Chapter 73
I don’t know how it is elsewhere, but the first lesson for soldiers enlisting in the Far-flung Seventh District isn’t pheromone training—it’s writing a will.
This is a tradition preserved from long ago.
As the northernmost territory with vast resources, the Seventh District is not only a battleground for profit and power between economic tycoons and council families but also a giant cake eyed greedily by neighboring countries.
Many predecessors in the Seventh District have either sacrificed themselves resisting foreign enemies or lost their lives innocently in conflicts of factional stance.
Not knowing when they might lose their lives on a mission, regularly revising their wills became a compulsory course for them.
Under the persistence of several generations of generals, the tradition of mailing physical letters has been preserved to this day.
Even the stationery is special to the Seventh District. The watermark background depicts the snow-covered, rolling mountain ranges of the Seventh District, standing like solemn guardian deities.
Lu Wanqing held the two thin sheets of paper, their background grave and dignified, and felt his heart, which had been suspended in mid-air, drop heavily back into place.
He had left in a hurry for the disaster relief in the Third District, so this handwritten letter was actually written before his last mission to Dragon Spine Island.
Truth be told, ever since he followed Lu Wei to the Seventh District, he had never taken this writing task seriously.
Others had family, people to send these letters to.
What about him?
Forget not knowing who to write to or send it to; even establishing a close connection with anyone was a luxury for him.
His existence was dispensable. People could turn their heads and forget him; even when he was promoted to lieutenant, there were still those who called out the wrong surname.
What good would leaving a letter do?
It would likely just be tossed into a corner, fed into a shredder, and vanish completely along with his soul.
For a long time, he would perfunctorily draw a circle on the paper, symbolizing his messed-up life—even if he started over, he still couldn’t find an exit.
Once, someone inadvertently saw that scribbled circle. After it circulated quietly for a while, it reached the ears of Yu Xingxing’s father, who specifically called him in for a talk.
“If you die a worthy death, the letter might be your posthumous fame. If you leave suddenly, it is the final comfort you give to your closest kin.
“Think clearly before you put pen to paper. Don’t treat it as child’s play.”
Lu Wanqing agreed, resolving internally that the next time he drew circles on paper, he would make sure no one saw.
He didn’t care if his posthumous name was praised or spat upon.
He never spared any effort. Every mission was undertaken with his life on the line. Being described by comrades as the calling card of the Golden Shield wasn’t for achievements or posthumous fame.
Only he knew that he was searching for the feeling of being needed.
He just wanted someone to remember him earnestly while he was alive, rather than living like an invisible person, worrying that one day he would disappear from the world without a trace.
He hoped there would be someone who could call out his name without needing a reminder, someone who would proactively rest their gaze upon him, rather than just being bound to wherever the plot required him to be.
He also wanted… to become the protagonist of his own life.
Lu Wanqing never expected that he would actually meet such a person—
Someone who stumbled and ran to the front of his car, eyes rippling with water and filled with his reflection.
Someone who snatched the marriage certificate from his hand, brow wild and free, calling his name with a powerful voice full of emotion he had never heard before.
Someone who dragged him, hidden in the darkness, out of the car and into the light, pretentiously linking arms with him while keeping a back rigid with tension and wariness.
Someone who would proactively send him messages, caring about his well-being.
Before the Dragon Spine Island mission, he had broken precedent and revised his will. For the first time, he wrote earnestly, stroke by stroke, to a specific recipient.
He remembered what he wrote to this day:
Stranger/Partner/Temporary Companion,
When you receive this letter, it means I have reached the end. I do not know what our relationship has become by this time, but please do not take it too much to heart.
This letter was sent to you simply because, at this very moment, you are the only recipient in this world I could find who fulfills my long-cherished wish. I die with no regrets.
The registration of a General’s marital status requires complicated procedures. If you have not yet shed the identity of my partner when you receive this letter, you can use this letter to have them expedite the process.
Although I was born without freedom, I hope you will never be trapped in a cage. May you be forever free.
Lu Wanqing’s hand dropped, the paper fluttering by his side. He pursed his lips and explained, “The will… we write them in advance. If an accident occurs during a mission, it gets mailed to the next of kin.”
“I know that. The Marshal told me.” Shu Ci pulled over a chair, sat down with his arms crossed and legs crossed, looking up at him. “So, what kind of accident happened to you?”
“Maybe I was adrift at sea for too long without contact with the center, so it triggered the automatic dispatch.”
“The Marshal didn’t mention that part.”
“Automatic dispatch is managed separately by each district. He’s too busy; he might not remember such details.”
“Do you know what I thought when I received it?”
Shu Ci straightened his back, gazing into Lu Wanqing’s eyes.
“I received it the day after you didn’t reply to my message. I was afraid it was sent by mistake, and I didn’t want to trouble others who are swamped with the election, so I wanted to wait for official confirmation.”
He didn’t know when Lu Wanqing had written it, but the phrase “long-cherished wish” had given him pause for a long time.
Could this person’s long-cherished wish be to kiss him and then run away with his tail between his legs? Why was he thinking about helping him dissolve the marriage even in his will?
Lu Wanqing’s throat moved.
“But what I waited for was the Marshal announcing your suspension pending investigation.” Shu Ci paused.
“Since it’s a suspension, that means you should be alive. But then I thought, what if something really did happen to you, and the Marshal issued that order just to prevent unrest and panic…”
Lu Wanqing’s fingertips curled, his whole body stiffening as if nailed to the spot.
He thought of how he had just walked to the intersection of Jiqing Road and seen Shu Ci throw open the courtyard gate from afar, barefoot and without changing his clothes.
Seeing the reporters outside, the light in his eyes had vanished instantly.
