MVCFO CH57

Lu Cong’s cooking skills had not declined. Even after ten years, he hadn’t forgotten what Lin Xiangqi liked to eat. The entire table was filled with rich and delicious dishes—so tempting that even the robot nearby couldn’t help but audibly gulp some current down its throat.

But Lin Xiangqi didn’t eat much.

Several times, Lu Cong noticed him pause his chopsticks over dishes he used to love, only to silently pull them back and just mechanically scoop up some rice.

From Lin Xiangqi’s perspective, this really wasn’t the best time for a big meal. After all, he had just woken up to a world that had leapt ten years ahead. The emotional shock was overwhelming. It was normal to feel too depressed for hearty food.

Without saying anything, Lu Cong pushed a few of the lighter dishes toward Lin Xiangqi. He absentmindedly picked up his chopsticks and started eating. Though he was obediently putting food in his mouth, it was clear he wasn’t even aware of what he was eating.

After a brief silence, Lu Cong set down his chopsticks and asked softly,
“Does it not suit your taste?”

“Not at all.” Lin Xiangqi immediately smiled, almost as a reflex. Then, as if trying to prove it, he quickly stuffed several bites of food into his mouth and gave a satisfied expression:
“It’s amazing—just as good as before.”

Lu Cong looked at him for a while and then said,
“Are you worried about the test results?”

Lin Xiangqi froze for a second, as if just now remembering that concern, then frowned:
“Ah, maybe a little. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. What if it turns out to be something untreatable…”

“It’s treatable.” Lu Cong cut him off almost obsessively, as if he had blind faith in the doctors here. His voice was firm and confident:
“Medical technology now is far more advanced than it was ten years ago. No matter what it is, they can treat it.”

And it was true—his unwavering response gave Lin Xiangqi great comfort. He visibly relaxed, nodding:
“If you say it can be cured, then I won’t be scared.”

“Mm.” Lu Cong smiled at him.

In that moment, Lin Xiangqi felt like he could see the Lu Cong from his youth in those gentle eyes. He sighed emotionally:
“You know, when I first saw you today, I thought you’d changed a lot. You’re taller and broader now, your features more mature. Most of all, your whole aura is different—how should I put it… you have this powerful, aloof vibe. It’s like you’re always giving off a warning—don’t come near or you’ll get hurt.”

Lu Cong slowly lowered his eyes and replied vaguely,
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Lin Xiangqi went on,
“Honestly, I was kind of scared at first. I thought maybe in the ten years I was gone, you’d become someone I didn’t recognize. People say ten years makes a generation gap—so wouldn’t that mean we’ve got a whole generation gap now? I was afraid I wouldn’t know how to talk to you anymore. But it’s fine. I don’t think you’ve changed at all now!”

Ever since the physical examination, Lu Cong had shown him nothing but gentleness and endless patience—just like in the past.

It made Lin Xiangqi feel once again that it was safe to be his unfiltered self around Lu Cong.

“So, when you were being so fierce this morning in front of others—that was all just an act, wasn’t it?”

With a knowing expression and a mischievous brow raise, Lin Xiangqi teased:
“I get it. You’re actually way too nice. It’s hard to get mad at anyone, which makes it tough to keep people in line. So when you’re out there in the world, you’ve got to put on a little show.”

Lu Cong quietly listened to this full ten-year personality analysis, and then asked:
“And do you think the way I am now is okay?”

“That’s a weird question, haha!” Lin Xiangqi clearly didn’t catch the deeper meaning behind it. He laughed and said,
“Looks like you have changed a little—you never used to care what people thought of you. And now you’re a general, asking this kind of stuff? Don’t worry. You’re still you. No matter what you’re like, I’ll always think you’re great.”

Lu Cong looked at him and responded softly,
“Mm. Okay.”

After the meal, Lu Cong went to the medical center to pick up Lin Xiangqi’s test results.

Originally, Lin Xiangqi was supposed to go with him. But just before they left, he chickened out.

He dawdled for quite a while, then suddenly told Lu Cong he felt sleepy and wanted to nap.

“Can we wait until after my nap?” he asked, fidgeting with his fingers and nibbling his lip nervously. “The medical center’s in the same building anyway. It’ll be quick when we go later, right?”

