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Vanilla drifted through the crowd before its owner did.

The scent curled warm and familiar through the crisp evening air, threading between chatter, lantern smoke, and the earthy smell of packed soil until it reached Chi Cheng where he stood near the training grounds. His shoulders loosened instinctively. They always did. For one brief, foolish second, he closed his eyes and breathed it in deeper than necessary, letting it settle somewhere beneath his ribs like something precious hoarded in secret.

As always.

No one else would have noticed the difference. To the rest of the pack, it was simply a pleasant scent–sweet in the gentle, comforting way most omegas were. But Chi Cheng had spent too many years beside its owner not to recognize every subtle shift hidden beneath that sweetness. Vanilla changed with emotion. It sharpened faintly whenever happiness made itself known, softened into something creamy and warm around children and elders, turned almost tart with irritation. Surprise brought out a brighter sweetness altogether, light and sudden like spun sugar melting on the tongue.

Jealousy was rarer and subtler.

But Chi Cheng knew that too.

There would be the slightest bite to it then, something delicate enough that no one else ever seemed to notice. No one except him. He had learned long ago that emotions often revealed themselves through scent before words ever reached the lips, and without meaning to, Chi Cheng had memorized them all.

Every version and every shade.

He doubted he would ever forget them, even if he lived a hundred years.

And that scent, the one Chi Cheng knew too well, the one he had grown helplessly attached to over the years, belonged to none other than his best friend Wu Suowei.

The omega heir of the Wu pack carried himself with the kind of effortless grace people spoke about long after conversations had ended. Kindness seemed woven into him so naturally that it touched everything around him. Children followed after him constantly, tugging at his sleeves with sticky hands and endless questions, while elders softened the moment he entered a room, their fondness obvious in every smile directed his way. Even the most stubborn members of the pack found it difficult to deny him anything when he looked at them with those earnest eyes and spoke in that gentle, patient voice of his.

He was, in every possible way, exactly what an heir should have been.

And people loved him for it.

Suitors circled him endlessly, drawn in by beauty first and then ruined completely once they discovered the warmth beneath it. Omegas admired him. Alphas desired him. Even visitors from neighboring packs inevitably left carrying stories about the Wu heir whose smile felt brighter than spring itself.

Suowei had always possessed that sort of quiet radiance about him, something impossible to contain or ignore. He drew people in without ever trying, like sunlight spilling across open ground, soft and natural, inevitable.

Chi Cheng had never stood a chance against it either.

Chi Cheng still remembered the first day he arrived at the Wu pack with startling clarity, as though the memory had been preserved somewhere untouched by time.

Their old territory had become unlivable after months of relentless storms and flooding. Hunting grounds were ruined, homes destroyed, and what little remained of the pack had scattered in search of refuge. By then, it had already been a year since his father’s death–a hunting injury that had turned fatal before the healers could do anything–and grief still lingered heavily inside their small family of two. His mother tried not to show it, but Chi Cheng had noticed how exhaustion seemed to settle deeper into her bones with every passing month.

The Wu pack had taken them in without hesitation.

His mother had old friends there, connections forged long before Chi Cheng had even been born, and so they had traveled for days until the towering wooden gates of the Wu territory finally came into view. Chi Cheng remembered standing close beside his mother the entire time, fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her sleeve while strangers moved around them carrying supplies and guiding displaced families toward temporary housing.

Everything had felt too large and too unfamiliar.

And then he had seen him.

Seven years old and dressed in pale robes that looked far too neat for a child his age, Wu Suowei stood beside the pack leaders with bright, curious eyes fixed directly on him. Even back then, there had been something soft and luminous about him, something that made the rest of the bustling courtyard blur strangely at the edges.

Chi Cheng remembered staring.

He had seen beautiful people before. His mother was beautiful. But this felt different somehow. Softer and almost unreal in the way spring blossoms looked after a harsh winter.

Suowei had smiled at him then, wide and warm and completely unguarded.

“Hello,” he had said brightly, taking a small step forward despite the adults speaking around them. “You’re new here, right?”

Chi Cheng, who had spent the better half of the journey hiding behind his mother whenever strangers approached, had immediately tightened his grip on her robes instead of answering.

He still remembered Suowei tilting his head slightly at that, unoffended and openly curious instead.

Before either of them could say anything else, one of the attendants approached to guide Chi Cheng and his mother toward the quarters prepared for them. The moment broke apart just like that, swept away by movement and voices and exhaustion.

But Chi Cheng remembered looking back once while walking away.

And finding Suowei still watching him.

Later that evening, after they had finally settled into the small home assigned to them, Chi Cheng sat cross-legged near the sleeping mats while his mother unpacked what little they had managed to bring with them.

“The heir is very pretty,” he said suddenly.

The words slipped out so honestly that even he looked startled afterward.

His mother paused mid-fold before soft laughter escaped her.
“Oh?” she asked, glancing back at him with quiet amusement. “You noticed that already?”

Chi Cheng’s ears immediately turned red.

“I was just saying,” he mumbled, suddenly very interested in a loose thread on the blanket beneath him.

But his mother only smiled and reached over to smooth his hair back gently from his forehead.

“Mn,” she hummed. “I think little Suowei likes you too.”

At seven years old, Chi Cheng had promptly hidden his face in the blankets and refused to speak another word for the rest of the evening, no matter how much his mother laughed.

Years later, he would realize that perhaps he had been doomed from the very beginning.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Their friendship had not happened all at once. It had unfolded slowly, naturally, in the quiet spaces between ordinary days until one morning Chi Cheng realized he could no longer remember what life had been like without Wu Suowei constantly beside him.

Suowei had simply decided, at some point, that Chi Cheng belonged with him.

It started the very next morning after their arrival, when Chi Cheng stepped outside their temporary home to find Suowei already waiting there with two steamed buns clutched in his hands and an expression bright with determination.

“You still don’t know where anything is,” Suowei had declared seriously, as though this was an urgent problem only he could solve. “So I’m going to show you around.”

Before Chi Cheng could even answer, Suowei had already grabbed his wrist and started pulling him down the path.

That was simply how it became.

Suowei showed him everything–the best climbing trees near the river, which elders secretly handed out extra sweets if greeted properly, which paths turned muddy after rain, where the healers dried herbs, where the children gathered to play. He explained pack customs with all the confidence of someone far older than seven, speaking with animated certainty while Chi Cheng followed half a step behind, listening more to the sound of his voice than the actual words.

And despite being smaller, softer-looking, and far more delicate in appearance, Suowei somehow commanded attention effortlessly.

People listened when he spoke.

Children stopped fighting if Suowei frowned at them. Young alphas twice his size obediently carried things for him after a single polite request. Even stubborn elders found themselves indulging him constantly. There was nothing forceful about it either. Suowei simply possessed that strange, natural sort of gravity that drew others toward him without resistance.

Chi Cheng found himself caught in it almost immediately.

“Chi Cheng!” Suowei would call every morning without fail, leaning through windows or appearing at his doorstep before sunrise. “Come quickly!”

And Chi Cheng always went.

They became inseparable in the way children often did,sudden and absolute. They snuck into kitchens to steal warm pastries cooling by the windows, wandered deep into forests they were forbidden from entering, and spent long summer afternoons lying in open fields while Suowei talked endlessly about things Chi Cheng barely understood but listened to anyway.

Suowei filled every silence with ease.

Chi Cheng, meanwhile, preferred listening.

He liked watching the way Suowei’s hands moved when he got excited. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed too hard. The way vanilla thickened warmly in the air whenever he was particularly happy.

At some point, the other children simply stopped inviting one without the other because everyone already knew they would arrive together regardless.

They were everywhere together.

And when they eventually presented as alpha and omega, Chi Cheng had spent weeks quietly dreading the change before it even happened.

He remembered overhearing older pack members speak about it casually.

“Things will become different now.”

“They’re at that age already.”

“Especially with Suowei presenting as an omega…..”

Chi Cheng had pretended not to care while unease settled heavily inside his chest.

