The Corporate Slave Beta Is Surrounded by Alphas - Chapter 4

Cheng An changed his clothes and headed downstairs, where Song Boyan was already waiting. As Cheng An approached, he asked, “How did you end up at my building?”

“I was just passing by,” Song Boyan said. “I remembered you’d be off work, so I thought I’d check if you’d eaten yet.”

As Cheng An drew closer, Song Boyan immediately caught the heavy scent of various Alpha pheromones clinging to him.

Cheng An often appeared before him drenched in the pheromones of different Alphas, but he would never know that these scents were possessively blanketing his body. Even though Cheng An had just showered, the rich aroma hadn’t been completely washed away.

Song Boyan stepped forward and warmly slung an arm around Cheng An’s shoulders, his arm lightly brushing the back of the other man’s neck.

Ordinarily, this was where the scent gland would be located. However, as a Beta, Cheng An’s glands were atrophied; such a touch didn’t cause him any discomfort, nor did he care if someone touched the area.

Song Boyan leaned down slightly, sniffing the nape of Cheng An’s neck. He saw no marks, nor did he detect a scent any more concentrated than the rest.

Cheng An didn’t quite understand why Song Boyan was being so enthusiastic today, throwing an arm around him the moment they met, but he didn’t push him away. He simply said, “Let’s go.”

As Song Boyan eventually withdrew his hand, his own pheromones had already settled over Cheng An’s neck, almost entirely smothering the dominant scent that had been lingering there from earlier.

He maintained a respectful, friendly distance as he opened the car door for Cheng An. “Any plans after dinner?”

“None,” Cheng An replied.

“Then after we eat, come to my clinic. I’ll give you a massage.”

After finishing a long week of work, Cheng An’s muscles were indeed aching and he felt bone-weary. He didn’t decline the invitation and gave a small nod.

….

When he was exhausted to his limit, Cheng An loved a full-body massage. It allowed his entire being to relax, and his stiff, aching muscles found quick relief.

However, such a massage was time-consuming. If Cheng An had work to handle, he wouldn’t even consider it. But on a leisurely evening like this, he was more than happy to accept.

He was currently lying face down, wearing only a pair of shorts. After dinner, they had taken a short walk to help their food digest. Now, in the absolute silence of this warm space, Cheng An felt himself growing drowsy just by lying there.

He heard the slick sound of Song Boyan pouring essential oils into his palms and rubbing them together. Then, those hands settled onto his shoulders.

Song Boyan suddenly applied a heavy pressure, kneading into his shoulder. Caught off guard, a deep sigh escaped Cheng An’s throat. The hands paused for a beat before the pressure lightened.

“You’ve been sitting in that office all day, haven’t you?” Song Boyan remarked. “These muscles are incredibly stiff.”

“Yeah,” Cheng An murmured, his voice thick with lethargy. “It’s been busy lately.”

Song Boyan’s technique was incredibly soothing, dragging Cheng An deeper into his haze of exhaustion.

Cheng An knew this clinic had been opened by Song Boyan’s grandfather and was now passed down to him. Song Boyan rarely gave massages to clients, usually focusing on pulse readings and diagnosis. Yet, as if Cheng An’s condition were uniquely severe, Song Boyan always insisted on doing the massage himself. He constantly reminded Cheng An to come in often so he could recover faster.

“I could tell the moment I saw you today that you haven’t been resting properly.”

“Mhm… too busy…”

“No matter how busy you are, when it’s time to rest, you need to put your work aside. Even if you can’t sleep, just close your eyes and count stars. And try to cut back on the coffee. I see you office workers, everyone has a cup in their hand every day.”

“…”

Receiving no response, Song Boyan looked down and saw that Cheng An had already closed his eyes and drifted off.

Song Boyan lightened his touch further, ensuring Cheng An was comfortable rather than feeling the deep ache of the treatment.

Having showered recently, Cheng An’s pale skin seemed to radiate a fresh, fragrant scent. It wasn’t pheromones, but the smell of body wash; light, subtle, and yet remarkably inviting.

Dark hair fell messily across the side of his neck, partially obscuring his face. He had removed his glasses to lie down, revealing handsome, refined features. His dark lashes rested against his skin, and even the warm light in the room couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes.

Song Boyan watched him and let out a soft sigh. His fingers moved gently to loosen the muscles, his fingertips tracing over the skin and leaving faint red trails behind. A soft flush rose from beneath the surface of the skin—a delicate, translucent pink.

Moving down past the elegant shoulder blades and along the spine, the light caught the shallow dips of the small of his back. Anything further was hidden beneath the dark fabric of his shorts.

Song Boyan didn’t venture near that area; instead, he moved to massage Cheng An’s calves, focusing on his work. He cupped a slender ankle in his palm and lifted Cheng An’s leg slightly, resting the calf against his own forearm.