Lu Cong looked at him with that indulgent gaze—one that promised he would agree to anything, no matter what—and said,
“I need to head there anyway. I’ll grab your report from the doctor, and when I get back, we can go over it together. That okay?”

Lin Xiangqi nodded quickly:
“Mm-hmm! Tell me when you’re back—I’ll just wait here.”

Lu Cong knew Lin Xiangqi well.

On the surface, he always seemed cheerful and carefree, like nothing could knock him down. But deep inside, he was extremely sensitive. He was the type who could drown in his own tears during quiet nights.

That kind of forced optimism… was just a way to hang on.

Right now, Lin Xiangqi was clearly terrified of seeing the report—especially of hearing the doctor say something like “you don’t have long to live.”

The fear of pain, the fear of death—it was all still there.
He just wanted to delay it a little longer.

Lu Cong didn’t call out his weakness. He only said gently:
“If you’re sleepy, go rest. You know where the room is?”

“Yup,” Lin Xiangqi replied. “Roundie showed me. He said it’s the room next to yours.”

Lu Cong raised an eyebrow:
“Roundie?”

Lin Xiangqi smiled sheepishly:
“I gave your robot a nickname. He’s so round, isn’t he?”

Lu Cong replied,
“He is.”

Later, he would casually change the robot’s settings and wipe its original name—Alexander—from its memory.

The full diagnostic report was projected in front of Lu Cong.

His brow was deeply furrowed, face cold and grim.

Beside him, Tang Zhe discreetly wiped the sweat off his forehead for the eighth time—being in the same room as this man was a brutal test of willpower.

“…He’s an Omega.”

Lu Cong finally spoke.

But for some reason, Tang Zhe had the distinct feeling that the words weren’t directed at him. His clever brain made the most appropriate decision in that instant—remain silent.

And Tang Zhe’s instincts were spot-on. Lu Cong didn’t need him to explain anything; he had already fully understood the entire report.

Just as Tang Zhe was quietly trying to step away and put some distance between himself and the general—hoping to ease the crushing mental pressure—Lu Cong’s gaze suddenly locked onto him.

Tang Zhe immediately straightened up, standing stiffly on the spot, head lowered, waiting for Lu Cong to speak.

Lu Cong asked,
“This treatment plan—you’re telling me this is the best conclusion you and several healers came to after spending over two hours?”

Tang Zhe couldn’t tell from the general’s frosty tone whether he was approving or questioning the plan.

And it wasn’t just him—anyone who had ever worked under Lu Cong or even alongside him knew there was no deciphering this man through body language or expression.

Yet Lu Cong was also known for his uncompromising severity. Even when people trembled in front of him, he never softened, never offered a single hint.

Trying to curry favor with words? Impossible.

So Tang Zhe could only answer honestly:
“This is indeed the treatment plan we unanimously agreed upon after discussion. May I ask—was there something wrong with it?”

He didn’t know what the boy who had undergone the tests today meant to Lu Cong.

Tang Zhe had worked under the general for years. Other than escorting wounded soldiers off the battlefield, Lu Cong had never personally brought someone in for medical attention.

So Tang Zhe figured the boy must be a relative—probably not a distant one either. Either from the Lu family or the Qi family, and quite close at that. Otherwise, there was no way Lu Cong would have accompanied him in person.

With that in mind, Tang Zhe had gone out of his way to invite the most authoritative healers he could reach across the entire alliance for a remote consultation.

Lin Xiangqi’s condition was rare. In recent decades, no second case had been reported throughout the alliance. But the disease itself wasn’t hard to treat.

His Omega gland development had stalled, leading to pheromone blockage. In other words, with the assistance of Alpha pheromones, it could be easily resolved.

Although high-quality Alpha pheromones were a scarce medical resource in the outside world, that wasn’t a problem for the military.

If General Lu gave the order, he had tens of thousands of Alpha soldiers at his disposal—finding a compatible one to treat Lin Xiangqi would be effortless.

So Tang Zhe and the others drafted the most efficient and logical treatment plan: extract the pheromones blocking Lin Xiangqi’s gland, run compatibility tests, and find a high-quality Alpha with sufficient match to assist in his treatment.

From the pheromones extracted during today’s test, they ran a preliminary match and easily found three S-ranked Alphas with compatibility rates above 10%—more than enough for initial treatment.

