Chapter Text
The night shift at Jianghu City’s Heci Health Center was usually a marathon of silence, a slow crawl through hours punctuated only by the hum of the vending machine or the distant, rhythmic dripping of a leaky faucet. Heci wasn't only a sprawling medical fortress of glass and steel; it also was a primary community center nestled in the older, fraying edges of the district. It smelled of floor wax, old heaters, and the faint, metallic tang of sterilized equipment—a place for those who lived in the cracks of the city.
Shen Wenlang, twenty-seven and possessed of a patience that often outpaced his stamina, was in the small breakroom, reviewing a medical journal. As an S-Class Alpha, he was a man of significant presence, yet he moved through the world with a deliberate softness. His iris pheromones were always kept under strict control, projecting only a professional, grounding calm.
In the lobby, the heavy front door creaked open, admitting a gust of humid night air and a figure that seemed more shadow than man.
The man was small, huddled into a jacket that was several sizes too large. He moved with a heartbreaking hesitation, his shoulder brushing the doorframe as if he were trying to occupy as little space as possible. His right hand was pressed firmly against his forehead, and dark, sluggish blood was beginning to seep through his pale fingers.
He was met at the reception desk by Nurse Chen, a woman who had seen everything in her twenty years of service. She took one look at the blood and immediately pulled out an intake form.
"You’re bleeding quite a bit, dear. Let's get your details so the doctor can see you," she said, her voice brisk but not unkind. "Name and surname?"
The youth hesitated, his eyes darting toward a faded movie poster on the community board near the entrance. He seemed to be searching for an answer. "Li... Li Pei'en."
Nurse Chen paused, her pen hovering. Li Pei'en was the most famous actor in the country. She looked at the bruised, disheveled Omega across from her, but she simply wrote it down. "Age?"
"Twenty-five."
"Address? And a cell phone number in case we need to follow up?"
The silence that followed was heavy. Then Omega stared at the desk, his hand trembling against his wound. He didn't offer a street name, a district, or even a single digit of a phone number. He just stood there, looking like he wanted to bolt back into the darkness.
"I... I don't have those," he whispered.
Nurse Chen sighed softly. She guided him to a bed in the quiet emergency bay and then hurried back to the staff room. She knocked on the door and found Shen Wenlang.
"Doctor Shen, we have a walk-in. An Omega," she said, lowering her voice. "He says his name is Li Pei'en—yes, like the actor. He gave an age, but he refused to give an address or a phone number. He’s clearly giving us false information and looks like he's been in a fight. He's very skittish."
Shen Wenlang set his journal aside, his expression softening into one of concern. "It's alright, Nurse Chen. I’ll take care of him. If he’s lying about his name, he has a reason to be scared. Let’s not press him."
As Shen Wenlang stepped into the emergency bay, his S-Class senses immediately picked up the scent: sage.
It should have been crisp and herbal. Instead, it was muted, tinged with a chemical bitterness—the tell-tale, sickly edge of heavy, prolonged suppressant abuse. Shen Wenlang kept his own iris scent tightly leashed as he approached the bed.
"Hello, Mister Li," Shen Wenlang said gently. He didn't challenge the alias. To do so would be to strip away the only shield the Omega had. "I'm Doctor Shen Wenlang. Let’s have a look at that brow."
In the sterile light, the injury looked worse. Something sharp, perhaps a bottle, had shattered against the Omega's brow, leaving a jagged, deep laceration. As Shen Wenlang prepped the suture kit, he noticed the Omega’s hands. They were shaking—not just the tremors of a sudden trauma, but a deep-seated, systemic vibration.
"I’m going to clean the wound now. This is going to sting a little," Shen Wenlang murmured.
The Omega didn't flinch. He didn't even wince when the antiseptic touched the raw tissue. He seemed entirely disconnected from his own body, a hollow shell staring at a fixed point on the beige wall.
"How did this happen?" Shen Wenlang asked softly, his needle moving with delicate precision as he began the stitches. "Was it an accident? I can call someone for you if you’re in danger."
Silence. The Omega didn't even blink.
"Do you have a place to go tonight? Or someone I can call to pick you up?"
The Omega’s head shook a fraction of an inch. A 'no' so absolute and lonely that it felt like a void. Shen Wenlang finished the last stitch, his heart aching. He could feel the insecurity radiating off the silent young man.
"The ward is empty tonight," Shen Wenlang said, disposing of his gloves. "It’s nearly midnight. You can sleep on this bed. I’ll bring you a blanket."
He returned a few minutes later with a heavy wool blanket. He had let his own scent—the clean sweetness of iris—linger on the fabric. It was a subtle gesture of protection, intended to wrap the Omega in a sense of safety.
"I've written a prescription for the pain," Shen Wenlang said, placing the slip on the bedside table. "You can buy them at our pharmacy in the morning. Please, try to rest."
The Omega looked at the blanket, then at Shen Wenlang, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. Finally, he reached out, clutching the iris-scented wool, and pulled it up to his chin.
The morning sun crawled through the windows of the Heci Health Center. Shen Wenlang, having caught only a little sleep, headed straight for the emergency bay.
The bed was empty.
The wool blanket was folded, though the iris scent had faded. The cup of water was untouched, and the prescription slip remained on the table. Shen Wenlang felt a sharp pang of disappointment. He walked out to the reception desk where the morning clerk was filing papers.
"The Omega in Bed 2? Did he leave?"
"A while ago," she replied. "He signed the discharge form and just walked out. Didn't pay the bill, didn't stop at the pharmacy."
Shen Wenlang looked down at the form the Omega had left behind. In the space for the signature, there was no name. There wasn't even a scribble of 'Li Pei'en'. Instead, there was a tiny, crude drawing of a rabbit.
It was a simple doodle, drawn with shaky, uncertain lines. Shen Wenlang stared at it, his mind racing. Why a drawing? Why leave without the medicine he clearly needed?
"He forgot his jacket," the clerk added, pointing to the chair.
He looked toward the chair near the intake desk. The thin, worn jacket remained draped over the back, forgotten in the Omega’s haste to disappear. Shen Wenlang walked over and picked it up. It was light, far too thin for the chilly Jianghu nights, and it carried the heavy weight of the "home" the Omega had come from—a scent of stale smoke, old wood, and that heartbreakingly suppressed sage.
"He left on foot?" Shen Wenlang asked.
"Didn't call an Uber, didn't ask for a taxi. Just walked," Nurse Mei confirmed.
Shen Wenlang looked at the jacket in his hand and then back at the little rabbit on the paper. He didn't turn the jacket over to the lost and found. He knew that in a place like this, a forgotten jacket would eventually be tossed or claimed by a stranger. Instead, he folded it carefully, shielding the scent within the fabric, and tucked it into his own locker.
He didn't have an address, and he didn't have a real name. But he had a jacket, a scent, and a signature that told him more about the Omega’s heart than any ID card could.
'Li Pei'en' was out there somewhere in the sprawling, indifferent city, hiding in a dilapidated apartment with a fresh scar on his brow and no medicine for the pain. But Shen Wenlang was a doctor, and he was an Alpha who had never been able to turn away from a soul in need.
He would wait. He had the feeling the sage would return to the iris—or that the iris would have to go out and find the sage.