A Heartless Omega Regrets It When I’m Dying - Chapter 12

When Lin Wantang went downstairs, Wen Zhiqing had not yet left. She was reclining lazily on the sofa, eyes downcast as she teased the kitten in her arms. The low, slanting winter sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, seeming to lose its warmth as it touched her, turning into a layer of cold silver foil.

However, while Wen Zhiqing was a flawless beauty, she was extremely… ill-matched with the unruly black-and-white cow kitten in her arms.

Lin Wantang thought of how the kitten was currently just a tiny fluffball, yet its nature was already beginning to show. She wondered if Wen Zhiqing would be able to maintain her current elegant and reserved posture once the cat’s neurotic tendencies fully developed in adulthood, and she couldn’t help but smile slightly.

But by then, everything would have nothing to do with her anymore.

Lin Wantang pulled back her smile just as she heard Wen Zhiqing’s cold voice: “I’ve already instructed the housekeeper; there’s no need to make your breakfast anymore.”

Lin Wantang covered her mouth and coughed softly a few times. In previous winters, she rarely caught colds, but she seemed more fragile this year. She had woken up with a headache, and now her throat felt a dry, searing sting.

She likely had a cold.

“Stop putting on an act here.” Wen Zhiqing didn’t even bother to look up, her gaze still fixed on the fur of the kitten’s head. “You’d be better off going out and performing for someone who actually feels sorry for you.”

“Alright, then I’ll go find some cold medicine first.” Lin Wantang no longer bothered to offer the futile explanations she once did. She even followed Wen Zhiqing’s lead and agreed smoothly: “After all, if I’m going to put on a show, I should do it properly.”

“I bought this cold medicine previously, so I should be allowed to take it with me, right?”

Lin Wantang pulled a box of medicine from the first-aid kit. With her back to Wen Zhiqing, she studied the box carefully and confirmed in a soft voice.

It was just an instinctive question. Many years ago, when she still lived in Lin Shen’s house, she had to carefully confirm which things were for her sister’s exclusive use and which things she was allowed to use herself.

But after asking, Lin Wantang realized the question sounded a bit like a deliberate provocation.

However, she didn’t offer a constant stream of apologies and explanations like before. She simply tilted her head to look at Wen Zhiqing. The latter’s face was grim, and a flash of sudden, caught-off-guard shock seemed to pass through her eyes.

“I’m taking it then.”

Wen Zhiqing rarely showed expressions of hurried astonishment. Lin Wantang had no desire to discern if it was an illusion; she no longer had the mental energy to say another word to her.

Cold medicine shouldn’t be taken on an empty stomach. Right now, Lin Wantang just wanted to leave this house that didn’t belong to her as quickly as possible and buy some breakfast on the way to the hospital.

“Fine. But you don’t need to come back tonight either.”

Having waited a long time without receiving an explanation from Lin Wantang, Wen Zhiqing suddenly curled her lips into a smile. Her tone was actually gentle and composed: “The house is mine. I don’t want to see you here again today.”

Lin Wantang nodded slightly, without a hint of surprise.

This had never been her home; she had known that for a long time.

Though in the more distant past, because she could live here with Wen Zhiqing, it had indeed given her the illusion of a home.

Lin Wantang put the medicine in her bag, picked up an umbrella, and pushed the door open without a moment’s pause. She walked straight into the hazy, pearl-white morning light outside.

The door behind her clicked shut with a soft sound. Wen Zhiqing dithered for a moment.

She utterly loathed Lin Wantang’s “gentle” smiles. Over the past three years, she had said countless vicious and ugly things to Lin that she had never said to anyone else. But in this snowy morning, she suddenly realized that it had indeed been a very long time since she had seen Lin Wantang laugh with genuine happiness.

The vivid, bright aura on Lin Wantang was becoming scarcer. It seemed she had indeed won.

The black-and-white fluffball in her arms had fallen asleep. Wen Zhiqing placed it very gently on a sofa cushion, paused for a moment, and walked to the window.

