MVCFO CH35.2

Lin Xiangqi nodded and kept reading until the next bell rang.

Honestly, Lin Xiangqi’s sudden diligence might seem performative to an outsider. He flipped through the notes faster than he read comic books, and the shift from his usual laziness was so abrupt it felt unnatural.

But Lu Cong knew Lin Xiangqi wasn’t faking it. He was genuinely absorbing the material.

It was always easy to tell when Lin Xiangqi was serious versus when he was敷衍.

When he focused, he became completely immersed, oblivious to his surroundings. But when he敷衍, his eyes darted around like they might spark from friction.

At first, Lu Cong was only slightly suspicious. But when Lin Xiangqi remained fully attentive for the entire afternoon—no whispered conversations, no passing notes—he knew something was up.

Unusual behavior always has a reason.

Lin Xiangqi must have learned something.

And the timing—right after his talk with Qin Xiao—was too coincidental.

It wasn’t hard for Lu Cong to guess: Lin Xiangqi had overheard their conversation.

He waited for Lin Xiangqi to confront him.

Lin Xiangqi would never accept that he couldn’t attend university because of his pheromones.

But the situation was complicated, with no room for negotiation. Lin Xiangqi would likely blame himself, feel guilty, agonize over it.

He might even say something like, “If you can’t go to university, then I won’t either.”

Lu Cong mentally prepared his response. He could explain that joining the research institute was an excellent alternative—he could still study at the university for two years, they’d see each other daily as always, even rent an apartment together in the capital. Even after returning to the institute, they’d only be apart during the day, coming home to each other every night.

He had it all planned out, down to the tone he’d use to哄 Lin Xiangqi.

But Lin Xiangqi didn’t ask. He didn’t bring it up at all.

Instead, he became unusually driven, attacking his studies like he aimed to top the national exams. His pen flew across the page, and the only time he initiated conversation was to ask, “Why is this question solved this way?”

After Lu Cong explained, he grasped it instantly, applying the logic to similar problems without mistakes.

That evening, back home.

Standing outside the courtyard, Lin Xiangqi told Lu Cong, “I’ll shower and come find you.”

Lu Cong assumed he was finally ready to talk.

But the entire night—

Lin Xiangqi just studied.

Though bright, he’d missed a lot of material. Facing unfamiliar concepts in the notes, he treated Lu Cong like a human encyclopedia, poking him whenever he got stuck.

Lu Cong had planned to tutor him from the basics, but Lin Xiangqi raced ahead on his own.

The confrontation Lu Cong expected never came.

Not that night.

Not the next day either.

In the following days, Lin Xiangqi maintained his enthusiasm for studying—and his silence about Lu Cong’s inability to attend university.

To the point where Lu Cong began to doubt himself.

Maybe Lin Xiangqi hadn’t overheard anything. Maybe he’d just suddenly fallen in love with studying.

Otherwise, how could he explain Lin Xiangqi working even harder after learning Lu Cong couldn’t go to college?

During December’s monthly exams, Lin Xiangqi—unexpectedly yet reasonably—became the most improved student in the class.

Though he hadn’t achieved the miracle of a 200-point jump, climbing from the 400s in the last comprehensive exam to 580 was already astonishing.

Considering Lin Xiangqi’s grades had always been unstable—with occasional highs in the 500s—Qin Xiao, though thrilled, played it cool. “Consistency is key. You’re smart, but too flighty. If you can maintain this by finals, then I’ll believe you’ve really improved.”

Lin Xiangqi puffed up. “No problem. If I don’t slip, can I get a reward?”

Qin Xiao indulged him. “Sure.”

Lin Xiangqi: “Really?”

Qin Xiao: “Of course.”

Lin Xiangqi: “Then I don’t have to do winter break homework!”

Qin Xiao: “…”

Before he could refuse, Lin Xiangqi had already bolted.

Lu Cong wasn’t sure how to feel about Lin Xiangqi’s progress.

Of course, he should praise him—he’d worked hard.

But Lu Cong still didn’t understand why Lin Xiangqi had changed.

And he’d noticed something else.

Lin Xiangqi seemed to be secretly in contact with Tang Luyu.

Though “secretly” wasn’t quite accurate—sometimes, right in front of Lu Cong, he’d text Tang Luyu.

