MVCFO CH62

“Actually… during those days when you couldn’t reach me, I was with Shen Qiaolan. He had taken my phone, turned it off, and locked it away… You don’t have to frown. I know I was being stupid. Back then, I really thought that if I took your place and went to the hospital to take care of Shen Qiaolan, the Shen family would be satisfied, they wouldn’t press charges, and you’d be allowed to stay…”

“But in the end, I was just being ridiculously naive. Not only did I miss your calls, I didn’t even see the letter you left for me.”

As Lin Xiangqi spoke, he showed a look of disgust. “Now I realize, maybe Shen Qiaolan wasn’t even sure you’d go to military school. He deliberately stopped us from contacting each other, just so we’d both think… the other one didn’t care.”

Sometimes, Lin Xiangqi felt like he had been utterly ridiculous during that period.

Ridiculously falling for someone who didn’t meet any of his standards for an Alpha.

Ridiculously doing stupid things for that Alpha.

Ridiculously losing his mind, making mistake after mistake in situations that should’ve been obvious.

Even after Lu Chong left, Lin Xiangqi didn’t really snap out of it.

He just moved from one ridiculous state into another, more numb one. It felt like his awareness was being suppressed by something. Whenever Shen Qiaolan was involved, he became foolish again.

During that time, Lin Xiangqi felt like his soul had been pulled out, leaving him a puppet—his feet fixed to a tiny square. He couldn’t escape the cycle, could only watch helplessly as the world outside changed while he remained trapped in place.

And now, having come back from the dead once, Lin Xiangqi felt like his mind had finally cleared. Everything was becoming more and more obvious.

He was sure Lu Chong must’ve written something important in that letter. That was why he had reacted so strangely when he found out Lin Xiangqi had never read it.

Without hesitation, Lin Xiangqi said, “Lu Chong, can you just tell me directly what you wrote in the letter? I’ll listen to you right now—I promise I won’t miss it this time!”

Lin Xiangqi firmly believed that his return to ten years ago had meaning.

The heavens must’ve disapproved of the ending between him and Lu Chong, so they gave them this second chance—to make up for regrets, to choose again.

He and Lu Chong had once been so close—whatever misunderstanding there was, they just had to talk it out face-to-face.

Once the air was cleared, they could go back to being best friends again—never having to end up as strangers.

With a determined smile, Lin Xiangqi reached out to hold Lu Chong’s hand, encouraging him: “Even if you were cursing me in that letter, I won’t talk back. Just tell me everything, don’t hold back.”

To him, it was that simple. He didn’t know what Lu Chong was thinking.

He waited for a while—but there was no answer.

Instead, Lu Chong suddenly gripped his hand tightly, so hard it hurt.

“Ow… gentle, will you?” Lin Xiangqi didn’t pull away, but he did complain softly, “You don’t have to grab so tight—I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t go to military school,” Lu Chong suddenly said.

Lin Xiangqi was stunned. “Huh?”

Lu Chong slowly opened his mouth and said, “I stayed.”

It turned out that back then, Lu Chong had already decided to stay. He had been undergoing strict gland inspections at the quarantine center, all so he could return to Lin Xiangqi’s side.

That letter had been written to ask Lin Xiangqi to wait for him. Everything he wrote was meant to keep Lin Xiangqi from pushing him away.

But Lin Xiangqi never saw the letter—never responded.

So Lu Chong had thought he’d overstepped. That Lin Xiangqi didn’t want him anymore.

Even so, even if Lin Xiangqi didn’t want him…

Lu Chong would still return to him.

He would do so by any means, at any cost. Even if he was chased away, he would come back.

And yet, Lin Xiangqi “died” after Lu Chong returned.

That day, Lu Chong broke quarantine without permission. The Alliance thought he had lost control and issued a warrant for his arrest.

But when hundreds of heavily armed special forces officers surrounded that old house, inside and out, Lu Chong simply walked out of it—empty, lifeless, and calm—standing quietly before them with no resistance.

He couldn’t find Lin Xiangqi.

Alive or dead—he was nowhere to be found.

He begged the Alliance to help him search. He said, if they found Lin Xiangqi, he would accept any punishment. But if they didn’t—everyone would die.

Those words weren’t a threat. He said them with a pleading tone, eyes full of grief—yet the terror they struck was unforgettable.

That was the last sliver of reason he had left.

He believed Shen Qiaolan had taken Lin Xiangqi’s body. But the Shen family firmly denied it.

The Alliance spent nearly six months investigating Shen Qiaolan, but they never found any evidence. After much debate, they had no choice but to give up the case.

Now, surprisingly, Lu Chong hadn’t made any more threats.

It was as if, one day, he had just quietly accepted everything.

