When it came to temporary marking, President Huo had no creativity at all.
Liang Xiao slumped over the back of a chair, his shirt collar slipping down to his shoulders, letting the alcohol-soaked cotton ball chill the nape of his neck as it made circles. He silently chanted the mantra of “five hundred thousand yuan” to calm his heart and clear his mind.
A single bite earned him 100,000 yuan. Nothing else was required. When he took on this private gig, it was purely to squeeze some money out of this easy target.
But he hadn’t expected Huo Lan to be such a prime example of one.
With the allure of half a million yuan, even the image of President Huo carefully sanitizing his gland with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball using tweezers unexpectedly appeared cute.
“Those trending searches, Xingguan’s PR department will take care of them,” Huo Lan stated firmly, pressing Liang Xiao in place. His deep voice sounded from just behind Liang Xiao’s ear, “Don’t—”
“Don’t get any ideas, and don’t make trouble,” Liang Xiao recited smoothly, showing his familiarity with the script. “This is purely business, a mutual exchange of needs. Take the money and leave quietly.”
Huo Lan fell silent and didn’t waste any more words.
Liang Xiao, focused solely on that 500,000 yuan, discreetly pulled out his phone and sent a message to Duan Ming, telling him to check the account balance. As soon as the money arrived, it should be transferred away immediately.
To be fair, Liang Xiao hadn’t really expected Huo Lan to shoulder the blame on behalf of Xingguan.
Both of them had been caught off guard that day, but ultimately, it was his own carelessness that had allowed the paparazzi to catch him red-handed.
After all, with the barebones resources of a 17th-tier artist and an unremarkable manager, they were essentially a makeshift team. Early in his career, he’d been able to generate some gossip, but after a quick rise and an even quicker fall, he was so irrelevant that he couldn’t even pay marketing accounts to cover him anymore.
The kind of irrelevance where paparazzi, if they accidentally took his picture, would delete it just to save storage space.
Who could have imagined fortunes would change?
Half a million was no small sum. His manager’s messages, riddled with question marks and exclamation points, bombarded his phone. Just as Liang Xiao was about to reassure Duan Ming that he hadn’t actually compromised his integrity and was still clean, the arm around his shoulders tightened.
“Focus,” Huo Lan ordered.
“Don’t worry,” Liang Xiao reassured, one hand still typing on his phone as he turned to soothe him. “As long as you don’t bite too hard, I won’t lose control of my pheromones—”
Huo Lan’s pheromones, combined with his imposing aura, created a palpable sense of “winter has arrived.”
Liang Xiao shut his mouth and obediently leaned forward.
It was only on the first day he was brought here that Liang Xiao learned about Huo Lan’s condition.
Huo Lan was a rare mutant alpha.
On the surface, these alphas seemed no different from ordinary people, but they periodically experienced uncontrollable pheromone outbursts. Only through regular temporary marking with a perfectly compatible omega could their pheromones be stabilized.
For special variant alphas, the intensity and duration of their pheromone outbursts are unpredictable.
In mild cases, it’s just pheromones leaking out, which can be managed with inhibitors. But in severe cases, they might completely lose their rationality under the impact and have no memory of what they did during the episode.
The last time Huo Lan’s condition flared up, it happened abruptly. Liang Xiao, distracted and playing a mobile game, had let his guard down and was also triggered into losing control.
Of course, during such situations, President Huo wouldn’t allow anyone to stay in the room—not bodyguards, not even the butler.
In that enclosed space, it was just the two of them, both losing control of their pheromones.
Liang Xiao was on the bed. Huo Lan was on top of him.
Biting his neck.
According to the butler, their esteemed President Huo had nearly lost his innocence.
“Done.”
There was a faint sting at the back of Liang Xiao’s neck before Huo Lan released him and stood up. “You can go now.”
Liang Xiao froze. “Huh?”
“The marking is complete.” Huo Lan didn’t even glance at him and turned away coldly. “I’ll contact you next time.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
He suspected that President Huo might have some lingering trauma about his “almost-lost innocence.”
“President Huo.” Liang Xiao propped himself up on the chair and began to explain. “A temporary marking involves the alpha biting the omega’s gland, extracting a small amount of the omega’s information source, and injecting their own pheromones to leave a mark that will gradually weaken until it disappears.”
Huo Lan frowned. “I know.”
“What you just gave me was a bite mark.”
…
President Huo’s pheromones alone created an atmosphere of death.
“This doesn’t count as a temporary marking,” Liang Xiao pointed out patiently, despite the freezing winds metaphorically blowing from Huo Lan’s pheromones. “It essentially means the outburst hasn’t been suppressed at all this time.”
Liang Xiao, still having some professional integrity, took the money and sought to resolve the issue. He explained, “If there’s another unexpected outburst and I’m not around, you could end up in serious trouble.”
Special variant alphas are vastly different from regular alphas. They require an extremely high compatibility match for any marking, even for temporary ones, let alone permanent marks.
If they were to mark an incompatible omega during an outburst, it could result in severe harm to both parties.
Liang Xiao laid back down, thoughtfully encouraging President Huo. “Don’t worry. It’s just one bite.”
Liang Xiao had always known his place. This time, he didn’t even play with his phone, turning off the screen and tossing it aside. He stayed perfectly still, professionally treating himself as a human-shaped pillow.
After half a minute, the weighty pressure enveloped him again.
Liang Xiao held his breath and closed his eyes.
Omegas like him who have been single since birth, Liang Xiao had always relied on inhibitors and wristbands to deal with any omega-specific issues. Before meeting Huo Lan, he had never been temporarily marked by anyone. His entire understanding of the process came from a one-gigabyte folder of steamy romance novels compressed on his phone.
