Chapter 9#
The Old Tree Blossoms#
Since Zhen Ye had already come this far, there was no turning back. Besides, behind him was a sheer cliff—even if he turned around, there was no one to catch him.
At this critical moment, the resistance, disgust, and pain actually faded instead.
There was only one voice in his mind: Sign it, Zhen Ye. Don’t run. Sign it and Grandma will be saved.
Zhong Liyun smiled with proper elegance. “Xiao Ye, sign quickly. The contract has already been revised to three million as you requested.”
One million as the deposit, then another million after completing the marriage registration with Chen Kangshi’s father—Old Master Chen.
The final million would be paid after the contract’s two-year term concludes.
During that period, the other party required him to cooperate with Old Master Chen’s treatment. This included, but was not limited to, regular blood draws, providing pheromone stimulation, and even some unspeakable demands—
Chen Kangshi was a well-known filial son in the circle. Thinking of how his mother died early and his father raised him and his sister alone, he’d taken it upon himself to find the old man a young wife.
Best if it was an omega with a hot, pliant body to soothe the old man’s half-lifetime of hardship, serving him comfortably in every conceivable way.
They needed to make the most of that three million in cash, along with the forty million in bank loans they’d helped the He family skim.
He Junhua crept quietly behind Zhen Ye, bent down, and craned his neck to peek at the contract.
One clause was bolded and blackened. He Junhua raised an eyebrow and read it aloud without hesitation:
“…Party B shall fulfill marital obligations toward Party A, guaranteeing no fewer than one intimate pheromone contact per week, each session lasting no less than one hour——”
He Junhua blinked his lashes, as if only now, a few seconds later, did he grasp the meaning. He covered his mouth in shock. “Oh my, wouldn’t that mean Brother has to do it with Grandpa Chen every week…”
Do it.
The explicit word stopped at just the right moment when Zhen Ye turned his head with an expressionless, indifferent gaze.
Just then, Zhong Liyun spoke up at the right time, calling out with affectionate helplessness: “Junhua, don’t talk nonsense. That’s not for you to read. Come sit by me.”
He Junhua made a cute face, stuck out his tongue, and pounced into Zhong Liyun’s arms to act spoiled. “Mom, I’m just worried about Brother.”
As he spoke, he glanced back at Zhen Ye, his eyes brimming with sympathy and pity.
He’d thought reading those words aloud would crush Zhen Ye’s dignity and make humiliation flicker across his face.
But looking now, Zhen Ye’s profile was calm and clear. There wasn’t the slightest trace of pain—instead, slowly, slowly, a hint of mockery spilled from his thin lips.
He Junhua was momentarily stunned.
Zhen Ye pressed down on the contract, his slender fingers tapping the bolded line, as if pondering. “Sleeping with a seventy-year-old paralyzed alpha isn’t impossible.”
“But I have one question.”
Zhen Ye leaned back against the chair, half-smiling, and shot a glance at Chen Kangshi. “Your dad’s that old—can his thing even get hard?”
·
Pushing open the window, wind and rain wrapped around the faint fragrance of courtyard plants, surging wildly through the gap.
In the background, the weather forecaster reminded: “Red thunderstorm warning. Residents, please be careful when traveling…”
Steward Du Rui walked over and turned off the television. Every source of sound vanished, leaving only the rain hammering against the glass.
In the small parlor, the manager of Yuelai Villa stood bowing, muscles already stiff. He didn’t dare speak, only stealing a glance at the man before him.
Few people knew that Yuelai Villa had been acquired last year. The true owner was none other than the Mr. Rong before him.
The manager had come for his routine report. But today, Mr. Rong held his teacup and lightly asked one extra question:
“That car earlier—which courtyard did it stop at?”
The manager quickly replied, “That was Mrs. He’s reservation.”
Rong Yu cast a sideways glance. “Only the He family?”
