The Omega Attacked the Alpha - Chapter 26

That damn Qin Zheng did he actually tear his skin off? The man knew perfectly well that Song Tao was a coward when it came to pain. Song Tao really should just roll around on the floor and wail to make life difficult for him, forcing him to get on his knees and apologize.

No, even that wouldn’t be enough. He should make Qin Zheng hand over the belt and let Song Tao whip him in return to settle this score!

But for now, he had to focus on healing.

Muttering curses under his breath, Song Tao lay there obediently, waiting for Qin Zheng to apply the medicine.

Qin Zheng, however, stood frozen like a statue. It was clear he didn’t agree with Song Tao’s command. If it were any other part of the body, fine—but here? As an Alpha, it felt inappropriate to help him with this. Even if they were both men, applying ointment required direct touch and rubbing it in, which was far too close to a caress for comfort.

Song Tao waited for a long time before twisting his head to see the Alpha dazing out. “What are you doing?”

The tube of ointment was tossed over. Qin Zheng snapped, “Do it yourself.”

“I told you I’m afraid to touch it! You hit me, so you’re responsible. Where’s your conscience?!” Song Tao was fuming. How could this guy be like this? Leaving him exposed here like a piece of raw meat while he just stood there spacing out.

“There’s a difference between Alphas and Omegas.”

Qin Zheng’s answer made Song Tao let out a dry, angry laugh. He went on the offensive immediately. “Oh, now there’s a difference between AO? Why didn’t you care about the ‘AO difference’ when you were beating me just now?!”

It was truly a case of “Schrödinger’s AO Difference!”

Song Tao hurled the ointment back. It hit Qin Zheng in the chest, and the Alpha caught it reflexively. Song Tao’s cheeks puffed out in indignation as he acted like a demanding little prince. “I don’t care about your ‘AO difference.’ You’re the one who caused these bruises, so you’re the one who applies the meds! Either that, or let me hit you back and we’ll call it even!”

He was nearly dying of frustration. Turning his head back, he continued to grumble, “This is so infuriating. I wake up, get beaten, and now I’m starving, and this is how you treat me…”

His nose crinkled as he felt the peak of world-class grievance.

He angrily held up his hands. “Look at how you tied me up! The marks haven’t even faded yet, and you still want me to do it myself? What’s wrong with taking care of me for once! Is it beneath you?!”

A tear splashed down.

Does it really hurt that much?

The striking red welts circling his wrists made Qin Zheng’s heart skip a beat. He remembered not tying the ropes that tight—how could it be this red?

Conclusion: An Omega’s skin is simply too delicate.

Looking at the tearful Song Tao, Qin Zheng realized he had no choice. He walked over with the ointment, muttering, “You’re not a kid anymore; why are you always crying? I’ll rub the medicine on, alright?”

Song Tao, however, had reached the peak of his temper. He kicked at him. “Get lost, get lost! I don’t need you. Just let me rot here. If I die, then at least…”

Qin Zheng caught the foot that was flailing at him and frowned, cutting him off. “Stop talking about dying over something so small. Have some dignity.”

An Omega’s feet were also quite beautiful. In fact, if one looked closely, it seemed no part of an Omega was anything less than pretty. The fair, elegant foot was held in Qin Zheng’s large palm; the sole felt soft and springy. The most adorable parts were the toes—tiny, fleshy little beads lined up in a row. Aside from that, the foot was slender, with a thin layer of skin pulled over the top, clearly showing the faint blue veins.

Qin Zheng remembered.

He gently turned the foot in his hand and pushed the red string at the ankle upward. There, on the ankle bone, was a small, red, heart-shaped birthmark.

Qin Zheng recalled his thoughts when he first discovered this mark: This person isn’t cute at all, but even his birthmark is adorable.

“Yeah, I have no dignity. You’re the only one with dignity around here.”

Song Tao stopped kicking, but he was still fuming.

