The elevator stopped with a “ding” as the doors slid open.
After being hit four days ago and suddenly developing a concussion, President Huo maintained a steady posture, bypassing Liang Xiao, who was still standing in the corner, and walked straight out of the elevator.
Liang Xiao shook off his “Call to Arms” moment and regained his composure under the cover of his mask.
The housekeeper had clearly promised to keep it a secret.
Although, if Huo Lan really pressed for answers, probably no one could hold up under the pressure. Still, the truth had come out far too quickly.
Maybe Huo Lan suddenly noticed this morning that his head wasn’t as perfectly round as before.
Feeling slightly melancholic, Liang Xiao pushed his sunglasses back onto his face.
He thought, in hindsight, he should have chosen a safer method to strike. But the situation had been too urgent at the time, and who would have thought medical knowledge could wield such power?
The three million yuan he had just earned hadn’t even had time to warm his pockets, and now it might end up being spent on medical compensation.
Standing in the corner, Liang Xiao braced himself mentally. He noticed a shift in the ambient light as the elevator doors, midway through closing, were suddenly stopped by a hand.
Liang Xiao’s gaze followed the hand upwards. His eyes lingered for two seconds before landing on the well-defined, powerful arm beneath the tailored suit of the top-tier alpha.
“Huo… President Huo.” Liang Xiao, quick-witted, flashed a polite smile. “You’re busy. I haven’t reached my floor yet.”
Huo Lan glanced at the floor indicator. “Top floor.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
The elevator, having worked diligently for years in the hospital, clearly didn’t understand why it couldn’t complete its job at the top floor. The open-door warning light blinked in confused protest.
Huo Lan still held the door open, his gaze fixed on Liang Xiao.
Light from the corridor filtered in, outlining the broad, muscular silhouette of the alpha standing tall and poised in the doorway.
Clean-cut. Handsome. And deadly.
After weighing his options for three seconds, Liang Xiao clenched his teeth and stepped out of the elevator.
If Huo Lan decided to strike back, well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.
At least he wouldn’t have to pay medical fees.
With Liang Xiao’s skills, if Huo Lan dared to make a move, within three seconds, he’d be begging for mercy on the ground three seconds later, performing CPR and pleading not to die.
Huo Lan seemed oblivious to Liang Xiao’s thoughts. As soon as Liang Xiao stepped out, he let go of the elevator door, allowing it to close, and turned toward the hospital’s administrative office.
Liang Xiao hesitated for a moment, then instinctively called out, “President Huo.”
Huo Lan stopped in his tracks and turned around.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
Worried that Huo Lan might genuinely have suffered some lingering effects from being hit, Liang Xiao, cursed by his instinct to meddle, pointed toward the direction of the medical examination center and cautiously reminded him, “…It’s this way.”
By the time Duan Ming caught up with his assistant, the entire examination center was shrouded in an atmosphere of solemnity and reverence.
Liang Xiao was waiting alone at the entrance, wearing a specialized armband for testing pheromones, while the cold and imposing Huo Lan sat in front of the examination machine.
The medical staff exchanged silent glances as they worked, orbiting around Huo Lan with him at the center, and in particularly necessary situations, they even activated their backup sign language skills.
Duan Ming froze at the doorway, utterly baffled. “Why is President Huo here?”
Not only was he there, but it also seemed like he was undergoing some sort of examination.
Electrodes were affixed in a ring around his head, with two small patches stuck to his temples.
The examination looked… quite serious.
Liang Xiao, burdened with too much knowledge, deliberated for a moment. Wanting to spare Huo Lan from the embarrassment of being assaulted by an omega—a situation undoubtedly damaging to an alpha’s reputation—he opted for brevity and lowered his voice to explain, “…President Huo hurt his brain.”
Duan Ming: “…”
Huo Lan: “…”
The room’s thermometer visibly shivered as the temperature dropped half a notch.
Duan Ming instantly regretted letting Liang Xiao speak, hurriedly covering his mouth and pulling him back, only to see Huo Lan tug off all the small metal patches from his head and rise abruptly, striding toward the exit.
Duan Ming, who had only limited firsthand knowledge of Huo Lan and relied mostly on rumors, found himself deeply intimidated by the walking embodiment of a human snowstorm. A chill ran down his spine. “P-President Huo.”
Huo Lan stopped at the doorway, his gaze landing squarely on Liang Xiao.
His expression was icy, his pitch-black eyes so deep they concealed any trace of light. Liang Xiao’s mind went blank for two seconds as he involuntarily recalled that day when Huo Lan had lost control.