“Mr. Chen Kangshi is also present.” The manager recalled the rumors in Maocheng’s upper circles—word was that Chen Kangshi was about to board the Rong Corporation’s big ship, collaborating on a national project worth tens of billions, and the Chen family was riding a wave of prominence.
The manager volunteered, “Mrs. He ordered the ‘Perfect Match’ banquet, plus two desserts symbolizing a hundred years of harmony. Young Master He even came to our kitchen earlier to look around, saying he’d order more when the family formally hosts the event.”
Rong Yu used the lid to skim the floating tea leaves, his wrist pausing mid-motion. “What event?”
The manager’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Young Master He said it’s the marriage between Young Master He and Old Master Chen… their wedding.”
A seventy-year-old man, and an omega just past twenty. Anyone who heard it would call it absurd.
Clink.
The bottom of the blue-and-white underglaze red teacup landed heavily on the table, cracking a fissure through it.
The sound wasn’t loud, but the manager’s heart seized along with it—heavens, that was a two-hundred-thousand-yuan cup!
Rong Yu’s exquisitely handsome face showed not a trace of emotion, yet the depths of his eyes were pitch-black and arresting, surging with heavy mist.
His mind surfaced the words Shen Yubai had said the other day—Chen Kangshi had bought an omega with money for his paralyzed old father.
So the one bought was Zhen Ye.
The He family had sold Zhen Ye.
With a slight wave of his hand, the manager hurriedly retreated, clutching the cracked cup.
Steward Du refilled the tea and presented it to his master, seeing clearly as he asked, “Does the master know Young Master He?”
Rong Yu was a long-lived species; Du Rui was his fourth steward, hired only in the last two years. He knew nothing of the scattered fragments of Rong Yu and Zhen Ye’s childhood.
Rong Yu accepted the teacup but didn’t drink. He lowered his eyelids, and the pale yellow tea reflected his features. That face gradually warped and split with the ripples:
“He’s not Young Master He. His surname is Zhen.”
In his mind, a crisp voice floated up quietly from the depths of memory.
—My surname is Zhen. You can call me Zhen Ye, or Xiao Ye, or Little Friend Zhen. My mom calls me Little Rabbit, my grandma calls me Sweetheart. What about you, uncle? What’s your name?
Rong Yu said slowly, “He’s known me since he was seven. Unfortunately, he forgot.”
Steward Du tried to console him. “Nothing unfortunate about that. He was just a small child then; it’s natural he wouldn’t remember clearly.”
Rong Yu didn’t dodge it, admitting outright: “It truly is a pity, because I’m the one who erased his memory.”
Du Rui: “…”
He scrambled to find his voice. “You must have had your reasons, surely?”
“More or less.” The corner of Rong Yu’s mouth lifted faintly. “He arrived at an inopportune moment—he happened to catch me blooming.”
Blooming? Du Rui’s heart couldn’t help but shudder.
Though he’d never seen Mr. Rong bloom with his own eyes, he’d received training. According to the previous steward’s description, the scene was extremely eerie and terrifying—enough to scare anyone out of their wits.
Let alone a young, tender-minded child.
Mr. Rong erasing his memory must have been to spare him from childhood trauma.
“Was he… very afraid of you?”
Rong Yu’s gaze shifted, looking at Du Rui, and suddenly smiled:
“No. He wasn’t afraid at all. He even came over to touch my calyx, slept under my leaves, treated me like his rabbit grass, and took two big bites.”
Very cute. A little rabbit who wasn’t afraid of a strange tree at all.
Du Rui gasped. “That child was far too bold.”
Rong Yu’s identity and species were special. Because of his tremendous contributions to the nation, he’d been granted “privileges” ordinary people could never possess.
Though rumors circulated widely, Du Rui could vouch that those tales of the great banyan tree eating and killing people were mostly true.
Mr. Rong was far more than just the actual controlling shareholder of a vast conglomerate.
