Chapter Text
The day was supposed to be just like any other.
Wake up. Go to work. Sit through endless meetings with self-important alphas. Miss Gao Tu. Attend a business gala. Miss Gao Tu. Drag himself home, weary and worn. Miss Gao Tu. Sleep. Dream of Gao Tu.
It had been four years since his secretary vanished from Jianghu, and only now had Shen Wenlang fully grasped the weight of the phrase: absence makes the heart grow fonder. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d depended on Gao Tu’s quiet presence—how the man had shadowed him faithfully, anticipating his every need before he spoke a word. No one had made his Pu’er tea right since.
He took a sip from the steaming cup Xiao Jingrui, his new secretary, had brought him.
Too hot. Boiled, not steeped. Again.
A headache pressed at his temples, the last meeting with that overconfident second-gen heir still ringing in his ears when a sudden commotion erupted outside his office.
“Just what I need,” Shen Wenlang muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell them all—if I hear one more raised voice, everyone’s fired.”
Jingrui rushed to obey—but before he could reach the door, it slammed open.
And in walked Gao Tu.
Shen Wenlang froze. He blinked once. Twice. Was this another dream conjured by insomnia? No. Gao Tu was real. Alive. And here.
His heart stumbled. Time collapsed. The world narrowed to one point: the man before him.
Gao Tu strode in, calm and determined, a thick envelope clutched in his hand. He had changed—taller, more composed, with a quiet strength in his gaze. The softness in his features remained—those pouty lips, those wide, doe-like eyes—but they no longer held innocence. They held strength.
Before Shen Wenlang could speak, Gao Tu dropped the envelope onto the desk.
“Sir, please leave or I’ll call security!” Jingrui exclaimed, grabbing Gao Tu’s arm.
“Stop,” Shen Wenlang snapped. His glare made Jingrui freeze. “Unhand him. Now.”
Jingrui released Gao Tu, stepping back awkwardly.
“Get out,” Shen Wenlang ordered coldly. “And let no one interrupt us.”
Once the door clicked shut, silence fell.
“I know you hate me,” Gao Tu began. His voice was low, steady, but tinged with pain.
Shen Wenlang opened his mouth to speak, to deny it—but Gao Tu raised a hand to silence him.
“Please. Let me finish.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. Only exhaustion. Resignation. Something old and bruised.
“I know you hate me,” he repeated, “but I won’t take much of your time. This is my son—Gao Lele.”
He placed a photograph on the desk and slid it toward him.
Shen Wenlang picked it up, hands trembling slightly.
A chubby child grinned up at him from the photo, dressed in a bright blue Doraemon onesie. His cheeks were round, his eyes sparkling with mischief and warmth. Behind the camera, someone—likely Gao Tu—had made him laugh.
Lele.
His son.
The realization struck like a lightning bolt.
“My son…” Shen Wenlang echoed under his breath.
“For four years,” Gao Tu continued, “you’ve searched for me. For us. I know. Your investigators came close—but not close enough.”
He pushed a document toward him next: the DNA report.
“He was conceived exactly nine months after I resigned. He is your son. This test confirms it. If you doubt it, you can repeat the test at Heci Hospital.”
Shen Wenlang barely registered the paper. He couldn’t stop looking at the photograph.
“But he’s sick,” Gao Tu said, his voice cracking just slightly now. “He has a rare pheromone disorder. The doctors say he won’t survive surgery without his Alpha parent’s pheromones during the procedure. He needs you.”
Silence.
Heavy. Unrelenting.
“I would never have come here if it wasn’t for him,” Gao Tu said, shoulders stiff. “Lele is my world. He deserves a chance to live. And you’re the only one who can give it to him.”
Shen Wenlang stared at the boy in the photo. That bright smile. That unmistakable resemblance to him. It was like staring at a younger version of himself.
He had imagined this moment a hundred times. A thousand. Reunions filled with apologies, redemption, maybe even reconciliation. Not this.
Not this.
Not a child. Not his child. And not the unbearable knowledge that that child might die.
“I…”
The words stuck in his throat.
Gao Tu handed him a paper.
"This is where I’m staying now. My Contact address. When you make up your mind, call me. My phone number is also in the folder."
Gao Tu turns around and walks to the door. Before he slips out he looks back and says–
" Wenlang, he doesn't have too long. He needs your help."