MVCFO CH3

Lu Cong sat silently on the edge of the bed, listening to the doorbell ring several times. He knew full well that it was Lin Xiangqi coming to see him, yet he didn’t open the door.

Eventually, Lin Xiangqi must have assumed he wasn’t home and finally gave up.
Silence returned once more.

Lu Cong stood up instinctively, but the urge to chase after him only lasted a second before he regained his composure.

Due to his congenital genetic traits, Lu Cong had been taught from a young age to restrain his pheromones, to control his instincts, and not to be controlled by them.

If his pheromones lost control, it would inevitably cause tremendous mental stress and physical harm to others.

And Lin Xiangqi was a Beta—a fragile Beta who, though unable to smell pheromones, could still be physically harmed by them.

To avoid leaking even a hint of pheromones in front of Lin Xiangqi, Lu Cong had been extremely cautious and restrained over the years.

But today, it felt as though fate was deliberately working against him.

Everything was spiraling toward the worst possible outcome.
——

Or perhaps it wasn’t just today.

Ever since Lin Xiangqi fell for Shen Qiaolan, Lu Cong’s life had started falling apart.

In the past, he had hidden away his thoughts, emotions, even his scent.
No one did it better than Lu Cong.

Until one day, Lin Xiangqi suddenly told him that he had fallen in love with an Alpha. From that moment on, Lu Cong realized it was getting harder to suppress his emotions.

Whenever it came to anything involving Lin Xiangqi, he would lose control.

The first time he impulsively released his pheromones was just last weekend.

That day, he and Lin Xiangqi were supposed to hang out, but a phone call from Shen Qiaolan took Lin Xiangqi away.

It wasn’t until the evening that Lu Cong got a message from Lin Xiangqi saying he might be drunk and asking Lu Cong to come get him. Lu Cong went over immediately.

When he arrived, he saw Lin Xiangqi, dead drunk, slumped over the table, his small face buried in the crook of his arm, cheeks flushed unnaturally red, brows furrowed even in his sleep—he looked miserable.

Lu Cong tried to take him away, but Shen Qiaolan ordered his men to stop him.

With the arrogance of a supposed victor, Shen Qiaolan said to Lu Cong, “Want to take him? Then fight me for it.”

Back then, Shen Qiaolan probably thought he had already won—Lu Cong didn’t stand a chance against a dozen professional bodyguards.

But ten minutes later, Lu Cong kicked the last conscious bodyguard out of the way and stood before Shen Qiaolan.

He unleashed an offensively potent pheromone aura that pinned Shen Qiaolan in place, gently scooped Lin Xiangqi into his arms, laid him on the booth’s sofa, then stood and left.

Under Lu Cong’s unleashed and menacing presence, someone like Shen Qiaolan had no room to fight back.

Just before passing out from the beating, Shen Qiaolan vaguely heard Lu Cong say in a flat tone:

“He’s not yours. What’s there to fight over?”

There was no deliberate mockery or sarcasm—just a simple statement of fact. Yet Shen Qiaolan felt utterly humiliated from head to toe.

That proud declaration of challenge he made earlier now seemed embarrassingly childish.

Because it was the truth.

Lin Xiangqi was just Lin Xiangqi—whole and independent, his own person. Lu Cong didn’t need to take him from another Alpha.

Lu Cong didn’t beat Shen Qiaolan to win.

He just really wanted to beat him up.

After the one-vs-ten battle, Lu Cong personally called ambulances for Shen Qiaolan and his bodyguards. Only then did he withdraw his pheromones, return to the booth, and carry Lin Xiangqi home on his back.

But the consequence of losing control and harming someone with his pheromones was a week-long cold war with Lin Xiangqi.

Lu Cong knew full well how stubborn Lin Xiangqi could be—once he made a decision, he would never back down. Blocking Lu Cong meant he had no intention of making peace.

Lin Xiangqi didn’t have many flaws, but his temper was one of them. And it only ever showed when he was dealing with Lu Cong. So Lu Cong indulged him.

If Lin Xiangqi wouldn’t give in, then he would. If Lin Xiangqi wouldn’t soften, then he would.

He was planning to wait until Lin Xiangqi cooled off in a few days, then find a chance to talk things out.

Unfortunately, before he could even offer that olive branch, he injured Shen Qiaolan again this morning at school.

He didn’t dare imagine how furious Lin Xiangqi would be when he found out.

He might’ve come over now just to settle old and new scores together—maybe to extend their cold war another week. If that happened, no number of apologies from Lu Cong would be enough.

Thinking of all this, Lu Cong rubbed his temples.

During sensitivity periods, all emotions were amplified, and his anxiety over everything related to Lin Xiangqi became overwhelming. It couldn’t be helped.

