Chapter 15#
Addiction Upon Addiction#
Rong Yu’s brow arched slightly. A hint of interest appeared on his usually indifferent, noble face. “Oh? How so?”
Shen Yubai kept his hands in his pockets, and there was a note of worldly weariness in his tone: “I’ve seen plenty of people squabble over medical bills, but it’s rare to see someone who cares so single-mindedly for their elder. This Mr. Zhen paid his grandmother’s fees, yet told her the hospital had a project team that could waive the costs, and managed to smooth things over with the old lady.”
Rong Yu listened, his gaze darkening somewhat. “I see.”
The hasty signing of a contract like a deed of indenture wasn’t recklessness or lack of foresight—it was someone who valued his family and simply had no other path left.
Then, on further reflection. So that one million in spending money—Zhen Ye had accepted it and used it.
“Good.”
Rong Yu lowered his eyelids, his long lashes concealing the quiet pleasure in his eyes.
Shen Yubai had no idea where this sudden sense of gratification came from, only vaguely sensing that this young man surnamed Zhen held a special place in Uncle Rong’s heart.
Rong Yu rarely showed interest in omegas. In all the years Shen Yubai had been by his side, this was the first time.
Shen Yubai’s gaze silently traveled downward, landing on Rong Yu’s gradually withered calves. He wanted to advise him—if he truly had feelings for this person, perhaps he should develop a relationship with this omega to facilitate treatment.
Natural hormone therapy had limited efficacy for animal-type xenogenics, but for someone like Rong Yu, with his superior plant bloodline, it would certainly be remarkably effective.
Because the growth pattern of a tree was exactly that.
No matter how harsh the winter, branches snapped by heavy snow, cut down by the feller’s axe—as long as spring arrived, the cells would revive and take root and sprout anew.
Rong Yu was the same.
He needed a sustained, repeated, and intense “spring rain” to stir his rut period and activate the automatic repair system in his genes.
Yet Rong Yu had always been restrained and ascetic.
Given his nature, he probably wouldn’t agree to such an absurd treatment method—locking himself at home with an omega for two months of wall-to-wall debauchery.
Shen Yubai could only sigh inwardly. What a pity, what a pity.
·
Zhen Ye really wanted to do it.
He’d read psychology books, and many of them mentioned that stress could lead to increased desire. He already had an addiction, and now it was addiction upon addiction.
If it weren’t for his strong self-control, he’d have wanted to take leave and go home, using a little stick to satisfy himself.
Indeed, there was no essential difference between humans and animals.
Any external pressure or unresolved issue would be mediated by the brain, with a probability of being converted into sexual desire. As if satisfying a bit of dopamine would solve most of the problem.
But taking leave was out of the question—he’d already taken two days off and had to return to work.
Life continued as usual, seemingly unchanged.
Zhen Ye still worked as a food runner at the hotpot restaurant. That one million hadn’t changed his living situation. In fact, after paying the medical bills, he’d also chipped in an extra 2,300 yuan. That money didn’t seem like much, but it was what he’d been saving to pay off his credit card at the end of the month.
The current Zhen Ye could be said to be flat broke. Apart from a hundred or so yuan in loose change, he had no savings at all.
So he couldn’t stop working.
The temperature had dropped today, and many people had come specifically for hotpot. Zhen Ye was run off his feet. Actually, sometimes compared to running food in the dining area, he preferred staying in the back washing dishes. It was cold, sure, but at least it beat being covered in a mess of pheromones in that noisy, chaotic room.
Especially since there were always alpha customers who’d call him over, and seeing how young he was, deliberately make flirtatious remarks while subtly emanating pheromones, trying to rub off on him.
This kind of sneaky harassment annoyed Zhen Ye to no end. But there was nothing he could do about it, because society was always more lenient toward alphas.
If you protested, they’d immediately turn their guns on you and accuse you: “Just a joke,” “So sensitive and you still want to work? Omegas should just go home and have babies.”
They wouldn’t wear suppressant bracelets either. After all, in this world, a strong alpha pheromone was a point of pride—a great manifestation of masculine virility.
Zhen Ye thought, if these people knew that he—an omega—had marked an alpha, they’d surely stamp their feet and swear at him for lacking omega virtue, for turning the natural order upside down.
He thought of Mr. Rong, wondering if he was doing alright.
That day, Rong Yu had taken artificial omega hormones to neutralize his omega pheromones. He shouldn’t be “going mad” anymore, right?
Zhen Ye wanted to check in on him, but he didn’t have Rong Yu’s contact information. After thinking it over, he decided to use a transfer memo as a message.
After finishing his shift, Zhen Ye microwaved his lunch and carried it to a corner to sit down. He pulled out his phone and opened his banking app.
What should he send?
Ask if his body had returned to normal?
Or thank him, saying, I’ll pay back that one million?
Zhen Ye typed characters then deleted them, over and over, until one of the aunties he worked with came over, and he quickly put his phone away.
The auntie saw the steaming dishes in his lunchbox and smiled. “Little Zhen’s lunch finally has some variety—no more plain bread.”
Variety.
Zhen Ye paused slightly, looking down at his overflowing lunchbox.
“These braised prawns look wonderful, even bigger than the ones at our restaurant. Did family come to visit, specially made these for you?”
Zhen Ye instinctively wanted to deny it, because these were dishes Mr. Rong had given him, which he’d brought to eat today. But saying too much would invite the well-meaning auntie to keep asking questions, so he lowered his eyes, curved his lips, and, harboring a private thought, tacitly confirmed: “Mm.”
