Chapter 1#
The Custom Humanoid Doll#
Autumn in Maocheng came colder than in previous years.
Under a gloomy, overcast sky, hurried passersby trampled over dry, withered leaves. Zhen Ye walked against the current, the biting wind heavy, beating the exhaustion from his body into bone-piercing cold.
He stopped, forcing a couple of difficult breaths, and pulled his thin jacket tighter. Just as he was about to cross the road, he felt a patch of warm light fall on his right cheek.
Turning his gaze, he saw a shop window, bright and magnificent with light. The man sitting inside was handsome, bathed in a soft glow, smiling at him with gentle concern—like a dream out of a fantasy.
Zhen Ye’s heart raced for a moment. He pressed his chapped lips together but quickly calmed down.
On the glass, bold lettering read: 【Custom Humanoid Dolls, Intelligent Companions, Made Only for You】
【Starting Price: ¥168,000】
A price steep enough to make anyone with a fevered mind think twice.
“Hello, sir! Would you like to come in and take a look? I see you pass by every day—how about I give you an introduction—”
“No, thank you.”
Zhen Ye felt a slight pang of embarrassment and quickly walked away, leaving the enthusiastic salesperson behind.
He didn’t need a model introduction. He already knew the current bionic humanoid dolls on the market inside and out.
That shop was an experience store for Ouyi Technology. In the window display was the 5th-generation flagship product, the S870—nicknamed “Alpha Owen” by fans.
It came with an official height of 180 cm, weight of 60 kg, and a persona focused on gentleness, refinement, and mature charm. Although netizens complained the voice system was a bit cringey, the design allowing interchangeable “accessories” in multiple forms more than made up for it, making it the season’s bestseller.
Moreover, if you pried open the back of its neck, there was a small hole where you could pour in the matching artificial alpha pheromones, letting it naturally emit a subtle scent.
It was simply the best companion for lone omegas to safely get through their heat cycles.
It’s just that society generally believed omegas were conservative by nature and had low spending power. Few companies developed dolls for omegas, and even fewer had mature products.
This kept prices prohibitively high.
For someone poor like Zhen Ye, all he could do was feast his eyes through the glass every day. Bringing one home for his own pleasure was out of the question.
Zhen Ye secretly planned that once he paid off his debts, he’d buy a doll in thirty installments.
When that day came, he’d have a silicone boyfriend waiting at home with dinner ready. After eating his fill, warmed and satisfied, he’d crawl into bed. And his boyfriend wouldn’t suffer a cliff-like drop in stamina just because he’d passed thirty—how wonderful would that be?
The imagination was beautiful; the reality was harsh.
Zhen Ye’s hands and feet were ice-cold, and he mulled over where he could buy a cheap thick coat with the cold snap coming. Turning two corners, he ducked into a beverage shop.
He took off his jacket, revealing a cheap, low-quality uniform underneath.
“Why are you so late!” the older staff member scolded.
“Traffic was bad.”
“Hurry up and wash the cups. The store manager will be here soon.”
The traffic excuse was a lie. He hadn’t taken the bus—to save money, he’d run the three kilometers.
This was his third job of the day. The previous one was as a food runner at a hotel, where the stingy boss made him wash the dishes before leaving. In other words, he’d barely pulled his hands out of the cold, greasy sink before submerging them again in the beverage shop.
Chen, the senior employee, had already gotten used to bossing him around. She handled the easy task of taking orders up front, but happened to run into two foreign customers and was gesturing frantically.
Chen had meant to show off a bit of English, but the customers shook their heads, indicating they didn’t quite understand.
Chen grew anxious and was just about to pull out her phone for a translator when she suddenly heard:
“I’ve got this.”
She was startled. Zhen Ye had already walked out from the back, seamlessly conversing with the customers while punching in their order.
After the foreigners left, Chen looked him up and down again, raising an eyebrow. “What language were they jabbering in?”
“French.”
“Oh, you know that too?”
“I studied a bit.”
Chen stared at him, squinting, as if trying to see through him from skin to bone. Finally, she sneered, “You’re not a college student, are you? A college student doing this kind of work?”
Zhen Ye lowered his eyes. “No.”
Chen felt satisfied. Right—what college student would work three jobs a day? Gifted scholars had classes to attend and studies to focus on. Not like this kid, drowning in debt, barely scraping by.
Once before, when Zhen Ye was busy, she’d peeked at his phone twice. An SMS had just come in, floating on the screen, reading: “Zhen Ye, if you don’t pay me back soon, I’ll send someone to your place to splash paint on your door.” Behind it followed a staggering number—at least a hundred thousand plus.
Heavy black clouds pressed down, and a violent rainstorm poured from the sky without warning.
Zhen Ye finished processing the delivery orders and rested for a moment. His phone buzzed. He glanced at it—another bank message demanding repayment.
But this was only the tip of the iceberg of his debt. If he really tallied everything up, it came to around six hundred thousand.
To his family, that amount wasn’t even worth mentioning.
His half-brother had just bought a car worth 1.4 million.
