The University Affairs Committee convened as scheduled on Thursday afternoon.
Inside the conference room on the top floor of the administration building, the sky outside the French windows appeared somewhat overcast, and a heavy, suffocating atmosphere drifted slowly through the sealed space. At opposite ends of the long mahogany conference table, two distinct groups of people sat clearly divided.
Julian Liang sat at the far end of the conference table.
He was still impeccably dressed in a well-tailored suit, with even the Windsor knot on his tie done up flawlessly. Leaning back against his chair, his slender hands were folded over his lower abdomen. His expression remained composed and tranquil, and that trademark refined, scholarly smile still hung on the corners of his lips—as if the chemical consumables purchase orders and joint letters spread across the center of the table, stamped with vivid red official seals, had absolutely nothing to do with him.
Meanwhile, Silas Shen sat quietly right across from him.
The cool, young professor had changed into a highly crisp white shirt today, his phoenix eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses showing not a single ripple. Standing right behind him was Hunter Huo, who broke from his usual demeanor to radiate a heavy sense of oppression, alongside a tense-faced Lin and two victim representatives who had traveled from out of town specifically to testify publicly.
The atmosphere of the entire conference room was as deathly silent as freezing ice.
"Professor Shen," after a prolonged standoff, Julian Liang was the first to break the silence. Pushing up his glasses, his tone was unhurried, adopting the high-and-mighty posture of an elder superior. "I admit that when I mentored students back then, my requirements for you were indeed rather strict. But for you to elevate ordinary student-teacher friction to the level of malicious whistleblowing over some ancient history—isn't that a bit of making a mountain out of a molehill?"
"Ordinary friction?"
Silas reached his slender fingers across the table, methodically flipping open a page of a yellowed document. His voice was exceptionally light, yet it was as cold as a scalpel just taken from a sterilization cabinet, cutting fiercely onto a metal tray:
"Professor Liang, on March 7, 2009, inside the Life Sciences Department's First Laboratory, you unauthorizedly utilized a synthetic inducing pheromone with a concentration as high as 3.7 ppm, causing the graduate student at the time, Miss Li, to experience acute pseudoeatrus. Subsequently, she was advised to withdraw by the university authorities on the grounds of 'improper conduct and seducing her mentor.' Your personal signature remains on that purchase ledger for the highly pure synthetic pheromone to this day. Do I need to have Lin project it onto the large screen and enlarge it piece by piece for you to see?"
The smile on Julian Liang's face finally stiffened fiercely for a brief instant upon hearing that precise number, exact down to the decimal point: "3.7 ppm."
Yet he was, after all, an old fox who had been immersed in academia and the vanity fair for decades. In the blink of an eye, the trace of panic in his eyes was perfectly masked once more, his tone still carrying a sliver of mockery: "It's merely an ordinary procurement slip from over a decade ago. The board members and leaders present all know that loss and margin of error are common occurrences with experimental reagents. What can this prove?"
"It proves that you have never viewed an Omega as an equal human being."
Silas's cool voice rose abruptly.
He suddenly stood up, his hands pressing deathly onto the cold mahogany table surface. Across half the long table, his phoenix eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses stabbed straight toward the hypocrite opposite him like a pair of sharp blades:
"You utilized our irresistible physiological instincts to destroy our dignity and futures inside those locked offices, and then you utilized this society's inherent prejudices and slut-shaming against Omegas to seal our mouths and obliterate our innocence! But Julian Liang, look at us—since we dare to sit here today, we are not here to beg for your apology."
Silas tilted his chin up slightly, every single word landing with tremendous force:
"We are here to tell you explicitly that your era of utilizing pheromones to dominate the weak is completely over."
The exact instant his words fell, the senior sister behind Silas—now over forty and teaching biology at an ordinary middle school—stood up abruptly. Taking a deep breath, she drew her old withdrawal application from her small bag and began to recount, word for word, the nightmare afternoon that had completely destroyed her over a decade ago.
Her voice shook frantically due to extreme dread and fury, yet within this venue composed of numerous board members and Academic Ethics Committee members, every single word was as clear and powerful as a succession of slaps delivered squarely to Julian Liang's face.
Then came another Omega, and then, a third.
The young men and women who had once wept bitterly, self-harmed, and even believed they were the ones at fault in the dead of night completely uncovered the blood-drenched truth in this very moment.
Julian Liang's expression finally changed.
The refined and scholarly mask that had been welded to his face for decades finally manifested a distorted, completely shattered crack along his brow and eyes. It was not out of guilt, nor was it out of the shame of being exposed to the world; it was because he discovered with absolute terror that this hunting ground constructed with pheromones—where he had once done as he pleased—was being thoroughly and forcefully overturned by the cool youth he had once looked down upon most, leading everyone alongside him.
The hearing persisted right until evening.
In the face of countless pieces of ironclad evidence and the blood-weeping accusations of the victims, the complexions of several old board members on the University Affairs Committee shifted between pale and flushed. Ultimately, after a full half-hour of closed-door deliberations, the University Affairs Committee formally stood up and publicly announced the preliminary handling decisions:
First: Effective immediately, suspend all of Julian Liang's academic and administrative posts at Beijing University and related cooperative units, pending further joint investigation by the Academic Ethics Committee.
Second: Spearheaded by the university's discipline inspection department, retrieve and re-examine the historical archives of all Omega students who had been disciplined or advised to withdraw by Julian Liang back then, initiating the exoneration process.
Third: Formally integrate the "Sober Choice" blocker patches developed by Professor Silas Shen into the routine medical and psychological support programs provided by the Beijing University Hospital for all on-campus Omega students.
