Chapter 60

Her slender fingers pinched her chin, rubbing it back and forth. Before Yan Qingqiu could say anything, her brow furrowed slightly. "Mm? Silent, are we?"

Her voice had a pleasant lilt, but it made Yan Qingqiu's legs weak. Yan Qingqiu quietly tried to back away, but Song Qingre gripped her jaw and pulled her back.

Yan Qingqiu winced. "I was just scared, that's all. I was talking nonsense. Who's called A-Tong? You know everyone around me."

"Is that so?" Song Qingre stared straight at her.

"Yes... I was just shouting randomly to boost my courage. You know how people shout 'one-two-one' when they run or walk? Well, look, it's not like everyone who shouts that is having an affair with the number one-two-one, right?"

"When you put it that way... it does make a little sense." Song Qingre nodded, seemingly convinced by her twisted logic.

Yan Qingqiu wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but Song Qingre said, "You didn't shout it last time."

"Last time..." Yan Qingqiu said, "My heat hadn't come yet last time."

Song Qingre asked, "So from now on, whenever your heat comes, you'll shout 'A-Tong'? Is that it?"

Yan Qingqiu wanted to say no—she didn't have that kink—but she lowered her head and met Song Qingre's eyes. Song Qingre's gaze was a quiet lake; if you tossed a stone into it, it would ripple according to what you threw, always circling outward, never revealing what lay beneath. But if you forced it to ripple, it could turn into a whirlpool and swallow you whole.

She said nothing, waiting for Yan Qingqiu to reveal more from her own mouth, because she was testing her.

"Every time, Qiuqiu would space out for no reason, with such rich expressions, as if she were talking to someone..." Song Qingre's fingers traced up her cheek, slowly reaching her temple, tapping there repeatedly. Song Qingre looked at her with a smile.

Though she was just sitting there, her presence low, Yan Qingqiu was terrified. Song Qingre wore a black sweater, inconspicuous in the dark night, fitting the System's description of a "villain."

"Then, somehow, when you were with me, it stopped. But when I moved away and watched you from a distance, you'd start doing it again."

Her tone was calm, her observation sharp.

One sentence left Yan Qingqiu speechless.

Yan Qingqiu stared at her wide-eyed. Song Qingre asked, "Is A-Tong in your head, or in your heart?" Her fingers pressed against her temple, and Song Qingre's gaze dropped to her chest.

Yan Qingqiu's heart ached. A-Tong, really, A-Tong, I think this has little to do with my slip of the tongue—she discovered it herself.

She asked herself, were her expressions really that obvious? All of them exposed to Song Qingre.

Song Qingre seemed to hear her thoughts. "I remember every little expression of yours, Qiuqiu. The moment you blink, I know what you're going to do."

"Y-You don't need to be that observant, it's just..." Yan Qingqiu's lips moved; after more than ten minutes, she finally managed a sentence, "If you've already guessed everything, then you don't need to ask me."

It wasn't that she was timid, but that if she said too much, the System would secretly delete her memories. She didn't know how many memories had already been erased.

"But I can't help my instinct to be suspicious. Humans always like to ask questions when they already know the answers."

Song Qingre said this, her lips slightly pursed, moist, as if coated with sweet, tempting honey.

"So, who is Qiuqiu's white moonlight?" Song Qingre's question came again. She stood up, face to face with Yan Qingqiu. She was taller, her presence overpowering.

Yan Qingqiu couldn't tell whether Song Qingre knew or didn't know anything.

Was it just a simple probe, repeated over and over?

Yan Qingqiu opened her mouth to speak, but right at that moment, her phone rang. She didn't know who was calling.

The phone buzzed. Yan Qingqiu looked at Song Qingre. Song Qingre withdrew her fingers and looked back.

After nearly ten seconds, Song Qingre said, "Qiuqiu, why don't you dare to answer?"

It wasn't that she didn't dare—she'd forgotten her phone was in her pocket!

Yan Qingqiu's fingers trembled as she swiped to answer. The other side spoke first, but her mind was elsewhere, and she hadn't registered who it was.

Until Song Qingre softly reminded her, "Qiuqiu, is your white moonlight Su Xingjie?"

Yan Qingqiu snapped back to reality. So it was Xingjie calling. She struggled to focus and asked Su Xingjie, "What's up, Xing Xing? I was a bit dizzy just now. What did you say?"