The auntie said approvingly, “Good that someone’s taking care of you. You don’t know how worried this auntie was watching you eat cold bread every day, afraid you’d faint from low blood sugar one day.”
“Thank you for caring, Auntie.”
Zhen Ye felt a warmth in his heart and smiled at her. His amber eyes held a glimmer of light, brightening his pale, weary face for a moment, making people suddenly realize that his bone structure was exquisite and his features were radiant.
The auntie’s heart softened. She regretted that her own kid wasn’t an alpha—otherwise she could have brought the polite, sensible Little Zhen home as her own.
The braised prawns were delicious. Zhen Ye finished the entire bowl of rice with the dishes, realizing belatedly that it had been a long time since he’d eaten this full at noon.
He took out his phone again, and Steward Du’s words surfaced in his mind—“If you refuse, our master will be heartbroken.”
Then he’d write something that would make Mr. Rong happy.
He thought for a moment, finally typed a line, and chose to transfer 1 yuan.
[Thank you for the food you sent. It was delicious. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this full.]
He wondered if Rong Yu would reply.
He was a manor owner, probably too busy to respond.
After washing his lunchbox and putting it in his backpack, Zhen Ye walked to the drink shop as usual, as he always did.
He felt like an NPC, always living this three-point-one-line existence.
But today was a bit different.
Zhen Ye still had one more thing to do.
Arriving at the drink shop, Old Chen, the veteran staff member, rolled her eyes at him. “The delivery orders are all here. Hurry up and make them. I’m exhausted, I’m going to rest for a bit.”
Zhen Ye took over, surprisingly good-tempered, saying nothing.
After Old Chen left, Zhen Ye was alone manning the shop. First he stood at the counter, repeatedly measuring angles with his gaze, then he took out his phone and snapped a few photos.
He opened his photo folder and picked one out. Pinching two fingers to zoom in, he confirmed that the delivery phone number and store address on the wall were clearly visible, then released his fingers and, with a calm expression, opened his Moments, which he rarely used.
Selecting the photo he’d just taken, he edited the caption:
[So tired, so many orders today]
The tone was one of a person at their breaking point, but Zhen Ye’s face was expressionless as he did all this.
After editing, Zhen Ye deliberately blocked everyone else, setting it to [Visible only to friend “Planet B-612”].
He hit send.
A wind picked up on the street. The bleak autumn wind coiled around a white plastic bag and lifted it into the air, tumbling violently against the gray sky.
Zhen Ye put away his phone and continued working through the pile of fruit tea delivery orders.
And waiting for an opportunity.
·
On the entertainment street outside the university town, neon lights shimmered seductively. Outside a bar called “Little Ice Age,” a row of luxury cars was parked. The overhead spotlights beamed down, making the paint gleam with brilliant luster, mesmerizing passersby for a moment and making them unable to resist pulling out their phones to take pictures.
Some bolder ones even picked a car they liked, leaned against the hood, and threw up a peace sign.
“Scram, scram—what are you all doing? Are these even your cars, and you’re taking pictures?”
At the entrance, the young boss was on the phone. He turned his head, saw this scene, and shooed them away. After the pedestrians left, he pushed open the door and walked in, muttering under his breath, “Tsk. A bunch of broke losers.”
Soft music played inside, and Meng Yimeng’s “broke losers” landed with considerable force. In the booth, He Junhua turned his head and asked, “Yimeng, what are you so angry about?”
“Those broke college students, acting like they’ve never seen the world, leaning on your car taking picture after picture. They’ll probably post them on their own pages later to show off. Hilarious.”
Meng Yimeng sat on the armrest of the sofa. He Junhua reached out and stroked his back, as if calming a pet. “Don’t get angry. Let them take their pictures and have their moment.”
“Junhua, you’re just too good-natured. That’s why people bully you every day.” Meng Yimeng said with feeling.
He then sprawled onto He Junhua’s shoulder and toyed with the Little Prince charm on his phone case.
He Junhua had loved The Little Prince since childhood. Even his WeChat name was the planet where the prince lived—[Planet B-612].
At this moment, He Junhua was scrolling through his Moments when his finger suddenly paused on a photo.
The caption read [So tired, so many orders today].
A very miserable look.
Meng Yimeng glanced at it, curious. “Who’s this? ‘Honey Fruit City’ drinks? You added a staff member?”
“No,” He Junhua stared at the screen, zooming in. “It’s my brother.”
Meng Yimeng immediately frowned. “You mean that psycho brother who stood at your door in the middle of the night and scared you?”
“Mm-hm.” He Junhua responded, a dark emotion flickering in his eyes.
Meng Yimeng suddenly nudged him with his elbow, a hint of playfulness rising in his brow. “Then call your brother over.”
Only then did He Junhua turn his face around. He seemed very surprised, his deer-like innocent eyes wide open, and said with difficulty, “That’s not good, is it? He’s working.”
“So what? Just buy a drink from his shop. That’s helping him hit his sales target too.”
He Junhua appeared to be persuaded and reluctantly agreed. “Then… alright.”
He quickly switched to the Honey Fruit City delivery app, swiping his thumb through the options, looking for a suitable drink.
[Lemon tea smashed with a stick—hand-beaten forty-nine times]
He Junhua’s gaze slowly swept over the words “hand-beaten,” recalling the videos of store staff complaining about sore arms online, and curved his lips.
Then he raised his head and offered a smile that could almost be called dazzling to the dozen or so people in front of him: “Who wants lemon tea? My treat.”