RBNR Ch51: Control the mind if not the body

The weather that year broke from the norm; temperatures steadily plunged, yet the snow refused to fall.

Before evening arrived, the sky hung oppressively dark, obscuring even distant architecture. The heavens had held back for far too long, as though orchestrating a final, violent gathering.

Qin Bao sat on the bedroom bed reading. He had missed a considerable amount of coursework that semester and his final exam results were less than stellar; as before, whenever he carved out spare time, he slowly worked to catch up.

Faint sounds of a motor rumbled from below.

Qin Bao glanced downward, watching the black official sedan pull up to the empty space outside the garage. Lin Zi stepped out first, opening the rear door.

Feng Chengyu emerged. Clad in a tailored black overcoat, the clean, defined planes of his face looked striking, his skin made startlingly pale by the dim surroundings—bearing an icy, aloof hauteur that seemed to echo their very first meeting. Over the years, along with his ascent through the ranks, the raw, overt edges he once showed had been reined in completely, yet his presence had only grown more intimidating.

As if sensing something, Feng Chengyu cast a glance upward.

Qin Bao pulled back his gaze instantly, fixing his eyes on a line of text highlighted in color.

During the minutes it took Feng Chengyu to walk upstairs, Qin Bao didn’t process a single word.

Two weeks had elapsed since he last had news of Feng Chengyu. They hadn’t spoken since, and Feng Chengyu’s intermittent check-ins had dropped off entirely. Under their contractual terms, Qin Bao had every right to demand an explanation, yet for reasons he couldn’t name, the words caught in his throat.

Feng Chengyu stepped inside, pausing by the threshold.

He had shed his coat downstairs and likely washed his hands, with his cuffs rolled back to expose lean, corded forearms where the hands of the deep-blue watch ticked in quiet precision.

“What are you doing?” Feng Chengyu asked.

“Reading,” Qin Bao answered, his tone carrying no difference from the past. “Not busy anymore?”

Feng Chengyu walked over. Qin Bao looked up, surprised.

The man studied Qin Bao for a beat, then reached down to pull him upright, clearing space before drawing him into the deep cushions of the armchair to sit together.

“…”

Qin Bao didn’t know how to react.

“Feng Chengyu.”

“Here,” Feng Chengyu murmured. “Let me hold you for a moment.”

The delicate scent of narcissus enveloped Qin Bao. With compatibility so high, he had little ground to muster resistance. The Alpha was broad and tall, and Qin Bao had long limbs of his own; huddled together in this single-seater, every line of their bodies pressed flush against each other.

Feng Chengyu stayed silent, and Qin Bao chose not to break it.

A floor lamp stood beside the chair, casting light over the two of them, illuminating the printed pages and throwing their intertwined silhouettes against the wall.

Feng Chengyu seemed content to read alongside him.

Qin Bao could feel the gaze behind him grazing the pages, sweeping over sentences where he recognized every individual character yet failed to grasp their meaning when strung together.

Time to turn the page.

Qin Bao pinched the edge of the paper, only for the text to be taken from his hands the next second, clattering face-down onto the floorboards.

His chin was caught by Feng Chengyu’s hand, his lips captured in a kiss.

A current surged along his spine straight to his skull. Dropping all pretense, Qin Bao abandoned the script entirely; parting his lips to meet the kiss, he shifted his weight to straddle Feng Chengyu face-to-face.

The hem of his hoodie rode up, exposing bare skin to the chill of the room.

The heat intensified with the kiss, the grip on his waist tightening to a bruising pressure.

Qin Bao didn’t stay idle either. Driven by stubborn defiance, his fingers worked hastily down the line of buttons.

The Alpha’s pheromones thickened, mingling with his own as the long-dormant Omega scent surged, wrapping around him in pursuit.

He was lifted.

Then brought down hard once more.

…

He checked. Feng Chengyu bore no injuries. The mental scenarios Qin Bao had spun from reading too many dramatic scripts over the past few weeks—imagining the man nursing some clandestine wound—proved entirely unfounded; the Alpha demonstrated his robust physique with unrelenting vigor.

He was carried toward the bed.

Pausing midway, they lingered for a long time against the arched threshold of the master suite. The raised, textured print of the vintage wallpaper scraped his spine with a dull burn, and this time, it was his turn to bury his fingers in Feng Chengyu’s hair.

The ensuing hours blurred into complete chaos.

Pillows lay scattered everywhere, while the duvet hung half-draped over the foot of the bed, threatening to slip to the floor.

When Feng Chengyu finally scooped him up, Qin Bao’s fingertips were trembling, leaving him only able to lean against the man’s shoulder to catch his breath. On that shoulder sat a fresh, glistening bite mark.

Feng Chengyu reached for the blanket, wrapping Qin Bao tight.

“Silkworm cocoon,” Feng Chengyu murmured, eyes downcast.

Qin Bao’s face burned crimson. With his limbs bound so he couldn’t budge, he could only grumble under his breath, “Childish… let me go.”

Feng Chengyu leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, then gathered both the duvet and the person inside into his arms from behind.

Unbelievable…

He suspected the man’s preferences had regressed to that of an elementary schooler.