But since Lin Xiangqi had fully recovered, there was no real need for them to stay in such close touch.

Lu Cong had asked, “What do you and Dr. Tang talk about?”

Lin Xiangqi’s answer was simple yet complicated: “Your rut. Also Alpha and Omega pheromones.”

This left Lu Cong at a loss.

Lin Xiangqi was worried about his rut, so consulting Tang Luyu made sense.

When Lu Cong asked Tang Luyu the same question, the doctor seemed even more confused.

“I thought you sent him to me. He keeps asking about your genes and pheromones—everything from your rut to how your pheromones spread. Very specific. I even sent him my old research papers.”

Watching Lin Xiangqi study harder by the day, Lu Cong grew increasingly certain something was slipping beyond his control.

This disorder unsettled him.

Lu Cong had always believed he understood Lin Xiangqi.

From their first meeting at age five to now—over a decade—he’d been more mature, more thoughtful, more observant of the subtle emotions hidden beneath expressions.

So he could see further, make more careful decisions.

Lin Xiangqi was like a light, transparent gem—naturally beautiful and pure, innocent both inside and out, completely easy to read at a single glance.

Lu Cong had assumed that, given his understanding, the path he’d chosen would be the one Lin Xiangqi could most easily accept, free of missteps—that things would unfold smoothly toward a natural, perfect  conclusion.

Not just his post-exam plans, but also how he’d handled their relationship all along.

From realizing his feelings to deciding on a gradual, steady approach, Lu Cong had always been rational.

He had perfect control, never acted without certainty—so even though he’d recognized his feelings for Lin Xiangqi early, he could wait patiently.

Truthfully, Lu Cong hadn’t always been so restrained.

After starting high school, as his body matured, his Alpha rut grew increasingly uncontrollable.

He needed inhibitors more and more often, and physical contact with Lin Xiangqi became pure torture for his suppressed desires.

He would often find himself staring at Lin Xiangqi, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair—but whenever Lin Xiangqi took the initiative to get closer, he would respond coldly, touching only the fabric of his clothes.

Qi Ye, who respected her son’s autonomy, had once urged him to choose an easier path before his body became unmanageable:

“You know your situation suits military or politics best. Your pheromones wouldn’t need such heavy suppression there. The alliance government has watched you since birth. You even agreed as a child to try…”

Whether in politics, the military, or research, Lu Cong’s genes would always grant him exceptional access.

Only here, in an ordinary Beta-majority school, were his pheromones a burden.

Back then, Lu Cong’s attitude had been hard to read.

Casually, as if discussing lunch, he’d said in a tone that suggested distaste but no real objection:

“No need. This is fine.”

Qi Ye, seemingly prepared, hadn’t pressed further.

Most families would push such a gifted Alpha to the top.

But Qi Ye and Lu Huo’s ambitions were their own. If they wanted to reach the summit, they’d climb themselves.

They didn’t pressure Lu Cong—he’d already borne too much since birth. Those five years in the sanatorium filled them with guilt.

So if Lu Cong grew up with his own convictions, they wouldn’t interfere.

But Qi Ye knew what he wanted might be hard-won. Worried, she asked, “What’s the point of this?”

Lu Cong looked blank, as if he’d never considered it.

He understood her.

Back then, Lin Xiangqi was still a Beta. Getting too close could hurt him.

But Lu Cong couldn’t give up just for that.

Suppressing his pheromones was easy. Suppressing his feelings wasn’t.

Besides, Lin Xiangqi wasn’t exactly independent. He had bad habits, often made a mess of his life.

He wasn’t obedient either—when trouble came, he’d tough it out alone, never asking for help. If he couldn’t handle it, he’d just cry under the covers and call it a day.

Luckily, Lu Cong always noticed, always哄 him. He’d quietly gather the pieces of Lin Xiangqi’s near-shattered self and put them back together.

So if Lu Cong left, Lin Xiangqi couldn’t possibly take care of himself.

Lu Cong told Qi Ye all this plainly, without dramatics—just stating why he couldn’t leave.

Qi Ye, who rarely drank, downed half a bottle of XO that night. Drunk, she hugged Lu Cong and said, “If he doesn’t want it, don’t force him.”