What kind of feelings did Shu Ci have when he opened that door just now? What was he thinking during this time when Lu Wanqing thought he was giving them space to cool off?
“I’m sorry.”
Lu Wanqing’s throat bobbed, his deep voice laced with remorse and self-blame.
He bowed his body, lowered his head, and stood before Shu Ci in a posture most Alphas would scoff at, his peripheral vision sweeping over Shu Ci’s lips, still glistening with moisture.
How merciful he was, willing to kiss him even in such a mood, to grant him relief.
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
Everyone was just doing what they thought was right.
“Ah, but this—”
Shu Ci stood up, gently plucked the letter paper from his hand, turned around, and clipped it into a folder, placing it together with his training materials.
“Since it was mailed to me, it’s mine.”
Deep down, he breathed a sigh of relief.
As long as Lu Wanqing hadn’t truly decided to separate from him, then to hell with “dying with no regrets” and “long-cherished wishes.”
He asked while organizing, “Since you wanted to cool off, why come back? Why not keep hiding?”
“Because…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Lu Wanqing saw Shu Ci’s desk. A photo of him and Lu Wei stood there. Next to it was a new photo frame containing a picture of him hanging laundry at home in a white t-shirt.
He had allowed Shu Ci to take that candid shot.
Now, Shu Ci had openly printed it out and placed it on the desk.
Even separated by distance, with his phone off to avoid messages, he couldn’t cut off the connection that belonged solely to Shu Ci.
Every time Shu Ci touched his photo, he could feel it.
“Because I could feel—”
Lu Wanqing’s lips moved, struggling internally with whether or not to explain. But halfway through his sentence, the person standing in front of the desk suddenly toppled backward!
Shu Ci seemed to lose all strength in an instant, falling straight back. Lu Wanqing’s brow twitched as he leaned forward and caught him in his arms.
He had passed out completely.
At the same time, Shu Ci’s phone on the desk began to vibrate violently.
As the sun set, the streetlights in the blocks around Jiqing Road lit up with a dim yellow glow. The silver light above the small courtyard, shielded by the device, gradually blended into the night.
Yi Xingshui drove forward following the navigation but was blocked by warning tape erected ahead.
Several Alphas with thick eyebrows and large eyes stood with hands on their hips. Seeing her car, they frowned and walked toward her.
“Temporary lockdown for case investigation. Please take a detour.”
“If you are a reporter, we advise you to stop here. Someone called the police half an hour ago, and the reporters gathering nearby have already been taken in to give statements.”
Yi Xingshui was stunned. She took out her phone. “Is there some mistake? I was…”
“She is the doctor I invited. Sorry to trouble you all,” a steady voice suddenly rang out.
The police officers turned around to see Lu Wanqing standing at the courtyard gate, looking at them with calm brows and eyes, yet his tone allowed for no refusal.
“No, no, General Lu is too polite.”
Yi Xingshui was let inside the cordon. She parked on the side, grabbed her small medical case, and caught up to Lu Wanqing in a few steps, entering the courtyard dumbfounded.
“Senior Brother, is it really Senior Brother?? I didn’t recognize the wrong person!” Yi Xingshui walked extremely fast, her short hair swaying by her ears.
After returning from the island, she had waited and waited for the meal Shu Ci had promised, but it never happened.
She hadn’t seen Shu Ci at school for a long time, and the next thing she knew, the news was broadcasting a shocking event that shook the whole country.
She called Shu Ci today, originally intending to confirm if the suspended officer was indeed her Senior Brother. She hadn’t expected another voice to answer the phone.
Familiar, yet unfamiliar.
She had never heard her Senior Brother use such an urgent and nervous tone.
“It’s me.” Lu Wanqing walked into the house, his steps pausing.
“Hang your coat in the entryway. Don’t bring the cold air from outside onto him.”
Yi Xingshui swallowed a thousand words. She changed her shoes and followed him into the bedroom, only to see the Omega on the bed, pale-faced and unconscious.
She took out her stethoscope and sat by the bed, skillfully manipulating Shu Ci to perform a checkup.
After a while, she put away her equipment and looked at Lu Wanqing, hesitating to speak.
The data on the machine was basically normal.
“Has he not been eating or sleeping well lately? It looks like a natural reaction after being overloaded for too long—suddenly unloading the heavy burden, going from tense to relaxed.”
Lu Wanqing remained silent.
He didn’t know if Shu Ci had been sleeping well, but he probably really hadn’t been eating well.
He had just gone into the kitchen and seen empty instant noodle cups and fast-food packaging all over the floor. It was enough to imagine how Shu Ci had stayed indoors for the past few days.
“He had an episode of Disorder Syndrome at school, which probably affected his endocrine system. There are signs that his heat cycle has been delayed or suppressed.”
Yi Xingshui looked at Shu Ci with heartache. Why did she feel like every time she saw him, he was either in terrible physical condition or not quite lucid?
“Even if other bodily functions are normal, if he doesn’t rest well and replenish his nutrition, it’s hard to say if he can withstand the next attack of the syndrome. You family members really need to pay attention!”
Upholding her professional ethics, Yi Xingshui finished instructing the patient’s family member, then looked up, only to remember that the family member in front of her was no ordinary family member.
…She had actually just scolded her Senior Brother to his face.
“But Senior Brother, I remember you were always top of the class.” Yi Xingshui paused. “Given his condition, to be honest, it doesn’t even count as an illness. You called me over specifically just for this?”
Lu Wanqing’s gaze didn’t move from Shu Ci.
After a long while, he spoke. “Your Senior Sister previously gave the exchange slot for the Disorder Syndrome special research to that…”
“Senior Brother Li?”
“Can you contact him now?”
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