He did not know why the thought bothered him so much then. Only that the idea of losing what they had,of some invisible distance suddenly appearing between them,felt unbearable in ways he could not explain.

But nothing changed.

If anything, Suowei only grew more attached to him afterward.

He was still the first person Suowei searched for in crowded gatherings, always finding him with startling ease no matter how many people stood between them. Chi Cheng would feel eyes on him during festivals or meetings and look up only to find Suowei already smiling at him from across the room.

And Chi Cheng–

Chi Cheng still looked for him first too.

Always.

After long hunts, exhausted and dirt-streaked, his gaze instinctively sought out pale robes and soft eyes before anything else. There was something about catching that familiar scent of vanilla after days spent in the wilderness that eased a tension deep inside him better than rest ever could.

Home stopped becoming a place somewhere along the way.

It became a person instead.

And when Chi Cheng’s mother passed away shortly after his sixteenth birthday, whatever fragile line still existed between friendship and something deeper blurred beyond recognition.

The grief had hollowed him out quietly. Some days he could barely bring himself to leave his room. Other days he wandered through the pack in numb silence, avoiding concerned looks and soft voices because acknowledging them somehow made the loss feel worse.

Suowei never pushed.

He simply stayed.

Sometimes he would sit beside Chi Cheng for hours without speaking, shoulder pressed lightly against his while healers’ notes rested forgotten in his lap. Other nights he climbed through Chi Cheng’s window carrying food he knew would otherwise go untouched.

“You need to eat,” he would murmur gently whenever Chi Cheng tried refusing.

And somehow, because it was Suowei asking, he always did.

There had been nights Chi Cheng woke from dreams about his parents only to find Suowei asleep beside him atop the blankets, having quietly slipped in at some point after midnight because he knew Chi Cheng hated being alone afterward.

No one had ever cared for Chi Cheng as patiently as Wu Suowei did.

Perhaps that was the true beginning of everything.

And perhaps that was why Chi Cheng had never truly looked at anyone else after that.

Not really.

Other omegas had approached him over the years–some shy, some bold, some encouraged by well-meaning elders who saw him growing into a capable young alpha and thought it natural for attention to follow. Chi Cheng had always been polite and respectful. But none of it ever lingered in his mind for very long because every thought seemed to circle helplessly back to the same person in the end.

Wu Suowei.

It felt almost inevitable now, looking back on it.

Chi Cheng did not know the exact moment friendship had deepened into something far more dangerous. Maybe it had happened slowly over years, settling quietly beneath his ribs until it became impossible to separate devotion from love. Or perhaps it had always been there from the very beginning–from the moment a beautiful little omega smiled at him in the middle of an unfamiliar courtyard and changed the shape of his life without even trying.

Whatever the reason, Chi Cheng was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend.

And truly, he could not be blamed for it.

How was anyone supposed to stand untouched beside someone like Suowei for years and remain unaffected? Suowei was warmth in winter mornings, gentle hands against old wounds, laughter spilling softly through crowded rooms. He was kindness without calculation. Softness without weakness. The sort of person people instinctively gravitated toward because being near him simply made life feel lighter somehow.

To Chi Cheng, he was everything.

Which meant jealousy came hand in hand with loving him.

There were always alphas lingering too long around Suowei, always someone eager to impress him during gatherings or hunts or festivals. Chi Cheng noticed every single one of them no matter how much he tried not to. The way they looked at Suowei. The way their expressions softened whenever he smiled.

Sometimes something ugly and possessive twisted briefly inside his chest before he could stop it but it always faded just as quickly, swallowed down by something quieter.

Because at the end of the day, Chi Cheng still held what none of them did.

Suowei reached for him first.

Suowei looked for him in every crowd.

And every night, when the pack settled into silence, Chi Cheng remained the person allowed closest to Wu Suowei’s heart.

For now, that was enough. Or at least he tried very hard to convince himself it was.

Still, for all the years Chi Cheng spent loving him, he never truly allowed himself to believe Suowei could possibly feel the same way in return.

Hope was a dangerous thing when attached to someone like Wu Suowei.

Suowei was affectionate by nature. He was gentle and loving. He touched people easily, smiled easily, cared so openly that sometimes Chi Cheng could not tell where friendship ended and longing began. There were moments, small moments,that made his heart stumble painfully inside his chest, but he never dared hold onto them for too long.

Because wanting too much from Suowei felt almost selfish.

And yet there were times hope slipped through the cracks anyway.

Like the way Suowei always sought him out whenever he was upset.

It did not matter how busy he was or who surrounded him. Somehow, inevitably, Chi Cheng would look up to find Suowei making his way toward him through the crowd with that faint crease between his brows and vanilla tinged soft and sour around the edges.

“I had a terrible day,” Suowei would complain before immediately leaning against him as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

And then, without fail,

“Hug me.”

The first few times it happened, Chi Cheng had nearly forgotten how to breathe.

Suowei loved hugging him. It was in the casual, unthinking way that left Chi Cheng internally ruined for hours afterward while Suowei remained completely oblivious. Sometimes he would drape himself over Chi Cheng’s back while reading healer notes. Other times he would slip cold hands beneath Chi Cheng’s sleeves in winter with absolutely no warning.

But the worst moments were the quiet ones.

The ones where Suowei would press close after a difficult day and sigh softly the moment Chi Cheng wrapped his arms around him.

“You always make things better,” he murmured once, voice muffled against Chi Cheng’s shoulder. “I think I could sleep forever like this.”

Chi Cheng had stared blankly at the wall behind him for nearly ten seconds afterward because his heart had stopped functioning properly.

And then there were the moments involving other omegas.

Chi Cheng was not oblivious. He knew some of them approached him with intentions beyond simply asking for help, though he usually pretended not to notice for everyone’s sake. Sometimes they sought assistance carrying supplies. Sometimes they lingered too long in conversation. A few had even attempted outright flirting over the years.

Whenever it happened near Suowei, Chi Cheng inevitably caught that subtle shift in vanilla.

It was not anger exactly, just sharpness.

A delicate little bite beneath the sweetness.

Suowei would grow quieter afterward too, lips settling into the faintest pout while watching Chi Cheng far too carefully from across the room.

Once, after an omega from a neighboring pack had spent nearly an entire evening attached to Chi Cheng’s side during a festival, Suowei had abruptly appeared between them with a smile far too sweet to be entirely genuine.

“Chi Cheng,” he interrupted smoothly, fingers curling around his sleeve. “You promised to help me earlier, remember?”

Chi Cheng, who had promised no such thing, answered immediately anyway.

“Mmmm.”

The entire walk back, Suowei remained oddly silent beside him.

And then finally–

“You seemed very happy talking to her.”

The vanilla in the air had turned faintly sharp.

Chi Cheng nearly walked directly into a tree.

For one dangerously hopeful moment, his mind went completely blank.

Then he glanced sideways at Suowei, barely holding back his smile.

“You were paying attention then?” he managed carefully, trying not to sound too hopeful.

Suowei only huffed softly, still visibly displeased.

For three entire nights afterward, Chi Cheng replayed that interaction in his head like a fool starving on scraps.

But in the end, he always convinced himself not to read too deeply into any of it.

Because this was Suowei.

Sweet, affectionate, beautiful Suowei who loved easily and trusted him completely.

And Chi Cheng feared that if he reached for more and discovered he had imagined everything all along, it would destroy him beyond repair.

Time moved quietly around them after that, steady and familiar in the way it always had. Seasons passed. Winters melted into spring after spring again. Duties grew heavier with age, responsibilities settling gradually onto their shoulders as they stepped further into adulthood within the pack.

And somehow, despite everything changing around them, Chi Cheng and Suowei remained stubbornly the same at their core.

Perhaps that was why Chi Cheng eventually began to let himself hope a little more than he should have. It was not openly and never enough to become reckless with it. But sometimes, during quieter moments, he would catch himself wondering.

Wondering if the reason Suowei always reached for him first meant something deeper or if the softness in Suowei’s eyes whenever he looked at Chi Cheng was truly only friendship and if perhaps all those years of staying beside each other so naturally had become something impossible to separate from love.

