“I remember,” Xia Wennan said to Ming Luchuan. A stunned look crossed Ming Luchuan’s face for a split second. The overhead street lights shone down on him. His thick lashes cast shadows across his face. “You remember?” he asked, echoing Xia Wennan. In the night air, the scent of osmanthus flowers mingling with Ming Luchuan’s pheromones was clearer. Xia Wennan looked him in the eyes, and suddenly thought: This is an alpha. Their bodies are capable of emitting pheromones that hold their emotions and personal mark, allowing them to convey all of their thoughts to their beloved omega without having to utter a word. But why was he, a beta, able to perceive them too? When he was younger, he despised his unique disposition, despised the awkward status of having one foot between alphas and omegas. Yet right this second, he was a little glad—if it weren’t for this special physique of his, he would never be able to perceive Ming Luchuan’s, no matter how turbulent and ferocious they were. Right this second, Xia Wennan couldn’t decide whether he should feel regret or relief. He didn’t have pheromones; the passage of feelings between him and Ming Luchuan would always go one-way. Ming Luchuan would never know what he was thinking if he never said anything.
Xia Wennan smiled and said, “I remember what Xishui Hall is.” “That’s all?” “That’s all.” Ming Luchuan gazed at him, his eyes a depth of emotions. “You still don’t remember me?”
Xia Wennan earnestly mulled over this question before saying, “Actually—I can’t really say I remember. I don’t remember precisely what we did, but I feel that something ought to have happened here between us.”