POTINS 6

“It’s just an old book the store didn’t want. The owner gave it to me,” Wen Zhongyi quickly offered a reasonable explanation.

Yang Jiaran frowned in confusion. “But why are you taking it so seriously? You even made notes.”

Wen Zhongyi walked over and calmly took the book from his hands. “I was bored. Had nothing to do, so I flipped through a few pages. You still want these skewers? If not, I’ll clean up.”

“Ah…” Yang Jiaran glanced at the cover showing a heavily pregnant woman. Something still felt off, but he was quickly distracted by Wen Zhongyi moving to clear the table. “Hey, don’t toss it—I’m not done yet.”

Wen Zhongyi stopped and casually shoved the book between the radiator fins. “You should cut back on that junk food,” he said. “It’s not good for you.”

Every time he said that, Yang Jiaran would argue with him. This time was no different.

“I don’t eat it all the time. And I’m so sick of the cafeteria food at school. Once in a while won’t kill me.”

His idea of “once in a while” was three to four times a week. Wen Zhongyi smiled faintly and turned to pour him a glass of warm water.

After finishing the skewers, Yang Jiaran left—he had a part-time shift at the convenience store.

Wen Zhongyi pulled the book out from behind the radiator and brushed the dust off the cover.

He’d bought it just yesterday. He thought it was thorough and wanted to read it carefully.

No one had told him how to care for the child growing inside him. He could only rely on himself.

The book said the early stages of pregnancy were fragile and prone to miscarriage. Rest was crucial, as was folic acid supplementation. So Wen Zhongyi planned to buy folic acid tablets after work tomorrow.

The early pregnancy symptoms described matched his own nearly exactly. But aside from that, as an omega, Wen Zhongyi could distinctly feel his body’s instinctive craving for alpha pheromones.

It was an uncontrollable, primal longing.

He closed the book and, inevitably, thought of Meng Chuan again.

His ability to accept that Meng Chuan had forgotten him was now about 60%. So when he recalled their past, it wasn’t as gut-wrenching, though his chest still tightened—like fine threads winding tighter and tighter around his heart.

Meng Chuan had received his alpha gland implant during the second year of the war.

Before that, he had witnessed twice how badly Wen Zhongyi suffered during his heat.

The first time was in winter.

Wen Zhongyi was leading two squads on an assault mission.

No one had expected there was a traitor in the ranks.

The ambush hit squarely, and in the chaos, Meng Chuan dragged Wen Zhongyi out of the crossfire. They took refuge in a tightly sealed underground room.

Wen Zhongyi had been shot in the shoulder, blood gushing like a broken dam. Meng Chuan tore his own clothes to wrap the wound and whispered to him, “Don’t be scared, I’m here. We’ll be okay.”

The gunfire outside went on for a long time.

Then came a dead silence.

Wen Zhongyi’s face was deathly pale. His voice was a faint whisper: “…Inhibitor… give me the inhibitor…”

“What?” Meng Chuan leaned in, confused. The heat of Wen Zhongyi’s breath hit his face, and only then did he understand what he meant.

As someone who had crossed over from another world, Meng Chuan didn’t fully understand an omega’s physiology. He only knew inhibitors suppressed heat—but didn’t know what heat really entailed.

Until now.

Without an inhibitor, Wen Zhongyi was at the mercy of his biology. He curled up, the pain from the bullet wound and the searing heat inside him threatening to tear him apart. His bloodless face turned flushed, his tightly pressed lips reddened, and his usually clear gaze was overtaken by raw desire—no trace of calm or control remained.

He’d clearly taken an inhibitor before leaving. It was now obvious the traitor had tampered with it.

Overwhelmed by the heat, Wen Zhongyi struggled to breathe. He bit down on his lip, shutting his eyes in desperation and helplessness.

It was the first time Meng Chuan had ever seen an omega in heat. And the first time he’d seen Wen Zhongyi look so fragile, so undone.

He gently wiped the tears from the corners of Wen Zhongyi’s eyes and eased his bleeding lip free. “What should I do to help you?” he asked.

But there wasn’t much he could do. As a beta, he couldn’t mark him or provide pheromonal relief.

Wen Zhongyi was still wounded, so Meng Chuan, careful not to hurt him further, simply unfastened his pants and helped relieve the unbearable pressure.

In the end, Wen Zhongyi collapsed in his arms, completely spent.

“I’m sorry,” Meng Chuan had said to him.

The second time was six months later.

Sanka was not yet independent, and the country was embroiled in constant political strife. The Wen family had fallen from power, and Wen Zhongyi was accused of collaborating with the enemy.

After he led a successful mission to reclaim a city from enemy control, the provisional government arrested him on fabricated charges and threw him in prison. His command was taken over by others.

His soldiers refused to obey the new leadership, but it was useless.

On the fourth day of Wen Zhongyi’s imprisonment, Meng Chuan came to break him out.

Disguised as a prison guard, he coordinated with teammates on the inside and successfully smuggled Wen Zhongyi out of the prison.

They couldn’t return to the army. Instead, they had to flee across borders, seeking shelter in another country.