Time passed, and the storm gradually faded. But Lu Chong never left the place where he and Lin Xiangqi had grown up.

He only moved when the house was forcibly torn down years later.

He never enrolled in military school.

To Lin Xiangqi, that was as shocking as being brought back from the dead. Something beyond fate—another fate altogether.

It was like reading a story whose ending he already knew… only to suddenly realize, halfway through, that the version he was reading now was completely different.

But Lin Xiangqi didn’t dwell on it.

After all, if he could return from the dead, then Lu Chong not attending military school didn’t seem that strange either.

“So you said in the letter that you weren’t going to military school, asked me to wait for you, and even gave me the quarantine center’s address. If Shen Qiaolan hadn’t lied to me, I could’ve at least seen you one last time before I died!”

Lin Xiangqi was fuming. “I swear, I’m going to kill him! Don’t stop me—I will kill him! Just tell me where he lives! How can someone be that horrible?! I can’t swallow this rage—I just can’t!”

Lu Chong’s eyes flashed with a strange glint, but Lin Xiangqi didn’t notice.

“Wait—are the Shen family still the richest in the Alliance? Is Shen Qiaolan stronger than you, or are you stronger?” Lin Xiangqi, while ranting, still had the presence of mind to ask, “If I beat him up and he sues me, can you get me out?”

But Lu Chong just replied calmly, “People and things that are gone… don’t need to be mentioned again.”

Lin Xiangqi didn’t listen at all. Clenching his fists, he added, “Oh right—I’m technically ‘dead’ now, aren’t I? Even if he sees me, he’ll just think I’m a ghost. Perfect. Shen Qiaolan, your days are numbered!”

Suddenly, Lin Xiangqi caught a strange scent in the air.

It wasn’t exactly pleasant—harsh, almost aggressive. But the more he smelled it, the more he liked it. His attention was pulled toward it.

“Lu Chong, do you smell something…”

He sniffed hard and followed the scent… right to Lu Chong’s side.

A thought popped into his head—

This smells like Lu Chong’s pheromones.

Because of his illness, Lin Xiangqi’s glands had been unable to detect Alpha pheromones clearly. But now, he could smell them. That meant… he’d reached a new stage in recovery.

He was pleasantly surprised and was about to share this exciting news. Just as he opened his mouth and said, “I think I smell your pheromones. I—”

He stopped short.

In that instant, Lin Xiangqi suddenly realized—Lu Chong’s pheromones were growing stronger and stronger… and it wasn’t random.

They were deliberately surrounding him, slowly and intensely enveloping him with undeniable presence.

He instinctively reached for his neck, rubbing it as his glands tingled and itched in a way that felt oddly familiar.

Then Lu Chong’s hand covered his, gently but firmly taking over, pressing lightly on his glands. He coaxed in a low voice, “Be good, okay?”

Lin Xiangqi’s little tantrum vanished immediately. He lowered his angry fists and muttered, “Fine…”

Lu Chong refused to let Lin Xiangqi take revenge, and that made Lin Xiangqi think he was way too kind—too soft, too willing to suffer. He was not pleased.

But once he smelled Lu Chong’s pheromones, Lin Xiangqi had a sudden realization—something far more exciting.

He immediately threw the idea of killing Shen Qiaolan to the side, wrapped his arms around Lu Chong’s neck, and nuzzled him, sniffing intently for a while. Then he declared:
“Lu Chong! I don’t like Shen Qiaolan!!”

Lu Chong assumed he meant he’d come to his senses and didn’t like Shen Qiaolan anymore. So he just said mildly, “I know.”

Then he picked Lin Xiangqi up, gently tossed him onto the bed, and said, “Now go to sleep.”

Lin Xiangqi gave a little “ow,” rolled twice, and then rolled smoothly back to Lu Chong’s side.

He propped himself up and shouted excitedly:
“I never liked him in the first place! Lu Chong, I’m sure now—it was his pheromones! I was being controlled by pheromones!”

Now that he was sure he’d never actually liked Shen Qiaolan, Lin Xiangqi felt elated.

So much for love at first sight. So much for being biologically attracted.

That time he had met Shen Qiaolan and felt that warm, tingling, blissful sensation—it was the exact same as what he felt now, wrapped in Lu Chong’s pheromones.

No—strictly speaking, Lu Chong’s pheromones felt even better.

But it was precisely because Shen Qiaolan’s pheromones back then had only affected him a little—and only briefly—that Lin Xiangqi had misunderstood it as love at first sight. He hadn’t realized that it was really his sick glands desperately searching for something to cling to.

He reveled in this realization for a while—until he noticed that Lu Chong looked terrible.

He wasn’t smiling, his brows were drawn together, and his already sharp features now looked even colder—practically murderous.