Lu Cong called his private physician, Tang Luyu, and briefly explained his condition.

Tang Luyu didn’t underestimate the danger of Lu Cong’s pheromones. She immediately arranged for someone to deliver enhanced suppressants and medication and firmly instructed him to stay away from crowded places until the suppressant arrived.

In Lu Cong’s current state, even another Alpha’s pheromones could be seen as a threat, triggering a subconscious response from his glands.

Worried he might not take it seriously, Tang Luyu spelled it out for him—how dangerous he was to every gender, from A to O:

“Alphas will be attacked by your pheromones. In mild cases, they’ll experience glandular shock; in serious cases, they could suffer irreversible neurological damage. If an Omega smells your pheromones, there’s a high chance they’ll be forced into heat. Most importantly, your pheromone concentration is several times that of a normal Alpha—so the impact is multiplied—”

Halfway through, Lu Cong suddenly cut her off. “What about Betas?”

Tang Luyu paused for a moment, misunderstanding his intent. “You want a Beta to look after you? I wouldn’t recommend having anyone around right now.”

“A Beta’s glands are only degenerated, not absent. Don’t assume that just because they can’t smell pheromones they won’t be harmed. On the contrary, their glands have no self-protection or metabolic functions—if hit by a strong pheromone attack, their pain response could be even more severe than an Alpha’s.”

Lu Cong listened and replied with a flat “Mm.”

In truth, he had long known just how dangerous his pheromones were to a Beta. He didn’t know why he asked again.

Maybe he just wanted to hear a different answer.

But the answer was still the same.

After hanging up, Lu Cong checked his temperature again.

Just then, he suddenly heard the sound of the front door being unlocked downstairs.

At first, he thought the high fever was causing auditory hallucinations, but he quickly realized—

It wasn’t a hallucination. Lin Xiangqi had truly opened the lock to his apartment and come inside.

Lu Cong, rarely flustered, actually panicked a little.
How could he have forgotten that Lin Xiangqi had always had a key to his home?

The soft thudding of slippers on the floor wasn’t loud, but Lu Cong heard it clearly.

He could even tell from the direction of the footsteps that Lin Xiangqi had changed shoes at the entryway and was now walking from the living room toward the second floor.

Things were spiraling out of his control. Unable to think of a better solution, Lu Cong quickly walked to the bedroom door and locked it from the inside.

But strangely, Lin Xiangqi’s footsteps stopped right outside the door.

He didn’t try to barge in, didn’t knock, didn’t even call Lu Cong’s name—
He just stood there quietly, separated from Lu Cong by a single door.

Lu Cong frowned, sensing that something was off.

He could hear Lin Xiangqi’s breathing through the door. It was steady at first, then gradually became rapid, disordered, and even trembling.

Lin Xiangqi was crying.
…

The last time Lin Xiangqi shed tears was when he was fourteen—when his parents passed away.

That day, Lin Xiangqi cried himself hoarse, cried until he couldn’t breathe, cried until his eyes were nearly blind. It was Lu Cong who held him through one nightmare after another.

Later on, Lin Xiangqi joked that he must’ve cried out all his tears that year—he hadn’t wanted to cry ever since.

But now, Lin Xiangqi stood silently outside Lu Cong’s bedroom, quietly sobbing in low whimpers.

Truthfully, Lin Xiangqi hadn’t intended to cry here, at this time, in this place.

But no one can stay emotionally stable after discovering they’re dying.

He had impulsively come to find Lu Cong because his emotions had reached a breaking point after leaving the hospital. He didn’t know how to process the reality.

In both his happiest and his darkest moments, the first person who came to mind was always Lu Cong. So he came running, without a second thought.

But now that he was actually here, standing outside Lu Cong’s door, he realized—it was meaningless.

Lost in unprecedented confusion, Lin Xiangqi suddenly felt wronged.
He didn’t understand how, after just one night, his life had become a dead end. His nose stung, and tears came pouring out.

He immediately wanted to leave.

But just then, the door opened.

Lin Xiangqi was caught off guard, locking eyes with Lu Cong. He froze for two seconds, then reflexively forced a smile. “You’re home, haha.”

He didn’t even know why he laughed. His nose was red, his eyes were rimmed with tears that hadn’t quite fallen—yet he thought he could play it off.

Of course he knew Lu Cong was home. He had come here precisely to see him.

Faced with this transparent act, Lu Cong didn’t say a word.

Lin Xiangqi noticed Lu Cong looking down at him and instinctively stepped back, feeling guilty.

But Lu Cong reached out and wrapped an arm around his back, effortlessly cutting off his escape. “You cried?”

