The dining room of the Huo family was a place steeped in the deep, foundational heritage of a century-old clan.
A rectangular yellow-rosewood table stretching several meters long cut right through the center of the room. Its surface was polished to a mirror-like shine, practically reflecting the intricate European crystal chandelier hanging directly overhead. On regular days, this table could comfortably accommodate twenty people clinking glasses in celebration; within the vast, high-ceilinged room, it effortlessly exuded a clinical detachment and rigid decorum unique to a wealthy gatekeeper.
Today, however, a mere four people sat around the long table for the first time in history.
Elder Mr. Huo naturally occupied the seat of honor, with Hunter's older brother, Julian Huo, sitting directly to his right. On the opposite side of the long table, Hunter sat packed tightly right next to Silas Shen. The distance between them was so minimal that, had it not been for the presence of his elders, Hunter practically wished he could fuse his entire body right against Silas.
From the exact moment he sat down, Hunter was fully armed like a young pup protecting its food.
"Professor, try this. It's the signature dish of the ancestral kitchen."
Holding a pair of serving chopsticks, Hunter murmured in a low voice while exceptionally naturally transferring food into the small white porcelain bowl before Silas. His movements were swift yet meticulously attentive to the extreme; he first transferred the tenderest piece of belly meat from the steamed sea bass, painstakingly picking out any fine bones that might exist, before ladling a spoonful of shrimp and tofu.
Within moments, the bowl before Silas was piled into a trembling, colorfully vibrant little mountain.
"That's enough, I can manage myself." Beneath the concealment of the table, Silas gently kicked Hunter's ankle, his cool voice deliberately kept very low.
"Eat more. Grandfather just said so himself—that you're too thin." Instead of restraining himself, Hunter used the motion of serving food to broadly wink his deep eyes at Silas, a somewhat roguish smile hanging at the corner of his mouth. Only when he had stuffed Silas's bowl to the absolute limit where it could not hold another single shred of food did he withdraw his hand in profound satisfaction, beginning to haphazardly shovel a few mouthfuls of rice into his own mouth.
Seated opposite them, Julian methodically used his knife and fork to slice the medium-rare steak on his plate.
Lifting his eyes marginally, his shrewd, cold gaze swept across his younger brother's foolish demeanor—which practically had the word "attentive" stamped across his forehead. The fingers gripping his utensils loosened slightly, and the corner of his mouth, which usually held zero warmth, actually curled upward in an extraordinarily faint, light arc.
Cough.
A dry, elderly cough suddenly resonated from the seat of honor.
Elder Mr. Huo lifted the porcelain bowl filled with bone soup before him, taking a small sip before setting it down. His clouded yet razor-sharp gaze crossed the length of the table, landing on Silas as if entirely by coincidence.
"I heard from Julian that you are currently leading a project at school regarding some... 'Blocker Patch'?"
The moment the patriarch opened his mouth, the warm and slightly amusing atmosphere at the dining table instantly reined itself in.
Silas set down the chopsticks in his hand, keeping his spine perfectly straight. Today, he wore that matching dark blue tie, which cast a serene luster under the mellow lighting. Facing the interrogation of this veteran patriarch, he held none of the arrogance of an academic authority, nor did he display a single shred of a junior's restlessness.
"Yes, Mr. Huo." Silas lifted his hand to adjust the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, his tone calm and professional. "To be precise, it is a bio-pharmaceutical study targeted at protecting an Omega's autonomous consciousness. Under the premise of an Omega's independent choice, it can 100% shield them from the forced interference and inducement of external Alpha pheromones, while perfectly preserving their normal sensory functions toward the outside world."
Elder Mr. Huo did not express his stance immediately upon listening.
He locked his eyes onto Silas—eyes that had witnessed countless calculations of profit and leverage—while his broad palm gently stroked the yellow-rosewood surface. His tone carried a fraction of the stubbornness and incomprehension unique to an Alpha of the old era: "What is the purpose of making this? In this world, Alphas and Omegas were originally created as matching pairs. Genetic selection over thousands of years has dictated exactly this: the strong mark the weak, survival of the fittest. By making this, aren't you fighting against nature?"