The primal instincts of a top-tier alpha: the flickering ferocity and unrestrained violence in his gaze, his overwhelming aura rippling outward like the calm before a storm.
Given the inherent physical disadvantage omega faced against alpha, Liang Xiao had virtually no chance of winning. And this time, he didn’t even have the power of medical knowledge at his side.
It wasn’t as if he could pick up his manager and smash him over President Huo’s head.
Instinctively afraid of being strangled on the spot, Liang Xiao took half a step back.
But Huo Lan did nothing. He simply stared at him for a moment, his aura gradually retracting, before stepping around him and leaving. Without a word, he headed down the corridor into the hospital’s administrative office.
Under the oppressive aura and pheromone influence of President Huo, the doctors, feeling as if they had narrowly escaped death, spent double the usual time to finally deliver Liang Xiao’s pheromone test results.
“Remarkably stable,” one doctor couldn’t help but exclaim. “It’s incredibly rare for an omega’s information source to remain this steady right after a temporary mark.”
An omega’s information source resides within their gland, representing the unprocessed form of pheromones. The stability of this source can be inferred through its fluctuations. Under normal circumstances, the information source remains dormant unless triggered, only releasing a small amount during a temporary mark. Before the pheromones are processed and released, they exhibit no characteristics or scent.
For someone like Liang Xiao—an obviously mature and fully differentiated omega—to maintain such a stable information source was highly uncommon.
“Mr. Liang truly has a heart as calm as still water,” the doctor remarked in admiration.
Liang Xiao coughed lightly. “Actually—”
Duan Ming decisively stopped him from speaking further, giving the doctor a professional smile. “Yes, he’s into practicing calligraphy and copying Buddhist scriptures in his spare time.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Duan Ming, all smiles, patted his shoulder warmly. “And listening to the Great Compassion Mantra.”
By the time they left the medical examination center, Liang Xiao had already been saddled with two new personality traits courtesy of his manager.
Liang Xiao, who was already reluctant to have “Lisa Ono” in his playlist to cater to a particular public persona, couldn’t bear the thought of adding the Great Compassion Mantra to a playlist that could singlehandedly fuel three square-dance groups. Quietly, he negotiated with Duan Ming, “Brother Duan…”
Duan Ming hooked the mask straps over his ears and said, “Stay calm as still water.”
Liang Xiao felt his heart turn to ash.
Understanding his predicament, Duan Ming perched a pair of sunglasses on Liang Xiao’s nose, then took his phone and created a new playlist titled Sacred Buddhist Chants: Serene Melodies of the Mind.
—
Perhaps due to the doctor’s reminder of the recent temporary mark, Liang Xiao actually felt a faint itch at the nape of his neck on the way back, right where his gland was located.
Duan Ming glanced at him briefly and then pushed him away. “You’re allergic from leaving your face mask on too long.”
Liang Xiao, still uneasy, murmured, “Better safe than sorry.”
Huo Lan’s top-tier alpha pheromones were exceptionally invasive. Last time, his pheromones had briefly failed to hold, resulting in a momentary loss of control. Though the issue wasn’t significant, it was better to avoid similar incidents in the future.
Duan Ming studied him for a long moment, sighed heavily, and pulled out an injection of suppressant along with a sealed disposable syringe. Handing them to Liang Xiao, he said, “Settle the score yourself.”
“What?” Liang Xiao expertly drew the suppressant from its packaging.
“Every time President Huo temporarily marks you, he pays you 100,000.”
Duan Ming sat upright. “But every time he does that, you need to take an extra dose of suppressant. Each dose costs 100,000.”
Liang Xiao thought about it for a while and finally responded in silence, “…Fair enough.”
The suppressant he used wasn’t the affordable, six-month, broad-use type. Instead, it was specifically developed for a unique subset of omega individuals. Produced in limited quantities, each injection cost upward of tens of thousands.
Recently, the price had increased again, starting at 80,000 and sometimes exceeding 100,000.
The suppressant was as exaggerated as the price. It ensured absolute stability of pheromones for an entire month, even preventing any fluctuations in the information source within the gland, regardless of external stimuli.
Amid the background chanting of Buddhist scriptures, Duan Ming leveled him with a soul-searching question. “So, what exactly did you gain from this?”
—
Liang Xiao reflected.
…A bite mark.
It shouldn’t have come to this.
