MVCFO CH60

Lin Xiangqi’s glands had been unstable for the past few days, and his body temperature fluctuated as a result. The doctor said it was the pheromones accumulated in his body gradually dispersing—a good sign.

But the frequent high fevers made his sleep shallow. He would often wake up from the heat, feeling thirsty and uncomfortable due to the ache in his glands.

Lu Cong, however, seemed to sleep even lighter than he did.

Because every time Lin Xiangqi woke up—whether at dawn or in the middle of the night—he would immediately hear Lu Cong knock on his door and come in with warm water, quenching his thirst, checking his temperature, gently massaging the tender and fragile Omega glands, and releasing a faint trace of pheromones without stimulating the marking area, to ease his discomfort.

Lin Xiangqi never even had time to feel uncomfortable before Lu Cong had already soothed him back to sleep, warm and relaxed.

He didn’t know whether he should praise Lu Cong for always being so timely, or feel sorry for the poor quality of his sleep.

How could it be that no matter when he woke up, Lu Cong always showed up right on time?

He knew being a general came with a lot of pressure, but surely it didn’t mean he had to go without sleep every night.

That night, half-awake, Lin Xiangqi was once again woken by thirst.

The first thing he did when he opened his eyes was instinctively look toward the bedroom door, waiting for Lu Cong to knock and come in. It had become a subconscious reaction.

But after waiting a while without hearing anything, he got up himself and went to the living room to pour a glass of water.

Surprisingly, Lu Cong wasn’t there, but Lin Xiangqi didn’t think much of it. In fact, he felt relieved.

At least it meant Lu Cong was finally getting some decent sleep tonight.

Still, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself for how he’d acted earlier—as if he couldn’t function without Lu Cong around.

But drinking water when thirsty… that was something he could clearly do on his own. So why did he always want the glass that Lu Cong handed him?

Not just that. Over the years, he had grown terribly dependent on Lu Cong.

After showers, he would call Lu Cong to blow-dry his hair. On cold days, he’d wear thin clothes until Lu Cong showed up with a coat to wrap him up tightly. If Lu Cong didn’t remind him, he wouldn’t eat breakfast.

When they went out together, he’d hand his phone, keys, and everything important to Lu Cong, as if being near him meant he didn’t need to use his brain.

And Lu Cong never seemed to mind. He spoiled him like that for years.

Lin Xiangqi had many bad habits. He often asked Lu Cong for help with things he could easily do himself.

There was even a time he tried to reflect and become more independent—decided he shouldn’t always rely on Lu Cong.

He made the decision one morning. By that afternoon, Lu Cong had blocked his way to apologize.

That tall Alpha bowed his head and earnestly said “I’m sorry” several times.

Lin Xiangqi had stared blankly. “Sorry for what?”

“I don’t know,” Lu Cong said, “but you wouldn’t let me help with your quilt this morning, and you wanted to wash your school uniform separately—so I must’ve done something wrong.”

That day, Lin Xiangqi laughed so hard his stomach hurt from Lu Cong’s blind apology.

His independence plan ultimately failed.

Maybe he’d already known deep down.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t do things by himself.

It was that he had so little, and Lu Cong was the only person that mattered. He wanted Lu Cong in every corner of his life, so that every moment had his presence. Every boring little chore became a shared memory when Lu Cong helped him. Even the dullest times became meaningful.

But…

After Lu Cong left for military school, Lin Xiangqi never relied on anyone else again.

He learned to dry his own hair, add a jacket when the weather changed, eat something in the morning even if he wasn’t hungry. He kept a spare key in Lu Cong’s mailbox in case he forgot his own.

He ate when hungry, drank when thirsty, and slept when tired.

He could handle everything by himself.

Lu Cong wasn’t in his bedroom.

Lin Xiangqi realized this after the fact and thought maybe he’d been half-asleep and mistaken.

He gulped down a mouthful of cold water, then approached Lu Cong’s room and saw the door was indeed open, but no one was inside.

Three in the morning. What could be so urgent?

He faintly caught the scent of Alpha pheromones and frowned.

Now that he understood how the embedded suppressor worked, the smell immediately made him think of Lu Cong being electrocuted.

“Lu Cong?” Lin Xiangqi entered the room and turned on the light—no one.

Then he spotted a smear of dark red—dried blood. He crouched down. It hadn’t been cleaned properly.

Panic rushed into Lin Xiangqi’s chest. Terrible scenarios flooded his mind.

Had Lu Cong fallen out of bed and hit his head? Was it a nosebleed from the dry air? Had someone tried to assassinate him?

He hurried to call Lu Cong, but just as he found the video contact, he heard the front door open.

Lu Cong had returned.

In that instant, Lin Xiangqi’s mind went blank. He rushed forward and threw himself into the man’s arms.

The room fell silent for a whole minute.

Lin Xiangqi said nothing, still shaken from what he saw. He hadn’t calmed down yet and didn’t know what to say.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he mumbled, “Sorry, I might’ve hit you pretty hard just now—did I hurt you?”

He loosened his arms a bit as he spoke.

But then, Lu Cong wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him even closer, replying softly, “You’re not that strong.”

“…What?”

“My bones are hard.” Lu Cong said calmly.

To prove he wasn’t weak, Lin Xiangqi bumped his forehead against Lu Cong’s shoulder.

There was a dull thud. Lu Cong was fine—but Lin Xiangqi’s forehead turned red. He winced and held his head in pain.