Su Xingjie was still at the art hall, having just finished a few interviews. She sounded tired. "I asked if you've arrived at the hotel. Want to grab dinner tonight? And are you okay? Fu Ye's been taken to the hospital. Serves him right!"

Yan Qingqiu wanted to speak, but Song Qingre kept tugging at her down jacket's zipper, pulling it down bit by bit, her voice low, so the other side couldn't hear what she was doing. Yan Qingqiu closed her eyes, her throat tight, her legs weak. She had to grit her teeth, strain every muscle, stifle a whimper—it was so hard to bear.

"I've arrived at the hotel. I'm fine, doing well."

"Mm? Why are you breathing so hard?" Su Xingjie asked, concerned.

"A little anxious, still affected by Fu Ye. I'm an alpha; I can handle it. Don't worry. I'll be fine after a shower."

Song Qingre had unzipped her jacket, and now her hand slipped under the white sweater, gently cupping her. Song Qingre kissed the corner of her eye, kissed her flushed cheek, her voice soft, her movements gentle. Song Qingre seemed to adore the feeling of tormenting her, and equally adored the sensation of proving her own existence through this thrill.

She didn't dislike Su Xingjie, but she wanted to leave her mark on Yan Qingqiu while Yan Qingqiu was talking to Su Xingjie.

"What about Song Qingre? I just left the art exhibition. I can't reach her. Is she with you?"

"Mm..." Yan Qingqiu's lips were bitten, slightly painful. Song Qingre was kissing her. It was winter, and even with the room heated, having her sweater pushed up to her waist was cold. Song Qingre's hands were icy, and when they touched her, she just wanted to gasp, but Song Qingre's mouth covered hers.

Yan Qingqiu wanted to say, Xing Xing, I'll call you back, but her lips were pressed shut. Su Xingjie said on the phone, "Thanks for today, Qiu Bao. There are other shows tomorrow. Will you come watch?"

Song Qingre pulled back a little, their eyes wet. Song Qingre squeezed her, and as Yan Qingqiu gasped, she brushed her lips again, giving her time to finish the call.

Yan Qingqiu panted and said to Su Xingjie, "I was just taking off my clothes for a shower. I won't come. I'm still a bit affected today; if someone saw me, it'd be embarrassing. You'll have to work hard—make sure you rest."

Su Xingjie hummed. Being tired was normal for her, since she was the director. She chuckled softly, in a good mood. She was very satisfied with today's show, especially the collaboration with Yan Qingqiu. "Alright, I'll hang up. Bye."

"B-Bye."

The call ended. Song Qingre's lips came crashing down, suffocating her. Yan Qingqiu had dressed well for the show, but privately she was casual—just a down jacket over sweatpants, leaving her nowhere to hide. Her legs looked pale in the moonlight. Song Qingre pinched her and said, "In or not?"

She was already heated. How could she not go in?

Yan Qingqiu turned away from Song Qingre's lips, unable to stop herself from saying, "Don't do that again when I'm on the phone—especially when I'm talking to Xing Xing. I..."

"Can't take it?" Song Qingre pressed against her, and one sentence made Yan Qingqiu's body tense. Song Qingre said, "If I told you a secret about Su Xingjie, you'd lose it even more."

She held Yan Qingqiu's weakness, knowing what scared her, what would paralyze her.

That was what Song Qingre liked. If Yan Qingqiu had moonlight, she would cover it. Vile, vulgar—it didn't matter. She wanted Yan Qingqiu to be forever intoxicated in her fingers.

With reluctance and shame, she yielded to her.

That night, the moonlight fell into the pool, splashing up clear water.

Yan Qingqiu had no confidence; she was being punished. Whatever Song Qingre said, she did. When Song Qingre lowered her head slightly, Yan Qingqiu lifted her leg, touched her waist, and sought her lips again, helpless and frightened, feeling her sanity slipping away. "My heat is about to come... it's coming."

Song Qingre blocked her lips.

·

Yan Qingqiu soaked in the bathtub, not daring to speak. Song Qingre was showering under the spray, silent, the water loud.

Yan Qingqiu sat with her head buried in her arms, unable to tell if it was pain or pleasure. Song Qingre came out first, her body dripping, and at the door she turned and said, "Mm... come back soon. Don't make me wait too long."

Yan Qingqiu was a mess; it had happened so suddenly, she didn't know what to do.

