My Childhood Friend, Who Is An Omega, Has Become My Personal Secretary - Chapter 15

“You always say it isn’t worth it, but this is my heart. Whether it is worth it or not—even I don’t get a say in that.”

Ji Zeyuan discovered that Zhang Linen was her paternal half-sister during her senior year of high school.

One afternoon, following the midday activities, Ji Zeyuan felt unwell. At Zhang Linen’s urging, she requested leave and headed home early. She hadn’t told anyone, so no one expected her back.

Looking back now, it was precisely because she hadn’t given any prior notice that she stumbled upon the secret affair between her father and Zhang Qian.

As she walked toward the second floor, she heard strange noises coming from her father’s room; it sounded like two people talking. The door wasn’t fully closed, leaving a gap about the width of two fingers. Ji Zeyuan cast a casual glance through the crack, but what she saw made her freeze in her tracks.

Inside the room, her father and Zhang Qian were sitting across from each other. Zhang Qian was in a chair, while her father sat on the edge of the bed.

“What did the child say?” Her father’s tone was calm, yet his eyes carried a hint of urgency. Ji Zeyuan keenly detected an unusual significance in his manner.

Zhang Qian lowered her head, looking troubled. “Linen said she’s the only one who needs to know about this. We absolutely cannot let Xiao Yuan find out.”

Her father remained silent for a few seconds before his voice softened significantly. “If that’s what Linen says, then there’s nothing we can do. I can wait. Sooner or later, I’ll make sure Linen calls me ‘Dad’.”

For the eavesdropping Ji Zeyuan, it felt like a bolt from the blue. Her mind went completely blank. She quietly crept downstairs and bolted out of the house before anyone could discover her.

That night, Ji Zeyuan did not go home. She went to Hua Jianjiu’s house instead.

During her stay there, Ji Zeyuan wept silently the entire night. Hua Jianjiu was terrified and helpless, repeatedly asking what was wrong. But that night, Ji Zeyuan said nothing except for one sentence: “Don’t tell Zhang Linen I’m here.”

Ji Zeyuan thought about many things that night. Memories flickered through her mind like a revolving lantern amidst her hollow daze.

Zhang Linen had differentiated into an Omega in the eighth grade, while Ji Zeyuan didn’t differentiate into an Alpha until her sophomore year of high school. Because she was a “Premium” type, her latency period had been exceptionally long.

Most people differentiate during their teenage years, between the sixth and ninth grades. Having not differentiated by high school, Ji Zeyuan had once been classified as a Beta.

It was common knowledge that Alphas and Omegas were natural matches, while Betas could only pair with other Betas.

Ji Zeyuan had been in despair, but she quickly pulled herself together. After a long and lonely struggle, she finally made up her mind: she would not give up on her feelings for Zhang Linen, regardless of her gender. It was then that Ji Zeyuan underwent her secondary differentiation.

Zhang Linen had sent her over a hundred messages and called her dozens of times, but she ignored them all.

Once she calmed down, Ji Zeyuan clung to a sliver of hope, wondering if she had misinterpreted fragments of a conversation. She waited for a time when no one was home to collect hair samples from her father and Zhang Linen for a paternity test. It wasn’t until the result showing a 99.99% match was placed before her eyes that Ji Zeyuan’s heart truly turned to ash.

Afterward, Ji Zeyuan never returned home. She handled the enrollment procedures for F University and flew abroad. That departure lasted eight years.

During her time away, Zhang Linen called her hundreds of times every day. She wouldn’t answer, but she couldn’t bring herself to block the number either. She just let the phone ring until it disconnected on its own.

On the day she left the country, Ji Zeyuan only allowed Hua Jianjiu to see her off at the airport. Hua Jianjiu kept laughing and acting as if nothing was wrong, but Ji Zeyuan could tell at a glance that she had questions. During the days of Ji Zeyuan’s depression, Hua Jianjiu hadn’t asked a thing, but Ji Zeyuan knew her friend probably had a basket full of doubts.

Ji Zeyuan showed a bit of mercy and spoke first: “Since we’re parting, say whatever you have to say. I’m in ‘sage mode’ today—I won’t get angry, and there are no forbidden topics.”

These words made Hua Jianjiu laugh, but the smile vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Zeyuan, I didn’t say anything because you’ve been in a bad mood lately, but Zhang Linen… she stopped going to school for months just to find you. Of course, she has a good foundation, so missing those months won’t stop her from getting into a good university. You don’t have to worry…”

A flash of pained reluctance crossed Ji Zeyuan’s eyes. She remembered that the reason she had originally refused to go abroad was for Zhang Linen—and now, the reason she was leaving was also because of Zhang Linen.

“Zeyuan, you and Zhang Linen grew up together. You’ve had a falling out, and it’s not my place to interfere. But I’m also Linen’s friend. You’re leaving now and who knows when you’ll be back. I… I just want to ask one thing for her.”

Hua Jianjiu paused, her throat bobbing. Ji Zeyuan watched her quietly. Hua Jianjiu’s voice sounded like someone burning their bridges: “Why did you suddenly become like this?”

“I have to go through security now,” Ji Zeyuan replied with a smile, avoiding the question.

Hearing this, Hua Jianjiu was visibly disappointed, yet she seemed to have expected it. In the end, she gave a helpless smile and simply said, “Safe travels.”

When Zhang Linen opened her eyes again, the color of the ceiling above her had changed. The pattern was unfamiliar; she had never been here before.

Her whole body ached, and she felt a slight lingering heat, but she felt clean—clearly, someone had washed her.

Was it Ji Zeyuan?

Zhang Linen knit her brows and turned her head. Ji Zeyuan was slumped by the bedside, fast asleep.