Lu Cong: “…”

“Wasn’t bad, right?” Lin Xiangqi asked, still holding his forehead. “Did it hurt?”

Lu Cong paused for half a second, then sighed and said, “Yeah. You’re strong.”

Realizing how childish he was being, Lin Xiangqi pushed Lu Cong, trying to put some distance between them. But Lu Cong only held him tighter.

It was a bit strange for them to be hugging at the doorway like this.

Just as he was about to speak, Lu Cong cut in: “What were you doing in my room tonight?”

Though the Alpha’s breath was steady, Lin Xiangqi sensed a hint of pheromone in the air.

He wasn’t sure if it was real, but there seemed to be the scent of something burning. His own glands weren’t developed enough to identify pheromones clearly, but the room definitely felt warmer.

“I got up to get some water and saw you weren’t around. Then I saw blood and thought something had happened to you.” Lin Xiangqi explained, trying to check Lu Cong for injuries.

And sure enough, he saw something unusual on the back of Lu Cong’s neck. Alarmed, he asked, “Did you hurt your gland?”

Lu Cong didn’t answer directly. “It won’t affect the treatment.”

“I just want to know how you got hurt.”

Lin Xiangqi reached out carefully.

Though the wound had been bandaged, and he couldn’t see the extent of the injury, the skin around the gauze was still red.

In the end, Lin Xiangqi didn’t touch it, afraid he might hurt him. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking again, “Does it hurt?”

“It’s just a small injury,” Lu Cong said casually. “You act like I’m afraid of pain.”

You asked about old scars. You asked if a bump hurt.

Lin Xiangqi didn’t argue. He simply looked at Lu Cong and said, “Even if you’re not afraid of pain, it doesn’t mean you don’t feel it. An injury is still an injury. If you don’t say anything, how can anyone help you?”

Lu Cong lowered his gaze to Lin Xiangqi and said after a pause, “I did say something.”

“…Said what?”

“I said it hurts. I said I was in agony. I said I couldn’t take it anymore. I said save me. I couldn’t endure it.”

“You…” Lin Xiangqi felt a sudden pressure in his chest. “Who did you say that to? They didn’t help you?”

Lu Cong released him, walked to the kitchen counter, poured himself a glass of water, and smiled faintly.

“They didn’t hear me.”

Lin Xiangqi’s return was something Lu Cong had once only dreamed of—but it had now come true.

Ten years ago, Lin Xiangqi hadn’t replied to that letter. To the younger Lu Cong, that was a kind of soul-crushing sorrow.

But to the Lu Cong who had lived without Lin Xiangqi for ten years, it no longer mattered.

It was best that Lin Xiangqi had come back.

And if he didn’t want to stay, Lu Cong would still find a way to keep him.

It wasn’t something he could help. He’d already gone mad.

No one could expect a madman to be merciful.

Lin Xiangqi walked over to the kitchen island, propped both hands on it, and looked straight at Lu Cong.

Lu Cong looked back at him. “Hmm?”

“Was it me?” Lin Xiangqi asked.

Lu Cong paused, setting down his water glass. “…What?”

“When you were in pain, when you felt like you couldn’t go on—was I the one you were talking to…?”

Lin Xiangqi added quickly with a self-deprecating smile, “I know I’m probably being presumptuous, but I really want to know what happened to you back then. And if it wasn’t me, then why didn’t that person help you?”

“…It was.”

The words slipped out before Lu Cong even realized it.

He shouldn’t have said anything.

Lin Xiangqi had seen the letter. He knew how Lu Cong felt. But he hadn’t responded, and that had meant something.

Their reunion wasn’t permission to hope for more—it just meant Lu Cong had a chance to make him stay.

“…It really was me.”
Even though he’d suspected it, Lin Xiangqi still felt a sting in his chest when he heard it aloud. He said slowly, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”

He stepped forward and gently hugged Lu Cong. “Can you tell me about it? About what happened in those ten years when I wasn’t with you?”

Lu Cong’s body went rigid. His jaw clenched, temples tensed. After a moment, he muttered, “It’s late. Go back to bed.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Lin Xiangqi looked at him and said, “Tonight, I want to sleep with you.”

The adult Lu Cong was much better at hiding his emotions than the younger one.

Over the past few days, Lin Xiangqi hadn’t had much chance to talk deeply with him. Most of the time, he felt like Lu Cong hadn’t changed at all—but sometimes, he sensed a faint distance born from the years they had been apart.

Since they were finally talking about it tonight, Lin Xiangqi wanted to seize the opportunity and hear everything.

He couldn’t be there for it, but listening to Lu Cong tell the story would be a kind of redemption.

He didn’t even care about Lu Cong’s complex expression or the hesitation in his silence. He ran straight to Lu Cong’s bedroom.

A moment later, his voice called out from the room: “Hurry up, I’m waiting for you in bed!”

Lu Cong: “…”

He let out a helpless laugh.

Lin Xiangqi saw Lu Cong standing at the door, not coming in, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe.

His heart was full of curiosity about those ten years. He urged, “Aren’t you coming up?”

Lu Cong said, “Are you sure you want to sleep with me?”

“We used to sleep together all the time,” Lin Xiangqi replied. Then he seemed to remember something and added, “Oh, you’ve grown up now—maybe your habits are different than when we were younger. That’s fine. We can just talk, and I’ll go back to my room afterward.”

This time, Lu Cong was silent for a long while.

Lin Xiangqi thought he was considering it.

But after a long pause, he heard Lu Cong repeat the words slowly, tasting them:

“…‘When we were younger’?”