Clearly

In the distance, within the crowd, the black-haired Beta adjusted the tie of the tall Alpha standing before him.

People nearby just stared, stunned.

Under the sunlight, the young man lowered his head slightly. The back of his neck was smooth and pale—his Beta gland, long since regressed, almost invisible.

Only a few strands of hair, left untied out of sheer laziness, brushed softly against the collar of his white shirt.

Black against white.

A contrast so sharp it almost hurt to look at.

Zhao Guipu had a cigarette between his lips.

As the thin smoke blurred his vision, he finally looked away.

But the corner of his mouth lifted—he didn’t even bother hiding it. Even without the cover of shade or smoke, his good mood was obvious.

Pei Qin, standing beside him, glanced over.

“Your father’s still waiting to be cremated over there. Even if it’s an act, you should at least try.”

If the media caught this, tomorrow’s headline would read: ‘Mr. Zhao—cold and heartless.’

Zhao Guipu didn’t care. He tilted his chin slightly toward the two younger men in the distance.

“Just think young people are interesting,” he said casually. “Yesterday they were making a scene about breaking off the engagement. Today they’re back together like nothing happened.”

From where Pei Qin stood, he could see Wu Qie’s side profile.

Fair skin. Soft features inherited from his mother. Long lashes that made his eyes look gentle, almost affectionate when lowered.

People didn’t always understand themselves accurately.

After all, kindergarten teachers don’t just let rich kids sit on their laps for graduation photos.

“The Wu family’s Beta kid,” Pei Qin said.

It was his first time seeing Wu Qie in person.

“Is the engagement public already?”

Zhao Guipu turned to look at him.

Pei Qin smiled. “You moved fast.”

They were nine years apart, but close enough—cards, drinks, casual talks.

Zhao Guipu studied his tone for a second, then casually pulled out a cigarette and handed one over.

“Feeling sorry for your son,” he asked lightly, “or for yourself?”

Pei Qin accepted it with a smile but said nothing.

A man well-maintained, but the faint lines at the corners of his eyes gave him away—

Not someone simple.

Zhao Guipu clicked his tongue internally. Old fox.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he added flatly. “You’re too old for that.”

Pei Qin didn’t even react. Instead, he said, almost teasing,

“You ranked first in last year’s ‘Most Eligible Bachelor in Jiangcheng.’”

Zhao Guipu scoffed. “Since when was that a thing?”

Then, more quietly—

“Don’t start anything. Wu Wenxiong will come after you.”

Pei Qin chuckled. “What’s there to fight about? Perfect match. Government and business alliance.”

“Widower,” Zhao Guipu shot back. “Doesn’t sound good.”

“Older men are more considerate,” Pei Qin said calmly. “Better than someone like you—wouldn’t even notice if someone froze to death beside you.”

Zhao Guipu didn’t argue.

After a pause, he said it plainly—

“No.”

“Wu Qie is already half part of the Zhao family. Don’t interfere.”

…

Soon, staff came to inform them the farewell hall was ready.

Guests began to file inside.

Zhao Guipu stubbed out his cigarette neatly, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and threw it away.

He entered last.

…

High-society funerals weren’t really about grief.

They were performances.

Zhao Shu stood at the front, reading the eulogy.

It had been written for him—polished, poetic, full of tragic love.

Ironically so.

He had questioned it once.

Zhao Guipu’s answer?

Look at the stock market.

People loved tragic love stories.

Like Titanic—

Not the sinking ship, but the old couple holding each other at the end.

That’s what moved people.

Zhao Shu looked up.

Some guests were already quietly crying.

Zhao Guipu stood among them—

Calm. Detached. Untouched.

As if the man in the coffin wasn’t his father at all.

…

Later, during the farewell ritual—

Wu Qie stepped forward.

He knelt.

Threw folded paper money into the fire.

The movement made his posture bend slightly—

Submissive, almost.

The firelight lit up his face. Pale. Almost translucent at the tip of his nose.

Zhao Shu stared longer than he should have.

Until the faint scent of agave snapped him out of it.

…

Lin Zuwen stood before him next.

Eyes red. Fragile.

He hugged Zhao Shu briefly.

“Take care,” he whispered.

Zhao Shu just responded, flat—

“Mm.”

Nothing more.

…

That night, rain poured.

At the gravesite, Zhao Guipu stepped forward himself.

Took a handful of soil.

Scattered it over the ashes.

“Dad,” he said quietly,

“I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry.”

A promise.

Or a reminder.

No one spoke.

Only rain.

…

Later, in the car—

The rain was so heavy they had to stop driving.

Silence.

Then Zhao Guipu spoke.

“You and Wu Qie,” he said lightly. “Not breaking off the engagement anymore?”

Zhao Shu hesitated.

Images flashed—

Wu Qie’s head lowered. His fingers fixing his tie.

“…Maybe,” he said. “Not sure.”

Zhao Guipu smiled faintly.

Then asked—

“Did today teach you anything?”

…

Zhao Shu understood immediately.

Their father.

His obsession.

His downfall.

“Love can control you,” Zhao Shu said slowly.

Zhao Guipu looked at him.

Didn’t deny it.

“To stay in control,” Zhao Shu continued,

“You don’t let yourself be ruled by it.”

Zhao Guipu nodded.

“That’s why,” he said quietly,

“a Beta is safer.”

No pheromones.

No biological pull.

No loss of control.

Always—

Above it all.

…

Zhao Shu’s voice tightened.

“That’s not fair to Wu Qie.”

“What if one day I lose control? What if I—”

Thunder cracked across the sky.

Zhao Guipu just smiled.

“You’re thinking too much.”

Simple as that.

…

A knock interrupted them.

The window lowered.

Wu Qie stood outside, damp from the rain, holding an umbrella.

“Ge,” he said softly.

“I found this.”

A brooch lay in his palm—

An iris, set with a violet gemstone.

Zhao Guipu took it.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling.

“You’re always kind. Feels like fate—you and the Zhao family.”

His fingers brushed Wu Qie’s palm—

Light.

But deliberate.

Wu Qie pulled his hand back quickly.

“…No need to thank me.”