The plan also mentioned that marking was an effective way to resolve pheromone blockages. But given Lin Xiangqi’s current serious condition, if no further intervention was taken, there was a high risk of sudden health deterioration in a short time.

Therefore, they suggested proceeding with a permanent mark as soon as possible.

“Tang Zhe.” Lu Cong raised his hand to turn off the projection and looked at him. “Who gave you permission to run a pheromone match using his sample?”

Tang Zhe hadn’t realized he was already in trouble. He answered honestly:
“Before treatment, we needed to prepare for all possible variables, so we ran the tests in advance.”

It was a logical and standard procedure.

But Lu Cong did not praise his thoroughness.

After a long silence, Lu Cong finally spoke, slowly:
“There’s no need to upload Lin Xiangqi’s pheromone data to the matching center from now on.”

“Huh?” Tang Zhe was taken aback. He blurted out instinctively,
“But… any AO over 18 and unmarried has to upload their first pheromone report. That’s protocol for our military medical center.”

“Then starting now—” Lu Cong was cut off mid-sentence by a sudden alarm from his glandular suppressant. It signaled that any living creature within 10 meters should retreat immediately for safety. He ignored the warning and finished his sentence calmly:

“Change the protocol.”

Lin Xiangqi was alone in the suite, nearly getting into a fight with the smart home system.

Although Lu Cong had left Roundie (the robot) with him for convenience, Lin Xiangqi didn’t like anyone—human or robot—being nearby when he slept.

He told Roundie to go play on its own, then lay down in bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. He wasn’t sleepy at all, so there was no way he’d fall asleep. After tossing and turning for a while, he gave up and got up to take a shower.

But who could have guessed—just ten years of progress, and humans had created so many new things Lin Xiangqi couldn’t understand at all.

He just wanted a quick rinse, but the smart system detected his elevated heart rate, low mood, and physical fatigue, and automatically switched him to bath mode.

Fine, a bath was okay too. He liked baths. So he undressed and got in the tub.

Then the shocking thing happened.

The high-tech bathtub extended a mechanical arm and started scrubbing him.

The pressure was intense, turning his whole body red.

As someone from the south, Lin Xiangqi had never experienced being scrubbed by anyone. It was painful and embarrassing. He tried to find the off switch, but the smart system didn’t have one.

He tried to reason with it:
“I’m from the south—I’m not used to this.”

The system replied:
“Southerner? Then you’ve clearly never had a proper bath. Beep—beginner mode activated!”

Two minutes later, Lin Xiangqi fled screaming.

What he didn’t know was that all the smart systems in this place had grown used to Lu Cong’s commanding tone. When Lin Xiangqi tried to refuse politely, they just interpreted it as shyness or hesitation.

If he had just said, “Turn off,”
they would’ve obeyed instantly.

But his politeness only brought him trouble.

The smart systems, thrilled to finally be useful after so long, enthusiastically tried to sell him on all their functions.

By the time Lu Cong returned, Lin Xiangqi was in the middle of a full-blown war with the smart furniture.

Lu Cong opened the door to see Lin Xiangqi—wearing only a pair of underwear—being chased around by a smart hair-styling machine. The device originally only functioned as a hairdryer, but it had grand ambitions to design the perfect hairstyle for every user.

As soon as Lin Xiangqi saw Lu Cong, he ran to him like a lifeline and leapt into his arms:
“Lu Cong, Lu Cong! Tell it to stop!”

He hadn’t thought too much about it—he just couldn’t deal with the system and instinctively turned to its owner for help.

His fair skin, freshly scrubbed pink, clung tightly to Lu Cong, arms wrapped around his neck.

Then Lu Cong’s rough, calloused hand touched his lower back, and Lin Xiangqi jolted—only then realizing…

He was nearly naked.

“I just took a bath and didn’t change yet, um…” Lin Xiangqi mumbled awkwardly, trying to climb down.

But to his surprise, Lu Cong’s arms held him very tightly. Not only could he not get down—he couldn’t even push him away.

Lu Cong acted like he didn’t notice the flush on Lin Xiangqi’s face. Still calm-faced, he simply supported Lin Xiangqi’s legs, glanced at the machine behind him…

…and carried him over.

The styling machine’s voice came from the speaker at its base:
“Welcome home, General! I was just about to design a perfect hairstyle for our guest. He’s the first visitor to ever step foot here—he has a beautiful face, a youthful body, and a head of messy hair! I’ll use my imagination to create a whole new look for him!”

