coat, and was about to sit beside Wen Zhongyi—only to see Wen Zhongyi pat the seat next to him and say to Yang Jiaran, “Sit here, Jiaran.”

Meng Chuan paused, then sat on the smaller couch diagonally across from them.

Yang Jiaran, still in a daze, sat beside Wen Zhongyi. His mind kept replaying what Meng Chuan had just said.

The truth was clear as day. This so-called “roommate” was Meng Chuan. And he clearly wasn’t just a roommate, anyone could tell their relationship wasn’t ordinary.

But Yang Jiaran never would’ve guessed that Wen Zhongyi’s mysterious partner was Meng Chuan.

The crown prince of Huanyu Group, a major figure in the business world, was actually Wen Zhongyi’s lover?

And the one who married Wen Zhongyi and then forgot him… was him?

Realizing this, Yang Jiaran instinctively glanced at Meng Chuan—only to find the man staring at him rather unfriendly. Alarmed, Yang Jiaran quickly lowered his eyes and unconsciously scooted closer to Wen Zhongyi.

Wen Zhongyi still hadn’t figured out how to explain. He gave Yang Jiaran a calming pat on the arm and said, “Don’t worry. Let me think how to put it.”

Meng Chuan leaned back on the sofa with his arms crossed, chin slightly raised, gaze sweeping back and forth between the two of them.

“Here’s the thing, Jiaran.”

Wen Zhongyi finally sorted out his thoughts and gently said, “It’s a bit complicated to explain. Sorry for keeping it from you before. Meng Chuan is indeed the person I mentioned to you.”

Yang Jiaran leaned in and whispered, “So you really did marry him?”

“Yes.” Wen Zhongyi nodded.

Yang Jiaran blinked and suddenly understood. “So this apartment is his?”

“That’s right,” Wen Zhongyi replied.

Yang Jiaran let out an “oh,” the confusion in his heart finally resolved. Then he added, “But you just said he was your roommate.”

Wen Zhongyi gave a helpless smile. “Right now, he is my roommate.”

Yang Jiaran thought it over. That made sense, Meng Chuan didn’t even remember Wen Zhongyi. Living together didn’t exactly make them lovers. Calling him that would be a bit of a stretch.

The two of them leaned in close to whisper, but the room was so quiet that Meng Chuan could hear every word clearly.

His expression turned even more sour. “You’re calling me roommate now?”

Wen Zhongyi finally looked at him and retorted, “What else would I call you?”

Meng Chuan glanced at his belly, shrugged, and gave a look that said he couldn’t even be bothered to argue.

Yang Jiaran could sense that something was off, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. After staying quiet for a while, he couldn’t help but lower his voice and ask Wen Zhongyi, “What did he mean by ‘baby’s father’… Do you two have a child?”

His first guess was that “child” referred to some kind of pet, like a puppy or kitten. But he’d been to Wen Zhongyi’s place so many times and never seen any pets, which left him puzzled.

Wen Zhongyi had known he’d ask and sighed.

Yang Jiaran was a simple, straightforward person—it would’ve been easy to fool him.

But pregnancy wasn’t something that could be hidden for long. Unless Wen Zhongyi stopped seeing him altogether in the later stages, once he was showing, anyone would be able to tell.

And Wen Zhongyi didn’t want to keep lying to his friend. He decided to tell Yang Jiaran the truth.

“Prepare yourself mentally first,” he said, thinking back on Meng Chuan’s dramatic reaction. “What I’m about to say might challenge your understanding of reality.”

Yang Jiaran widened his eyes, sitting upright with full focus. “Go ahead.”

Wen Zhongyi exchanged a glance with Meng Chuan. The latter shook his head slightly in disapproval, but Wen Zhongyi looked away and continued.

“We do have a child,” he said.

Yang Jiaran didn’t get it at first. After a brief blank moment, he asked cautiously, “You mean… a person?”

“…What else would it be if not a person?” Wen Zhongyi said with a laugh.

Yang Jiaran scratched his nose. “Where’s the child then? I’ve never seen you bring them out.”

Wen Zhongyi smiled faintly. “In my belly.”

“…”

In the span of half an hour, Yang Jiaran had taken two devastating shocks and was now completely dumbfounded.

Former victim Meng Chuan couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter.

Back then, Wen Zhongyi had dropped the news on him like a bomb, leaving him charred inside and out and dazed for half a day. Now he wanted to see how this Yang Jiaran would react.

Wen Zhongyi glanced at Yang Jiaran and noticed that amid the shock on his face was a hint of… odd excitement?

“…?” Wen Zhongyi blinked.

He thought Yang Jiaran had been scared stiff. People in this world weren’t usually accepting of the idea that a man could get pregnant, so he was just about to explain—

When Yang Jiaran suddenly grinned.

“Zhongyi,” he said, barely able to contain his glee. His eyes stared fixedly at Wen Zhongyi’s still-flat stomach, sparkling with eager excitement. He asked in a hushed voice, “Are you a male omega?”

Wen Zhongyi: “…”

Meng Chuan: “…”

They turned to look at each other in sync, identical shock written in their eyes.

Wen Zhongyi hadn’t expected Yang Jiaran to guess it so accurately. “How did you know…”

“The novels were right all along!” Yang Jiaran practically shouted, thrilled. “I knew there were omegas in this world!”

This was far from the reaction Wen Zhongyi had imagined—he didn’t even know there were ABO novels in this world.

Yang Jiaran immediately opened his phone and pulled up one to show him. Wen Zhongyi skimmed a few pages, and for a moment, he couldn’t even describe what he was feeling.

