POTINS 20

It snowed lightly that Friday.

The first snowfall of the winter arrived silently in the middle of the night.

Due to the effects of pregnancy hormones, Wen Zhongyi had become increasingly drowsy. But the cold, damp weather made his knees ache terribly, and he couldn’t sleep well.

He hadn’t stepped outside all day. In the afternoon, Yang Jiaran called to ask why he hadn’t gone to class.

Yang Jiaran had a classmate in the architecture department who he got along with decently. Wen Zhongyi always paid close attention in class and stood out with his looks, so quite a few people in the department had noticed him.

But Wen Zhongyi always kept to himself. When others tried to add him on WeChat, he always politely declined, only Yang Jiaran could reach him.

With a blanket and hot water bottle over his legs, Wen Zhongyi leaned against the headboard and gazed at the falling snow outside the window. “It’s snowing. I don’t feel like going out.”

Yang Jiaran didn’t understand. “Snow is fun! The school track is packed with people. I wanted to play in the snow with you!”

“Play with your classmates,” Wen Zhongyi said.

Yang Jiaran keenly picked up on the fatigue in his voice. “Zhongyi, are you not feeling well?”

“I’m okay. Just a little tired,” Wen Zhongyi said. “Wear more layers when you go out. Don’t catch a cold.”

The snow wasn’t heavy, sparse, like willow catkins drifting down.

Wen Zhongyi walked over to the window and glanced out. A thin layer of snow had accumulated on the windowsill. Everything downstairs was a blanket of white, it looked like the world had been painted in a single color.

As a few flakes drifted in through the window, Meng Chuan shivered.

The window hadn’t been shut properly and had blown open in the wind.

Meng Chuan didn’t want to get out of bed, so he wrapped himself more tightly in the blankets, curling up completely inside.

It was warm under the covers, but his limbs felt alternately cold and hot, no matter how he lay, he couldn’t get comfortable.

This unexplained fever had started three days ago. Now it was the fourth day, and Meng Chuan remained stuck in a state of low-grade fever.

That morning he had flown home, and since then he’d done nothing but lie in bed. He hadn’t eaten a thing and had smoked half a pack of cigarettes.

Zhou Lu had called to ask if he was coming home for dinner, but he’d said no.

He was starting to suspect that he’d caught some bizarre and dangerous virus—why else would the fever medication not work?

In the end, he couldn’t take it anymore and got up to shut the window.

The wind and snow were cut off, and the room went so quiet he could hear his own breathing.

Meng Chuan took a deep breath and instinctively reached up to touch the bump on the back of his neck. It was still swollen and burning. He could faintly sense that bitter coffee scent emanating from that very spot.

Just as the low fever threatened to drag him into unconsciousness, his phone rang.

Meng Chuan reached a hand out from the covers, pried his eyes open to check the caller ID, and paused slightly before answering.

He didn’t say anything. His slightly heavy breathing came through the receiver and reached Wen Zhongyi’s ears.

Meng Chuan’s susceptibility period was at the beginning of the month. Wen Zhongyi had always remembered that date.

During their susceptibility period, alphas became irritable, sensitive, and clingy. Without inhibitors or the comfort of omega pheromones, an alpha would fall into a state of low fever and heat, which lasted about seven days.

In the past, every time it came around, Meng Chuan would cling to Wen Zhongyi, demanding to be held and soothed, refusing to take inhibitors no matter what.

But in this world, there were no inhibitors. If Meng Chuan wanted to get through this, it would either have to be by sheer willpower or by relying on Wen Zhongyi.

Before making the call, Wen Zhongyi had hesitated for several minutes, but in the end, he couldn’t let it go.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly. “Is it really bad?”

Meng Chuan lay on his back with his eyes closed, the phone resting on the pillow beside him. After a pause, he mumbled, “…How did you know I was feeling bad?”

His voice was faint and weak, like someone speaking in a dream, none of the usual cocky sharpness.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “How long has it been?”

There was silence on the other end as Meng Chuan seemed to process the question. After a while, he said, “Three or four days, I think. Can’t remember.”

The past few days had been a haze for him. He’d forced himself to deal with work with the last of his strength, and now he was barely holding on.

“Am I mutating or something? Why won’t the fever go away?” Meng Chuan let out a soft sigh. The rising heat inside made his voice sound hoarse. “If this keeps up, I’m going to fry my brain and turn into an idiot.”

A faint smile crept into Wen Zhongyi’s voice. “You were already an idiot.”

The snow outside had started falling harder, with faint crackling sounds. Meng Chuan opened his eyes and glanced toward the window, only to realize it was almost dark.

The antipyretic he’d taken earlier hadn’t worked at all. Instead, the fever had grown more intense, raging uncontrollably.

He turned over and curled up, pressing his knees to his empty stomach. His chin rested on the phone screen, and the breath he exhaled fogged up the name displayed there.

“Wen Zhongyi,” Meng Chuan murmured, his lips brushing against the receiver. He closed his eyes again and said, “I feel awful.”

Wen Zhongyi tightened his grip on the phone and asked, “Where are you right now?”

Meng Chuan was barely coherent. “In bed…”

“…Are you at home?” Wen Zhongyi asked again patiently.