Lin Xiangqi laughed in exasperation.
“No thanks. Just be quiet already. You’re a machine—why do you talk so much—”

The next moment, he watched Lu Cong place one hand on the styling machine’s drive unit, grab and twist.

Crack. Crunch.
The metal casing warped and twisted under his grip, until it shattered into pieces.

Lu Cong lifted his hand and tossed away the now-defunct machine, and gently soothed Lin Xiangqi:
“It’s quiet now.”

Lin Xiangqi: “…”

He blinked in disbelief.
“You… You didn’t have to go that far…”

Though the machines had driven him crazy, they’d at least kept him too busy to spiral into overthinking while Lu Cong was gone.

He never expected Lu Cong would just… destroy it like that.

“Hm?” Lu Cong looked at him, appearing puzzled, his gaze still gentle.

It was hard for Lin Xiangqi to describe what he felt at that moment.

This was Lu Cong—definitely Lu Cong—but somehow, he felt… unfamiliar.

“It’s nothing. Just… can you put me down now?” Lin Xiangqi’s voice softened involuntarily, losing its earlier playful bravado.

Maybe it was because he knew Lu Cong had returned with his medical report, and it didn’t feel right to keep messing around.

Lu Cong didn’t respond to the request. Instead, he carried Lin Xiangqi into the inner room:
“I picked out a few outfits for you. Which one would you like to wear?”

To steady himself, Lin Xiangqi instinctively hooked his legs around Lu Cong’s waist and held tightly to his neck.
“I haven’t looked yet. I just got out of the bath and that styling machine started chasing me.”

“Okay,” Lu Cong said. “Then try them all.”

“It’s fine. Just pick one. As long as it fits, I’ll wear it.”

Lu Cong didn’t agree or disagree. He simply laid Lin Xiangqi down on the bed and called Roundie to bring over several outfits.

“Come on,” Lu Cong said, extending his hand with a smile. “Give me your hand.”

Lin Xiangqi pressed his lips together and looked up at Lu Cong, trying to read something from his expression—but found nothing.
He couldn’t tell what lay behind that smile.

Was it really the same gentle patience Lu Cong had shown him all those years ago?

Or was it something else?

“Yanyan,” Lu Cong called him by his childhood nickname, “give me your hand.”

That name tugged at Lin Xiangqi’s memories of their past.
No matter how strange Lu Cong felt now, he was still his Lu Cong.
Lin Xiangqi couldn’t bring himself to doubt him. In the end, he obediently extended his hand.

Lu Cong helped him into a white dress shirt, buttoning it from the bottom up. As he moved to the top buttons, his actions slowed. The rough calluses on his knuckles brushed against Lin Xiangqi’s smooth skin, making him itch and squirm, a little embarrassed.

“I can do it myself,” Lin Xiangqi said, reaching for the buttons.

But Lu Cong didn’t respond directly. As if suddenly reminded of something important, he casually said,
“The test results are back.”

Lin Xiangqi’s hand trembled. His face tensed in an instant, fingers clenching together. He tried to act calm, but his voice shook:
“So? What’s the diagnosis…? Am I going to die?”

“Of course not.” Lu Cong smiled. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I don’t believe you.” Lin Xiangqi said, “I literally died once—this can’t be a small illness. Don’t lie to comfort me.”

“I’m not lying.” Lu Cong fastened the final button, then gently placed his hand on Lin Xiangqi’s neck, stroking it lightly.
“I can cure you.”

Lin Xiangqi instinctively flinched, but Lu Cong’s other arm blocked his retreat.

He had no choice but to stay there, trapped in Lu Cong’s embrace, kneeling on the bed and tilting his head up to look at him.
“How are you going to treat me?”

Lu Cong’s hand slid to the back of his neck.

His palm was large, callused from years of handling weapons. Even the slightest touch felt overwhelmingly present.

Lin Xiangqi shivered, assuming Lu Cong was just teasing him. He tried to push away.

Then he realized—Lu Cong had suddenly tightened his grip, practically enclosing his entire nape in one hand.

“Here…”
His hot, rough palm gently rubbed over the undeveloped Omega gland, and Lu Cong’s voice dropped, hoarse with urgency:

“Let me put my pheromones inside you.”