Qin Zheng let go of his foot and didn’t rise to the bait. Engaging further would only lead to an endless argument, and since he didn’t have a great temper himself, it would likely end in a fight.

So, he focused on the task at hand. The area was indeed a mess originally plump, it was now quite swollen.

He squeezed the ointment out, his gaze as determined as if he were taking an oath to join the Imperial Government. His fingertip slowly pushed the mountain of ointment around, spreading it like a pancake. He moved in circles, the area of coverage growing wider until the ointment created a glistening film over the skin.

For some reason, it looked… a bit delicious.

“Apply more. The cooling sensation feels so good.”

Song Tao closed his eyes, leaning into the relief the medicine provided.

Qin Zheng glanced at him, noticing only the Omega’s long, thick eyelashes. He looked away and spread the ointment toward the edges.

If he opened his fingers, a single hand could just barely cover one half.

But he couldn’t grab it. Not even to try.

The flesh Song Tao had whipped was burning hot, and Qin Zheng’s palm was equally scorching. The ointment between them began to melt before it could be absorbed, making the sensation wet and slippery. Occasionally, when Qin Zheng lifted his hand, the ointment would pull into thin threads.

Since the ointment was white, it was a bit suggestive.

Song Tao was oblivious, but Qin Zheng was acutely aware. As a healthy 25-year-old Alpha, even knowing this was his “brother,” certain physiological reactions were inevitable. He tried closing his eyes, but that only heightened his focus on the sensation beneath his palm. He had no choice but to keep his eyes open and stare elsewhere.

Every second felt like an eternity.

A certain Alpha was secretly “raising the flag.” Luckily, he had replaced his pheromone patch, or his scent would have betrayed his current predicament.

Qin Zheng picked up the tube to squeeze more ointment onto the other half. His mind wandered to things it shouldn’t, recalling Song Tao’s “forceful” behavior from before.

As the image of the Omega’s “gear” flashed in his mind, his hand froze. A sudden, sharp contraction hit him “down there” at the memory of what the Omega had fed into his mouth.

In that instant, an uncontrollable thought flooded his brain.

If I ate it while I was in the middle of a cycle, it would be so…

The ointment tube slipped from his hand. He looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, the color draining from his face until he looked grey. The Alpha’s mental world was undergoing a cataclysmic earthquake.

The “flag” he’d raised immediately went limp.

Song Tao looked back in confusion only to see Qin Zheng scrambling toward the door in a panic, leaving him half-treated and abandoned.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

This time, Qin Zheng didn’t answer.

Song Tao’s grey-blue eyes watched Qin Zheng’s retreating, spine-less back. His gaze turned thoughtful. He picked up the ointment, ground his teeth, and finished the job himself. Every rub made him hiss in pain. It was strange—when Qin Zheng did it, it didn’t hurt. Why was it so painful when he did it himself?

Qin Zheng locked himself in his bedroom, clutching his head with both hands.

He looked wretched and despondent, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. One could see his helplessness, his panic, his confusion, and his rage just by looking at him. The Alpha was trapped at a crossroads with countless paths, and every single one looked like a dead end.

He didn’t understand. Why now? He wasn’t in his succubus cycle. He was an Alpha who had been perfectly normal for twenty-five years. Why was he suddenly…?

He was fantasizing about his brother’s “part,” and specifically about a different way to “eat” it.

How did it come to this?

Qin Zheng huddled into a ball of misery; there was no one on this lonely road to show him the way.

Song Tao, opting for the “no-trousers” look, headed to the kitchen. He retrieved the food that was still warming in the pot. Unable to sit, he stood to eat. He was starving; he devoured everything like a whirlwind and let out a satisfied burp.

After eating, he felt drowsy again and went back to sleep. Before drifting off, he checked the monitors at his own home. Confirming that all the kittens were safe, healthy, and acting normal, he felt relieved.

“Black Snow Princess.”