Lin Xiangqi was baffled. He had just told him he didn’t like Shen Qiaolan. Why was Lu Chong reacting so… badly?

“You don’t look too happy,” he asked cautiously. “What are you thinking about?”

Lu Chong pressed his hand to his brow, took two deep breaths, and said:

“Fourteen years old. Maybe even earlier… If I had marked you back then, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Haha, who thinks about marking someone at fourteen?”

Lin Xiangqi felt that Lu Cong was saying something completely pointless.
“Don’t dwell on things that can’t be changed. I’m really happy right now! Look, we talked so much tonight, we cleared up all the misunderstandings, we’re still best friends, my illness can be cured—everything is getting better, isn’t that something to be happy about?”

Lu Cong didn’t respond.

After that night, Lin Xiangqi noticed that Lu Cong had fewer official duties.

To put it bluntly—he was very free. In fact, he seemed to be getting more free.

For the past two days, Lu Cong was with him for more than twenty hours a day.

They ate and slept together, inseparable, almost like they were back in school again.
But it wasn’t quite the same.

At the very least, the eighteen-year-old Lu Cong wouldn’t have sat Lin Xiangqi on his lap and fed him.

This was completely unreasonable!

“Lu Cong, I need to clarify something with you. My illness is with my glands, not my limbs.”

As Lin Xiangqi was talking, his mouth opened and closed, and Lu Cong took the opportunity to feed him a spoonful of egg custard.

Lin Xiangqi swallowed it before he realized, then continued,
“What I mean is, I can walk on my own, find a seat on my own, and eat on my own.”

Lu Cong peeled a shrimp and held it up to his mouth.
“Here.”

Lin Xiangqi reflexively opened his mouth and ate it, chewing before commenting:
“Too sweet.”

Lu Cong: “Want another?”

Lin Xiangqi: “No.”
Two seconds later: “Actually, yes!”

Lu Cong laughed, “Well, which is it?”

“I can peel and eat it myself, let go of me.” Lin Xiangqi tensed his feet, trying to touch the ground.

But the moment he got close to the floor, Lu Cong gripped his waist and lifted him up, changing their position. Now they were face-to-face, with Lin Xiangqi straddling his lap.

Lu Cong said, “You’re not wearing shoes. The floor is cold.”

Lin Xiangqi let out a laugh.
“Don’t you know why I’m not wearing shoes?”

It was because that morning, when he casually said he wanted to take a bath, Lu Cong had scooped him up from bed and carried him to the bath, joining him for a soak. Lu Cong had washed him clean from head to toe, and even carried him back out. He hadn’t touched the ground the entire time.

Lin Xiangqi sighed like a little old man, and said:
“I know… ever since that night, you’ve been blaming yourself for my illness. You think it’s your fault and you’re trying to make up for it by taking care of me in every way, right?”

Lu Cong didn’t answer, just gave him a vague look.

Lin Xiangqi thought he guessed right, so he continued,
“But Lu Cong, I got sick because I wasn’t paying enough attention—and also, I was just unlucky that the check-up missed it. The point is, you don’t have to blame yourself for this. You’re already helping me treat it, that’s the best thing you could do for me. As for day-to-day life, let me handle that myself.”

At that moment, Lu Cong raised his hand and pressed a finger pad against Lin Xiangqi’s lips.

Lin Xiangqi: “?”

What are you doing? Manually muting me?

Lu Cong gently rubbed his lips, and said,
“Your lips are a little dry. Might need some vitamins.”

Lin Xiangqi: “…”

So he didn’t listen to a single word I just said, huh!

Good news: That afternoon, Lu Cong received an urgent classified order and had to leave for a day. Lin Xiangqi was freed. His feet could touch the ground again, and his hands could hold chopsticks.

Bad news: Without Lu Cong around, it was so boring.

Even though Lu Cong had unlocked all non-confidential access in the building for Lin Xiangqi and told the smart system to follow his commands…

Lin Xiangqi still felt bored.

Lu Cong had arranged for two top-tier tutors from the capital to help him prepare for the big exam. But he had also given strict instructions: only four hours of study per day—nothing more, so Lin Xiangqi wouldn’t get tired.

Lin Xiangqi protested that four hours was not enough, but Lu Cong said he’d handle the rest himself—if Lin had questions, just ask him.

But today, the lessons were done, and Lu Cong was gone. Studying alone just wasn’t working.

By the eighth hour of Lu Cong’s absence, Lin Xiangqi was beyond bored.

He decided to go out for a walk.

Since arriving ten years into the future, Lin Xiangqi hadn’t once stepped outside the building.

Which was odd, because normally if someone arrived in a whole new world, they’d at least want to explore. But when he was with Lu Cong, he never remembered to ask to go outside.

