A week after Julian Liang's arrest, the Beijing University campus thoroughly returned to its former tranquility. The rumors that had once caused a tumultuous uproar on the internet ultimately dissolved into the fading echoes of the departing police sirens. Inside the Life Sciences building, the daily collision of reagents and the low hum of operating instruments continued as they always had.
On Friday evening, Silas Shen concluded a grueling four-hour group meeting.
Dragging his somewhat exhausted steps back to his independent office, his gaze landed instantly upon a letter resting quietly in the exact center of his desk the moment he sat down.
It was not an email—the kind that flooded the current era to a fault—nor was it a cold, printed document. It was a highly old-fashioned, completely hand-written letter. The envelope utilized a slightly coarse, cream-colored stationery paper, and the seal even bore a dried smudge of deep blue fountain pen ink.
Silas's slender fingers paused marginally. Extending his hand, he opened the envelope with exceptionally light movements, smoothing out the sheet of paper that radiated a faint scent of ink.
The handwriting at the signature line was upright yet carried a slight tremor, belonging to his senior sister, Li Yun:
"Senior Brother Shen:
I saw the news. I sat at home facing my phone and wept for a very long time. When my daughter asked me what was wrong, I told her the truth. She is twelve this year and just differentiated into an Omega. After listening, she said to me—'Mom, if a bad person tries to bully me with pheromones in the future, I'll use Uncle Silas's medicine.'
In that exact millisecond, I felt that every ounce of grievance endured over all these years was entirely worth it.
I plan to return to school for my master's degree. Not to prove anything, but simply to tell my twenty-year-old self: You weren't destroyed; you merely took a highly prolonged detour.
Thank you for your medicine, and thank you for your courage.
— Li Yun"
The lights were not switched on inside the office; only the final, lingering remnant of the setting sun outside softly splashed its dim yellow twilight across the cream-colored stationery.
Silas merely stared quietly at that line—"You weren't destroyed; you merely took a highly prolonged detour"—his long eyelashes casting a quiet shadow beneath his eyelids. His cool fingertips smoothed over those slightly raised characters for a long duration, so long that the layer of cool detachment he habitually put on as a camouflage thoroughly melted into a trace of moisture within the depths of his eyes.
After a long while, he finally took a deep breath, refolding the letter seamlessly.
Silas pulled open the lowest drawer of his desk, retrieving a somewhat weathered blue document folder from within. He placed his senior sister's letter inside with immense care, his movements as gentle as if he were sealing a peerless treasure away for safekeeping.
Inside that folder lay several small, seemingly unrelated items resting quietly together.
At the very top was an invitation to Lin's wedding, its edges already somewhat frayed. Beneath it was a yellow sticky note torn from some unknown laboratory logbook, featuring a simple yet remarkably spirited drawing of a "puppy head" rendered in highly flamboyant strokes. There was also a draft of last year's project proposal; in the exact center of the dense professional terminology, someone had used a black signing pen to crookedly yet exceptionally forcefully circle three large characters—"For a Lifetime."
At the absolute bottom of the folder rested a sheet of scratch paper covered in various formulas.
That was the written commitment letter drafted stroke by stroke by a certain arrogant yet clumsy top-tier Alpha during a thunderstorm-ravaged night, kneeling on one knee by the bedside while sweating profusely from anxiety. His handwriting back then was exceptionally awkward.
On it, it read: "Guaranteed to listen only to Professor Shen for a lifetime. Guaranteed to be available on call. Guaranteed to forever remain Silas Shen's sharpest blade."
"Looking at your 'treasure chest' again?"
The office door was kicked open a crack by a foot at some unknown moment.
Hunter Huo sauntered in sideways, balanced precariously while carrying two cups of steaming hot coffee. The youth had changed into an exceptionally dazzling, bright yellow sweatshirt today, and that brilliant golden hair remained terribly conspicuous even within the dim room. Stridng over to the desk in a few steps, he steadily placed one of the coffee cups by Silas's hand while stealthily tilting his head over, attempting to sneak a peek at the folder's contents.
Snap.
Silas's expression remained unchanged. Before the youth's gaze could land upon that "commitment letter," his slender, pale palm precisely capped the folder, shutting it away instantly.
"Privacy." The young professor lifted his phoenix eyes, his gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses clear and cool, yet his voice carried a sliver of permissive amusement he himself hadn't detected.
"I can't even look?"
Hunter puckered his lips with some dissatisfaction. He simply set the other cup of coffee down as well, leaning his entire tall frame directly against the edge of the desk like a boneless creature, angling his body slightly forward to completely envelop Silas within his shadow with a heavy sense of oppression.
The youth narrowed those starlight-brimmed puppy eyes slightly, intentionally dropping his voice very low, carrying a blatant canine intuition unique to a top-tier Alpha: "Professor, I clearly saw the edge of that bottom sheet of paper just now. That handwriting... no matter how I look at it, it resembles the regular script I practiced back in high school. Are you hiding some secret love letter concerning me behind my back?"
Silas didn't even bother to lift his eyelids.
Right in front of Hunter's eyes, he methodically slid the blue folder back into the drawer, then turned the key with a crisp clack, locking the drawer completely.
"Especially you."
Silas retracted the key, smoothly lifting the cup of coffee beside his hand—its temperature perfectly calibrated—to take a light sip.
A rich coffee aroma rippled across the tip of his tongue. Two cubes of sugar, one portion of milk; the sweetness perfectly neutralized the bitterness of the black coffee. It was a flavor profile that only someone most intimately familiar with his habits could blend so flawlessly without a single millimeter of error.
Watching his unbending, cool demeanor, Hunter's Adam's apple rolled up and down with some itchiness. Though he still grumbled and puckered his lips to register a protest, those sparkling eyes had long been filled to the absolute brim with overflowing amusement and indulgence.
He understood Silas far too well.
The contents enclosed within that locked blue folder were never some cold archives; rather, they were the absolute best proof that the young professor before him had spent a full decade—after breaking his head against the wall countless times—to finally relearn how to trust this world.
And he, Hunter Huo—without a single shred of doubt—was the thickest, most arrogant page within that stack of proof.
"Fine, fine, fine. Privacy, Professor Shen's highest state secret."
Hunter straightened his posture in a somewhat rogueish manner, smoothly fishing a milk candy from his pocket. Stripping the wrapper away cleanly with a flick of his fingers, he accurately tossed the white, tender milk candy into Silas's coffee cup, kicking up a tiny splash of coffee foam.
The youth smiled until his eyes curved beautifully, his two sharp canine teeth gleaming under the dimming sunset: "Adding one more point of sweetness for you. Silas Shen, for tonight's date, you aren't allowed to break your promise and stand me up using experimental data as an excuse again."
Silas looked at the milk candy slowly dissolving within his cup, then lifted his head to look at the youth who was sparkling even within the darkness. The corners of his lips finally relaxed completely, rippling with a highly faint yet heart-trembling sweetness.