Stranger
In Jiang, Shaoqing’s presence was like a storm that never cleared. He spoke with sharpness, never respectful, and carried a simmering hatred for his entire family. Even Sheng, his legitimate brother who loved everyone, was met with cold disdain. Shaoqing despised the warmth, despised the luxury his illegitimate siblings flaunted, and despised the empire of Sheng Fang Biotech that his father ruled. To him, family was nothing but a chain he refused to wear.
Meanwhile, in Country P, Jinhai endured a life of quiet torment. His twelve siblings mocked him, his stepmother’s hatred was relentless, and his father’s indifference hollowed him out. As an Egima — a being no one believed existed — he lived in shadows, his existence denied by the world around him.
Two illegitimate sons, oceans apart, strangers by rule and fate. One consumed by hatred, the other by isolation. Yet destiny was already weaving threads between Jiang and Country P, threads that would pull Shaoqing and Jinhai into each other’s orbit — not as family, not as friends, but as strangers whose meeting would ignite something neither could escape.
In Paris, Shaoqing at fifteen carved out a life of defiance. He studied hard but never softened his sharp tongue, refusing to contact his family back in Jiang. To him, every message from home was poison — Sheng’s kindness, his father’s empire, his siblings’ luxury. He hated them all, and Paris became his escape, a city where he could be rude without consequence, where distance itself was a weapon.
In Country P, Jinhai at twenty had already severed his ties. His real mother gone at birth, his stepmother dead in a car accident, and his father indifferent — he stood alone. Horizon Dynamics, the company he secretly owned, was his fortress. His twelve siblings, who once mocked him, no longer mattered; he had erased them from his life. The world still denied the existence of Egima, but Jinhai carried that truth in silence, building power in shadows.
In Paris, the summer air carried a strange freedom for Jinhai. At twenty, he gave himself a rare gift — a one‑month holiday. But he didn’t arrive as the secret owner of Horizon Dynamics, the company that marked his independence. Instead, he disguised himself as a struggling middle‑class man, blending into the crowd for fun. No tailored suits, no aura of power — just plain clothes, a modest apartment, and the anonymity he had always craved.
For Jinhai, it was a game. To walk unnoticed, to taste life without the weight of wealth or the shadow of his family’s hatred. He wanted to see if he could live as someone ordinary, someone free of the Egima secret that defined him.
At the same time, Shaoqing was in Paris too — fifteen, sharp‑tongued, and filled with contempt for his family back in Jiang. He studied hard but spoke rudely to everyone, refusing to soften his words. He avoided contact with home, determined to sever ties with Sheng Fang Biotech and the family he despised.
Shaoqing’s Paris chapter takes a sharp turn here. At fifteen, he had no interest in socializing beyond his studies, but his friends insisted he join them at a nightclub. He tried to refuse, his usual rude tone cutting through their pleas, but eventually gave in.
The neon lights, the pounding bass, and the crowded energy of the club were worlds away from the quiet defiance he carried in his daily life. Shaoqing didn’t want to be there, but his friends dragged him into the chaos.
The nightclub was chaos — neon lights, pounding music, bodies pressed together. Shaoqing, dragged there by his friends, had drunk far too much. His sharp tongue was silenced by intoxication, his body heavy and unsteady.
That was when a group of older men noticed him. They tried to pull him away, their hands insistent, their voices coaxing. Even drunk, Shaoqing refused, his Alpha pride flaring weakly — but his resistance was fading.
From across the room, Jinhai watched. Disguised as a waiter, he had come to Paris to live as an ordinary man, hiding his true identity as the secret owner of Horizon Dynamics. But when he saw Shaoqing cornered, something inside him snapped.
He stepped forward, releasing his pheromones — a surge of dominance that filled the air. The older men froze, their instincts overwhelmed, and fled in panic. The crowd barely noticed, but Shaoqing collapsed, faint from drink and stress.
Shaoqing woke up in a dim unfamiliar room, the faint scent of pheromones clinging to his body like a mark. His head throbbed from the alcohol, and his sharp eyes darted around until they landed on Jinhai — the man he had never seen before, sitting quietly nearby.
Instantly, Shaoqing’s mind twisted the situation. The pheromone residue on his skin felt invasive, and in his drunken haze he misunderstood: this stranger must have mated with him while he was unconscious.
“You—” Shaoqing’s voice was hoarse but still rude, cutting like a blade. “What the hell did you do to me?!” His Alpha pride flared, anger boiling over the confusion.