His true form was an extremely dangerous creature—the kind that could be thrown beyond the quarantine zone and used as a weapon of mass destruction.
Du Rui genuinely couldn’t imagine how a seven-year-old Zhen Ye, upon seeing a colossal tree covered in roots and branches bloom with gorgeous, monstrous flowers, could feel anything but terror. Instead, he’d been thrilled, like Alice wandering into wonderland, hugging it and taking bites.
Du Rui found himself curious about the two of them. “Did you have further contact with Young Master Zhen afterward?”
“Yes.” Rong Yu’s thin lips pressed together.
During the years after Little Rabbit’s mother passed, he’d secretly arranged for people to look after him materially. Every year, he’d find some excuse to issue him a scholarship through the child’s school.
“It’s just that I never showed my face again.” Rong Yu lowered his gaze. At the time, his true form had just suffered severe damage; he’d had very little wakeful time, and couldn’t appear in human shape. It wasn’t suitable to meet anyone.
Beyond that, his alpha pheromone rating was SSS. Even wearing a high-efficiency suppression ring, the pheromones that slipped through unconsciously would affect the environment and others.
Pheromones are hormones—they influence the endocrine system, stir up heart rate, blood pressure, and blood circulation speed.
For a child not yet sexually mature, rashly exposing them to a high-level alpha like him could easily accelerate their heartbeat and create mistaken impressions.
Though for most alphas in the world, this would absolutely be a dream ability.
But Rong Yu had his principles and convictions.
In his view, using pheromones to seduce a minor who lacked judgment was utterly shameless.
So he was extremely restrained and withdrawn in his interactions with people.
After all, his rank was so dominant and overbearing that it could genuinely destroy the other party.
Rong Yu found Little Friend Zhen interesting and adorable.
But he’d rather wait for him to grow up—mentally and physically mature, with independent judgment of his own.
When the right opportunity and the right place came, they could get reacquainted in a clear, bright environment.
Once his body was mostly stabilized, he’d appear in a normal human form. He’d invite Zhen Ye to a meal, and the two would chat like friends. He’d suggest that Zhen Ye erect a memorial stele for Little Rabbit’s mother beneath the banyan tree.
No need to fear being discovered, because the tree would block the mountain path from anyone else.
After the meal, he’d discuss with Zhen Ye how to resolve the debts, how to nurse his health back.
He’d give him money as a friend—enough that Little Rabbit could live freely anywhere in the world for the rest of his life.
If the little rabbit refused, he’d shamelessly say, “This is the return for the little rabbit’s years of offerings to the tree.”
The lives of long-lived species move slowly, and a tree’s time is measured in centuries. Rong Yu had many plans for reacquainting himself with Little Rabbit.
He’d proceed step by step, from the shallow to the deep. He had his own rhythm.
But all of this, every last bit, was abruptly interrupted by the news that Zhen Ye was getting married—
Rong Yu was a pure-blooded plant mutant. When dormant, he always appeared gentle, restrained, and of excellent character.
But once his aerial roots were trampled, once something he’d held in his mouth for years without daring to touch was taken from him—
Rong Yu raised his eyes. The black television screen reflected the deep, spiderweb-like darkness seeping across the whites of his eyes.
He smiled.
Du Rui shuddered beside him, involuntarily recalling the previous steward’s repeated warnings:
“The master doesn’t restrain his desires because he’s indifferent… it’s because his nature is to fight and snatch—once he doesn’t get it, he will never let go.”
“You don’t want to hear how many corpses are buried beneath the trees on South Mountain——”
·
This meal ended with neither host nor guest pleased.
Zhen Ye’s stomach was weak; he barely ate two bites, only getting pestered by Chen Kangshi into downing a glass of wine.
By the time Zhong Liyun’s ordered “Double Happiness—A Hundred Years of Harmony” lotus seed and lily eight-treasure congee arrived, Zhen Ye’s nausea finally surged to his throat.