The bathroom light was on, but everything else was dim, until the sting at the back of her neck reminded her—she couldn't keep going like this.

Yan Qingqiu stood up from the water, not bothering to dry off, and walked barefoot to the bedroom.

The light was low, casting a few hazy beams. Song Qingre sat with her legs crossed, revealing a glimpse of spring, her eyes fixed earnestly on her.

Yan Qingqiu felt it was over. The sharp pain in her gland told her she might be done for; she might have to have it removed. Now she felt that cowardice was instinct—who in their right mind would want a knife at their neck? That would be crazy. Yan Qingqiu flopped onto the bed. The hotel's floor-to-ceiling curtains were still open, bright moonlight spilling onto the bedside, illuminating half the floor and bed in a bleak white.

Her gaze swept over and she saw the suppressant on the nightstand. Last time she'd sprayed it, it felt cool, but now her neck was burning hot. Gritting her teeth, she spoke through tears, "Please, please, give me the suppressant. As long as you don't let them cut out my gland, I'll do anything."

Song Qingre sat sideways, her finger trailing along her own leg. She was alluring and dangerous, and she looked at her with a gentle smile. "You don't have to do anything."

Yan Qingqiu's body went cold. It wasn't about doing something; it was about whether she'd lose her gland. She didn't care about anything else now. She lunged over, grabbed the suppressant from the nightstand, and sprayed it on her neck. It was cool, but only for a moment—like carrying firewood to put out a fire, the more she sprayed, the weaker and more desperate for coolness she felt. She crushed the plastic bottle in her hand, then looked at Song Qingre.

Her eyes were red, about to cry. "I don't want to cut out my gland. I shouldn't have..." She took a deep breath, sobbing, "I shouldn't have been wild. Woo woo, I just played a lewd game..."

Song Qingre crooked a finger at her. "Come here. Let me take a look, and you won't have to cut it out."

Yan Qingqiu still wanted to cry.

Song Qingre crooked her finger again. Yan Qingqiu thought she was a bit mean—she was so upset, and Song Qingre still wanted to fool around.

Song Qingre said, "If you don't come over, I'll come to you."

"Mmph." Yan Qingqiu hiccupped, tears streaming, and crawled to Song Qingre's side. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt, and she lightly bumped her forehead against Song Qingre's leg. Song Qingre brushed her hair aside and looked at her gland. "It's fine. Still lively."

"You don't understand. You have no idea what I've been through..."

Yan Qingqiu was aggrieved. She had no idea what she was about to do.

"How about, while it's still okay, we... experience it? Just in case it really breaks, and you'll never feel it again."

Shamelessly, Yan Qingqiu's heart stirred. At death's door, she still thought the lewd stuff was more important.

If it broke later, she'd never have experienced the joy of her gland—she'd be heartbroken, unable to sleep for nights.

Yan Qingqiu didn't know how it happened, but sobbing, she found herself back in the bathroom. Song Qingre lifted her leg, and since she couldn't see herself in the mirror, kindly held her up to look.

Yan Qingqiu wanted to faint. Seeing herself crying pitifully, tears streaming—how embarrassing. Song Qingre made her look more carefully, touching her ear, asking, "Does your white moonlight know you like this?"

Yan Qingqiu bit her lip, turned her head to look at Song Qingre, her lips parting, and said earnestly into her eyes, "Maybe... maybe she does..."

She wanted to hint at Song Qingre, but Song Qingre grew angry, sneering, that expression saying, I'm the villain—who exactly is your white moonlight?

She rubbed her chin against her cheek, making her look in the mirror.

Yan Qingqiu fell into the abyss and couldn't climb out; she was sucked in.

"Mmph... mmm... Can't do this tomorrow."

Song Qingre bit her ear, planted a soft kiss on her shoulder, and bit the gland at the back of her neck. "It's fine. Look many times now; in the future, you won't."

Day one ended.

Yan Qingqiu woke up quite early. She turned over, touched her gland, and saw Song Qingre still sleeping beside her.

She carefully slipped out of bed, went to the door, and pulled it open, trying to leave. Just as she pulled, she smelled citrus.

This time, she didn't move a muscle. Song Qingre slipped out of the velvet bed, wrapped one arm around her waist, and squeezed her, saying, "Qiuqiu, I'm thirsty. Anything to drink?"

She didn't mind—sweet or salty.