Jinhai’s expression remained calm, though inside he felt the sting of accusation. He had only released his pheromones to drive away the men who tried to force Shaoqing, but now the scent had stuck to Shaoqing’s body, misleading him.
“I didn’t touch you,” Jinhai said evenly, his tone quiet but firm. “You fainted. I carried you here so you wouldn’t be dragged away.”
Shaoqing narrowed his eyes, disbelief dripping from every word. “Liar. Your scent is all over me.” His fists clenched, his Alpha instincts refusing to accept weakness.
Shaoqing’s eyes burned with suspicion as he sat up, the scent of pheromones clinging to his skin. His voice was sharp, accusing: “You touched me. Don’t lie — your scent is all over me.”
Jinhai, calm but firm, finally decided to explain. He leaned forward, his tone steady: “I didn’t mate with you. What you feel is my pheromone — I released it in the nightclub to drive away those men who were forcing you. It stuck to your body because you were drunk and fainted. That’s all.”
Shaoqing’s glare didn’t soften. “Pheromone? You expect me to believe that?”
Jinhai hesitated, then chose honesty. “I’m not like others. I’m… Egima. My pheromones are stronger, different. No one believes Egima exists, so I keep it hidden. That’s why I disguised myself as a waiter. I didn’t want anyone to know who I really am.”
The room fell silent. Shaoqing’s pride as an Alpha clashed with confusion. He hated being vulnerable, hated the idea that someone had saved him. Yet Jinhai’s words carried no hesitation, no weakness — only truth.
“You’re lying,” Shaoqing muttered, though his voice wavered. “Egima doesn’t exist.”
Jinhai’s gaze held steady. “Then think of me as a liar if you want. But I didn’t touch you. I only stopped those men and brought you here so you wouldn’t wake up in the street.”
Shaoqing stirred, still glaring at Jinhai with suspicion. His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence: “Tell me straight — who the hell are you, and what did you do to me?”
Jinhai sighed, leaning back in his chair. He had already explained, but Shaoqing’s pride as an Alpha refused to let go of the misunderstanding. So, he tried a different approach.
“By the way,” Jinhai said calmly, “how old are you?”
Shaoqing narrowed his eyes, his tone dripping with rudeness. “Fifteen. Why do you care? Planning to use that against me?”
Jinhai shook his head, his expression steady. “No. I asked because I need you to understand — I’m older than you. I’m twenty. I’ve lived through things you can’t imagine. I didn’t mate with you. What you feel is my pheromone, nothing more. I released it to protect you when those men tried to drag you away.”
Shaoqing scoffed, his pride refusing to bend. “So you’re saying you saved me? Don’t make me laugh.”
Jinhai’s gaze didn’t waver. “Believe what you want. But I didn’t touch you. I only stopped those men and carried you here so you wouldn’t wake up in the street. You’re fifteen — too young to be dragged into something like that. I’m twenty. I’ve lived through things you can’t imagine. I don’t need to prove myself to you.”
Shaoqing clenched his fists, his Alpha instincts refusing to bend. He wanted to storm out, to spit back another insult, but his body was still weak from the alcohol. He hated the feeling of dependence, hated that this stranger had saved him.
Yet beneath the anger, a flicker of doubt lingered. Jinhai’s explanation was too calm, too precise to be a lie.
Shaoqing pushed himself up from the bed, his head still spinning. “I’m leaving,” he muttered, his voice sharp, though his body betrayed him. He staggered toward the door, but his legs gave out beneath him.
Jinhai caught him before he hit the floor, steadying him with quiet strength. “You’re too weak,” he said firmly. “Sit down. You’ll collapse again if you try to leave.”
Shaoqing’s pride flared. “Don’t order me around! I don’t need your help.” His fists clenched, but his body trembled, refusing to obey his will.
Jinhai didn’t argue. He simply guided Shaoqing back to the bed, ignoring the insults. “You may hate me, but right now you need rest. I’ll make something for you to eat. After that, if you still want to leave, I won’t stop you.”
Shaoqing glared, his Alpha instincts bristling at being cared for. Yet he couldn’t deny the truth — his body was too weak to fight. He turned his face away, refusing to thank Jinhai, but stayed where he was.
Jinhai moved quietly in the small apartment, preparing food with the calm efficiency of someone used to solitude. He didn’t demand gratitude, didn’t press for trust. He simply took responsibility, even for a stranger who met him with nothing but suspicion