Maybe it was the way Lu Cong frowned—too intense—or maybe his naturally deep voice, but Lin Xiangqi shrank his neck and instantly cowered.

The excuse came fast: “I didn’t cry, just yawned. Didn’t sleep well yesterday… I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately with school.”

As he spoke, he looked at Lu Cong with eyes already wet with tears.

“Oh,” Lu Cong’s voice softened considerably, dragging out the words as he exposed him, “By school pressure, you mean massacring the canyon at 2 AM?”

Lin Xiangqi immediately forgot everything else, stunned: “How did you know? I didn’t see you online! Did you use a smurf account? Was it that jungle war god I added the other day? Or the healer who took a big hit for me last night? No wonder they wouldn’t turn on their mic!”

“I don’t have a smurf account.” Lu Cong found his rattling confessions amusing. “So these past few days, you’ve been gaming every night?”

Lin Xiangqi bit his lip. “Mm.”

Crap.
So Lu Cong had been bluffing.

Lin Xiangqi worried that Lu Cong might confiscate his phone—especially since at the start of the semester, he’d promised to improve by ten ranks, a promise he hadn’t followed through on.

But after a moment of panic, he remembered—he was dying. Why was he still worrying about this?

His little brain spun in all directions, muddled, until he suddenly felt something brush past his cheek.

A tear that had fallen from his lashes was gently wiped away by Lu Cong’s knuckle.

He looked up at Lu Cong, at a loss.

Lu Cong’s tone was casual: “Wanna talk?”

It was a kind of unspoken rhythm they had developed after years together—or maybe it was just that Lu Cong was always so attentive.

Over the years, whenever Lin Xiangqi was hiding something in his heart, Lu Cong would sit by him and ask, “Wanna talk?”

Lin Xiangqi was always stubborn, with a tough temper and pride that wouldn’t let him show his vulnerability. He always tried to swallow his secrets.

But with Lu Cong—he could hide nothing.

After a moment of silence, Lin Xiangqi’s fake bravado finally crumbled.

His tense body loosened, shoulders drooping, head hanging low. All his strength seemed to vanish, and he leaned against Lu Cong’s arm.

That soft, dependent gesture—
It looked a lot like a request for a hug.

Neither of them said a word, but Lu Cong naturally took a step forward, arms tightening to pull Lin Xiangqi into a firm embrace.

They had known each other for more than ten years. There had been countless hugs like this between them, but no matter how close they got, Lu Cong had never once crossed a line.

“Lu Cong, I might…”
Lin Xiangqi started to speak, then abruptly bit his tongue and swallowed the rest.

How should he say it?
Should he say “I might be dying” or “I don’t want to die”?

He had spent the whole trip back trying to figure out how to tell Lu Cong the truth.
It wasn’t easy.

He remembered that in the original novel, Lu Cong’s personality underwent a drastic transformation. Although the story didn’t detail the reason behind the villain’s descent into darkness, Lin Xiangqi believed that his own death was probably a key turning point.

In the novel, Lu Cong believed that it was Shen Qiaolan who caused Lin Xiangqi’s death, so afterward, he did everything in his power to make Shen Qiaolan’s life miserable. Not only did he obstruct Shen Qiaolan’s search for Lin Xiangqi’s substitute, but he even drove him to complete ruin.

Until one day, Shen Qiaolan said to Lu Cong:

“What’s the point of everything you’re doing now? Don’t you bear any responsibility for his death? You knew him for over ten years—why didn’t you notice he was sick sooner? Why didn’t you save him?!”

Those words became almost like a curse for Lu Cong.

From then on, Lu Cong fell into a nightmare of self-inflicted guilt. He would go without sleep for three to five days, his mental and physical state deteriorated, and he no longer had the energy to cause trouble for Shen Qiaolan. Because the person he hated had become himself.

Knowing all this, Lin Xiangqi simply couldn’t bring himself to tell Lu Cong the truth.

He was afraid he would really become Lu Cong’s nightmare for life.

There was no doubt Lu Cong cared deeply for him, cherished him—more than a friend, almost like family.

If Lu Cong knew he was sick, he would definitely go to great lengths to help him find a compatible pheromone.

Lu Cong’s family had wealth and influence, and Lin Xiangqi believed Lu Cong could absolutely find a source of suitable pheromones for him in the short term.

But the doctor had said: top-grade Alpha pheromones were scarce worldwide, and his condition couldn’t be guaranteed to be fully curable. If he wasn’t cured after a year, he might need pheromone injections for the rest of his life.

Maybe Lu Cong could help for a year or two, but what about the future? Would he cling to Lu Cong for ten, twenty years—for a lifetime?

Even if he shamelessly relied on Lu Cong for life, what if they couldn’t find enough pheromones?