Lu Cong said, “I know.”

He’d considered the worst outcome: Lin Xiangqi feeling nothing for him. Maybe, with no one else to rely on, Lin Xiangqi just settled for leaning on him.

At worst, Lin Xiangqi was using him to stave off loneliness.

But that was something he could accept.

If Lin Xiangqi was willing, he could use Lu Cong for as long as he wanted. Even a lifetime—Lu Cong thought that would be fine.

The only thing Lu Cong feared was the day Lin Xiangqi no longer needed him.

He probably wouldn’t have the heart to force Lin Xiangqi. So if Lin Xiangqi truly made a decision, Lu Cong could only accept it—there was no better alternative.

At midnight, Lin Xiangqi was studying hard in Lu Cong’s room again.

Lu Cong wondered if he should just come clean.

Regardless of whether Lin Xiangqi had overheard his conversation with Qin Xiao, the truth would come out eventually.

If Lin Xiangqi had other expectations, Lu Cong would fulfill them—whatever they were.

Silently, Lu Cong went downstairs and made Lin Xiangqi a late-night snack.

But when he returned, Lin Xiangqi was already asleep at the desk.

Missing yet another chance to talk, Lu Cong set the bowl down quietly, carried Lin Xiangqi to the bed, then fetched a basin of warm water from the bathroom. He dampened a towel and gently wiped Lin Xiangqi down before changing him into pajamas.

Lin Xiangqi didn’t wake up at all during the process—proof of how exhausted he was.

Lu Cong tucked him under the covers but didn’t leave. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Lin Xiangqi’s forehead.

Suddenly, Lin Xiangqi hooked an arm around his neck—whether awake or dreaming, it wasn’t clear—and tugged him downward.

Lu Cong paused, then let himself be pulled into a kiss that was neither too restrained nor too indulgent. When their tongues parted, Lin Xiangqi’s eyes fluttered open slightly, glistening as he looked up at him.

Lu Cong wasn’t entirely sure what had prompted this kiss, but he cherished it. It was the first time Lin Xiangqi had initiated one without any preconditions.

But Lin Xiangqi was already tired tonight, so Lu Cong didn’t plan to push further.

“Sleep,” he murmured.

His hand stroked the back of Lin Xiangqi’s neck, massaging gently to soothe him.

But Lin Xiangqi didn’t seem ready to sleep. Lazily, he asked, “Where are the tangyuan you made?”

Lu Cong replied, “They’re cold. If you want some, I’ll make another bowl.”

Lin Xiangqi nuzzled his nose against Lu Cong’s. “Then forget the tangyuan.”

Lu Cong hummed in acknowledgment, assuming Lin Xiangqi would finally sleep. But the arm around his neck only tightened further.

Lin Xiangqi said, “Let me have some of your pheromones.”

Lu Cong thought he’d misheard and froze for a moment.

Lin Xiangqi’s hand reached for the lock on Lu Cong’s neck restraint without hesitation. He’d already obtained first-level access from Tang Luyu—he could remove it whenever he wanted.

With a soft beep, the restraint unlocked, and Lin Xiangqi’s fingers brushed against the Alpha’s already-thrumming gland.

“Hurry up,” he murmured. “I’m starving.”

The sharp edges of Lu Cong’s expression, usually clouded with uncertainty, softened slightly under Lin Xiangqi’s teasing. But he still wasn’t entirely sure if this was real or just a hallucination born from too much repression.

He released a trickle of pheromones, and Lin Xiangqi let out a quiet sigh, responding with his own sweet coconut-milk scent.

The Alpha’s aggressive pheromones were instantly tempered by the Omega’s sweetness.

Lu Cong lowered himself, kissing Lin Xiangqi’s cheek. His body burned with urgency, but his voice remained calm as he reminded the Omega in his arms, “You should sleep.”

Lin Xiangqi’s long lashes fluttered as he leaned closer, pressing his forehead against Lu Cong’s. His hands fumbled aimlessly for a moment before suddenly—

Lu Cong stiffened.

Lin Xiangqi’s hand had slipped under his clothes, inexperienced but determined as it closed around him. The mischievous Omega chuckled against his ear, whispering:

“So hot… Do you really think I should sleep now?”