As if on cue, a call came through. Zhen Ye saw the caller ID and initially wanted to decline, but the other party seemed to guess his intention—a message popped up at the same time:
【You still want to pay off your debts? Come to the street corner. Let’s talk.】
It was his stepmother, Zhong Liyun.
Zhong Liyun had the driver stop. The door of the high-end nanny van slid open. She’d intended to have him get in to talk, but Zhen Ye refused.
He stood in the rain under an old umbrella, letting filthy torrents wash over his feet. His expression was indifferent, his spine straight as a rod—as if every ounce of strength and flesh in his body was being used to hold up that backbone.
That cold, indifferent face reminded Zhong Liyun of the dead woman—just as stubborn, just as unyielding, refusing to bow her head. If not for that, she could never have pushed out the first wife and taken her place as the mistress of the He family.
“You’re an adult now, and your father has fulfilled his duty to raise you. The debts you owe, the hardships you suffer—you brought them on yourself. You deserve to bear them.”
Zhong Liyun’s tone was slow, the characteristic drawl of a wealthy madam accustomed to being in charge. “But you parading yourself around like this, working odd jobs everywhere—if your father’s business partners see it, it looks very bad. So the family has discussed it. We can pay off your debts.”
Zhen Ye let out a derisive laugh. “And the condition?”
Zhong Liyun: “Get married.”
The rain grew heavier, as if the black clouds had crashed to the ground, sending water splashing in all directions.
Zhen Ye’s voice cut through the curtain of rain, still clear: “I won’t consider it.”
Zhong Liyun glanced at him. His pale, bloodless face, soaked and pitiful—no matter how handsome, beauty crumbled into mud. She said, not without mockery:
“At your age, you should know what’s good for you.”
The words were harsh. But then again, he wasn’t her biological child, so she had no obligation to be tactful.
Zhong Liyun sent her secretary down to explain the rest.
In the vast gray rain, Zhen Ye’s knuckles, gripping the umbrella handle, turned white. He understood who they wanted him to marry—a senior partner of his father’s business, an old man close to death.
He also understood that this wasn’t even a real marriage alliance. It was just to serve as a comfort object, to give him a nominal title so no one could wag their tongues.
Normal families wouldn’t push their children into a fire pit. But who told him his mother was dead? Other than selling his soul, there was no one to catch him when he fell.
The secretary saw the flicker of daze in his expression and, perhaps feeling a flicker of pity, gave him a gentle push. “Go home and think it over properly.”
It was pitiful, really.
That debt of six hundred thousand—it wasn’t something Young Master Zhen had chosen to carry.
The secretary watched the thin, solitary figure walk away and sighed inwardly.
Back at the shop, Zhen Ye made three wrong drinks in one afternoon.
When the store manager arrived, his expression was grim. He’d intended to berate him and deduct his pay, but seeing that old-fashioned, ugly apron tied at Zhen Ye’s waist, cinching it to trace a slim waistline over the bulky uniform, his mind began to wander.
The manager sidled closer. “Hey, Xiao Zhen, look how thin you are. Take those messed-up fruit teas home and drink them—I’ll cover the cost.”
His hands started to wander.
“By the way, do you have a boyfriend?”
Zhen Ye dodged imperceptibly, moving aside to wash a stainless steel bucket.
“Yes.”
The manager didn’t believe him. “Lying to me, right? How come I never see him picking you up?”
“He’s busy with work.”
“Tsk, then bring him by to hang out next time.” The manager pretended to be generous.
Zhen Ye said coldly, “We’ll see.”
He endured until 10:30 at night, cleaned up, and clocked out. The street vendors had all packed up. Zhen Ye bought two steamed buns and walked slowly home.
Though “home” wasn’t really the right word.
It was an old residential complex, a three-bedroom apartment converted into a shared rental. The only space that belonged to him was the smallest room. The walls were thin as paper and barely soundproof—he could always hear the couple next door screaming at each other.
Zhen Ye was sensitive to noise. He sat eating for a while, then felt dizzy from the racket and his stomach began to ache. He stuffed earplugs in his ears, but a wave of nausea rose anyway. He forced down two mouthfuls of water, couldn’t swallow further, and gave up eating altogether.
He opened the window, tapped a cigarette out of the pack with his fingertip, and lit it standing in the cold wind. The spark hissed, briefly illuminating his brows and eyes, then died down into silence again.
Stomach pain.
Zhen Ye knew it was an emotional issue and that he should see a doctor. But he also knew that in his current situation, taking medication and seeing doctors would only add financial burden without doing him any real good.
A year ago, he’d been in a sudden accident—falling off a cliff and slipping into a coma. It happened abroad. The school he was studying at couldn’t reach his family, so it was his classmates who pooled money together to save him.
Nearly €80,000 in medical fees—over 600,000 RMB. His father claimed the family’s finances were tight and told him to figure it out himself.
Zhen Ye worked frantically at odd jobs day and night, and was ultimately diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression, along with reading difficulties. He could barely function normally in work or life.