So he used the restroom as an excuse, went inside, and vomited until the world went dark.
Zhen Ye planned to head down the mountain and go home. He Junhua said he was waiting for some uncle and couldn’t give him a ride.
Chen Kangshi seized the opportunity. “I’ll drive Zhen Ye down the mountain. I’ll take him by my place for a visit.”
As for what “a visit” entailed—Chen Kangshi’s eyes hadn’t moved all evening, glued to Zhen Ye’s thin waist.
You could guess what he was thinking—the old man couldn’t get it up, but the son was in his prime. Having a bit of fun with a young stepmother was a romantic escapade too.
Chen Kangshi loved that flavor—the thorny, the spicy, someone who’d struggle desperately when pinned to the bed. That fight made it all the more delicious.
Zhen Ye’s cocky retort had indeed been offensive. But it also precisely struck the deepest conquest instinct in an alpha like Chen Kangshi.
Chen Kangshi brought his car around.
But the waiter said, “Young Master Zhen already left. He said he felt sick and might throw up, so he didn’t want to risk getting it in your car.”
Chen Kangshi’s face darkened.
Genuinely unwell, or deliberately humiliating him?
Fuck. Little bitch.
He calculated—once this little omega entered his household, he’d have to lock him up and beat him for three days and three nights, disciplining him inside and out.
Chen Kangshi kept three mastiffs at home. In his view, training dogs and training people were the same—you had to beat them until they were convinced, only then would they behave properly and obediently.
He drove down the mountain. The winding road coiled like an intestinal tract, rugged and twisting.
In the downpour, streetlights dissolved into cross-shaped halos. Through this misty glow walked a thin, upright figure.
Chen Kangshi recognized it as Zhen Ye, who couldn’t get a taxi.
He clicked his tongue, then suddenly floored the accelerator, tires plowing through the gutter, splashing a skyward wave of filthy water toward the roadside.
Zhen Ye reacted quickly, turning his umbrella sideways to block it, but his pants still got soaked.
The SUV sped off. Zhen Ye stood still in place. After a moment, he slowly began to tremble.
So cold.
Cold to an unbearable degree.
His clothes hadn’t been enough to resist the cold autumn rain to begin with; now they clung wetly to his skin, making it even worse.
That dampness, accompanying his suppressed shivering, seemed to seep drop by drop into the cracks of his scarred, battered bones.
His entire spine should have been aching to numbness in this weather.
But Zhen Ye didn’t actually feel much.
Rather than saying he could endure pain, it was more accurate to say his brain had already shut down those sensory nerves.
This is a human self-protection mechanism. When the subconscious knows there will be no comfort and no treatment, the brain cuts off the pain signals.
This lets the conscious mind feel a bit better, and lets the body ignore the pain, keeping moving.
That’s how Zhen Ye was—he couldn’t feel his limbs, but he could keep walking down the mountain.
He couldn’t tell whether he was controlling his body, or his body was controlling him. Sometimes he even felt like he was flying, his soul floating in midair looking down:
A tattered blue umbrella, a numb, mechanical body, on a road like a twisted intestine—left, right, both directions were darkness.
Zhen Ye reached the Y-junction.
This was halfway up the mountain, with a steep cliff face. On clear days you could overlook the city lights; now there was only a blur of dim yellow, washed out by the rain.
He stood at the cliff’s edge for a while.
It might have been a moment, or it might have been a long time. The cold wind soaked through to his marrow. He wanted to light a cigarette to warm himself, but his fingers couldn’t reach the pack.
Slowly, he realized—he seemed to have lost all sensation.
His fingers stiffly loosened. A slanting gust suddenly swept in, ripping the umbrella away.
Zhen Ye instinctively reached out to grab it, his foot stepping forward—
He stepped into empty air.
Rain slid heavily down his cheeks. The world tilted and inverted in his vision.
His consciousness was both light and heavy, like a drenched feather, falling toward the cliff below.