Little Sweet O Transmigrates Into the Body of the Villainous Fake Young Master - Chapter 6

Teng Yingzhi was currently immersed in a profound sense of world-weariness.

He felt cursed. Two chances at life, and both were miserable.

Before transmigrating, he had been a carefully cultivated exhibit for his family, just like his father’s cabinets of high-end watches, the stream of rare gemstones, or his brothers’ warehouse of limited-edition supercars. He was a luxury ornament used to display the owner’s wealth and status.

After transmigrating, his life was equally predictable: controlled, restricted, and with the sole mission of serving as a foil to highlight the glorious life of the protagonist, He Ji.

In this vast world, there wasn’t a single shred of room for his own personal will.

The gender of Omega seemed to carry some innate sin from birth. Even if he committed no offense in this life, he was expected to spend a lifetime of suffering to atone for that phantom guilt.

No matter how hard he worked or how much he yielded, his father never looked at him as an equal, and he couldn’t change his predestined fate, not even a detail as small as receiving a slap. Being hit by He Ji wasn’t a mandatory plot point; whether it happened or not wouldn’t change the ending, yet he still couldn’t escape it.

Similarly, what change did his counterattack just now achieve? It was ruthlessly glitched back by the Will of the World. Perhaps only someone who is equally unloved could understand the bitter, agonizing powerlessness Yingzhi felt at this moment.

The more he thought, the sadder he became. He couldn’t stop sobbing, failing to even hear what Teng Song was saying.

By the time he noticed any movement, it was the sound of Teng Song’s footsteps walking away.

Yingzhi stayed curled in his spot, his cheek resting on the ice pack, motionless.

In the two years since he had arrived, he had made many efforts, one of which was desperately maintaining, and even currying favor with—Teng Song.

Teng Song didn’t appear often in the original book, and his plotlines were few, but every appearance was heavy with significance and absolute dominance. It wasn’t an exaggeration to call him the emperor of the book’s world. In the future, his power would be the “cheat code” that allowed He Ji to soar, and the sharp blade that would crush Teng Yingzhi.

Because Teng Song appeared so rarely, Yingzhi didn’t truly understand him even with the script in hand. At first, he didn’t even dare to approach him. Later, purely to survive and escape the plot, he gathered his courage and started cautiously with simple greetings.

Over two years, every contact, every word, and every speck of accumulated affection with Teng Song represented Yingzhi’s hope for changing the future.

He Ji’s appearance had completely shattered that hope.

If he couldn’t even avoid a single slap, how was he supposed to avoid the future plot points that would humiliate him and send Teng Song into a murderous rage? How could he avoid the ending where he lost his life in agony?

Everything he had done for two years was a wasted effort.

Yingzhi blinked, and large tears surged out again amidst his erratic breathing.

“How bad is the injury? Let me see,” Teng Song’s voice rang out.

Yingzhi had thought he had left. Hearing the voice, he instinctively turned his head and saw Teng Song holding a new ice pack wrapped in a towel. The man walked over and knelt on one knee beside him.

When Yingzhi turned, he revealed the cheek that had been struck.

Teng Song forcefully tilted Yingzhi’s tear-stained chin up. Perhaps because of the constant icing, the cheek hadn’t swollen much, but a red handprint was still visible, with a distinct layer of purple bruising beneath.

It was hard to say how much force He Ji had used to actually bruise Yingzhi’s face.

Teng Song’s eyes instantly filled with displeasure. He let go of Yingzhi’s chin and handed him the towel-wrapped ice pack, his tone somewhat harsh. “Do you feel unwell anywhere else?”

Yingzhi suddenly snapped back to reality. Hearing Teng Song’s somber tone, he felt uneasy.

Would his brother be like his parents, immediately switching sides the moment He Ji appeared? This scene wasn’t in the original plot because Teng Song wasn’t supposed to be back until New Year’s Eve. Yingzhi couldn’t be sure of his current attitude.

But no matter what, in the future, his brother would slowly grow to favor He Ji. Not just him, but everyone. It was He Ji’s blessing and Yingzhi’s curse.