The thin, pale arch of Cheng An’s foot hooked over his arm. A red mark trailing down the side of the leg slowly neared the sole of the foot. Suddenly, the foot twitched and kicked lightly against Song Boyan’s chest. The force was minimal, like the playful swat of a cat’s paw.

Song Boyan looked up to see that Cheng An had partially opened his eyes.

“Did I wake you?” Song Boyan asked softly.

“No,” Cheng An said, his voice soft and drowsy. “I just wasn’t sleeping soundly.” He turned his face slightly, looking up at Song Boyan from below. His lashes were lowered, casting a shadow over his eyes. Strands of dark hair clung to his pale neck and face.

He continued, “It felt like I was asleep, but I wasn’t.”

“Your sleep quality is far too low,” Song Boyan sighed. “Is there something on your mind?”

Cheng An remained lying there lazily, turning his head back so that only the back of his dark, rounded head was visible to Song Boyan. The slight cowlick in his hair looked quite endearing.

“Thinking about the game. It finally went into open beta, and I’m worried that something might be wrong.”

“Humans aren’t machines. Nothing we create is ever perfect, so don’t be so hard on yourself. Even money has people who don’t like it. The world is full of thousands of different perspectives and thoughts; you can’t satisfy everyone,” Song Boyan said gently.

Cheng An’s chin was resting on the pillow, making his voice sound a bit muffled. “I know. But I still can’t help worrying. It’s not like the worry goes away just because someone tells you to stop. It’s like during exams—everyone told me not to be nervous, but every time someone said it, I just got more tense. But I knew they were just caring about me, so I’d accept the sentiment so they wouldn’t feel bad.”

Song Boyan’s movements faltered for a second. “Ah, with a personality like yours, people will take advantage of you…”

“Take advantage?” Cheng An thought about it seriously for a moment. “I don’t feel like anyone has. It doesn’t seem that important,” he added slowly, burying his face back in his arms.

Suddenly, his calm tone shifted into a sharp, drawn-out gasp, and his body trembled. He jerked his head around, the corners of his eyes flushing red from the sudden pain. He looked at Song Boyan with watery eyes, causing the doctor to stop.

“Poor sleep has started to affect your liver,” Song Boyan said softly. “Look at that, I barely applied any pressure and you’re already in pain.”

Realizing Song Boyan hadn’t done it on purpose, Cheng An asked, “Is there still hope for me?”

Song Boyan couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s not a terminal illness. You make it sound like you’re on your deathbed. You’ve been taking the medicine I prepared, right? And the herbal charms I sent over?”

“Yes, all of them.”

“Are they not helping?”

“A little, I think. Better than before, at least.”

“That’s good. Do you still want to sleep?”

“I’m wide awake now. That shot of pain chased away all the sleepiness.”

“My apologies,” Song Boyan said gently. “In that case, we’re going to step up the intensity. You’ve worked all week and your whole body is terrifyingly stiff.”

Cheng An knew exactly what kind of strength Song Boyan was about to use. Remembering past sessions, he lay there and watched the doctor. His eyes were still tinged with red, and his voice held a trace of trepidation. “Dr. Song, could you go a bit easier on me?”

Dr. Song shook his head ruthlessly. “Gentle won’t work. If it hurts, you can scream. It’s just the two of us here.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he applied a sudden, heavy pressure. Cheng An’s entire body jolted.

“Ah!”

He arched his head back slightly, his Adam’s apple quivering and the veins in his neck tightening. His face flushed a deep red that spread all the way down to his chest.

Cheng An felt as if his bones were being pried apart. Amidst the dull ache, a sudden wave of relief flooded through him. He let his leg fall limp and buried his face in the pillow, taking shallow, careful breaths.

“Your legs have been tucked under that desk too long,” Song Boyan noted. “When you get into your work, do you ever remember to get up and walk around?”

He massaged Cheng An’s calf with his palm, trying to soothe the area. Cheng An buried his head deeper and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Song Boyan laughed and gave his calf muscle a playful, affectionate pat. “Feeling wronged? Blaming me for not warning you? But if I warn you, you’ll just tense up out of fear. I’ve told you so many times. Don’t sit for so long. You have to stand up and move.”

Cheng An lay there silently, giving no reaction at all, the clear sign of a patient who hadn’t followed doctor’s orders.

“At this rate, I’ll have to call you every day just to remind you to stand up for a bit,” Song Boyan mused. Then he shook his head. “Though knowing you, you’d agree and then forget it five minutes later. Do you know that if you sit for too long, your butt can actually ‘die’?”

It was the first time Cheng An had heard of “gluteal amnesia,” or a “dead butt.” He asked, “Dr. Song, is my butt dead?”

Song Boyan’s gaze drifted toward the soft, rounded curves.

“It’s very much alive,” he chuckled. “But if some people aren’t careful, it might just die from being sat on too much.”

“If it dies, can a massage bring it back to life?” Cheng An asked.

Taken aback by the question, Song Boyan blinked before laughing. “You could certainly try.”

“Then I’ll wait until it’s dead before we worry about it.”

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