The dust finally settled.
Stepping out of that extremely oppressive administration building conference room, massive stretches of orange-red sunset spilled in from the western windows at the end of the corridor, illuminating the cold terrazzo floor until it appeared boiling hot.
"Professor, have some water."
Hunter Huo produced a bottle of chilled mineral water from some unknown place, offering it before Silas in a somewhat obsequious manner.
The youth's brilliant golden hair looked incredibly fluffy under the halo of the sunset. Bending his waist slightly, he stared unblinkingly at Silas with those puppy eyes brimmed with starlight, the curvature of his lips impossible to suppress: "Professor, when you were confronting that old fox inside just now, seriously... you were so attractive my legs went soft."
Silas took the water, the cool bottle lowering the temperature of his fingertips slightly. Unscrewing the cap to take a sip, he glanced sideways at the sticky golden retriever bridging the gap between them, a highly faint trace of amusement laced within his tone: "Stop joking."
"Seriously! I swear!"
Hunter urgently extended three fingers, even cooperating by leaning a fraction closer to Silas's side until their shoulders collided without a single gap, feeling the warmth traveling from the young professor beneath his white lab coat.
The youth lowered his voice, his tone entirely filled with un-concealable pride and gratification: "Especially the millisecond you supported yourself against the table, facing him with a cold face and saying 'your era is over'—Professor, if only you had looked back just then. Old man Liang's face was so green at that moment, its color was honestly purer than the copper sulfate solution in our laboratory."
Silas ultimately could not resist turning his head to meet Hunter's gaze.
The remaining glow of the sunset poured in unreservedly from the end of the corridor, plating Hunter's entire person in a fluffy golden edge. It also completely illuminated the old wounds buried in the shadows of Silas's heart for a full decade, leaving them nowhere to hide until they thoroughly weathered and dissipated into nothingness.
"Hunter Huo," Silas called his name.
"Hmm? What's wrong?" The large golden retriever tilted his head with some confusion.
"Your tie is crooked."
Hunter looked down—sure enough, it was crooked. It was likely that while listening to those details in the conference room just now, he had clenched his fists far too hard while sitting in the back row, his entire body wound so tight that even the dark blue tie around his neck had been twisted crooked by his own movements.
Looking at his somewhat awkward appearance, Silas let out a soft sigh.
Taking a step forward in the center of the warmth-dappled corridor, and right before the gaze of the board members who had not yet completely dispersed, he exceptionally naturally extended two pale, slender hands, pinching the tie knot beneath the collar of Hunter's sweatshirt.
Silas lowered his head slightly, sorting it out for him with a focused expression.
Because the distance was pulled extremely close, his fingertips would occasionally and inevitably brush past the exquisite Adam's apple on Hunter's slender neck while adjusting the tie up and down. Every time a light contact occurred, Silas could clearly feel that piece of originally tensed cartilage roll slightly in an enduring and restrained manner.
"There, all done."
Silas retracted his hands, patting the youth's solid chest gently in a somewhat soothing manner.
Yet Hunter did not move. Staring down from his height at the young professor before him, looking at the sunset reflected across those gold-rimmed glasses, he suddenly smiled.
This time, it was not the careless, teeth-baring grin he usually put on intentionally to beg for sweets; rather, it was a highly quiet and highly serious smile. Those clear eyes were brimmed with a deep affection that could practically drown a person.
"Silas Shen, when you were standing right at the front inside the conference room just now saying those things, I sat in the back looking at your silhouette. Suddenly, I finally and completely confirmed one thing."
"What thing?" Silas slipped his hands back into the pockets of his white lab coat, arching an eyebrow marginally.
"My pursuit of you," Hunter paused, his voice low and magnetic, carrying a textured romantic tension, "has never been because of that damn 99% genetic compatibility registered in the pheromone database."
A fire seemed to ignite within the depths of the youth's eyes, scalding and pure:
"It's because of you as a person. Because you, Silas Shen, are sparkling from your very bones down to the strands of your hair."
The corridor was very long, and the setting sun was very warm.
Looking at the youth before him who had stumbled his way from nineteen all the way to twenty, pursuing him with a wild yet gentle demeanor, Silas suddenly felt that if the youth who had wept helplessly in that dark office ten years ago—believing the entire world was abandoning him—could traverse the long expanse of time to witness this scene today, he would probably be unable to resist crying.
But he did not cry now. Because by his side, he already possessed a puppy who would always bite people for his sake.
Silas hooked the corners of his lips up with some helplessness. Reaching his hand out once more, he intentionally tightened that tie he had just straightened a fraction further, forcing the youth to lean forward a bit closer once again.
"Let's go," the young professor turned his body, the hem of his coat tracing a beautiful arc in the breeze. "What do you want to eat tonight?"
Hunter's eyes brightened astoundingly in an instant, inhaling several sharp breaths in succession as he followed closely behind in lockstep: "...Professor, are you actively inviting me to dinner? Is this a date?!"
Silas didn't even turn his head, his tone remaining cool as always: "Ask one more question, and we are going to eat the big-pot meals at the First Cafeteria tonight."
"Don't! I'll eat! Will you accompany me to eat whatever I want? I want to eat the crab roe soup dumplings by the West Gate! And the claypot rice behind the Life Sciences building! I want sweet and sour pork ribs too!"
The silhouettes of the two were pulled very, very long by the evening sun, gradually vanishing at the end of the administration building's corridor. Behind them was the long-standing battlefield that had just drawn its curtains amidst a complete mess; before them, however, was a future doused in ten thousand feet of brilliant light, entirely devoid of any remaining haze.