Yang Jiaran then asked him a whole bunch of questions, which Wen Zhongyi answered a bit dazedly.

Having read widely, Yang Jiaran had a strong ability to accept the unexpected. He didn’t need much explanation and didn’t find it bizarre, if anything, he seemed delighted and excited.

All the while, Meng Chuan sat silently on the opposite couch.

He couldn’t get a word in, Wen Zhongyi and Yang Jiaran clearly spoke the same language now.

Eventually, Yang Jiaran noticed Meng Chuan’s increasingly dark expression and grew flustered. Avoiding his gaze, he whispered to Wen Zhongyi that he should probably leave.

Wen Zhongyi got up and walked him to the door. Just as Yang Jiaran stepped out, Meng Chuan called after him.

“What novel were you reading?”

Yang Jiaran paused, thought for a moment, and gave him the title.

“Oh.” Meng Chuan nodded coolly. “Take care.”

After he left, the room fell quiet again. Afternoon light gave everything a lazy warmth.

Wen Zhongyi sat back down and asked, “Have you eaten?”

“Now you ask,” Meng Chuan said flatly, leaning on the doorframe. “No. I’m starving.”

Something about his tone felt off. Wen Zhongyi said, “Jiaran brought some snacks. Want any?”

“No.” Meng Chuan looked at him. “How can you just trust him so easily? You even told him about the pregnancy. Aren’t you afraid he’ll blab to everyone?”

Wen Zhongyi frowned. “He’s not that kind of person.”

Meng Chuan took a deep breath and turned away haughtily. “I’m not eating his food.”

“Suit yourself.” Wen Zhongyi’s patience had worn thin. He got up. “I’m going to nap. Don’t bother me.”

“…”

Wen Zhongyi always took midday naps. Even if he had work or class, he’d find a place to sleep a little.

Meng Chuan was left alone in the living room.

He really hadn’t eaten—he’d rushed home after a business meeting, packed in a hurry, and hadn’t even caught his breath before hauling his suitcase over.

Only to walk in and see Yang Jiaran.

He’d seen Yang Jiaran’s name during his investigation into Wen Zhongyi but had written him off as just a friend. Now it seemed like they were practically attached at the hip.

What really got under Meng Chuan’s skin was how touchy Yang Jiaran was—and how Wen Zhongyi didn’t seem to mind.

That possessiveness must’ve been ingrained in his bones, amnesia hadn’t erased it one bit.

_____

Wen Zhongyi ended up sleeping for more than an hour. When he woke and stretched, his leg suddenly cramped.

He hadn’t had many pregnancy symptoms lately besides fatigue. The cramp took him by surprise, curling him up in pain.

He tried to massage it himself, but it didn’t help. Still aching, he couldn’t help but call out, “Meng Chuan!”

The next second, Meng Chuan burst in through the door.

Barefoot, he’d leapt off the sofa without even putting on slippers, looking like he was rushing into battle. “What happened?!”

“My leg cramped,” Wen Zhongyi hissed through clenched teeth.

“Let me help.”

Meng Chuan sat on the bed, gently took hold of his ankle, and placed his leg across his own thigh, carefully massaging it.

Wen Zhongyi’s calf was slim and pale, with not a trace of hair. His skin was smooth and warm to the touch.

Meng Chuan rubbed his calf in silence, his expression shifting strangely.

Wen Zhongyi tried to focus on the relief, but soon he caught the increasingly thick scent of bitter coffee in the air.

Meng Chuan’s pheromones were soothing to him, and in moderation, they were helpful. But too much turned them into an aphrodisiac.

As the scent grew heavier, Wen Zhongyi finally snapped. “What are you thinking about now?!”

Meng Chuan jumped, his grip slipping. Wen Zhongyi winced, his cheek flushing under the blanket, his watery gaze full of restrained frustration.

“Let go,” Wen Zhongyi growled through gritted teeth.

Meng Chuan swallowed and released his calf. “I wasn’t thinking anything…”

Wen Zhongyi didn’t want to hear it. He lifted his leg and kicked Meng Chuan in the knee.

Not only did Meng Chuan refuse to leave, he even shamelessly scooted closer, trying to massage him again.

Wen Zhongyi glared warily. “What are you doing? My leg’s fine now. Get lost.”

He lay on the dark gray bedsheet, his features sharp and handsome, hair and clothes slightly messy, body still warm from sleep.

Meng Chuan stared, his throat going dry. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Have I ever marked you?”

“…What?”

“I read that novel.” Meng Chuan stared at him intently. “It said alphas can mark omegas.”

Wen Zhongyi turned his head away and muttered a reluctant “Mm.”

Meng Chuan quoted dutifully, “A temporary mark involves biting the gland and injecting pheromones. A permanent mark involves injecting pheromones and—”

“That’s enough,” Wen Zhongyi cut him off. “Stop talking.”

“Is it true?” Meng Chuan asked eagerly, like a student hungry for knowledge.

Wen Zhongyi stared at him, deadpan. “No.”

“I don’t believe you. You never told me any of this,” Meng Chuan said, inching forward again. “The book also said omegas go into heat—”

“…”

Wen Zhongyi saw him getting dangerously close, sat up and furiously chucked a pillow at him. “After getting pregnant there’s no heat, you idiot! Now get out!”

• 1
  A style of cooking and a type of grand banquet that combines elements of Manchu and Han’s Chinese cuisine developed in the Qing dynasty of China (1644–1912).