The thoughts terrified him but they lingered anyway.

And then the Lunar Festival approached.

The festival was important every year, of course. It marked the end of winter and the beginning of a new cycle, drawing neighboring packs together for several days of celebration, trade, performances, hunts, and ceremonies beneath lantern-lit skies. The entire territory transformed during that time. Red and gold fabrics draped across wooden buildings, the smell of roasted meats and sweet rice wine filled the air, and music carried through the pack long after midnight while people danced beneath strings of glowing lights.

This year, however, excitement had spread through the pack far earlier than usual.

Because the coming festival included a courting ceremony.

Eligible alphas and omegas who had come of age would be allowed to offer courting gifts publicly during the celebrations. Some gifts would be simple, flowers, hand-written letters, carefully preserved pelts from successful hunts. Others would be deeply personal, crafted over months with painstaking care. Acceptance was never guaranteed either. A person could receive multiple gifts and choose whichever they wished or reject all of them entirely.

For weeks, the younger members of the pack spoke of little else.

Chi Cheng heard endless discussions everywhere he went.

“Did you hear someone from the Zhao pack is planning to confess this year?”

“I heard Elder Lin’s son has already started carving something.”

“Do you think the Wu heir will receive a lot of gifts?”

That last question always made something unpleasant twist faintly inside Chi Cheng’s chest because the answer was obvious.

Of course Suowei would.

Half the region was probably waiting for the opportunity but strangely, for the first time in years, the thought did not only fill Chi Cheng with quiet resignation.

It filled him with resolve too.

Because after all this time, after years of loving Suowei silently, years of swallowing down feelings until they became woven into the very fabric of him,Chi Cheng realized he did not want to stand by and watch someone else reach for him first without ever trying himself.

Even if it ended badly and even if it ruined him, Suowei deserved honesty at least once and perhaps Chi Cheng deserved one moment of courage after loving him for so long.

So this year, Chi Cheng decided he would finally place his heart in Suowei’s hands and let whatever happened afterward happen.

He would offer Suowei a courting gift and alongside it, he would offer him every feeling he had spent years trying so desperately to hide.

Everything might have gone according to plan, with Chi Cheng gathering courage one day at a time,if the Wang pack had not arrived.

The first guests began filtering into the Wu territory several days before the Lunar Festival officially began. Visiting pack members came bearing gifts, attendants, and banners in their respective colors, filling the usually familiar grounds with an unfamiliar energy. The air became louder and busier. Everywhere Chi Cheng turned, there were new scents to sort through, new faces to acknowledge and new responsibilities to shoulder.

As hosts, the Wu pack had little room to rest.

The elders were occupied with preparations. The hunters were assigned additional patrols. The healers scrambled to ready supplies for guests. Even the younger pack members were swept into the excitement, helping decorate communal spaces and prepare offerings for the temple ceremonies.

And Suowei, as the omega heir of the pack, suddenly seemed to belong to everyone.

Chi Cheng was used to sharing his attention. He had long since learned that loving Wu Suowei meant accepting how many people depended on him, sought him out and adored him. It had never truly bothered him before. There had always been an unspoken certainty beneath it all–a quiet confidence that no matter how busy Suowei became, he would always circle back to Chi Cheng in the end.

This time, however, something shifted.

The Wang pack arrived on the third afternoon.

They were one of the larger neighboring packs, well-respected and closely allied with the Wu territory. Their arrival was met with considerable ceremony, elders stepping forward to greet them while attendants carried supplies through the gates.

Chi Cheng had not thought much of it at first. Not until he heard the name.

Wang Zhen.

The heir of the Wang pack had come with them.

And because Suowei was heir to the Wu pack and because hospitality often demanded careful attention to status, it was only natural that he would be assigned to accompany him during his stay.

It was natural and perfectly reasonable, entirely harmless.

Chi Cheng repeated all three thoughts to himself later, though none of them did much to quiet the strange unease beginning to settle beneath his skin.

The first time he saw them together, he had been looking for Suowei.

That in itself was hardly unusual. It had become second nature over the years–to scan every gathering instinctively for pale robes and familiar vanilla before anything else.

He found him easily.

Suowei stood beneath a flowering tree near the central paths, his posture relaxed, his expression bright with polite attentiveness as he spoke with someone unfamiliar at his side.

An alpha. Tall and well-dressed. He was broad-shouldered in the quiet, effortless way of someone raised with status and discipline. Wang Zhen carried himself with calm confidence, listening closely as Suowei spoke before smiling at something that had clearly amused him.

And Suowei laughed.

Chi Cheng felt himself soften instinctively at the sound.

Even from a distance, it pulled at him, the easy curve of Suowei’s smile, the way sunlight caught against his hair, the warmth that always seemed to gather around him as naturally as breathing.

For a brief, helpless moment, Chi Cheng simply watched and smiled despite himself.

And then his gaze shifted to the alpha standing beside him.

The warmth inside him cooled all at once. Something sharp and unpleasant curled low in his chest.

Suowei noticed him then.

His entire face brightened immediately.

“Chi Cheng!”

That immediate and instinctive smile eased some small part of him.

He made his way over, only for Suowei to step forward and gesture toward the stranger beside him.

“This is Wang Zhen,” Suowei said warmly. “The Wang pack’s heir.”

Wang Zhen inclined his head politely.

“Chi Cheng. I’ve heard of you.”

Chi Cheng returned the greeting automatically, though his attention remained fixed almost entirely on Suowei.

The familiar vanilla was there, comforting as ever.

And yet Suowei looked apologetic.

“I was actually just about to show him around the eastern grounds,” Suowei said, offering him a small, almost sheepish smile. “There’s still so much he hasn’t seen.”

It was an ordinary responsibility but for reasons Chi Cheng could not quite explain, disappointment flickered unexpectedly inside him.

It must have shown on his face, because Suowei’s expression softened immediately.

“I’ll find you later,” he promised, voice gentler now.

And before Chi Cheng could even think to respond, Suowei reached out, fingers brushing briefly against his wrist in a familiar, fleeting touch before stepping back.

It was a small gesture, one that should have reassured him. Instead, Chi Cheng stood there long after they had walked away, watching Suowei’s pale figure disappear alongside Wang Zhen’s.

And for the first time since deciding to confess, something inside him began to feel unsteady.

Chi Cheng tried not to dwell on the strange feeling lingering in his chest after that encounter.

Suowei was busy. That was all.

The Lunar Festival had practically consumed the entire pack already, and as heir, Suowei naturally carried more responsibilities than most. Hosting another pack’s heir personally was hardly unusual either. Chi Cheng knew that. He repeated it to himself several times over the next few days whenever he caught sight of pale robes disappearing into crowds beside Wang Zhen.

And if Suowei’s attention felt more divided lately–

Well.

Perhaps that was not entirely a bad thing.

At the very least, it gave Chi Cheng more time to finish preparing his courting gift without Suowei accidentally discovering it beforehand.

The thought alone steadied him somewhat.

Because unlike the uncertainty surrounding Wang Zhen, this part at least felt solid and certain. Every piece of the gift had been thought through so carefully over the past few months that even now, merely thinking about it softened something warm inside him.

Chi Cheng had always known he wanted to make something with his own hands for Suowei. Something meaningful and undeniably his.

Which was why, unbeknownst to Suowei, he had spent nearly half a year secretly learning wood carving from one of the older craftsmen in the western part of the territory.

The old man had laughed the first time Chi Cheng approached him.

“You?” he barked, looking openly skeptical as Chi Cheng stood stiffly outside his workshop. “The same alpha who nearly split his training spear in half last winter because he got impatient?”

Chi Cheng had endured the ridicule silently.

“I want to learn properly,” he said simply.

The craftsman squinted at him for a long moment before snorting.

“This for the Wu heir?”

Chi Cheng nearly dropped the carving knife directly onto his foot.

The old man’s laughter had followed him for the next three weeks.

Still, Chi Cheng kept returning. Again and again and again.