Yan Qingqiu hadn't eaten for a day and a night, but she'd fed Song Qingre to her heart's content. Yan Qingqiu couldn't help but hold Song Qingre's head, her eyes wet, lashes trembling. "I'm hungry. I'm going to faint. Really..."

It wasn't about shame... she was genuinely hungry.

Song Qingre's heart softened, and they finally had a hot meal.

After that, Yan Qingqiu didn't even think about leaving. She lost all reason, clinging to Song Qingre day and night. She lost track of time; the moment she regained a bit of clarity, they'd be tangled together again.

At some point, something happened—there was a knock at the door. Outside, voices kept calling for them to open up.

Yan Qingqiu wrapped her arms around Song Qingre's neck, urging her to kiss her and ignore it. Song Qingre didn't want to open the door either, but the knocking persisted, irritating her.

Yan Qingqiu's eyes were half-lidded, caught in between. Song Qingre paused for a moment, and a voice from outside said, "Miss Yan, please open the door. We have some business with you."

Then a heavy kick hit the door. "Open up! If you don't, we're coming in!"

Looking at the dazed Yan Qingqiu, Song Qingre pulled the blanket over her and gave her a soothing, long kiss. Yan Qingqiu swallowed hard, her fingers clutching, not wanting her to leave.

The door didn't open, and another kick followed.

The attendant quickly crouched down to wipe the door, saying, "Please, be careful. This door is expensive."

The kicker shouted, "Open up! Police!"

Song Qingre stopped then. Yan Qingqiu tried to get up with her, but Song Qingre traced a big X over her lips with her finger, meaning she shouldn't move. Yan Qingqiu had no choice but to stay still. She pursed her lips and obediently said, "Come back soon. I... miss Little Re."

This ABO setting was truly hopeless and irritating. Yan Qingqiu bit her own finger. Song Qingre frowned, wrapped a towel around herself, and when she went out, she left the bedroom door open. The people outside frowned simultaneously—the scent inside was overwhelming, so potent it threatened to drag them into madness too.

The attendant, a beta, also frowned. Braving the glare of an alpha, the beta forced herself to say, "Miss Song, we'd like to ask you a few questions. It's about..." Song Qingre's pressure was too strong. She lifted her eyes slightly, and the invisible force choked the words in her throat, making her feel like she was on a gallows.

Song Qingre wanted to tear them apart.

One of the police officers, a high-ranking alpha, managed to keep his wits. He continued where the attendant had left off. "It's like this, Miss Song. We received a report that Fu Ye's condition is related to you, and we need you to come to the station for questioning."

"I'm an alpha. What could he and I have to do with each other? You don't need to dance around with me." Song Qingre said, "I'm annoyed as well."

The police had to be honest. "He's in the hospital now, with serious damage to his gland. The other party reported that this was orchestrated by you. We need you to come back with us."

"The artistic concept of the model show was indeed planned by me, but I doubt the artistic atmosphere had any effect on his heat, right?"

The more she resisted, the more uncooperative she seemed, and the more suspicious she looked.

"Song Qingre, you're an artist. I'm sure you don't want this to affect your reputation or cause a scene. Please come back with us for questioning."

Song Qingre had a good reputation in the industry, highly regarded by everyone. Today, the police saw a different side of her—fulminant, cold-browed, radiating resistance, occasionally emitting waves of mental pressure.

The police peered into the room. "May we go inside to take a look?"

"If you do, I'll sue you. According to the law, under any circumstances, interrupting the voluntary bonding of fated mates is illegal."

"Fated mates?" The police quickly backed away. During fated mate bonding, an alpha's mental power was several times stronger, used to protect their fated partner. And they had just kicked the door! Song Qingre was talking to them while under extreme restraint. An ordinary alpha would have crushed them with mental force.

The police asked, "Are you both consenting?"

"She's a high-level omega. If she weren't consenting, she could resist and call the police. Are you done? My patience is at its limit." Song Qingre exhaled and warned, "I don't mind if you go tell Fu Ye. I'm busy spending my heat with my fated mate."

She emphasized 'fated mate' and slammed the door shut.

Their ABO laws were "well-developed," with specific provisions for fated mate matching. Fated mates absolutely couldn't be disturbed during bonding, because during that time, they only craved each other. Forcefully interrupting was not only dangerous for them, but if they lost control, it could affect other As and Os. Those AOs in heat could only be soothed by being marked by their fated mate, or they'd suffer lifelong aftereffects.