“Mhm,” Meng Chuan mumbled.

“Tell me your address.”

Only a few people knew Meng Chuan’s private address, he disliked being disturbed. But with Wen Zhongyi, he let his guard down, and slowly recited the address.

Wen Zhongyi changed clothes, grabbed an umbrella, and went downstairs to catch a cab.

The snowy roads were slippery, so the car drove slowly. Sitting in the backseat, Wen Zhongyi gently rubbed his knee.

Meng Chuan’s place wasn’t far—it looked close to his company on the map. After a little over twenty minutes, Wen Zhongyi got out of the car.

He opened his umbrella and carefully made his way through the snow.

Wen Zhongyi hated rainy and snowy days. He hated going out in that kind of weather. He hated the feeling of wet shoes.

But he couldn’t just let Meng Chuan suffer alone.

Even if Meng Chuan didn’t remember him anymore, even if he had done so many things that disappointed him—even if he’d harshly hung up on him just days before—Wen Zhongyi would still brave wind and snow to come to him.

After checking in at the security office, he went upstairs and took the elevator. Standing at Meng Chuan’s front door, he called again.

Half-asleep, Meng Chuan picked up and grumbled, “You’re so annoying, Wen Zhongyi…”

Standing right outside, Wen Zhongyi snapped, “You’re annoying too. What’s your front door code?”

There was a pause. Meng Chuan, dazed, asked in disbelief, “You’re here?”

“No shit.” Wen Zhongyi held the phone in one hand and blew warm air onto the other, urging, “Hurry up and tell me the code.”

Just as he finished speaking, the door clicked, unlocked from the inside.

Meng Chuan grabbed the handle and opened the door, revealing Wen Zhongyi standing outside.

The phone was still in his hand. He was wearing a black overcoat, the same one Meng Chuan had never taken back.

The snow outside must’ve been heavy, because Wen Zhongyi was covered in flakes. His hair was windswept, his face pale, and the tip of his nose was tinged red. He looked frozen.

Meng Chuan stared at him, blinking dazedly.

Wen Zhongyi hung up and met his gaze. He stepped forward, his dark eyes fixed on him. “You’re not going to let me in?”

It was only then that Meng Chuan snapped out of it and moved aside, leaving room for him to enter.

Wen Zhongyi placed the umbrella by the wall, changed shoes, and took off his coat. The heating in the room was strong, and his chilled body soon warmed up.

But it wasn’t just the heat. The bitter-coffee scent of information pheromones was so intense it made Wen Zhongyi catch his breath.

His omega gland reacted involuntarily, releasing his own pheromones.

Meng Chuan, following behind him, sniffed subconsciously and drifted closer. “Why do you smell so good?”

The usual rose scent that always tugged at his heartstrings was now utterly intoxicating, like a long-awaited antidote. The unbearable discomfort in his body suddenly eased.

Wen Zhongyi checked his temperature again, then poured two glasses of hot water. He handed one to Meng Chuan and said, “Drink this, your lips are all cracked.”

Meng Chuan obediently drained the glass, licked his lips, and stared straight at Wen Zhongyi.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t even look at him. He glanced at the thermometer, his fever had risen. If it didn’t come down, he really might fry his brain.

He didn’t want his child to have a father who was brain-damaged. Wen Zhongyi lifted his chin and said, “Go lie down in the bedroom.”

Meng Chuan didn’t want to leave him. “Are you coming too?”

“No,” Wen Zhongyi replied heartlessly.

After pushing Meng Chuan into the bedroom, Wen Zhongyi thought for a moment and brought in the coat he’d taken off for him to use as a blanket.

The coat carried Wen Zhongyi’s scent. Meng Chuan wrapped all his limbs around it, wishing he could crawl inside.

When Wen Zhongyi entered the bedroom with a damp towel, Meng Chuan had already fallen into a drowsy sleep.

He was clutching the coat tightly. As Wen Zhongyi approached, Meng Chuan instinctively shifted closer.

Wen Zhongyi straightened his body, placed one towel on his forehead, and used the other to wipe his neck.

His alpha gland was flushed and burning. When Wen Zhongyi’s fingertips brushed it, Meng Chuan inhaled sharply and reflexively grabbed his wrist.

Even in his sleep, his grip was iron-strong. It hurt, and Wen Zhongyi frowned. “Meng Chuan, let go.”

But Meng Chuan didn’t. He pulled Wen Zhongyi’s wrist closer, pressing it to his face.

“You…” Wen Zhongyi was about to pull away when Meng Chuan turned slightly and rubbed the inside of his wrist with the tip of his nose.

Wen Zhongyi’s eyes trembled. Before he could react, a sharp pain shot through his wrist—Meng Chuan had bitten him.

“You bit me again? What are you, a damn dog?” Wen Zhongyi scowled in pain and pried Meng Chuan’s fingers open with force, managing to pull his hand free with difficulty.

A row of teeth marks and a red bruise marred his pale skin.

Furious, Wen Zhongyi grabbed his arm in retaliation and was just about to bite back when Meng Chuan suddenly hooked an arm around his neck.

He was too strong, and Wen Zhongyi was caught completely off guard—everything spun in an instant.

The next thing he knew, he was pinned down under Meng Chuan on the bed.