The old, half-melted ice pack had been taken away. Overwhelmed by helplessness, Yingzhi took the new one and pressed it silently against his cheek.

Teng Song frowned. “Speak.”

Yingzhi wiped away a tear, his wet lashes drooping to hide the desolation in his eyes. “No.”

“Are you dizzy?”

Yingzhi shook his head slightly.

Only then did Teng Song feel a bit relieved. With such a startling mark, he had worried about a concussion or similar injury.

“I… I didn’t trick Second Brother into eating the walnut crisps…” Yingzhi looked at Teng Song with eyes full of tears, speaking cautiously. He was unaware that he was clutching Teng Song’s sleeve. Though he was explaining himself, his posture looked like he was begging.

Perhaps it was a habit formed over the past two years, or perhaps he had a bit of a “baby bird” complex toward Teng Song—after all, this was the one person Yingzhi had determined to get close to from the start. In the face of danger, he instinctively wanted to lean on him for protection.

Even knowing that Teng Song would eventually become a massive danger himself.

“I know,” Teng Song replied, taking Yingzhi’s slender wrist in his hand and kneading it gently to soothe his anxiety. “It’s not clear yet whether he is targeting you or simply misunderstood. Until it’s sorted out, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to live together. You can consider moving to a place you like, or I can have He Ji leave.”

“Mom and Dad would probably want me to move out,” Yingzhi said dejectedly.

Teng Song’s eyes were indifferent. “This whole mess started because they didn’t handle things properly before rushing to bring He Ji back. You don’t need to concern yourself with their opinions.”

Yingzhi was silent for a moment, then sniffled and asked intentionally, “Then… should I move out?”

Teng Song raised a hand to wipe the tear tracks from his cheek. “If you want to.” He paused, and as if considering Yingzhi’s sensitive nature beneath his docility, he added, “It’s not that you need to move because He Ji is here. It depends on what you want. If you don’t want to move, then He Ji moves. I’ll be the bad guy.”

At this moment, Teng Song clearly favored his “fake” younger brother more. Sensing this partiality, much of the unease in Yingzhi’s heart dissipated, giving him a bit of confidence.

However, moving out was impossible; he had tried that when he first arrived. He had tried to run far away to avoid the plot, only to be glitched back. He had tried many times before eventually giving up. As for making He Ji move out, that was even more impossible, for the protagonist, the glitch-back would only happen faster.

“It’s fine. If he moves out right after being brought back, people will gossip. It wouldn’t be good for his reputation or for Mom and Dad’s,” Yingzhi said. “He probably just misunderstood this time. It’s okay.”

Teng Song was slightly displeased but didn’t interfere with his decision.

Just then, a knock sounded. After receiving permission, Uncle Lu pushed the door open. “Mr. Teng, Master He Ji seems to be feeling unwell.”

Teng Song didn’t turn around. His furrowed brows gave him a stern, cold look. “Has he admitted he was wrong?”

Uncle Lu shook his head awkwardly. “No.”

Yingzhi clearly saw the flash of irritation in Teng Song’s eyes, followed by an irrepressible rebuke: “Then let him keep kneeling!”

“Yes, sir,” Uncle Lu replied and withdrew.

Yingzhi was startled by the sudden leak of irritation. He had never seen his brother lose control of his emotions like that, and he was also surprised that He Ji was being forced to kneel.

“Brother…” Yingzhi instinctively tugged at his sleeve again. “Are you punishing Second Brother?”

“Why?” Teng Song suppressed the flash of rage he had just shown.

At this moment, many thoughts raced through Yingzhi’s head. Teng Song’s favoritism made him feel much safer, but he didn’t want to abandon his original plan. The chance of dissolving He Ji’s hatred with kindness was small, but if he didn’t try, he would only face a dead end. Now, his brother was punishing He Ji for him. Even though it was He Ji’s own fault, Yingzhi didn’t think He Ji would see it that way; he would only blame the punishment on Yingzhi and hate him even more.