The people outside covered their noses and left, praying their heat would end soon.

As for who was in the room, everyone knew—it was probably "Yan Qingqiu" from Fu Ye's chasing-his-wife-into-the-crematorium story.

Unexpectedly, Yan Qingqiu and Song Qingre were fated mates, and now they were bonding.

They were all adults; a little thought made it clear. Fu Ye had come to the model show in heat, trying to exploit that legal loophole. If he'd bonded with Yan Qingqiu, no one could have stopped him. Then the tables would have turned, and Song Qingre would have been the one going mad—agonized, tortured to death.

So Song Qingre was highly suspect. According to what Fu Ye's side had reported, Fu Ye and Yan Qingqiu's secondary differentiation into omega had a high match. Now that Fu Ye's gland was damaged, they couldn't rule out that she'd done it to steal the bonding right with Yan Qingqiu.

These high-level alphas truly stopped at nothing.

The high-level alpha closed the door heavily. Inside, the omega was still biting her finger, lost in the heat's madness, whimpering, "Song Xiaore, come quick."

"How did you end up playing by yourself?"

Usually, fated mate heat lasted about three days. The people outside had been staking out for four days, scratching their heads.

But those inside hadn't finished. They wondered if they were deliberately staying in. They went up again, and the air still reeked of bonding.

The few exchanged glances. High-level fated mates were truly extraordinary.

Yan Qingqiu wrapped her arms around Song Qingre's waist, burying her face in her chest, drifting between presence and absence of mind. Whatever Song Qingre said, she did. She couldn't tell day from night. Several times she thought she'd entered Song Qingre's mental space.

But when her hand touched the window, she could see everything outside.

Song Qingre grasped her wrist, her fingers sliding between Yan Qingqiu's. The glass was cold outside, warm inside in winter, forming a layer of wet mist. Yan Qingqiu's fingers traced curved lines on it. Song Qingre told her, "Oh, it's fine. There are people down there watching. They know what we're doing."

Yan Qingqiu pressed her forehead against the window, begging for mercy. Song Qingre whispered in her ear, "They've come to arrest you, because you and I aren't married yet, and you're doing illegal bonding. Shameless."

Yan Qingqiu was scared, kneeling, pressing her body against the glass, leaving two round marks below.

··

They couldn't find anything here. The police took turns watching. They first informed the hotel to contact them if there was any issue upstairs.

The police went back to the hospital and told the Fu family the situation. Song Qingre couldn't come. The Fu family was furious—their eldest son was on the brink of life and death, and if his gland was ruined, he'd be a cripple. Why couldn't she come?

The police had to tell the truth: she'd encountered her fated mate.

They kept it confidential, but somehow the Fu family's illegitimate sons found out. They desperately wanted Fu Ye to be crippled. Several of them took turns visiting Fu Ye, each sitting by his bed, telling him the good news: the woman you once loved and the woman you're with now are bonding; they're fated mates with matching marks.

They went one after another, driving the barely conscious Fu Ye into delirium. His fever spiked and fell repeatedly. The doctors were puzzled—the treatment seemed fine, so why did his gland keep relapsing? They could only tell the family, "Your son's resilience might be low. If he doesn't pull through, we'll have to operate and remove his gland."

Fu Ye's incident was being watched globally. The Fu family tried to suppress it but couldn't. If Fu Ye didn't pull through, it would be a worldwide embarrassment—everyone would know their family had produced a eunuch, one who'd cut off his own manhood in a failed attempt.

Fu Zhenguo cursed in the hospital, "Idiot! How did I raise such a fool? All he thinks with is his dick! He deserves to be done in by a woman. Call a meeting—I'm removing him from his position! The company can't go to him, or the Fu family will be ruined! Idiot! Chen Ni, compile his projects and find a replacement!"

Fu Zhenguo was furious, looking at the ICU patient without a shred of pity, wishing he could go in and slap his unfilial son a few times, utterly disappointed in him.

As he raged, his secretary rushed in. "The Luo family has arrived, for some reason. And the Jin family—they seem to be here to terminate the contract. They said this incident with the young master is too big; if they continue to cooperate, their image will suffer, and they can't bear the loss. Who should we see first?"

"The Jin family. Fu Ye is practically done for. No matter how much Luo Chen dotes on his daughter, he won't marry her to him."