The elder's words fell heavily, carrying a secular weight that brooked no contradiction.
Seated to the side, Hunter's expression shifted slightly, his hand resting on his knee instantly tightening. Just as he was about to open his mouth to argue on Silas's behalf, he was stopped by a single look from Silas beneath the tablecloth's cover.
Silas looked directly back into elder Mr. Huo's heavy gaze, his cool face appearing exceptionally pale and exceptionally resolute under the lamplight.
"Mr. Huo, a matching pair does not equate to subjugation."
Silas spoke slowly, his voice not loud, yet carrying an indisputable weight that resounded firmly: "Genetics granted Alphas a powerful physique and a desire to dominate, but that does not mean Omegas must be stripped of their right to independent choice, reduced to mere appendages controlled by pheromones. My hope through this study is that every single Omega, when facing an Alpha they do not like or encountering unequal treatment, will possess the fundamental confidence to utter the word 'No'."
He paused, the eyes behind his lenses shining with a striking intensity as he supplemented word for word: "—Including myself."
A matching pair does not equate to subjugation.
This single statement generated an exceptionally faint yet deafening echo within the vacant dining room.
Julian's movements slicing his steak ground to a complete halt. Lifting his head, he looked with some shock at this young professor who appeared delicate, yet possessed an unyielding pride carved into his very bones. In this split second, he actually felt a trace of envy toward his own younger brother who only knew how to smile foolishly. To be unreservedly shielded and recognized by an individual like this—what an absolute luxury.
Elder Mr. Huo fell silent as well.
Countless complex emotions flashed through his weather-beaten eyes—there was astonishment, there was scrutiny, yet ultimately, it all dissolved into a thick wave of admiration. He nodded his head slowly, his dragon-head cane letting out an exceptionally faint, dull thud against the floor.
"You have spirit. Very few young people nowadays dare to say such words right to this old man's face."
The elder let out a sigh, the aggressive edge within his tone fading away entirely, replaced by a fraction of an elder's weariness. "But this road is not easy to walk. The biases of the academic community, the obstruction of capital, and the pressure from those archaic clans... can you bear it all on your own?"
Facing the elder's concern, Silas's tense shoulders suddenly relaxed in this moment.
He turned his head slightly, casting a glance at the large golden retriever beside him who was currently staring at him with a nearly scorching, worshipful gaze.
"In the past, I was indeed on my own."
Silas withdrew his gaze and faced elder Mr. Huo once more. When mentioning "the past," a trace of cool detachment lingered in his tone; yet when his voice settled onto the latter half of the sentence, that cool detachment seemed to be steeped entirely in warm water, surfacing a rich, dense sweetness that everyone present could perceive.
"But now, I am not."
The exact second his voice fell, a burning hot, broad hand carrying a trace of light sweat from tension slid over with extreme familiarity and absolute certainty from beneath the tablecloth.
Beneath the table, Hunter gripped Silas's slightly cool hand tightly and without a single shred of reservation.
The youth's strength was immense—immense to the point of being somewhat overbearing—yet it carried a scorching temperature that makes one feel unconditionally secure. The instant their fingers laced together, their palms pressed flush against each other, continuously branding that warmth belonging to the scent of oranges along their fingertips and straight into the depths of Silas's heart.
Silas did not struggle; he allowed him to hold it, and even turned the tables by gently returning the squeeze.
At one end of the long table, elder Mr. Huo watched the sticky, affectionate energy between the two—which they tried their best to conceal on the surface yet was completely exposed by the subtle movements of their shoulders. He shook his head helplessly, though the smile lines at the corners of his eyes fanned out completely.
"Alright, stop making eyes at each other in front of this old man," the elder chuckled, waving his hand. "Eat! The soup is getting cold."
The heat from the food swirled in the air as porcelain bowls collided to create crisp sounds. Across this twenty-person long table that had previously been cold and desolate for countless days and nights, a highly tender warmth known as "home" finally flowed at this very moment.