Hearing her “daddy’s” voice, Black Snow Princess stopped moving her kittens. She looked around before spotting the camera in the corner. She expertly climbed her mushroom-shaped cat tree until her round face filled the screen.

“Meow, meow~” she chirped.

“Good girl. Sleep with Daddy, okay?”

As if she understood, the cat curled up in the mushroom cap facing away from the camera and closed her eyes. Her tail flicked a few times before going still. Song Tao closed his eyes as well, entering dreamland with his cat.

Qin Zheng appeared in the room like a ghost, a handgun in his hand. His dark eyes were heavy with a looming, oppressive storm. The sleeping Omega had a slight upward curve to his lips, looking sweet. Song Tao was born with a “smiling mouth,” giving the impression he was always in a good mood, as if looking at him could turn anyone’s cloudy day into a sunny one.

But Qin Zheng’s sky would never be clear again. Never.

He thought he should just kill Song Tao. Then, he would find an anonymous source to provide what he needed. That way, he wouldn’t have a specific target for his wandering thoughts. Maybe then everything would go back to normal—at least outside those three days a month.

He silently raised the gun, aiming at the Omega’s head.

All it took was a squeeze of the trigger. It wouldn’t even take much strength to end the Omega’s life right then and there.

He should do it. As the saying goes, “if a man does not look out for himself, heaven and earth will destroy him.” He was no saint.

Tick-tock. The clock of death was chiming for Song Tao.

Thump-thump. Qin Zheng’s heart was being hammered.

By what? Conscience?

Likely not. In his position, conscience had long since been replaced by ambition and ruthlessness.

So why was he hesitating? It was just one shot. It wasn’t like he’d never fired a gun or killed someone. The finger on the trigger grew stiff with tension.

Suddenly, a meow caught his attention.

He moved his feet and looked at Song Tao’s open device. On the screen was a round little cat face a black cat with emerald eyes that blinked at him curiously through the monitor.

“Do you like black cats? Everyone says they’re unlucky.” Eight-year-old Song Tao, wearing panda pajamas and a cute sleeping cap, had appeared behind Qin Zheng while he was watching videos.

Thirteen-year-old Qin Zheng, wearing a plain black pajama set, had replied: “They’re idiots and so are you. You’re a little brat who knows nothing.”

Song Tao, used to being insulted, rested his chin on Qin Zheng’s shoulder. “Fine. But why can’t we have a black cat? This house is huge.”

It took Qin Zheng a long time to answer: “The old man is allergic to cat fur.”

Song Tao corrected him for the hundredth time: “You should call him Dad.”

The two small heads were pressed together. Though separated by the back of the sofa, their hearts beat in sync. Song Tao watched the black cat in the video. “How about this? When I grow up and have my own house, I’ll raise a black cat for you.”

Black Snow Princess stared at Qin Zheng for a long time before performing a “paw-flower” for him, showing off her beautiful pink pads.

The cat’s big eyes looked remarkably like her owner’s.

Qin Zheng’s gaze shifted back to Song Tao. His finger left the trigger, and he walked out of the bedroom.

Song Tao had no idea he had just danced with death—just as he didn’t know why, out of all the stray cats in the world, he had been moved to bring Black Snow Princess home that day. He had forgotten the reason, but he had done it.

By the time Song Tao woke up again, it was dinner time. He was still trouser-less; it hurt too much to wear them. Qin Zheng had already cleared out the staff, so it didn’t matter.

In the dining room, one stood while the other sat as they ate.

Song Tao hadn’t done much today but he had a great appetite. Everything tasted wonderful.

Qin Zheng suddenly spoke: “When are you going back to school?”

Song Tao’s chopsticks stopped for a second. He wasn’t surprised Qin Zheng knew, nor was he surprised the man was meddling—Qin Zheng loved playing “Daddy.”

He swallowed his food. “Do you think I framed him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because even though you’re a liar, you wouldn’t do something that low,” Qin Zheng replied calmly, seemingly focused on his dinner.