His hands blistered constantly in the beginning. More than once he carved too deeply and ruined entire pieces of wood out of frustration. But slowly, painstakingly, he improved.

All for one ridiculous little carving.

A rabbit.

Because if there was one thing Wu Suowei loved beyond reason, it was rabbits.

And Chi Cheng had learned that lesson in the most horrifying way possible.

He had been fourteen during his first successful hunt, flushed with excitement and desperate to prove himself useful. The moment he spotted the rabbit caught near one of the traps, pride had swelled so fiercely inside him that he immediately thought of Suowei.

He remembered running all the way back to the pack with it.

“Wei Wei!” he had called excitedly the moment he found him near the healer’s quarters. “Look what I caught!”

At first, Suowei had simply stared.

Then Chi Cheng watched the color drain slowly from his face.

“No….” Suowei whispered.

The memory still made Chi Cheng feel vaguely ill years later.

He had panicked almost instantly as tears welled rapidly in those soft doe eyes. Actual tears. Suowei rarely cried, which somehow made it infinitely worse.

“Why would you kill it?” Suowei demanded shakily, staring at him like Chi Cheng had personally committed some terrible betrayal against nature itself.

Chi Cheng, fourteen and entirely unequipped to handle a crying omega he was already helplessly devoted to, had stood there in complete horror.

“I thought you would like it,” he said weakly.

That only made Suowei look more devastated.

It was, without question, the worst mistake Chi Cheng had made in his life.

Suowei avoided him for an entire week afterward.

An entire week.

Chi Cheng still remembered how unbearable it had felt, the absence of familiar vanilla nearby, the way Suowei stopped seeking him out, stopped smiling at him during meals, stopped waiting for him after training. The distance had carved something hollow into Chi Cheng’s chest so quickly it frightened him.

He lasted exactly six days before disappearing into the forest and returning hours later scratched, exhausted, and carrying three tiny orphaned rabbits he had found hidden beneath fallen branches.

Suowei had stared at them in stunned silence.

“You can’t keep ignoring me forever, Wei Wei” Chi Cheng muttered miserably while holding out the trembling bundle toward him.

For one terrible second, Chi Cheng genuinely thought Suowei might cry again.

Instead, Suowei took the rabbits carefully into his arms before glaring at Chi Cheng through suspiciously wet eyes.

“You are an idiot,” he declared thickly.

But he forgave him. Eventually.

Though not before making Chi Cheng help bottle-feed the rabbits for nearly two months afterward.

Later, once they were healthy enough, Suowei insisted on releasing them back into the wild personally while lecturing Chi Cheng the entire walk there about respecting small lives.

Chi Cheng remembered almost none of the lecture.

Only the way sunset light caught against Suowei’s face while he smiled softly at the rabbits disappearing into the grass.

So yes.

A wooden rabbit.

Carefully carved by hand, smooth beneath the fingers, small enough for Suowei to keep close.

But that was not the only gift.

Because beyond loving rabbits and healing and far too many living creatures at once, Suowei cared deeply about medicine. Especially anything involving pregnant omegas and newborn children within the pack. Lately, he had been speaking often about wanting to improve certain herbal remedies that eased difficult pregnancies, frustration obvious whenever he mentioned how difficult some rare ingredients were to acquire.

Chi Cheng remembered every single conversation.

Of course he did which was why, over the past several months, he had quietly ventured beyond the usual hunting routes whenever possible, searching for herbs Suowei mentioned only in passing. Rare roots found near cliffsides. Delicate mountain flowers that bloomed briefly before dawn. Dried bark from trees growing deep within colder regions.

He collected them all.

Carefully preserved and labeled.

And alongside the wooden rabbit, Chi Cheng planned to make Suowei a carrying case specifically for his healer supplies–a foldable leather wrap lined with stitched pockets meant to safely hold herbs, notes, and medicine bundles during travel.

It was practical and useful, entirely Suowei.

Every piece of it had been made with him in mind which perhaps made Chi Cheng even more hopeless than he already was.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The problem with loving Wu Suowei for so many years was that Chi Cheng noticed everything about him.

Not just the obvious things everyone admired openly–his beauty, his kindness, the graceful way he carried himself as heir. Chi Cheng noticed the quieter details too. The ones nobody else paid attention to because they had not spent years watching Suowei as though he hung somewhere between devotion and habit.

He noticed how Suowei always tucked loose sleeves higher when concentrating on medicine preparation, only for them to slide down again moments later. How he absentmindedly pressed his lips together whenever reading difficult healer texts. The way his nose wrinkled slightly whenever someone brewed bitter herbs nearby.

Chi Cheng noticed the different shapes of Suowei’s laughter too.

There was the polite one he used around elders and guests,soft and measured. The louder one that escaped unexpectedly around children. And then there was Chi Cheng’s favorite, the unguarded kind that bent Suowei forward slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners while vanilla bloomed warm and rich through the air around him.

That laugh had always undone him a little which was precisely why the next few days became increasingly unbearable.

Because everywhere Chi Cheng turned, Wang Zhen seemed to be beside him.

It was never inappropriate and never suspicious enough for Chi Cheng to voice any real objection even within the privacy of his own thoughts. Suowei was simply doing what was expected of him as heir, guiding an honored guest through the territory, introducing him to important members of the pack, overseeing preparations alongside him.

It was perfectly reasonable and yet Chi Cheng still found himself searching for them constantly despite knowing exactly what he would see.

One afternoon, while returning from the outer training grounds, he spotted them near the central market paths.

Suowei stood beside one of the herb stalls, speaking animatedly about something while Wang Zhen listened attentively. The late afternoon sun spilled gold across Suowei’s pale robes, catching softly against the loose strands of hair framing his face.

Chi Cheng slowed without meaning to.

Even from a distance, he could see the exact moment Suowei became excited about whatever topic they were discussing. His hands began moving as he spoke, eyes brightening in that familiar way Chi Cheng had loved for years.

Then Suowei laughed.

The sound carried faintly through the crowded path.

And like always, Chi Cheng’s chest softened instantly and hopelessly around it.

His mouth even curved before he could stop it, warmth blooming instinctively beneath his ribs at the sight alone. Sometimes he thought he could survive forever on moments like these,just watching Suowei happy from afar.

Then Wang Zhen said something else.

Suowei laughed again, this time turning slightly toward him.

The warmth vanished so abruptly Chi Cheng almost felt embarrassed by it. Jealousy settled low and ugly inside him yet again before he could suppress it. Because Wang Zhen was standing where Chi Cheng should have been.

It should have been him listening to Suowei ramble excitedly about herbs he cared too much about. It should have been him walking beside Suowei through crowded paths and earning that bright, effortless laugh.

The thought came so quickly and selfishly it startled him.

Chi Cheng looked away immediately afterward, jaw tightening faintly.

This was unfair. Suowei had done nothing wrong.

Still, over the following days, the feeling only worsened.

He would catch glimpses of them constantly now–Suowei guiding Wang Zhen through the healer quarters, Suowei explaining festival traditions beside the temple grounds, Suowei walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him through evening lantern displays while vanilla drifted softly through the night air.

And every single time, Chi Cheng hated the sharp flare of possessiveness that rose inside him.

Not because Wang Zhen had actually done anything inappropriate but because Chi Cheng had spent years quietly occupying the place beside Suowei so naturally that seeing someone else there now unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

By the fifth day, Chi Cheng realized with some embarrassment that he missed Suowei.

It was not in the dramatic sense, they still saw each other throughout the day in passing moments and brief conversations but it felt fragmented somehow. It felt incomplete like trying to hold water in cupped hands only to watch it slip through his fingers before he could keep enough of it.

He missed lingering breakfasts where Suowei stole food directly from his plate while pretending innocence afterward. He missed their evening walks that stretched aimlessly through the territory because neither of them wanted to part ways yet. He missed the easy familiarity of simply existing beside him without interruption.

Mostly, he missed having Suowei’s undivided attention.

That realization alone was humiliating enough.