He asked He Yusheng: “Since you never planned to care whether I lived or died, why did you force me abroad after the college entrance exams?”
His father was blunt: “Out of sight, out of mind.”
Zhen Ye carried his mother’s surname.
After Zhen Yi died of illness, He Yusheng wanted his son to take the surname He, but Zhen Ye refused no matter what. After that, his father barely paid him any attention, doting only on the son born to his new wife.
Six months ago, Zhen Ye’s residence permit expired and he had to return to China. His classmates had started asking for their money back one by one. He applied for credit cards, borrowed from private lenders, robbing Peter to pay Paul, enduring three jobs a day just to scrape by.
But he’d done the math—if he was willing to suffer, he could pay it all off in seven or eight years.
And then a few more years after that—as long as he was still alive, still breathing, he’d probably manage to save up a few tens of thousands more.
By then, the bionic dolls would have been upgraded to newer models, and maybe he’d be able to afford one. Calculating it that way, life still had some hope in it.
Zhong Liyun was right. He didn’t know what was good for him.
But being alive meant not knowing what was good for you. Though futile, still struggling—that was precisely the dignity of being human.
·
Zhen Ye stubbed out his cigarette. The noise next door had died down, so he tidied up and went out to wash up.
The guy from the couple happened to be coming out of the bathroom. He deliberately greeted him, “Back so late?”
Zhen Ye hummed in acknowledgment. As he passed, he caught a wave of the man’s aggressive alpha pheromones and frowned in discomfort.
Maybe his heat was approaching; he was getting more and more sensitive to scents.
Zhen Ye had many problems.
After showering, his body warmed up, and he could clearly feel his desire stirring, his pheromones thickening. He hurried back to his room, locked the door behind him, checked twice to make sure it was secure, then pulled the curtains closed with not a crack of light showing.
Almost no one knew that he was an omega with abnormal organs.
When he’d presented at eighteen, the female doctor who examined him frowned at the ultrasound results. “You have two reproductive cavities.”
“It’s likely that you have animal xenogeneic genes in your ancestry. After presenting, you’ve partially reverted to atavism. If I’m not mistaken, it should be rabbit genes.”
In nature, female rabbits naturally have two uterine horns.
Zhen Ye was stunned for a moment, then nodded. “My grandmother was.”
The doctor glanced at him and suddenly asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No…”
She sighed and set down the clipboard. “Find one as soon as you can. With this rare dual-organ condition… I’m not interfering in your personal life, but there’s a high chance you’ll develop star addiction due to your genetics. If you don’t plan on finding a boyfriend, I’d suggest—a substitute with some artificial alpha pheromones will do in a pinch.”
“But it won’t last long,” she warned kindly. “If your needs go unsatisfied for extended periods, your hormone levels will fluctuate wildly, and that can easily lead to health problems.”
Zhen Ye was twenty-four this year.
As the doctor had said, after presenting, his desires had grown stronger with age. In the past, once a week was enough. Now he needed it almost every day.
He didn’t dare imagine what he’d be like in a few years—mind clouded, desperate enough to sleep with any alpha he came across.
Zhen Ye had no choice but to open the locked drawer by his bedside.
Actually, when he told the store manager he had a boyfriend, it wasn’t entirely a lie. This drawer held his “boyfriend”—a piece of wood, moderate length and thickness, with a smooth surface.
Zhen Ye had tried many things, but nothing worked as well as this. Strangely enough, he’d bought it six months ago when he visited Nanshan Scenic Area, from an old farmer.
“This is premium wood, take a look—smell it, it’s fragrant. Press it and it bounces back. Cut it open and there are rings of gold thread inside.”
Zhen Ye asked where he’d cut it, hoping it wasn’t a protected plant.
The old farmer waved confidently. “Don’t worry, I found this in the deep mountains.”
It seemed someone had deliberately chopped it into segments and left it there.
Zhen Ye bought a small section. It was slightly thinner than a child’s arm, about fifteen centimeters long. Looking closely, it had a ring of bumps on it, like small beads embedded in the surface.
Zhen Ye had no idea what kind of wood it was. He secretly bit off a tiny piece to make sure it wasn’t toxic.
And so, in a moment of impulse, he used it. After that, he was hooked.
Zhen Ye slipped it into the cold bedding, hooked the edge of his pants down, and turned on his side, legs pressed together.
The blanket rustled and shifted, occasionally squeezing out a muffled whimper or two. Finally, the tendons in his hand twitched, heat rising from the soles of his feet and spreading until a faint sweat broke out.
A moment later, fatigue mixed with warmth washed over his body. Zhen Ye closed his eyes, wrapped the blanket tight around himself—so tight it felt like an embrace—and drifted into a deep, muddled sleep.
He didn’t notice the slightly damp piece of wood quietly sprouting a bud on the bedsheet. Within a few breaths, it broke through its shell, a tender green shoot emerging.
Then, as if searching for a scent, the sprout kept stretching, inch by inch, crawling into the bedding.
—So thirsty…
In his sleep, Zhen Ye tossed restlessly. A faint, distant voice seemed to whisper low in his ear.