“Then do you think I forced him to jump?” Song Tao felt a surge of tension.

“No.”

“Why?”

Qin Zheng looked up at him. “Because you’re the type who would just do it yourself.”

If Song Tao were angry enough to want someone dead, his personality would drive him to kick them off himself or use a knife or gun. Forcing someone to commit suicide sounded impressive but was too roundabout; Song Tao wouldn’t find it satisfying enough.

The answer was unexpected. A slow smile spread across Song Tao’s face.

Qin Zheng… what a fascinating man.

“So, when are you going back?” If he didn’t return soon, his enrollment would truly be canceled.

Song Tao: “As soon as my butt heals.”

Qin Zheng looked at him skeptically, trying to see what game he was playing.

Song Tao continued eating happily. “So, it’s your fault I can’t go back immediately. How are you going to compensate me?”

He wasn’t lying. He really wanted that degree. It was a spot at the First Imperial Academy in Engineering and Mechanics something he had spent over a decade studying for and worked his heart out to achieve. He couldn’t even be sure he could get in a second time. He couldn’t let all those years of hard work go to waste.

Qin Zheng didn’t argue with his warped logic. He simply said, “I can compensate you by ensuring Pang Zhijie has nowhere to go after graduation.”

One dared to ask, the other dared to give.

Qin Zheng truly had the power to cover the sky with one hand, making sure Pang Zhijie couldn’t find a single job despite having a degree from a top university.

They locked eyes.

Song Tao thought about it. “No need.” He lifted his chin proudly. “I’m going to crush him in this field, fair and square.”

The young man looked radiant with ambition. He had never been defeated by the incident itself; what hurt him was the fake friendship and the backstab from someone he trusted. At the time, it felt like the world was ending, but after two years, he had slowly rebuilt a new world.

Qin Zheng’s eyes showed a hint of admiration. What he said was: “I didn’t realize you were that smart. I couldn’t tell when you were a kid.”

“That’s because your eyesight is poor.”

“You certainly loved taking things apart back then, though.”

They engaged in rare small talk, reminiscing about their childhood. Song Tao had indeed been a little demolition expert, though he never touched Qin Zheng’s things—mostly because he’d get beaten for it.

“You really hit me hard back then,” he sighed.

“And did you hit me gently?” Qin Zheng didn’t usually bring up old grudges, but he felt the “brat” needed a reminder. “Right at this dining table, you once threw hot soup at me.”

Luckily, he had dodged; only a few drops hit his arm, or he would have had minor burns.

“That was because… because…” Song Tao thought hard but couldn’t remember why. “Anyway, I’m sure there was a reason!”

“And I didn’t have a reason to hit you?”

Song Tao went silent at the retort. If they kept going, they’d end up in another fight.

“Forget it. I’m just surprised Uncle Qin never remarried. I thought I’d be replaced as your ‘brother’ pretty quickly.”

Song Tao stirred his soup to cool it down. He’d been sad about that possibility for a long time. He used to wonder if Qin Zheng would like a new brother, or if he’d fight with him too.

At ten years old, Song Tao was terrified of being forgotten. That’s why, before their parents divorced, he’d caused the most trouble for Qin Zheng. He figured Qin Zheng would never meet another brother as naughty as him, so he’d never be forgotten.

While Qin Zheng didn’t like talking about Qin Yuchen, it wasn’t a taboo subject. He finished his meal and set down his chopsticks.

“The old man thought marriage was a hassle. Once there’s a certificate, the other person has a legal right to control him, and a divorce means losing half his assets. So he never did it again.”

He thought it was the only correct decision the old man ever made. If a stepmother had dared to move a child into Song Tao’s room, or if they’d had a child together to take Song Tao’s place, he would have killed them.

That’s how teenage Qin Zheng thought—especially at thirteen. At that time, the person he most wanted to kill was Song Tao, the “brat” who had abandoned him so easily.