So that morning, after finishing patrol duties earlier than expected, Chi Cheng found himself gravitating instinctively toward the healer quarters where Suowei had been spending most of his time lately.

The territory was already awake around him. Pack members moved busily through the paths carrying festival supplies while lanterns swayed gently overhead in the morning breeze. Somewhere nearby, children shrieked with laughter loud enough to earn several half-hearted scoldings from elders.

And beneath all of it–

Vanilla.

It was familiar and comforting enough that something inside Chi Cheng eased before he even caught sight of him.

Suowei stood just outside the healer quarters dressed in traveling robes, speaking quickly with one of the attendants while adjusting the strap of a satchel hanging from his shoulder. Wang Zhen stood nearby beside two waiting horses, his posture relaxed though his attention remained fixed on Suowei with quiet amusement.

Chi Cheng slowed slightly.

Something about the scene unsettled him immediately, though he could not say why.

Suowei looked up then and brightened the moment he saw him.

“Chi Cheng!”

The smile that spread across his face was so immediate and genuine that Chi Cheng felt some stupid hopeful part of himself revive instantly despite everything.

He crossed the remaining distance easily.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, glancing briefly toward the horses.

“Just for a few hours,” Suowei replied quickly.

Too quickly.

Chi Cheng noticed it immediately, the slight tension beneath Suowei’s smile and the way his fingers tightened faintly around the satchel strap. Even the vanilla in the air carried something sharper beneath it now. Something like nervousness.

Before he could think too deeply about it, Chi Cheng asked casually, “Where are you going?”

For the briefest moment, Suowei froze.

It was subtle enough that most people probably would not have caught it. But Chi Cheng knew him too well.

Suowei’s eyes widened slightly. The scent of vanilla spiked sharp and startled around the edges. Then, almost just as quickly, he recovered.

“Just…..outside the eastern market area,” he answered vaguely.

Chi Cheng frowned a little.

“With Wang Zhen?”

“Yes.”

There was another strange beat of hesitation afterward.

And because Chi Cheng had been missing him far more than he wanted to admit, the next words slipped out naturally.

“I’ll come with you then.”

The reaction was immediate.

“No.”

Suowei answered so fast that both Chi Cheng and Wang Zhen looked at him in surprise.

Suowei himself seemed startled by how abrupt he sounded.

“I mean–” He laughed nervously, the sound noticeably thinner than usual. “You probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Chi Cheng asked slowly.

For some reason, Suowei suddenly looked almost panicked.

Chi Cheng watched his gaze dart briefly toward Wang Zhen before returning to him again, as though searching frantically for an explanation that would not reveal too much.

“You might be needed here,” Suowei said finally, far too quickly. “The hunters are helping with incoming supplies today, right? And….and I won’t be long anyway.”

The excuse felt oddly flimsy.

Chi Cheng stood there quietly for a second too long.

Something unpleasant unfurled slowly beneath his ribs. It was not anger. It was just hurt, small and quiet, ridiculous perhaps but there all the same.

Because Suowei had never excluded him before. Not really.

And maybe Suowei noticed the exact moment that realization settled across Chi Cheng’s face, because his own expression shifted immediately into alarm.

“Chi Cheng–”

Before he could step back or say he understood or pretend none of this bothered him at all, Suowei moved forward suddenly and wrapped both arms tightly around him.

The familiar warmth of vanilla surrounded him at once.

“I’ll be back soon,” Suowei said quickly against his shoulder, almost rushed now. “Very soon. I promise.”

Chi Cheng’s heart betrayed him instantly, softening despite everything.

He could feel Wang Zhen very politely pretending not to witness any of this from nearby.

Still, even while holding Suowei automatically in return, that quiet ache remained lodged stubbornly inside his chest.

Because Suowei was hugging him like someone trying to make up for something.

And Chi Cheng did not know what that meant.

The worst part was that once the doubt settled inside Chi Cheng, it began poisoning everything afterward.

Before this, he had never questioned the space he occupied beside Suowei, not truly. Their closeness had always felt so natural, so deeply woven into everyday life, that Chi Cheng never stopped to wonder whether he had mistaken its meaning entirely.

Now, however, every interaction seemed to unravel beneath scrutiny.

Suowei’s hugs.

His smiles.

The way he always searched for Chi Cheng first.

Had it only ever been affection? Simple trust? The easy intimacy of a lifelong friendship that Chi Cheng, foolishly and selfishly, had transformed into something larger inside his own heart?

The thoughts exhausted him.

He tried distracting himself with work instead and patrols. Training and festival preparations. Anything that kept his hands occupied long enough for his mind to quiet.

It did not help.

Because everywhere he went, Wang Zhen’s presence lingered like a splinter beneath his skin.

And worse, people had started talking. Not maliciously or even intentionally cruel. The pack was excited about the courting festival, and gossip spread naturally whenever young heirs from prominent packs spent time together.

Chi Cheng overheard the conversations constantly now.

One afternoon while helping unload supplies near the storage halls, he caught two older omegas speaking nearby.

“The Wang heir is very handsome.”

“And well-mannered too. He and Young Master Suowei look quite suited standing together.”

Chi Cheng’s grip tightened faintly around the crate in his hands.

Later that evening, near the lantern displays, people were still gossiping.

“I heard the Wang pack is extremely prosperous.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if something came from this visit.”

“They would make a beautiful pair.”

Beautiful pair.

The words lodged somewhere deep and painful.

Chi Cheng hated how quickly his mind supplied images afterward without permission, Suowei standing beside Wang Zhen during ceremonies, laughing softly at things only the other alpha said, vanilla wrapping around someone else the way it always wrapped around Chi Cheng.

It made his stomach twist unpleasantly and the cruelest part was that none of it sounded unreasonable.

Wang Zhen was accomplished and respected. An alpha heir from a powerful allied pack. The kind of match elders dreamed about arranging. Beside him, Chi Cheng suddenly became painfully aware of everything he lacked.

He was only a hunter. A capable one, perhaps. Trusted within the pack. But still not someone raised for leadership beside an omega heir destined to carry an entire pack someday.

The thoughts spiraled more easily than he cared to admit.

By the time he saw Suowei again that evening, Chi Cheng had already half-convinced himself he was being selfish for wanting more in the first place.

Suowei spotted him immediately from across the crowded courtyard.

“Chi Cheng!”

There it was again.

That instinctive brightness.

For one terrible moment, hope rose inside him automatically anyway.

Suowei hurried over, vanilla warm and familiar in the cooling evening air, pale robes brushing softly against passing lantern light. His cheeks were faintly flushed from the cold and loose strands of hair had escaped near his temples, making him look softer somehow.

He was always so beautiful.

“You disappeared all day,” Suowei complained lightly. “I barely saw you.”

The words should have comforted him.

Instead, Chi Cheng found himself wondering if Suowei would have noticed his absence at all had Wang Zhen not briefly left his side.

It was a horrible thought.

The guilt hit immediately afterward.

Because Suowei was looking at him with genuine affection, entirely unaware of the war unfolding inside Chi Cheng’s chest.

And still, despite himself, Chi Cheng glanced past him instinctively, searching.

Wang Zhen stood several feet away speaking with one of the elders, though his gaze drifted toward them briefly before politely away again.

The sight hollowed something out inside Chi Cheng so quietly he almost missed it.

Suowei noticed none of it or perhaps he did because his brows furrowed faintly as he stepped closer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

Chi Cheng looked at him for a long second.

At the familiar face he had loved for years. At the concern written so openly there. At vanilla curling warm around them both.

Then he forced a small smile anyway.

“Nothing,” he lied.

And for the first time in years, the word came painfully easily between them.

The final blow came the night before the Lunar Festival.

It was new moon.

For as long as Chi Cheng could remember, new moons had belonged to them.

It had started years ago when they were children desperate to escape the noise of the pack after long festival preparations. Suowei had discovered the hidden meadow first–a quiet stretch of land tucked deep past the forest trails where the trees eventually opened into wide fields of soft grass beneath endless sky. The journey there was inconvenient enough that few people bothered making it at night, which meant they almost always had the place entirely to themselves.