“Feng Chengyu,” Qin Bao called out softly in the dark after an unmeasured stretch of time.

In truth, he didn’t know what he wanted to say, but at this moment, something drummed persistently against his ribs, careless of any ruin it might invite.

“Xiao Bao,” Feng Chengyu spoke up abruptly, “let’s live apart for a while.”

Qin Bao stiffened: “Why?”

Feng Chengyu said, “Things have been hectic lately, and my staff has expanded. We hold frequent strategy meetings, so staying at my previous place will be more practical.”

Qin Bao knew Feng Chengyu’s team had grown since his promotion to Vice President. Beyond Lin Zi, three other secretaries managed distinct portfolios. One of them, a Beta who graduated from Feng Chengyu’s alma mater, was an accomplished talent with sharp capabilities, frequently serving as his media spokesperson.

Sharing the same university background and presenting a polished image beside him, speculation had even surfaced online guessing she was Feng Chengyu’s spouse.

“Oh, suit yourself,” Qin Bao said. “You don’t need to report work matters to me.”

The Vice President’s office at the Empire Assembly wasn’t spacious enough for meetings?

A house this vast wasn’t large enough either?

“I’m joining a film set next month anyway. Living apart makes no difference to me,” Qin Bao added dismissively. “You didn’t need to give me a formal notice. It’s not like I sit home waiting for you every day; I don’t have the time to track whether you’re here or not.”

Feng Chengyu’s tone remained neutral: “Alright.”

Eyes wide, Qin Bao stared up through the skylight in the vaulted ceiling at the murky darkness; snow seemed to be falling.

The restless drumming in his chest hadn’t entirely faded, now joined by a stubborn, prickly resentment.

“Then how do we fulfill the contract’s clause about spending every Monday and Friday together?” Qin Bao demanded sharply.

Even if what they owed and repaid each other had long become impossible to tally.

Feng Chengyu said, “Temporarily suspended.”

The breath caught in Qin Bao’s throat. Forcing it down, he muttered darkly, “Then let’s just scrap it permanently. It’s been a nuisance for ages anyway, and this is more convenient for everyone. What do you think?”

Once cancelled, don’t dream of reinstating it!

To his surprise, Feng Chengyu agreed: “Fine. No more distinguishing Mondays and Fridays moving forward.”

Qin Bao: “…”

The blood that had been nearing a boil cooled down degree by degree, turning whatever had almost spilled out earlier into a bitter joke.

He moved to pull away, but Feng Chengyu’s arms tightened: “Where are you going?”

“To shower.”

Unwilling to linger beside this man for another second, Qin Bao rolled off the mattress, the bathroom door slamming shut with a concussive bang.

Moments later, Feng Chengyu stepped inside. Qin Bao was well-accustomed to his unannounced intrusions, cursing himself for forgetting to throw the lock.

Caught off guard and pressed against the cold tiles, his temper flared: “Feng Chengyu! Don’t touch me!”

Feng Chengyu dipped his head to kiss him, holding him against the shower wall with rough insistence, savoring the marked scent gland again and again.

“Fucking bastard!”

“Mm,” the bastard acknowledged.

“Rogue…”

“…Mm.” The rogue trailed kisses down along his neck.

Using this trick again.

Qin Bao drew a sharp breath, gripping the man’s hair tightly. The curse perched on the tip of his tongue was swallowed back down.

…

Near the end of the month, Qin Bao traveled to Grodie with Xiao Xu to shoot a new campaign for the fragrance line.

Throughout the past fortnight, he and Feng Chengyu had been locked in a cold war—though whether it counted as purely one-sided was hard to tell, considering Feng Chengyu had barely initiated contact prior to that anyway.

Hit the fatigue phase already?

So much for that supposed high compatibility.

Good for nothing except bed.

Qin Bao’s thoughts ran cold.

Thank goodness he had kept his mouth shut, never baring his heart out of a passing wave of loneliness or carnal indulgence. The man spent time with him when free, and walked away cleanly when occupied—what a tidy arrangement.

This was the proper way to conduct a contractual marriage.

He was the only fool numbed by time and illusions, forgetting why they had married in the first place, and the compromises he had made back then.

If you can’t rein in your body, rein in your head, he warned himself.

While it remained frigid domestically, Grodie was caught in deep summer.

The shoot was staged in a desert where the heat ran scorching. Several ice-makers had been set up on site, dispensing ice to the crew in rotation.

The theme of this campaign centered on “raw attraction,” matching Qin Bao’s public persona, with the styling and art direction leaning fully into sensuality.

During a break on set, the studio released a candid snapshot of him drinking water slicked in sweat, sending the fanbase into an uproar.

The mishap occurred that afternoon.

Due to the blistering heat, shooting was scheduled for only an hour. With portable air conditioners running, Qin Bao felt manageable at first.

Then, seven or eight Alpha models on standby stepped onto the set, and the onslaught of incoming pheromones struck him like a physical blow.

Built broad and muscular, the models wore tribal-inspired wardrobe per the brief, leaving their torsos and thighs bare.