Saying he wasn’t nervous would be a lie.
But he couldn’t back down.
On one hand, his manager required him to maintain a specific public persona. On the other hand, within this complicated transactional relationship, he held a fairly significant responsibility.
The butler had mentioned when recruiting him that Huo Lan had relied on inhibitors for a long time. However, prolonged use was ultimately harmful to the body, and Huo Lan’s recent outbursts were becoming more severe due to increasing tolerance. That was why he had no choice but to register and find a compatible omega.
In other words, despite being a textbook—or even high-end—example of a domineering president, Huo Lan’s experience with temporary markings was probably limited to their previous sessions.
Faced with a cold, fastidious individual like Huo Lan, Liang Xiao felt that someone like him—a seasoned reader with a wealth of theoretical knowledge—had to maturely and patiently take the lead as the guide between the two of them.
…His heartbeat was a little fast.
Liang Xiao quietly drew a breath, exhaling slowly so as not to alert Huo Lan.
Unlike the vivid promises in those novels, the reality of a temporary marking was far from pleasant. It hurt quite a bit, with the extraction of his information source and the injection of pheromones both being uncomfortable.
Especially during Huo Lan’s last unexpected outburst.
The overwhelming and sharp alpha pheromones had erupted explosively, far beyond what anyone could handle. By the time the butler realized something was wrong, Liang Xiao’s gland was on the verge of being bitten through. He was nearly wrecked, barely able to stand when he left the Huo family estate.
President Huo, after receiving an emergency sedative, had passed out on the spot—otherwise, the consequences could have been even worse.
With his eyes closed, Liang Xiao silently repeated his mantra, 100,000 per bite, for the seventeenth time. The back of his neck tingled with a faint pain again.
He had to admit, Huo Lan’s ability to learn was exceptional.
The pain didn’t last long. The cool, crisp pheromones belonging to Huo Lan brushed against his gland, settling over it steadily and thoroughly. After a few seconds of adjustment, they merged with his information source, forming a distinct temporary mark with a strong presence.
Huo Lan released him and stood up.
Liang Xiao was still recovering, repeating 100,000 per bite half a time more. When he finally opened his eyes, President Huo was already seated back at his desk.
Calm.
Cold.
An emotionless biting machine.
“Pleasure working with you.”
Liang Xiao dressed himself, pulling his shirt collar up to tightly conceal the gland on the back of his neck. With one hand, he buttoned up his shirt. “President Huo, if there’s nothing else, I’ll just—”
“You’re right,” Huo Lan said.
Liang Xiao struggled to follow the train of thought common to presidents. “About what?”
“If I lose control,” Huo Lan looked up, his cold gaze falling on Liang Xiao, “it’ll be very dangerous if you’re not there.”
Liang Xiao thought back carefully, trying to remember which part of the conversation that line came from. “You might be a bit slow in processing that.”
“…” Huo Lan didn’t reply. Pressing his right hand against his temple, he scanned through a stack of files related to the filing of a new drama series. “You’ll join the team next week. Get ready.”
Liang Xiao blinked.
Huo Lan selected a document, held it out without looking up, and only when no one accepted it did his gaze return to Liang Xiao.
Liang Xiao, still gripping his collar, looked at the high-quality, obviously well-invested drama file and couldn’t help but reflect: Does this count as an unspoken rule?
After all, a strictly professional relationship had suddenly taken on a subtle shift.
It has progressed to the point where resources have been provided.
Liang Xiao pondered for two seconds, then recovered his stance and offered a polite smile. “President Huo, you might’ve forgotten—I’m with Longtao Entertainment.”
President Huo raised his eyes, his aura shaping a silent ‘So what?’
“There’s a rumor.” Liang Xiao smiled, buttoning the last two buttons on his shirt with one hand before pushing the file back. “Our boss and Xingguan have a grudge. It’s not ideal.”
He suspected Huo Lan was trying to compensate him for what happened last time. After a moment of thought, he added, “Both parties were at fault for the breach of contract last time. You covering the compensation is more than enough. Besides, my schedule is a bit tight—”
“My pheromones have been very unstable lately,” Huo Lan interrupted.
Liang Xiao paused.
“If there’s another incident,” Huo Lan continued, “I’ll need you there.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Good thing their relationship was purely professional.
Otherwise, if a paparazzo overheard this and released the recording, just the phrasing alone could have him trending on social media in no time.
“Joining a Xingguan Entertainment makes it easy for me to reach you,” Huo Lan said.
Liang Xiao cleared his throat, dispelling his wandering thoughts. “Even if I don’t join, you can still reach me anytime.”
After all, his most substantial source of income and primary work recently was showing up regularly for Huo Lan to take a bite.
The rest of his time was mostly spent being a stand-in for various productions—whether as a literary double, stunt double, lighting double, back double, or leg double.
Easily reachable.
Highly mobile.
Huo Lan studied him for a moment. “I’ll handle the issue with Longtao’s president for you.”
“No need,” Liang Xiao replied, self-reliant. “It’s not a serious problem—I can handle it myself.”
“Xingguan will assign a team,” Huo Lan said.
“No need,” Liang Xiao maintained his contentment with his current state. “My current team is more than enough.”
“Modern literary drama.”
Modern literary dramas didn’t require ancient costumes, avoided horseback riding and battle scenes, and steered clear of explosive special effects. They were also more sophisticated than contemporary dramas. As long as they passed review and maintained quality, they were the most sought-after genre for actors.
“No need.” Liang Xiao shook his head with a smile, resolute in his integrity. “You’re too kind.”
“Advance payment upon joining the production,” Huo Lan said. “Immediate settlement. Three million.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