Over time, it became theirs in the quiet, unspoken way certain things simply did.

Every new moon, no matter how busy life became, they found their way there somehow. Sometimes they talked for hours while lying shoulder-to-shoulder in the grass. Sometimes Suowei pointed out constellations he barely remembered correctly while Chi Cheng pretended to believe him anyway. Other nights they said almost nothing at all, content to exist beside each other beneath a sky emptied of moonlight.

Those nights had become precious to Chi Cheng in ways he never confessed aloud.

Because out there, away from duties and expectations and the endless demands of the pack, Suowei felt entirely his again.

Not the omega heir everyone adored.

Just Suowei. His best friend. His Wei Wei.

The boy who laughed too loudly at his own jokes and stole warmth shamelessly by pressing closer whenever the night turned cold.

And perhaps that was why Chi Cheng spent the entire day waiting for evening with the desperate sort of hope he had been trying not to nurture lately.

Things had felt strained between them for days now, though mostly inside Chi Cheng’s own head. He knew that much. Still, some foolish part of him believed tonight would return everything to normal. It always did. Their meadow had a way of making the rest of the world fall away until only the two of them remained.

So after sunset, once the pack finally began quieting beneath the weight of exhaustion and anticipation for tomorrow’s celebrations, Chi Cheng went looking for him.

Vanilla lingered faintly through the night air before he even caught sight of him.

Relief bloomed instinctively inside his chest.

And then it shattered.

Chi Cheng stopped walking so abruptly the gravel beneath his boots crunched sharply in the silence.

Ahead of him, partially obscured by swaying lantern light, Suowei stood near the outer forest paths wrapped in a heavier cloak against the cold. Wang Zhen stood beside him.

Ready to leave.

To go deeper into the woods.

Toward the meadow.

Toward their place.

For a moment, Chi Cheng genuinely could not breathe.

The realization hit slowly at first, almost disbelieving. His mind rejected it instinctively because surely not there. Not that place. Suowei knew what it meant to them. He knew how many years they had spent tucked away beneath those skies together while the rest of the world slept.

And yet Suowei was smiling softly at something Wang Zhen said while adjusting the lantern in his hands.

Like this mattered. Like this was special.

Something inside Chi Cheng caved inward so suddenly it almost felt physical.

The hurt was immediate and devastating in its quietness. It was not anger. Never anger, just the awful, hollow feeling of finally understanding something you had desperately been trying not to see.

Of course.

Of course Suowei would eventually bring someone else there.

Why wouldn’t he?

Chi Cheng had been treating that meadow like something sacred for years because he was in love with the person beside him. But perhaps to Suowei, it had only ever been a convenient hiding place between friends. A fond memory and nothing more.

Meanwhile Chi Cheng had foolishly built entire dreams around it.

His chest tightened painfully.

From where he stood hidden beneath the shadows of the trees, he watched Suowei lean closer toward Wang Zhen while speaking, vanilla drifting softly through the cold night air. Wang Zhen lowered his head to listen attentively, his expression gentle in a way that made something ugly twist through Chi Cheng’s ribs.

They looked right together.

The realization destroyed him more than anything else.

Because Wang Zhen fit beside Suowei so naturally it almost made Chi Cheng feel ashamed for ever imagining himself there instead. An alpha heir beside an omega heir. Graceful and equal, appropriate in every way Chi Cheng suddenly felt he was not.

The pack would adore them together.

The elders would approve instantly.

Even standing there now beneath the lantern glow, they looked like the sort of pairing stories were written about.

And Chi Cheng–

Chi Cheng was only the idiot who had mistaken years of affection for love returned.

His fingers curled tightly at his sides.

Something fragile inside him seemed to deflate all at once, the hope he had spent years carefully protecting collapsing under the unbearable weight of reality.

Because perhaps this was the answer he had been avoiding all along.

Suowei loved him, certainly.

But not enough. Not in the way Chi Cheng had secretly prayed for during every new moon beneath endless dark skies.

Ahead of him, Suowei and Wang Zhen finally disappeared deeper into the forest paths together.

Chi Cheng remained standing there long after they were gone.

The night air felt unbearably cold suddenly.

And for the first time since arriving at the Wu pack all those years ago, Chi Cheng found himself wondering if perhaps he had never truly belonged beside Wu Suowei at all.

Chi Cheng did not sleep that night.

He tried. He lay awake staring at the dark wooden ceiling of his room while the memory replayed over and over again against his will–Suowei standing beside Wang Zhen beneath lantern light, the soft curve of his smile, the direction they had been walking together.

Toward their meadow.

Every time Chi Cheng closed his eyes, he saw it again.

At some point during the night, rain began falling lightly outside. He listened to it in silence, the sound soft against the roof while something heavy settled deeper and deeper inside his chest.

The worst part was that he could not even blame Suowei for any of it.

That was what made the hurt unbearable.

Suowei had never promised him anything beyond friendship. He never once spoken words of love that Chi Cheng could cling to now in anger or betrayal. Everything had been built on gestures, closeness, hope carefully nurtured from scraps until Chi Cheng had convinced himself they meant more.

Perhaps he had simply wanted too much.

The realization hollowed him out quietly. Still, sometime before dawn, Chi Cheng sat up slowly from his bed and reached for the gifts laid carefully near the table.

The wooden rabbit rested in his palms first.

Even after weeks of carving and smoothing and starting over whenever imperfections appeared, he still found himself tracing the tiny shape gently with his thumb now. The ears curved slightly forward the way real rabbits did when alert. He had even carved the smallest hint of roundness into the cheeks because Suowei once complained that most rabbit carvings looked “too serious.”

Chi Cheng remembered that conversation vividly.

Beside it lay the healer’s wrap he had stitched together himself, soft leather lined carefully with pockets holding every herb Suowei had once absentmindedly mentioned wanting but struggling to acquire.

Months of work and months of listening.

Months of loving someone quietly enough that even the gifts reflected it.

For a brief, ugly moment, Chi Cheng considered putting everything away.

Not out of bitterness.

Simply because suddenly the idea of standing before Suowei with his heart laid bare felt humiliating. He imagined Suowei looking startled and guilty. Gentle in the worst possible way while explaining that he cared deeply for Chi Cheng but–

Chi Cheng closed his eyes hard.

No.

He could survive this much at least. Because the truth remained unchanged regardless of whether Suowei loved him back or not, Suowei would genuinely like these gifts.

The rabbit would make him smile. The herbs would help his work as a healer. He would use them carefully and treasure them because that was simply the kind of person Suowei was.

And wasn’t that enough?

Wasn’t loving someone supposed to mean wanting their happiness regardless of what it cost you?

Chi Cheng swallowed hard against the ache rising into his throat.

Suowei deserved the best alpha possible. Someone worthy of standing beside an omega heir. Someone elegant and composed and capable of matching Suowei properly in ways Chi Cheng increasingly feared he never could.

Someone like Wang Zhen.

The thought hurt so badly now that it almost felt dull.

Still, despite everything, warmth lingered stubbornly beneath the pain whenever he thought of Suowei smiling, safe and happy and loved.

Even if it would not be by him.

Chi Cheng lowered his gaze toward the gifts again, fingers tightening faintly around the little wooden rabbit.

He would still give them to Suowei.

Perhaps he would laugh it off afterward somehow, pretend he simply made them because Suowei would find them useful. No expectations attached. No ugly confessions to burden him with before the festival.

Just something made with care.

Something made out of love that would remain unspoken.

And if afterward Suowei chose Wang Zhen–

Chi Cheng’s chest constricted sharply at the thought, but he forced himself to breathe through it anyway.

Then he would smile.

He would stand beside Suowei like he always had and pretend his heart was not breaking apart quietly beneath his ribs.

Because loving Wu Suowei had never once been about what Chi Cheng received in return.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Morning arrived too quickly after that sleepless night.