Sunlight gleamed off bronze skin slick with sweat, while the desert heat haze shimmered across the lens, subtly warping the frame.

It was precisely the visual aesthetic the director wanted.

At the start, Qin Bao remained cooperative.

Fifteen minutes in, he called for a cut, having Xiao Xu retrieve his suppressants so he could inhale another dose.

The mark Feng Chengyu had left had faded significantly, but having dosed with suppressants in advance, Qin Bao shouldn’t have been this sensitive to Alpha pheromones.

After the booster, Qin Bao pushed through for another fifteen minutes before bolting to the side to retch violently.

“Qin Bao—”

Xiao Xu turned pale, rushing forward to pat his back while calling for water to rinse his mouth.

Qin Bao took the water and shoved her back, unwilling to let anyone witness him in such a state: “Get… get back…”

“I’m not leaving! Don’t scare me like this, we’re going to the hospital,” Xiao Xu cried out, on the verge of tears. “What happened? Is it heatstroke?”

Emptying his stomach did nothing to ease the symptoms.

An Alpha stepped forward intending to help; the moment the man drew near, Qin Bao began heaving again. Pandemonium broke out on set, halting production as he was rushed straight to the hospital.

Following a battery of tests, the local doctor entered the ward with the chart, dismissing the staff before turning to Qin Bao: “Were you aware that you have Pheromone Rejection Disorder?”

Lying in the hospital bed, Qin Bao felt utterly drained: “Pheromone Rejection Disorder?”

He had only ever heard of pheromone dependency, never rejection.

Don’t tell me this is because of Feng Chengyu again?

Seeing his confusion, the physician explained, “Pheromone rejection is a genetic anomaly found in an extremely small percentage of Omegas. It is typically detected during the physical evaluations when secondary sex characteristics emerge. You should have been screened during childhood; it’s a mandatory panel.”

Qin Bao shook his head: “I don’t recall being screened.”

Hearing it was an anomaly, he pressed, “What are the symptoms?”

“It manifests as an inability to distinguish between the vast majority of Alpha pheromones, coupled with an instinctive rejection toward them,” the doctor said. “As one ages, it sharpens considerably when approaching a heat cycle.”

Understanding dawned on Qin Bao instantly: “Which is why I find Alphas repulsive?”

The doctor replied, “Individual experiences vary. Some perceive the pheromones as foul odors, while others feel violated.”

Qin Bao: “…”

No wonder he always thought Alphas smelled foul—Tu Yisen smelled foul, Shan Yiming smelled foul, and most Alphas he encountered smelled repulsive without distinction.

Except for… Feng Chengyu.

And his heat cycle was indeed approaching.

“What are the consequences?” he asked.

“Under normal circumstances, using suppressants on schedule to block out Alpha pheromones keeps it manageable. If a permanent mark is achieved with a partner, the symptoms can resolve entirely,” the doctor noted, adding gently, “As for long-term complications… finding a compatible lifelong partner whom you do not reject will be exceptionally difficult.”

Qin Bao offered a flat “Oh,” adding, “Then I won’t look for one.”

The physician shook his head: “Physiological constraints dictate that Omegas innately require an Alpha’s mark. Currently, no heat suppressant exists that does not induce drug tolerance over time. An Omega without a permanent mark may ultimately fail to survive their heat cycles.”

Qin Bao had read the news; reports occasionally covered solitary Omegas in their forties or fifties passing away during severe heats, and he knew some lifelong single Omegas chose surgical gland removal.

Assuming he was distressed, the physician offered reassurances: “You are still very young; there is no need to be pessimistic. With so many people in the world, someone will prove unique to you. Besides, it isn’t entirely without alternatives.”

Evidently, the doctor was thinking of the surgical option as well.

The doctor wrote out a prescription, adding instructions: “Communicate with your family once you return, maintain a steady frame of mind, and the right match will come in time.”

Qin Bao frowned, lost in thought.

He wasn’t dwelling on the genetic anomaly; rather, several loose ends had suddenly fallen into place.

Ever since his secondary presentation, whenever he left the house or headed into crowded venues, Mr. Qin had drilled two habits into him: wear a scent patch, and inhale suppressants.

Scent patches were straightforward enough; for an Omega, they masked one’s scent while providing nourishing barrier support for the gland.

Suppressants were an entirely different matter. Most Omegas relied on them only when nearing a heat cycle or when deliberately shielding against outside scents; in settings demanding strict decorum, even Alphas inhaled them.

There was no inherent reason for Mr. Qin to insist on him inhaling suppressants constantly.

More importantly, within that household, Mr. Qin never made a single move without Old Master Qin’s explicit sanction—with the sole exception of divorcing Ms. Rong.

Qin Bao rested in the hospital for a day. After wrapping the campaign shoot the following afternoon, he flew straight to the imperial capital, heading directly for the Qin residence.

The estate lay dead quiet.

Old Master Qin was practicing calligraphy in the study. Seeing Qin Bao stride in, a smile surfaced on his face as he set his brush aside: “Xiao Bao—”

“Grandpa,” Qin Bao met his eyes with cold detachment. “About my Pheromone Rejection Disorder—does Feng Chengyu know?”