But that was all in the past now.

The old man was dead, Qin Zheng was the head of the house, and the runaway brat was back at the table with him. It felt as if nothing had changed; during those five years, it was usually just the two of them eating at home anyway.

Song Tao was staying in the guest room. Qin Zheng claimed his old room had become a storage space. Song Tao wailed and called him a big meanie.

The day passed in bickering. The manor hadn’t been this lively since Qin Zheng took over.

A new chair with a cutout for the buttocks appeared in the house—customized specifically for someone who couldn’t sit down.

Song Tao wasn’t shy; he sat right in it. He even slept on his stomach.

“Ah—heavenly—” It was the first time he realized that sitting could be such a luxury.

Qin Zheng walked past with a glass of cold water. He paused and looked at the chair. Two mounds of flesh were squeezed into the opening. The scene was honestly hilarious.

He let out a short laugh. A twenty-two-year-old with a bare bottom—truly a rare sight. Song Tao really had no shame.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Do I need to report that to you?”

“Tch…” Song Tao frowned. “Does it hurt you if you don’t pick a fight with me?”

He ignored Qin Zheng and went back to his textbooks while researching how to change mentors. He was done with Liu Kun. The man had stood firmly by Pang Zhijie’s side, even though he’d called Song Tao his “favorite student” and knew perfectly well the work was Song Tao’s.

Song Tao had shown him the initial blueprints! But he’d still backstabbed him.

Song Tao couldn’t understand. Why did they all choose to hurt him? Was he that bad? Was he not worth their friendship?

He suddenly huffed. Trash like them—who would want their friendship anyway!

Qin Zheng glanced at him, not knowing who he was angry with, and went back to his endless contracts.

Song Tao realized he was right; he hadn’t done anything wrong, so why should he suffer? He opened Liu Kun’s profile and sent a voice message: “I’m coming back to school in a few days and I’m leaving your research group. Approve my transfer request ahead of time. Don’t waste my time.”

From across the living room, Qin Zheng commented, “You sound like his boss.”

Song Tao leaned over the back of the chair. “Does that mean I’m born to be a leader?”

Qin Zheng:  He really knows how to puff himself up.

Liu Kun called back almost instantly. Song Tao answered.

“Xiao Tao, you’ve finally come to your senses. But a transfer… are you still angry with me? I was also…”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not fit to be my mentor.” Song Tao cut off the nauseating excuses and rubbed his ear. “I told you to approve it, so do it. Unless you want things to get even uglier.”

“Xiao Tao, you… sigh.” Liu Kun let out a long breath. “I’ve always valued you. You can only truly reach your potential under me. You’re being impulsive. I’ll wait for you to think it over. Besides… after what happened, what other mentor would take you?”

Liu Kun hung up.

Song Tao’s jaw tightened. What am I, some kind of bad luck charm? No one will take me?!

“Is he joking?! I was the top student in my year! I’m a mechanical genius!” Song Tao stood up and shouted, stomping his feet in rage. “That old geezer is a piece of work! Trying to sabotage me! Fine, great, wonderful.”

He began pacing in circles.

Qin Zheng watched the “exploding kitten,” amazed at how much noise one extra person could make.

Song Tao dashed into the dressing room and emerged a moment later wearing an all-black outfit of Qin Zheng’s and a hat. He headed straight for the door.

Qin Zheng: “Where are you going?”

“Don’t care!” Song Tao opened the door.

Qin Zheng: “To use physical intimidation.”

It wasn’t a question. Song Tao stopped and looked at him. The man really was a mind-reader. He’d forgotten that he could just scare Liu Kun into telling the truth. Two years ago, as a student who only knew how to study, he’d been too honest. These past two years, he’d been too wild and hadn’t wanted to face them.

Now, the time had come.

Qin Zheng walked toward him with a golf club. “I haven’t had a good workout in a while, either.”

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