By the time the first traces of sunlight spread across the territory, the entire Wu pack had already burst into motion around him. Servants hurried through the main paths carrying ceremonial fabrics and trays of offerings while lanterns from the previous night still swayed faintly overhead in the pale dawn breeze. Somewhere near the eastern courtyards, musicians had already begun tuning instruments for the evening celebrations, the distant sounds drifting softly across the waking pack.

Normally, Chi Cheng loved the Lunar Festival.

There had always been something warm about it, the noise, the light, the sense of togetherness that wrapped around the territory once neighboring packs gathered beneath one roof. As children, he and Suowei used to spend the entire festival racing through crowded pathways hand-in-hand until elders eventually dragged them back before midnight.

This year, however, everything felt strangely muted.

As though Chi Cheng were watching the celebrations through water.

He moved through his responsibilities automatically, helping organize patrols near the outer gates before assisting with incoming guests later that morning. People greeted him constantly throughout the day, smiling brightly, offering festival blessings, discussing the courting ceremony with endless excitement.

Chi Cheng answered when necessary.

But his thoughts remained elsewhere.

Or rather ,on someone.

Every so often he caught glimpses of pale robes moving through the crowd and his attention betrayed him instantly, turning toward Suowei before he could stop himself. The ache from last night still lingered stubbornly beneath his ribs, quieter now but no less painful.

And yet despite everything, seeing Suowei still softened him every single time.

It was pathetic.

One moment in particular stayed with him through most of the morning. Suowei had been standing near the temple steps speaking with several elders when a small child tripped while running past the crowds and burst immediately into frightened tears. Without hesitation, Suowei stopped mid-conversation and crouched beside him, brushing dirt carefully from tiny scraped palms while speaking softly enough that the child calmed within seconds.

Chi Cheng watched from across the courtyard longer than he should have.

Because of course Suowei would do that. Of course even in the middle of one of the busiest days of the year, he would still notice every hurt around him.

The love inside Chi Cheng’s chest felt almost exhausting sometimes.

Still, by afternoon, the courting ceremony preparations officially began.

Tradition dictated that the gift exchange happened anonymously at first. Decorated tables were arranged carefully near the temple grounds beneath hanging lanterns and flowering branches, separated by designation. One side for alphas. The other for omegas. Names were written neatly onto wooden placards while gifts slowly accumulated throughout the day, wrapped or uncovered depending on the giver’s preference.

Tomorrow, recipients would be allowed to learn who offered what.

The anticipation surrounding it filled the entire territory with nervous excitement.

This first day, however, belonged mostly to the alphas which meant Chi Cheng had very little to actually do beyond enduring it.

He arrived near the temple grounds later than most, more out of obligation than curiosity. Crowds moved busily around the display areas, voices buzzing with speculation and teasing while attendants carefully organized offerings into neat piles.

The sight waiting for him near his own name made him pause briefly.

There were quite a few gifts. 

For a moment, Chi Cheng simply stood there staring.

Then guilt curled unexpectedly in his chest.

Because he was grateful, truly.

Each gift represented genuine courage from someone willing to place their feelings openly into another person’s hands, and Chi Cheng respected that deeply. He knew what it cost to care for someone silently for too long.

But even while looking at them now, his thoughts wandered helplessly elsewhere.

Toward vanilla and  soft laughter beneath dark skies. Toward a hidden meadow that suddenly no longer felt like his.

A quiet voice somewhere nearby laughed softly.

“I heard Chi Cheng was popular, but this is excessive.”

Another answered teasingly, “Not surprising. Half the younger omegas have been staring at him for years.”

Chi Cheng looked away almost immediately.

Because none of it mattered.

Not really.

His heart had chosen long ago.

And even now, even after everything, even after spending the entire night convincing himself to let go, he knew with painful certainty that there would never truly be space inside him for anyone except Wu Suowei.

Eventually, unable to ignore the growing attention gathering around the gift tables, Chi Cheng crouched beside the pile beneath his name and began sorting through everything properly.

The offerings varied wildly in both effort and intention.

Some made him quietly smile despite himself. A carefully folded letter written in delicate handwriting. Several polished pelts from successful winter hunts. Bundles of dried flowers tied together with bright thread. Someone had carved a tiny wolf from dark wood, uneven around the edges but clearly made with earnest effort.

Chi Cheng handled each item carefully.

Respectfully.

Even now, with his heart bruised raw inside his chest, he understood what it meant to place affection into tangible things. To spend nights crafting something while thinking endlessly about one specific person.

Around him, laughter and conversation filled the temple grounds while lantern light flickered softly against stone pathways as evening slowly approached. Somewhere nearby, attendants continued arranging newer offerings onto crowded tables while excited whispers traveled through the growing crowds.

Chi Cheng barely heard any of it.

Because as he reached closer toward the bottom of the pile, his fingers brushed against something cool. Something solid and Heavy.

He frowned slightly before pulling it free. And froze.

A dagger rested across his palms.

It was not an ordinary one.

The sheath alone was breathtaking–smooth pale jade carved with intricate silver detailing winding delicately across its surface like flowing water. Under the lantern glow, the stone almost seemed luminous, soft veins of white threaded through translucent green so finely polished it reflected light like glass.

Chi Cheng’s breath caught.

His thumb moved shakily along the carved edge before he carefully unsheathed it.

The blade gleamed brilliantly beneath the lanterns, elegant and deadly in equal measure. The hilt had been wrapped in deep forest-green leather, fitted perfectly against the pale jade guard shaped subtly into curling cloud motifs.

It was beautiful and exquisite. And also heartbreakingly familiar.

For one terrible second, Chi Cheng forgot how to breathe.

Because years ago–before her death–his mother had once sketched this exact dagger late into the evening while sitting beside him near candlelight. He remembered the memory with painful clarity now, charcoal smudged faintly across her fingers while she explained each detail patiently after catching him staring over her shoulder.

“It’s meant to be both practical and beautiful,” she had told him with a laugh. “A weapon someone would treasure enough to care for properly.”

Chi Cheng had loved the design instantly.

Afterward, he spent years quietly wanting to bring it to life someday. Not for himself, nor even for use, but because it felt like one of the few pieces of her he still had left. As time passed, the memory of her voice faded at the edges, yet he could still remember the curve of charcoal against paper beneath her hands with unbearable clarity. Somehow, forging the dagger had begun to feel less like crafting a weapon and more like reaching toward something he had lost long ago. 

But perfection like this required master craftsmanship far beyond anything available within their territory. So Chi Cheng had waited and planned silently for years.

He had told exactly one person about it.

One.

His pulse slammed violently against his ribs now.

Wu Suowei.

The thought came immediately.

Chi Cheng stared down at the weapon again, hands tightening faintly around the sheath as realization crashed over him in dizzying waves.

There was only one explanation.

Only one person who would remember this conversation from years ago.

Only one person who knew how much the design mattered.

His heart began beating so hard it almost hurt.

Suddenly the crowded temple grounds felt too small, too loud and too suffocating.

Chi Cheng stood abruptly.

Someone nearby called his name, perhaps trying to ask about the dagger, but he barely registered it. His mind raced too quickly now, every thought colliding painfully against the next while hope–dangerous, fragile hope–flared violently back to life inside his chest.

Because if Suowei had given him this–

Then what did that mean?

Chi Cheng was already moving before the thought fully finished forming.

He gripped the jade dagger tightly and pushed through the crowds toward the healer quarters, pulse thundering loudly enough that he could barely hear anything else anymore.

By the time Chi Cheng reached the healer quarters, his heartbeat had become unbearable.

Hope and fear warred viciously inside his chest with every step he took. His fingers remained wrapped tightly around the jade dagger, almost as though loosening his grip might somehow make this moment disappear entirely.

The corridor outside Suowei’s room stood quiet compared to the chaos surrounding the festival grounds. Most healers were still occupied near the temple preparations, leaving only the faint smell of herbs lingering through the dimly lit halls.

Chi Cheng stopped outside the familiar wooden door.

For one brief moment, doubt struck him again.

What if he misunderstood?

What if this dagger meant gratitude and nothing more? What if he opened this door only to hear Suowei explain gently that yes, he treasured Chi Cheng deeply, but—

No.