Duan Ming, primarily distressed over the cost of the suppressant, had spoken impulsively. However, considering that Liang Xiao had landed a high-value role through Xingguan with a generous three-million-yuan paycheck, he realized his complaint bordered on being ungrateful. He held his tongue.
After Liang Xiao finished the injection, he remained lost in thought.
Silent and leaning against the car window, his profile was lit by the light, revealing faint shadows beneath his lashes.
He looked rather pensive.
Duan Ming guessed he hadn’t slept well, so he dropped him off at home, shoved him onto the sofa, and left with his assistant to follow up with the production team.
Liang Xiao sat on the sofa in deep thought for half a minute before pulling out his phone and playing the Great Compassion Mantra on loop.
—
Meanwhile, Huo Lan leaned back in his chair and opened his eyes.
His trip to the hospital today wasn’t due to any sudden health concern. Instead, it was simply because he’d found it too troublesome to follow the standard procedures and keep the treatment discreet. In the end, he bought a private hospital and turned it into a personal asset. Today just happened to be the day the board reported on operations.
But the sight of someone wrapped up like a thief sneaking in to steal potatoes had triggered a memory—specifically, of the deluxe edition of The Encyclopedia of Contemporary Medical Knowledge.
His offhand remark earlier didn’t match his usual demeanor. Perhaps it was because it had been a long time since he had suffered such a quiet loss, especially at the hands of someone who’d hit him square on the head and then had the audacity to act so composed.
Somehow, the words had just slipped out.
—
As a result, he had no choice but to make a detour to the medical center to go through the formalities.
He normally wouldn’t be so careless, but all it took was saying something he shouldn’t have, and now he’d ended up in this situation: sitting there, surrounded by a group of doctors who looked like they were treading on thin ice. He couldn’t blow up at them, nor could he just leave, so he bottled up the simmering anger in his chest.
And yet, the instigator actually had the audacity to sincerely worry if he’d hurt his brain.
Huo Lan pressed his forehead and rubbed it twice.
It had been years since anyone had infuriated him like this.
After calming himself down, he reached for the mouse and opened the photo album that Duan Ming, that manager, had handed over to Xingguan. The butler had also risked sneaking it into a pile of sample posters for him to review. Holding onto a sense of professionalism, he clicked it open to take a look.
Liang Xiao hadn’t done any serious magazine shoots or promotional photos. The album was primarily filled with plain, unfiltered headshots meant for the production team to use when editing into black-and-white photos.
But he was really good-looking, and he managed to pull off this deadly angle.
The last two photos stood out in particular—they appeared to be screenshots from some drama. Rarely, Liang Xiao wore a composed and steady expression, exuding a calm and gentle demeanor. His lips curved slightly in a faint smile, which brought out a clarity in his brows and eyes.
Huo Lan stared at the screen, and his mind drifted back to earlier at the hospital entrance.
The masked face obscured any clear expression, but Liang Xiao’s lashes had fluttered slightly, as if some emotion rippled briefly in his eyes.
…Liang Xiao was actually afraid of him.
He acted carefree, but when faced with him directly, the flicker of fear in his eyes was undeniable.
Strikingly obvious.
On the day he lost control, Liang Xiao must have done something to defend himself.
In a situation like that, an omega would have virtually no chance of winning. Instinctively fighting back to protect himself was entirely reasonable—Huo Lan couldn’t blame him for anything he’d done.
Reflecting on it now, holding a grudge about this was petty on his part.
After working through his thoughts, Huo Lan decided to let it go and move on. The next time he saw Liang Xiao, he resolved to be more amicable.
Just as he turned this page in his mind, his phone buzzed unexpectedly.
Very few people had direct access to his number. Huo Lan frowned slightly and glanced at the screen, pausing in surprise.
Liang Xiao.
“…President Huo?”
Liang Xiao hadn’t expected him to pick up so quickly and hesitated for a moment. “Are you busy right now?”
People at Xingguan were well-accustomed to Huo Lan’s no-nonsense approach. He hated wasting time, and no one dared engage in small talk with him.
Having just resolved not to hold a grudge, Huo Lan softened his tone slightly. “What is it?”
“It’s like this,” Liang Xiao cleared his throat lightly, “Recently—fluctuations in prices, rising housing costs, a challenging industry, the cold winter of the entertainment market.”
Huo Lan: “…”
Liang Xiao sighed softly, “Even pork prices are going up.”
“…” Huo Lan cut him off, “Get to the point.”
“Alright.”
Relieved, Liang Xiao quickly blurted it out, “Following market trends and making reasonable price adjustments, one bite for 110,000… How about it?”