·

On the seventh day.

Yan Qingqiu regained some sanity, but she couldn't move. There was no denying that extraordinary talent was extraordinary.

Yan Qingqiu lay in bed, her eyes unfocused. "I didn't die. Miracle of miracles, I'm still alive."

Song Qingre fed her fruit. "Open up."

Yan Qingqiu's legs moved first.

After moving, she realized what she'd done, and her face burned with shame. She covered her face with her hands. She couldn't go on living. She couldn't go on living.

"It's your fault, your fault. I have muscle memory now."

Thinking back on these seven days, her mind was full of unspeakable things. Her previous memories had been wiped clean. She opened her mouth slightly, and Song Qingre fed her a piece of fruit. "Still hungry? I'll feed you something later. What do you want to eat?"

Yan Qingqiu didn't answer, burying her face in the pillow. Song Qingre stroked the back of her head. "Don't be shy. Just remember the joy."

"Mm..." She opened her mouth and ate the cherry Song Qingre fed her.

Song Qingre leaned close and whispered in her ear that she'd actually wanted to feed her that way too. These past few days, they'd said everything—sweet words, soothing words, harsh humiliations—and she'd loved every one.

Song Qingre went to sit on the bed, pulling Yan Qingqiu up so she wouldn't choke, then settled her back against her chest. She leaned over Yan Qingqiu's shoulder and said, "Qiuqiu's scent is very distinct now. Top notes of citrus, middle of cedar, base of pepper, with a hint of milky sweetness."

"Mm..." Yan Qingqiu didn't understand pheromones; it sounded like a perfume to her. She asked, "Why is there citrus?"

Song Qingre pressed her lips against her gland. "Because the moment you differentiated into an omega, I marked you. Now your body carries my scent." There was undisguised joy in her voice. Yan Qingqiu held the cherry in her mouth, not daring to bite, rolling it from one side to the other.

Omegas needed to remember their alpha's scent to ease excess heat, and alphas needed omegas to accept their excess pheromones.

"Qiuqiu, we are fated mates." Song Qingre said.

"Mm." Yan Qingqiu nodded.

Whether they were fated mates didn't matter to her. What mattered was Song Qingre.

Song Qingre was delighted by her response and bit her several times over, nearly chewing her to pieces.

She'd die on her at this rate. Well, dying like this would be worth it.

Yan Qingqiu turned her head to kiss her, and they exchanged a lingering kiss.

Song Qingre was roused by her. Both were deep in passion. Yan Qingqiu's eyes were half-closed. "Bite me, bite me, bite me..."

She felt pretty good about herself—after seven days, she still had energy. "I'm as strong as a little cannonball."

Song Qingre was tender, praising her, "Still delicious."

They stayed together for a long time. Yan Qingqiu checked her phone; these past few days, Song Qingre had replied to messages for her—to Su Xingjie, saying she'd gone home; to Yan Fu, saying she was at Su Xingjie's place playing.

Both sides were busy, and neither suspected a thing.

Seven days had passed, plus the first night.

Seven days and seven nights.

Exhausting.

Song Qingre picked up her clothes and put them on—though she had no idea where they'd been tossed. These days, she hadn't bothered to dress properly. She threw on a bathrobe and headed for a shower. "I'll take you to the hospital for a check-up."

"No," Yan Qingqiu said, the marks on her body so clear. She lifted her arm and sniffed the distinct citrus. "Going to the hospital right after hot days? How shameless, Song Qingre."

"Don't you feel uncomfortable?" Song Qingre turned her over to examine her. "You should have fully differentiated into an omega by now. You need to get checked."

"Have a doctor come here. A private doctor." Yan Qingqiu held up her phone, replying to messages. She sent a voice note: "Okay, I'll come home for dinner today."

Then she replied to Su Xingjie: "I'll come over to your place tomorrow."

The little cannonball had her schedule all planned out.

"Fine." Song Qingre kissed her once more, then got off the bed and pushed open the door to shower. Yan Qingqiu didn't follow. Though she didn't want to admit it, Song Qingre was diligent, having bathed her thoroughly earlier. Yan Qingqiu thought that next time, she'd scrub Song Qingre down too.

That was what you called mutual pampering!

Yan Qingqiu lay there for a bit, then got up to dress herself, and also laid out Song Qingre's clothes by the door.