“He really is in poor health; didn’t he just get out of the hospital?” Yingzhi spoke softly after a long pause. “What if something actually happens…”

“For someone in poor health, he certainly has a lot of strength,” Teng Song mocked. He then forcefully pulled Yingzhi up from the floor, sat him on the bed, and turned to leave.

Left there, Yingzhi felt a bit nervous again. He wondered if his brother had picked up on his subtle attempt to plead for He Ji and was angry at him for being a “Saint” who returned evil with good.

He was the one who got hit. He was the one whose painting was destroyed. He was the last person who wanted to plead for He Ji.

But he wasn’t pleading; he was seeking survival.

While Yingzhi was overthinking, Teng Song returned. This time, he wasn’t carrying an ice pack, but medicine, both oral and topical.

Neither spoke. Teng Song rubbed the ointment warm in his palms, and Yingzhi obediently put down the ice pack, tilting his injured cheek toward him.

“Does it hurt?” Teng Song observed Yingzhi let out a soft hiss as his warm palm touched the skin.

“It doesn’t hurt; it’s numb from the ice,” Yingzhi told the truth, not daring to bring up the previous topic. “It’s just that your hands are too hot.”

Teng Song didn’t respond. After applying the ointment, he handed over the oral tablets, then poured a glass of warm water and stood nearby, clearly intending to watch him take the medicine.

Initially, Yingzhi was too afraid of his anger to speak, but now, holding the tablets, he fell into a deeper silence.

In a few days, it would be his 20th birthday. Most Omegas experience their first heat shortly after turning 20. This meant Yingzhi’s body was already undergoing internal changes; he was in a sensitive, special period. Drug stimulation could cause pheromone imbalances, or in the worst case, trigger an early heat. He had already been injected with medicine while unconscious during his fever a few days ago; now, he really shouldn’t take anything he didn’t have to.

Teng Song raised an eyebrow. “What is it? Don’t want the pills? Do you want a needle instead?”

Besides the physical reasons, Yingzhi inherently hated taking medicine. Last winter, during a minor cold, he had tried to throw his pills away only to be caught by his brother… the aftermath had been miserable.

Yingzhi peeked up at his brother’s expression. Great. He looked dead serious, ready to force-feed him if he didn’t comply.

“It’s not like I’m sick; it’ll get better without medicine,” Yingzhi whispered like a skittish animal, quickly lowering his head when he met Teng Song’s gaze.

Teng Song never indulged him. “Eat it.”

Helpless, Yingzhi closed his eyes and shoved the pills into his mouth, looking like he was being fed poison. He gulped down half a glass of water and said, “I ate it, I ate it.”

He didn’t dare look at Teng Song, just gently swirled the water in his cup. Then, he heard a soft snort from Teng Song.

Yingzhi looked up in surprise, just in time to see Teng Song lean down. A hand reached out and squeezed his jaw, applying just enough pressure to force his mouth open. A small white pill was being held against the roof of his mouth by the tip of his tongue.

Yingzhi’s reaction was slow; he couldn’t even dodge. He was caught red-handed.

His face turned red instantly. His eyes still held a layer of unshed tears that shimmered under the light. Teng Song was very close; their breaths were almost intertwined. He looked at Yingzhi’s panicked expression layered over his post-crying face; those clear pupils soaked in tears looked even more pitiful.

Before Yingzhi could react, Teng Song suddenly let go. A trace of an unusual tone entered his normally authoritative voice. “If you don’t want to eat it, forget it. Spit it out.”

Feeling like he had been granted a royal pardon, Yingzhi jumped up, grabbed a tissue, and spat the pill out. Afraid Teng Song would change his mind, he crumpled the tissue and threw it into the trash.

“I forgot to wash my face before the ointment. I’m going to wash up.” Now that he had stopped sobbing, the tear tracks on his face were drying, making his skin feel uncomfortable. He fled into the bathroom.

Teng Song stood there and slowly raised his hand. His fingertips were stained with Yingzhi’s tears. After staring at them for a while, he slightly lowered his head and pressed his fingers to his nose. The scent of peach-wine he inhaled was more intense than it had been at any point in the last two years.

So this scent… was hidden in his body fluids.

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