Zhang Linen’s heart skipped a beat. She reached out to touch Ji Zeyuan’s hair. Ji Zeyuan stirred, shifting her position and turning her face toward her. Due to her awkward sleeping posture, several thin, red marks from her hair were pressed into her cheek.

It was real.

A surge of emotion hit Zhang Linen. She couldn’t help but lean down, intending to press a kiss onto Ji Zeyuan’s cheek.

Just as her soft lips were about to touch the skin, Ji Zeyuan slowly opened her drowsy eyes. Her field of vision was filled with Zhang Linen’s fair face, and her nose was flooded with the fresh scent of grass pheromones.

After a two-second mental freeze, Ji Zeyuan suddenly realized what Zhang Linen was doing. As if she had seen a ghost, Ji Zeyuan instantly pushed Zhang Linen away.

A look of hurt flashed across Zhang Linen’s face, but she quickly regained her usual gentleness. “Xiao Yuan, thank you. I feel…”

“As long as you’re okay. I’m leaving,” Ji Zeyuan interrupted. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and turned to stumble away.

Amidst her chaotic thoughts, a heavy thud sounded behind her.

Her footsteps faltered. She looked back to see Zhang Linen sitting on the floor by the bed, her feet bare.

“Ji Zeyuan!” Zhang Linen’s voice was hoarse and her eyes were red. She pressed her hands against the floor, trying to stand up, but her legs had no strength.

Ji Zeyuan froze. Her instinct was to go and help her, but in that split second, the image of Zhang Linen trying to kiss her flashed through her mind. She forcibly suppressed the urge to walk over and stayed rooted to the spot.

Zhang Linen gritted her teeth and stared at the motionless Ji Zeyuan, looking as wretched as a stray cat. The floor was freezing, and her ankle throbbed—she seemed to have twisted it when she fell.

Ji Zeyuan was right there, yet she was avoiding her like the plague because of a single, unfinished kiss. After Ji Zeyuan had apologized to her that day, Zhang Linen thought they had reconciled. All she had to do next was gradually immerse herself back into Ji Zeyuan’s life until the other woman couldn’t live without her.

But perhaps she had been too impatient.

Zhang Linen regained her composure and returned to her usual gentle demeanor. She asked, “Didn’t you say I was like a sister to you? Your sister can’t stand up, and you’re just going to watch?”

Ji Zeyuan snapped out of it, staring blankly at Zhang Linen, hesitating to move.

“What were you doing just now?” Ji Zeyuan asked in a low, questioning voice.

Zhang Linen looked at her calmly and countered with a question of her own: “What do you mean?”

Ji Zeyuan’s expression was stern. “You were so close to me. It looked like you wanted to…”

“Wanted to kiss you?” Zhang Linen finished the sentence for her. She gave a gentle, slight smile. “Xiao Yuan, do you honestly think that’s possible?”

Using a question to challenge a question was highly effective. Ji Zeyuan’s expression softened; she was indeed wavering.

The atmosphere remained silent for over half a minute. Zhang Linen chose the right moment to change the subject. “My legs are going numb from sitting here. How long are you going to stand there and watch the show?”

Though Ji Zeyuan hesitated, she still didn’t move.

Zhang Linen lowered her gaze, her eyes downcast as she put on a hurt expression. She gripped the edge of the bed and curled her legs, trying to crawl back up on her own.

Ji Zeyuan’s nose stung. She whispered, “Xiao En,” and immediately rushed over.

She grasped Zhang Linen’s slender wrist to help her onto the bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the purple bruising on Zhang Linen’s ankle—likely from the fall just now.

Ji Zeyuan’s heart tightened. She furrowed her brows and sighed softly, “Can’t you take better care of yourself? You’re already so thin, yet you’re still getting bumped and bruised.”

When Ji Zeyuan held Zhang Linen, she could feel her bony frame even through her clothes. Although Zhang Linen had always been thin, her clothes usually filled out her silhouette. Ji Zeyuan hadn’t realized she had reached such a degree of emaciation; she was practically skin and bones.

Zhang Linen blinked and smiled wistfully. “It doesn’t matter. Isn’t this how I’ve lived these past eight years?”

Ji Zeyuan was momentarily speechless, her head dropping in guilt.

“What is it? Do you feel sorry for me?” Zhang Linen asked softly.

Ji Zeyuan looked at her in silence and nodded, pursing her lips.

Zhang Linen reached out a hand to her. After a few seconds of hesitation, Ji Zeyuan took it, her own warm, smooth hand meeting Zhang Linen’s. Like the woman herself, Zhang Linen’s hand was small and cold.

“Xiao Yuan, didn’t things start getting better between us a few days ago? But now, I still feel like you’re so distant, as if you’re constantly planning to leave.” Zhang Linen’s eyes were exhausted yet tender, her mouth pulling into a pained, forced smile.

Zhang Linen took Ji Zeyuan’s hand in both of hers and slowly pressed her forehead against the back of it. Her voice was full of affection, yet saturated with a sorrow that couldn’t be washed away.

“Xiao Yuan, I’m so scared. I can’t figure you out… you really make me feel… so tired.”

As she spoke, Zhang Linen gripped Ji Zeyuan’s hand even tighter.

“Why are you so heartless to me? You left for eight years, and I didn’t even receive a single notice.”

Ji Zeyuan’s mind was in a state of chaos. She pressed her lips tight and said nothing, a blurry mist already forming in her eyes.

“Xiao En, don’t be sad anymore. I told you, I’m not worth your sadness,” Ji Zeyuan comforted her in a low, trembling voice.

Zhang Linen looked up at her, two silent lines of tears streaming down her face.

“You say it isn’t worth it, but this is my heart. Whether it is worth it or not—even I don’t get a say in that.”