What then—was Lu Cong supposed to capture a compatible top-tier Alpha and keep them around as a living medicine dispenser, administering treatment every day? That would be way too cruel. No, absolutely not!

Or worse, what if Lin Xiangqi’s illness suddenly worsened, and he died right in front of Lu Cong?

The shock that would bring Lu Cong would probably be far more devastating than simply receiving news of his death, as in the original story.

Countless thoughts tangled in Lin Xiangqi’s mind. He felt like he was going to explode. He couldn’t help but smack his own forehead.

“Alright, stop thinking,” Lu Cong’s voice suddenly broke through his chaotic thoughts, warm and gentle. He patted Lin Xiangqi’s back lightly, coaxing him like a child. “We’re not talking about anything today. Let’s skip school this afternoon. What do you want to do?”

Lin Xiangqi quietly let out a breath of relief. He really didn’t want to drag Lu Cong into pain over things that hadn’t even happened yet—especially when he hadn’t sorted them out himself.

He quickly changed the topic and said, “I’ve revised the mistake set you organized for me. Can you help me correct them this afternoon?”

“Okay,” Lu Cong rubbed his head, “Go wait for me downstairs.”

Lin Xiangqi nodded obediently, but just as Lu Cong was about to let go of him, he suddenly hugged him again.

Lu Cong: “?”

Lin Xiangqi: “……”

Both of them froze at Lin Xiangqi’s sudden reaction.

Lin Xiangqi didn’t know why he was so reluctant to leave Lu Cong’s embrace. He could only chalk it up to the fragility of someone who was “close to death.” To avoid awkwardness, he fumbled for something to say: “Aren’t you coming downstairs with me?”

Lu Cong paused and explained, “I need to go back to my room to get something.”

Lu Cong hadn’t forgotten that he was still in his susceptibility period.

From the moment he started hugging Lin Xiangqi, he had been using all his willpower to suppress the pheromones surging within his glands.

Normally, this kind of self-control wasn’t too difficult for him.

But Lin Xiangqi was now curled up in his arms, his breath and heartbeat transmitted through their close contact. His blood was boiling. If he didn’t inject a suppressant soon, something was bound to go wrong.

Lin Xiangqi, unaware of this, only hugged him tighter and said, “What are you getting? I’ll come with you.”

Lu Cong gave him a curious look.

Lin Xiangqi would occasionally act spoiled—asking Lu Cong to help write his reflections or to clean his house—but he was always eloquent, persuasive whether sweet-talking or guilt-tripping, and had the knack for faking innocence with a coy voice.

But physically, he rarely clung to Lu Cong like this.

Lu Cong wasn’t mistaken. Lin Xiangqi was acting very strange today.

In every possible way.

His pheromones were stirring, and the instability brought on by Lu Cong’s susceptibility period was testing his nerves at every turn.

But of course, the biggest challenge was the restless person in his arms—Lin Xiangqi.

Lu Cong’s susceptibility period was unlike that of most Alphas. He had never felt those typical adolescent urges, nor did he, like other Alphas, instinctively fixate on an Omega’s neck with the desire to bite down during this time.

Until now, his pheromones, like himself, had always been cool and detached. The only thing they ever conveyed was a violent, bloodthirsty instinct.

But now, something was different.

The restlessness he felt in front of Lin Xiangqi wasn’t caused by pheromones. It wasn’t the desire of an Alpha for an Omega.

It was a disturbance that only Lin Xiangqi could cause.

Like a rock thrown into the still waters of Lu Cong’s heart, it stirred up the depths into murky chaos—slowly but surely, beyond control.

Lu Cong’s eyes darkened, and his Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily.

All his remaining rationality was used to gently peel Lin Xiangqi’s hands off of him.

Lin Xiangqi noticed the movement and said with clear displeasure, “Why are you pushing me away?”

“…” Lu Cong had no other choice but to be honest. “I’m in my susceptibility period, and I don’t have any suppressants at home.”

He thought Lin Xiangqi would let go after hearing that—but to his surprise, Lin Xiangqi didn’t move. Instead, in a lazy voice, he asked:

“You still have susceptibility periods? Isn’t it said that during an Alpha’s susceptibility period, pheromones overflow? Where’s yours?”

His voice was soft and drowsy, with a long, trailing tone like someone speaking in a half-asleep dream, “I don’t smell anything. Where’s your scent?”

Lu Cong could hear the hint of complaint in his tone, but he didn’t understand what Lin Xiangqi was really upset about.

Perhaps it was an Alpha’s possessiveness toward the person in his arms, or the performative instinct brought on by the susceptibility period, but after silently looking at Lin Xiangqi for a while, Lu Cong suddenly said:

“You already smell like me all over.”