Her neck ached faintly—probably from the biting earlier. The pain still lingered, but she couldn't remember which bite had done it.

Yan Qingqiu didn't want to go to the bathroom either.

Just thinking about the mirror in there made her weak.

Song Qingre loved mirrors, and one wasn't enough for her. If there were space, she might pin Yan Qingqiu down in a training room—you know, the kind with mirrors everywhere—so when she lifted her chin, she'd see dozens of Song Qingre on top of her.

It wasn't Yan Qingqiu's own dirty mind; Song Qingre had said it herself.

Yan Qingqiu walked to the bedroom door, glanced back at the bathroom, and her knees gave way the next second. She grabbed the doorframe. Maybe it was from lying down too long; her vision began to blur. She couldn't hold on, and her body started to slide down.

"Song Qingre..."

Song Qingre came out of the room, saw her, and rushed to steady her. "What's wrong? Where does it hurt? Can't walk?"

"No, I think it's my neck..." Yan Qingqiu said, "The bite might have been too hard... I can't hold on. Come over."

Song Qingre quickly supported her waist.

Yan Qingqiu grabbed her arm, feeling pain and discomfort. Was she really going to lose her gland? But she didn't feel like it was that kind of pain. She even heard a 'ding' sound, meaning she'd completed a task.

Then... maybe her gland was broken.

Song Qingre said, "I'll call an ambulance."

"Wait, wait. We'll go ourselves. An ambulance would take longer." Yan Qingqiu reached for Song Qingre's fingers, starting to panic. "You, you, when we get there, you have to say, I mean..."

Song Qingre scooped her up first, leaning down to listen to her. She soothed her, "It's okay. Don't overthink. You won't die."

"It's not about dying." Yan Qingqiu leaned against the door and slowly stood up. Song Qingre opened it and led her out. Yan Qingqiu leaned on her, whispering, "When we get to the hospital, if they have to check, you have to tell the doctor that I cut it myself. Not that you—not that you bit it."

"Mm, mm, okay. But follow the doctor's advice. I'm sorry, Qiuqiu." Song Qingre said worriedly, supporting her. "It might not be a gland problem."

"It's fine, I don't blame you. But you have to say I cut it, with a knife." Yan Qingqiu held her hand, barely able to breathe, but she couldn't help adding, "Don't say you bit it, and don't say we were at it for seven days and seven nights."

Yan Qingqiu was running out of breath. She lifted her head, accidentally touched her gland, and winced, lowering it again. Her head felt like it might snap off.

She was about to faint, but she forced herself to stay awake, her eyes opening and closing repeatedly, clearly in pain.

Song Qingre squeezed her hand and said, "Mm, Qiuqiu, why don't you faint? I'll carry you out."

Yan Qingqiu felt she couldn't faint; she could still hold on.

She bit her lip, the sharp pain in her neck keeping her alert. "It's fine. I can hold on."

"Mm, I know."

Song Qingre helped her out. The hotel attendant offered to assist, but they declined. Song Qingre settled her in the back seat, fastened her seatbelt, and the car sped off to the hospital. Yan Qingqiu lay on the back seat, feeling just how fast she was driving.

On the way, Song Qingre called ahead to the hospital, saying her gland was malfunctioning, serious, possibly needing emergency care.

They arrived in less than twenty minutes.

At the hospital, Song Qingre called for emergency. The prepared nurses hurried over. The doctor rushed in, soothing her as he parted her hair to examine her neck.

Song Qingre comforted her softly, "Qiuqiu, it's okay. Don't be scared."

Yan Qingqiu's eyes were still open, her legs barely moving. She was transferred to a stretcher. The doctor said, "Turn her over. Have her lie face down."

A nurse asked, "What's the problem? What should we prepare?"

Yan Qingqiu started to speak, but the examining doctor shouted urgently, "This patient has secondarily differentiated into an SSS-grade ultra-rare omega. Her gland seems damaged from being bitten during heat. Prepare for surgery! All alphas in the hall, cover your noses and stay away! Quick, make way! Nurse, notify all gland patients on the second floor to isolate and avoid!"

"Notify the family. They may need to sign consent."

The doctor saw she was still conscious and, afraid of complications, quickly confirmed with her. "Is that correct, patient?"

Yan Qingqiu pressed her head into the pillow, completely defeated. "...Yes, doctor."

So embarrassing, and so painful. But she was still worried and asked, "Woo, am I going to make it?"