Now that Lu Cong was gone, Lin Xiangqi finally realized—he didn’t even know what the outside world looked like now.

He quickly got ready and left the room with enthusiasm.

As he walked down the hall, an AI voice asked,
“Where are you headed?”

Lin Xiangqi replied,
“Out to play.”

Just as he stepped into the elevator, the AI emitted a faint “beep” warning—almost like an alarm—but he didn’t hear it.

When he got to the ground floor, a robot shaped like a chubby ball rolled up to him. Who knew where it had come from—but there it was, blocking his path.

It asked,
“You want to go out?”

Lin Xiangqi said,
“Yeah. I’m bored.”

The robot replied,
“You could wait for the Major General to return. He’d gladly take you around the Alliance. You wouldn’t be bored then.”

“But he’s not here right now. I’m still bored.”

The robot paused, then said,
“Then I have to tell you the truth.”

Lin Xiangqi: “?”

Robot:
“The world outside is an apocalypse. Only here, with the Major General, is it safe. You must not leave. I will protect you.”

Lin Xiangqi:
“Did you stay up watching too many end-of-the-world dramas? Make sure to clear your cache. You’re talking crazy.”

The robot fell silent.

Somehow, Lin Xiangqi could sense anxiety in this featureless robot body.

He paused, and cautiously asked,
“So… I really can’t go out?”

The robot didn’t respond right away—it seemed to be calculating whether its next words would violate any restrictions.

Eventually, it chose to tell the truth within acceptable limits.

“It’s not that you can’t go out. You just can’t go alone. You don’t have clearance.”

When Lu Cong left, he’d given Lin Xiangqi access to every door inside the building—but had locked him out of the outside.

The robot thought Lin Xiangqi would be angry.

After all, one of its top programmed priorities—set by Lu Cong—was that if Lin Xiangqi ever got angry, all systems must alert Lu Cong immediately, even if he was in the middle of a presidential address.

But Lin Xiangqi calmly turned back.

The robot followed him, confused:
“You’re not going out anymore?”

Lin Xiangqi gave it a side-eye:
“Stop trying to cause drama.”

The robot flinched.
“I mean… don’t you want to find something else to do?”

“I’ll just go online for a bit.” Lin Xiangqi seemed to accept his situation well.
“If my body can’t go out, my mind can.”

He figured Lu Cong had a point—it wasn’t safe for a sick person, unfamiliar with this world, to go out alone.

He could browse the internet first. Then next time, he’d ask Lu Cong to take him somewhere.

Lin Xiangqi had avoided going online before, worried he wouldn’t understand anything.

But now that he’d adapted a bit, he was curious. So he enthusiastically searched all kinds of weird keywords:

—This year’s most popular hairstyles
—Hottest men’s runway looks this fall
—Alliance Major General Lu Cong’s rise to power
—Delicious shrimp
—Best value smart home gadgets

After hundreds of searches, one person suddenly came to mind.

He typed in three characters: Shen Qiaolan.

If the opportunity arose, Lin Xiangqi still wanted to mess with him—vent a little.

Of course, he knew he didn’t really have the power to get revenge on the richest man in the Alliance. But with his youthful face, even just shining a flashlight at Shen Qiaolan’s face at night and saying “I’m here for your soul!” might scare him to death.

However—

Nothing came up.

He tried searching the Shen family, other related figures and events.

Dozens of terms later, all he found was that the Shen family had gone bankrupt years ago and had fallen into disgrace.

As for Shen Qiaolan himself—not a single clear mention in the entire internet.

It was as if he’d been erased or banned from memory. There was just… nothing.

Strange.

But Lin Xiangqi didn’t dwell on it. In fact, he felt relieved.

Maybe it was fate—maybe Shen Qiaolan had suffered some karma. If life was already that bad for him, then fine—he’d let it go.

But it was still early in the day.

Lu Cong wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. Lin Xiangqi stared at the terminal, thinking. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

He typed in four words:

Permanent Bond Marking.

“Wahhhh!”

When Lu Cong opened the door, Lin Xiangqi was so startled he fell off the couch.

“What are you doing, being so careless?”
The dusty Major General hadn’t even changed out of his uniform. He walked over and naturally picked him up.

Lin Xiangqi’s face was bright red. He frantically tapped his terminal:
“You—you’re back so soon, haha.”

Lu Cong casually glanced at the terminal and noticed the completely cleared browsing history. He raised an eyebrow:
“Looks like I came at a bad time?”

“No…”
Lin Xiangqi bit his tongue and winced in pain, but still insisted,
“Not at all! I wasn’t doing anything!”

No way he was going to admit what he’d just been looking at before Lu Cong came back.