On the road, while staying at a rundown motel, Wen Zhongyi’s heat struck. He’d only brought suppressive patches with him—no inhibitors.

Luckily, this time things were better. Meng Chuan managed to find an inhibitor quickly and returned in time.

When he entered the room, Wen Zhongyi was reclining against the bed, shirt still neat, legs bare beneath a thin blanket. He hadn’t expected Meng Chuan to return so quickly, and his body flinched as he hastily pulled his hand away.

Meng Chuan froze, his gaze flickering for a second.

He never claimed to be a saint—and his feelings for Wen Zhongyi had long since grown impure—but the timing was wrong.

It took every ounce of restraint he had to keep himself from taking advantage of the situation.

“I got the inhibitor,” Meng Chuan said, placing it beside Wen Zhongyi. “I’ll wait outside.”

His voice was calm as ever. He gently closed the door behind him, lit a cigarette in the hallway, and silently exhaled into the cold air.

At the time, Wen Zhongyi felt like he had lost all dignity in front of Meng Chuan.

From military academy to becoming a colonel, he had never suffered such humiliation.

Except for those two times.

And both times, Meng Chuan had been there.

Afterward, they carried on as if nothing had happened.

Wen Zhongyi remained the aloof, unapproachable Colonel Wen, and Meng Chuan stayed his usual carefree self.

But something had changed.

Their eyes would meet, then part too quickly. A simple touch would make their hearts race. The smallest injury on one of them would draw a frown from the other.

After the civil unrest calmed, Wen Zhongyi returned to the military.

Meng Chuan didn’t go with him.

“I have something else to take care of,” Meng Chuan said.

Wen Zhongyi didn’t understand what business he could have in a foreign country, but he trusted him and simply said, “Come back soon.”

When they met again, Meng Chuan had already become an alpha, his pheromones tinged with bitter coffee. He grinned at Wen Zhongyi and said, “The other scents were awful—milk, floral crap—this was the only one that smelled halfway decent. Not bad, right?”

He tilted his neck proudly to show off the gland on the back of it. “If the doctor hadn’t forced me to stay in the hospital, I’d have been back sooner.”

It was only later that Wen Zhongyi learned the alpha gland implantation was a high-risk procedure. Even though Meng Chuan had chosen the best hospital, he was still in a coma for a week afterward.

His body had burned with fever the entire time. If he hadn’t been so tough, he might not have made it.

Wen Zhongyi had stared at him quietly for a moment, then, in front of all their subordinates, pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” he said.

Meng Chuan chuckled softly, resting his chin on Wen Zhongyi’s shoulder—and for the first time, caught the scent of Wen Zhongyi’s pheromones.

Elegant and noble, the most beautiful rose scent he’d ever known.

Even now, Wen Zhongyi could remember exactly what Meng Chuan had worn that day, how bright his smile had been.

He never asked why Meng Chuan had decided to become an alpha—because the answer was obvious.

Night had fallen. Wen Zhongyi didn’t let himself stay in those memories for too long.

Just as he was about to turn off the light, his phone lit up with a low battery warning.

He sat up, plugged it in, and instinctively swiped away the pop-up—then suddenly froze.

A news alert from a local media outlet flashed on screen. The headline was long, but a few key words jumped out at him—

[Huanyu Group’s Current Acting CEO, Meng Chuan]

He opened the article and read through it, slowly piecing things together—realizing, finally, that the “Huanyu heir” Yang Jiaran had mentioned… was Meng Chuan.

In the photo, Meng Chuan wore a crisp suit—nothing like his military uniform—but the casual arrogance in his expression was just as familiar.

Wen Zhongyi stared at the screen for a while, then awkwardly saved the picture and turned off his phone before switching off the light.

Meanwhile, on the top floor of the brightly lit Huanyu Tower, Meng Chuan tossed his black carbon pen aside and let out a long breath.

If he could go back, he’d never have agreed to leave the military just because his parents guilt-tripped him. Being some corporate CEO, reading stacks of meaningless documents every day—it was driving him insane. He’d rather be back in the army.

But it was too late for regrets.

His tall figure reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows, silhouetted in the night. The only sound in the office was the hum of the air conditioning.

Soon, the rhythmic click of high heels echoed down the hallway and stopped at the door.

“Mr. Meng,” his secretary called, stepping inside. “The files you requested.”

She placed a folder on the desk. Meng Chuan rubbed his temples. “Thanks. Head home and rest.”

“Of course, Mr. Meng.” She smiled. “Then I’ll take my leave. You should rest too.”

“Mm.” He nodded, then suddenly remembered something. “Right—how’s the search going for that person I asked about?”

The secretary shook her head gently. “Sorry, Mr. Meng. We haven’t been able to find any information on Mr. Wen.”

Meng Chuan frowned. “Nothing at all?”

“We’ve already contacted professionals, but it’s as if Mr. Wen appeared out of thin air. There’s no identity record, no background information—nothing.”

Meng Chuan was silent for a few seconds. “…Got it.”

After she left, he lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed.

“Wen Zhongyi…” The man’s sharp, graceful features surfaced in his mind.

A strange feeling spread from deep in his chest—like something trapped inside his memory was struggling to break free… only to vanish again.