Chi Cheng knocked before he could lose his nerve entirely.

There was movement inside almost immediately. Soft footsteps and a muffled sound that vaguely resembled something falling over.

Then the door slid open and Chi Cheng forgot every coherent thought in his head.

Suowei looked like he had just woken from sleep.

His pale hair was slightly disheveled, loose strands falling untidily across his forehead while the collar of his robes sat crooked from where he had clearly been lying down moments earlier. His eyes still carried traces of drowsiness, soft around the edges beneath the warm lantern light.

He was still so devastatingly beautiful.

Chi Cheng’s chest tightened painfully around the sight of him.

Suowei blinked at him once in surprise before immediately straightening.

“Chi Cheng?”

Chi Cheng lifted the dagger slightly between them, unable to force himself into patience.

“What does this mean?”

There was no greeting or careful lead-in. Just the question that had been clawing through him since the moment he saw the weapon resting beneath his name.

Suowei’s gaze dropped instantly toward the jade sheath.

Then, unexpectedly, he looked nervous.

It startled Chi Cheng more than anything else that evening.

Wu Suowei was rarely uncertain. He carried himself with an effortless kind of confidence even during difficult situations, composed in ways that often left people forgetting how young he truly was. But now, standing barefoot in the doorway beneath flickering lantern light, he looked almost anxious.

His brows furrowed slightly.

“Did you not like it?” he asked instead, though the usual teasing lilt in his voice had softened around the edges. His lips still settled into a faint pout that would normally destroy whatever remained of Chi Cheng’s self-control.

But tonight, hurt lingered too close beneath the surface.

“What about Wang Zhen?” Chi Cheng asked quietly.

The question clearly caught Suowei off guard.

“What about him?”

Chi Cheng swallowed hard.

The words felt humiliating now that they were finally leaving his mouth, but after days of jealousy and sleepless nights spent trying to convince himself to let go, he could not keep swallowing them down.

“I thought…” His voice faltered briefly before he forced himself onward. “I thought you liked him. And that you were going to court him.”

For a moment, Suowei only stared at him.

Then complete disbelief spread slowly across his face.

“What?”

Chi Cheng suddenly found the floorboards fascinating.

“You’ve been with him constantly,” he muttered weakly. “And everyone keeps saying how well you match and then yesterday you went-”

Understanding hit Suowei so abruptly that his eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

Then louder-

“Chi Cheng, have you seriously been tormenting yourself thinking I was going to court Wang Zhen this entire time?”

Chi Cheng, who had in fact spent several consecutive nights emotionally devastating himself over exactly that possibility, nodded once.

Suowei looked genuinely scandalized.

“Chi Cheng!”

“I saw you together all the time,” Chi Cheng defended quietly, shame burning hot beneath his skin now. “And he’s an heir too and everyone kept saying—”

“I went to another pack because they said their craftsmen could make the dagger better,” Suowei interrupted immediately.

Chi Cheng stilled.

“What?”

Suowei crossed his arms, looking deeply offended on Chi Cheng’s behalf now.

“You used to talk about wanting to recreate your mother’s design properly someday,” he said softly, fingers brushing carefully over the dagger. “I remembered how important it was to you, and the jadework here wasn’t delicate enough, so Wang Zhen helped me contact someone from his territory who could do it carefully.”

His expression gentled as he looked back at Chi Cheng.

“I just…” He huffed softly, almost embarrassed now. “I really wanted it to be worthy of her.”

The world tilted faintly beneath Chi Cheng’s feet.

His thoughts stumbled backward all at once.

That morning outside the healer quarters.

Suowei refusing to let him come along.

The nervousness.

“You said you wanted to accompany me that day,” Suowei continued, sounding increasingly exasperated now. “Do you know how badly I panicked? I thought the surprise was ruined immediately.”

Realization struck Chi Cheng so fast it almost hurt.

“That’s why you left with him…”

“Yes!”

And suddenly every moment from the past week rearranged itself painfully inside his mind.

The whispered conversations.

The hurried trips.

Suowei constantly disappearing with Wang Zhen.

None of it had been courting.

None of it had been romance.

It had all been for him.

Chi Cheng opened his mouth, then closed it again uselessly.

But one ache still remained lodged stubbornly beneath everything else.

His voice came out quieter this time.

“But yesterday…” He lowered his gaze briefly before forcing himself to continue. “You went towards our place during the new moon.”

The frustration disappeared from Suowei’s face immediately.

Something unbearably soft replaced it instead.

“You saw that?”

Chi Cheng nodded once.

And perhaps something in his expression finally revealed how deeply that moment had wounded him, because Suowei’s entire face softened with sudden understanding.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Before Chi Cheng could react, Suowei stepped closer and cupped his cheeks gently between warm hands.

The touch alone nearly unraveled him.

“I did not take him to our meadow,” Suowei said softly. “Never there.”

Chi Cheng stared at him silently.

“Since the beginning of this festival,” Suowei admitted, cheeks flushing faintly now, “I have been complaining to Wang Zhen nonstop about being in love with an impossibly oblivious alpha. And besides Wang Zhen already has an omega he likes too. We have basically been each other's confidant.”

Chi Cheng’s brain stopped functioning entirely.

Suowei laughed weakly at his expression.

“And yesterday I was nervous,” he continued more quietly. “I thought I was finally going to confess to you during the festival, and I needed someone to talk to without the entire pack overhearing me panic. So we stopped near the outer trails.”

His thumbs brushed lightly beneath Chi Cheng’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Sweetheart.

In love.

Confess.

The words echoed uselessly through Chi Cheng’s head while warmth flooded violently through every hollow place heartbreak had carved open during the past week.

“So” he managed faintly. “You like me?”

Suowei stared at him for one long second.

Then his expression softened into something so unbearably fond it made Chi Cheng’s chest ache.

“You silly alpha,” he murmured, thumb brushing gently beneath Chi Cheng’s eye. “I love you.”

And then he pulled him down and kissed him.

Chi Cheng melted instantly.

Years of longing and restraint and hopeless devotion unraveled helplessly inside him as he pulled Suowei closer with shaking hands. Suowei kissed him like someone equally starved, soft and warm and overwhelming beneath the faint lingering taste of tea.

Vanilla surrounded him completely.

It felt like coming home.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing unevenly, Chi Cheng rested his forehead against Suowei’s and laughed once–a small, disbelieving sound that bordered dangerously close to breaking.

“I think,” he admitted quietly, voice rough with emotion, “I have been in love with you for so long that I don’t actually remember what it felt like before it.”

Suowei’s breath caught softly.

Chi Cheng closed his eyes for a moment before continuing, the confession leaving him with the helpless honesty of someone who could no longer keep it contained.

“I loved you when we were children. I loved you when I thought I shouldn’t. I loved you even after convincing myself it would never belong to me.” His fingers tightened faintly against Suowei’s waist. “I think some part of me was always going to love you.”

Suowei’s eyes had already turned suspiciously bright long before he finished.

“That,” he said weakly, “is an extremely unfair thing to say to someone who is trying not to cry.”

A startled laugh escaped Chi Cheng.

But Suowei only moved closer again until their noses brushed lightly together.

“Do you know how terrible it is,” he whispered, smiling despite the shine in his eyes, “being in love with someone who looks at you like you hung the stars?”

Chi Cheng blinked slowly.

“I do not–”

“You absolutely do.”

That earned another breathless laugh from him before Suowei kissed him again, softer this time, like he intended to keep him forever.

Outside, distant festival music drifted softly through the night while lantern light flickered warmly across the quiet hallway. Somewhere beyond the healer quarters, the Lunar Festival continued carrying on without them.

Neither cared because after years of loving each other in terrified silence, they had finally found their way here instead.

And later, long after the festival ended and the pack would inevitably tell the story of how the Wu heir chose his mate, Chi Cheng would still think the most extraordinary part of it all was painfully simple-

It started with Chi Cheng falling in love quietly.

And it ended with Chi Cheng discovering he had never been alone in it.