Chapter 5: Ties of Blood & Bond of Heat

The truth hit Wei Ying like the echo of a gunshot.

Heir to a rival mafia clan.

Presumed dead after a car explosion five years ago.

The pieces slid into place — the unexplainable fighting skills, the random flashes of memory, the faces in his dreams that he couldn’t name.

And Lan Zhan…

He was sent to kill him.

But hadn’t.

Instead, he stayed close. Guarded him. Watched him.

Wei Ying didn’t know whether to be furious or grateful.

Days of Tension

From then on, their university project was nothing more than a convenient excuse.

They met constantly — library corners, empty study rooms, the occasional late-night coffee run.

Their arguments were sharp and fast, the kind that left both of them flushed and breathing harder.

Lan Zhan would sit still and composed, sipping tea, while Wei Ying paced in circles, ranting.

And yet… somewhere between the verbal sparring and the silent moments, a thread of something else began to pull tighter between them.

Fights turned into lingering glances.

Glances turned into fleeting touches.

It was dangerous. It was inevitable.

The Night of the Thunderstorm

The storm rolled over Beijing with no warning. Thunder cracked the sky apart. Rain fell in sheets against the tall apartment windows.

Lan Zhan was at his desk, reviewing papers, when the sound of urgent knocking broke the quiet.

He opened the door.

Wei Ying stood there, dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead. His hoodie clung to him, and his eyes were wide — not with fear, but with something far more primal.

Wei Ying (breathless, voice trembling):

“I… I didn’t take my suppressants today… Can’t— think—”

His scent hit like lightning. Sweet and intoxicating, laced with desperation.

Lan Zhan’s instincts screamed mine. His Alpha side wanted to close the space between them, to claim.

But his self-control held.

A Different Kind of Claim

Without a word, Lan Zhan pulled a thick, warm blanket from the couch and wrapped it around Wei Ying’s shivering frame.

He guided him inside, closing the door softly behind them.

Wei Ying’s body trembled — from heat or the cold rain, it was hard to tell. His breath came in shallow bursts, pupils blown wide.

Lan Zhan lowered himself to sit beside him on the couch.

Lan Zhan (calm, steady):

“I won’t take you unless you ask for it. Even now.”

Wei Ying’s chest ached. He had expected teasing, maybe even force — that’s what Alphas in stories always did. But this?

This was control. Respect. Patience.

His throat tightened. Tears gathered without warning and slipped down his cheeks. Not from pain, but from the sharp, unfamiliar ache of being protected.

The First Kiss

Wei Ying’s voice cracked as he whispered:

Wei Ying:

“Then… kiss me. Please.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes softened. He didn’t rush.

He reached up, fingers brushing the damp strands of hair from Wei Ying’s face, tucking them gently behind his ear. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of him.

Then, he leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t conquest.

It was poetry.

Slow. Reverent. The kind that unfolded like the first page of a sacred book — one you’d never dare tear.

Wei Ying’s hands clutched the front of Lan Zhan’s shirt, pulling him closer, the blanket slipping from his shoulders.

The storm outside roared.

But inside, the only sound was the quiet meeting of lips… and the unspoken promise in the space between them.

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