Looking through the glass, Lin Wantang’s back was still tall and straight, but her silhouette seemed much thinner and more fragile. She walked slowly, holding her umbrella, exuding a strange sense of loneliness. The umbrella couldn’t fully block the swirling wind and snow; within moments, the thin figure blurred into a single dot amidst the falling flakes.

Wen Zhiqing watched for a moment, then withdrew her gaze. She turned back calmly, her voice showing no emotion as she casually instructed the cleaning lady: “I don’t want the medicine kit anymore. Just throw it away.”

Lin Wantang held her umbrella and walked until she reached a place where it was easy to catch a taxi. Only when she stopped did she realize her hand was almost frozen stiff.

But Lin Wantang no longer dared to drive. The agonizing pain in her gland could strike at any time; it was like the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head. She couldn’t take that risk.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long. Once the taxi arrived, she took a short nap in the car. The drive wasn’t long, and she reached the hospital shortly.

The roads were slippery from the snow, but the crowd at the hospital didn’t thin despite the harsh weather. The snow in front of the entrance had already been trampled down into dirty, muddy slush.

Lin Wantang walked through the hospital doors step by step. Despite the cold weather, a thin layer of sweat seeped from her palms—a cold sweat that chilled her from her hands to her heart.

Maybe things aren’t that serious, Lin Wantang comforted herself. Maybe it’s just a small issue with the gland; maybe a minor surgery will fix it. She had never been favored by luck before—surely this time would be the exception?

“Ms. Lin, the doctor will explain the results to you.”

When Lin Wantang arrived at the Gland Examination Department, the nurse who had previously been all smiles suddenly turned somber. After a moment, she forced a slightly consoling smile, spoke quickly, and lowered her head.

Lin Wantang stood dazed, gripping the umbrella handle. The snow on the umbrella melted into water, dripping onto the floor and spreading into a dark wet patch at her feet. It took a moment for her to snap out of it and silently lean the folded umbrella against the corner of the wall.

She took a deep breath, slowly pushed open the door to the consultation room, and walked in. The doctor looked at her in silence for a few seconds before pushing an examination report toward her: “Ms. Lin, you have been diagnosed with Pheromone Dysfunctional Atrophy.”

The doctor paused, seemingly weighing his words: “This is an irreversible failure that will eventually lead to the complete collapse of the pheromone system in your body. With current medical technology, it is virtually incurable. The most viable treatment plan currently is a timely gland-removal surgery, followed by conservative treatment. If the post-operative recovery goes well, the newly formed gland will be healthy, and your pheromone rank will not be affected.”

“Of course, you can choose not to have the gland removed, but generally speaking, the survival period in that case is only 1 to 2 years.”

Lin Wantang struggled to keep her body straight, not wanting to appear too pathetic. The doctor’s words drifted past her ears, but they felt as if they were behind a thick layer of glass. It took her a long time to fully process them.

“The risks of gland-removal surgery are very high. Even the top doctors globally only have a 10% success rate,” the doctor sighed. “Please consider it carefully.”

Lin Wantang originally had so many questions. She wanted to ask what caused this disease, and she wanted to ask if there were conservative treatments available if she didn’t have the surgery. But after a moment of silence, she asked: “If I undergo the gland-removal surgery, how much will the total cost be?”

She didn’t want to wait for death. She still wanted to live. Not as someone’s daughter, not as someone’s wife—just to live freely as Lin Wantang.

However, her luck had always been poor. Lin Wantang thought that this 10% success rate was likely just a mirage, an unreachable luxury for someone like her.

But she still wanted to gamble.

If she lost the bet, it would just be an early end to this hopeless existence. But if she won, then she still had a chance to start over.

“After insurance coverage, the cost is approximately 5 million yuan. You need to pay an initial deposit of about 1 million before the surgery, and subsequent payments will be collected based on the actual situation.”

The doctor picked up a black pen and scribbled some calculations. The pen tip paused heavily on the final figure, leaving a clear ink blot: “Tell me your decision within a week. After that, we will finalize the surgical plan and schedule.”

Outside the window, the wind and snow did not cease. Lin Wantang slowly shook her head: “No need. I’ve already made my decision. Just notify me once the surgery date is set.”