A Heartless Omega Regrets It When I’m Dying - Chapter 21

After Lin Wantang finished speaking, every trace of expression vanished from Wen Zhiqing’s face. She looked at Lin Wantang, her voice ice-cold: “What a coincidence. I feel exactly the same about you.”

Lin Wantang no longer had the strength to respond. She felt her face grow wet—she didn’t know if it was tears or sweat. The painkillers were becoming less effective against the flaring agony in her gland. Feeling her pheromones surging out uncontrollably, she gritted her teeth, bit her lower lip, and pulled out a second dose of medication.

The blood-stained needle fell to the floor. Lin Wantang’s entire body was nearly soaked in cold sweat; she hunched her back, gasping for air, until she finally felt the tidal waves of pain slowly recede. As she picked up the used vial, she realized with a start that the room was overflowing with tangerine pheromones.

The slightly bitter scent of orange in the air grew thicker; what should have been a sweet fragrance was now sour and choking.

Lin Wantang realized the danger almost immediately. She and Wen Zhiqing had 100% pheromone compatibility; the rich tangerine scent filling the bedroom was nothing short of a forced invitation for Wen Zhiqing.

In such a dense atmosphere, Wen Zhiqing would inevitably be dragged into a heat.

Lin Wantang looked up. Sure enough, fine beads of sweat were breaking out on Wen Zhiqing’s forehead. Her cold, sharp gaze was clearly beginning to unfocus, the icy clarity in her eyes being swallowed by something deeper and more primal.

Wen Zhiqing opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to say something, but only a long-suppressed, broken gasp escaped her.

The galbanum pheromones exploded outward, completely entangling with the tangerine scent already in the air. They crashed into each other and fused frantically. The air became saturated with a charming yet dangerous gravity birthed from the fusion of the two scents.

Wen Zhiqing closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling violently, casting small shadows on her pale skin. She sank deep into the soft pillows, her neck arching in a fragile, graceful curve that was beginning to flush a pale red.

The blended pheromones were irresistible to both people in the room. Lin Wantang closed her eyes, her body heating up uncontrollably. She felt a surge of hatred for that 100% compatibility.

If only we didn’t have 100% compatibility, Lin Wantang thought, using her fingers to forcefully wipe the tears from her cheeks. If that were the case, she could break free from the shackles of her instincts and flee—flee from this Wen Zhiqing, who looked like a beautiful lady from a painting under the light, yet was as terrifying as a demon.

Lin Wantang’s fingertips felt numb, and her heart hammered out of control. She felt she was being driven mad by everything here.

She really shouldn’t have married Wen Zhiqing.

Three years ago, when she first entered this bedroom, her heart had been filled with joy. But in just three short years, she had been ground down until she was a different person. Looking back now, it all felt like a distant, cruel joke. She didn’t even know what it was that had made her love so obsessively all these years.

The familiar fever of a rut seeped from her bones, crawling up her spine and spreading to her limbs. Lin Wantang knelt on the floor with her head bowed. A moment later, she felt several equally feverish fingers hook around her wrist.

Unlike Lin Wantang’s long-standing restraint, Wen Zhiqing never suppressed herself during her heat. Having endured until now was already her limit.

She lay flat on her back, her habitually cold eyes misty with heavy desire. Her neatly buttoned sleeves had come loose, revealing a pair of slender, delicate wrists that were startlingly white in the dim light. She reached an arm over the edge of the bed, her fingers tightly gripping Lin Wantang’s wrist to pull her up.

Perhaps because Wen Zhiqing was drawing closer, the galbanum grew even more intense. Lin Wantang allowed herself to be brought to the bed almost numbly, everything in her vision blurring into indistinguishable blocks of color. Warm liquid slid silently from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her hair and leaving cold, wet trails in its wake.

Truthfully, she hadn’t cried in a long time. Even when she was diagnosed with her terminal illness, she hadn’t cried.

Lin Wantang didn’t know why she was crying. She knew she had gained this role through others and lost it because of others; there was nothing worth grieving over.

Perhaps she was just too tired. There seemed to be no positive feedback in her life. Occasionally, fate would toss her a scrap, letting her try to grasp a flickering glimmer of light, but that light always died too fast—like a mirage appearing on the sea, it was only an illusion in the end.

Lin Wantang moved numbly, watching Wen Zhiqing below her sink into desire and let out a satisfied sigh. She felt that everything she was experiencing was absurd to the point of being laughable.

The sour tangerine scent gradually faded, leaving only the cold, thick aroma of galbanum in the air.

Wen Zhiqing’s unfocused eyes slowly regained their center. She could feel warm liquid dripping onto her cheeks and neck. As she finally pulled back from the haze of desire, she realized it wasn’t sweat, but tears.

They were Lin Wantang’s tears.

She froze, unable to think for several seconds.

She had never seen Lin Wantang cry. Seeing her this miserable didn’t bring Wen a sense of total satisfaction; instead, it felt as if her own heart was being crumpled.

Wen Zhiqing had never experienced this kind of suffocating emotion. Instinctively, she reached out her hand to wipe away Lin Wantang’s tears, but ultimately pulled it back to her side.

This is all Lin Wantang’s own doing, Wen thought. This might just be another tactic to gain sympathy—it wasn’t hard for an actress to cry or laugh on command.

How ridiculous. She had actually wanted to wipe away those tears. Her heart was even experiencing a very strange throb because of them.

“Get out.”

Having reached her “conclusion,” a surge of anger rose in Wen Zhiqing’s chest. Her voice was colder than before, laced with obvious disgust: “You’re just a tool to me. Did you really think you were worthy, Lin Wantang?”

Lin Wantang stopped moving. Her tears were still falling, but her eyes were hollow, reflecting no light and holding no emotion.

She didn’t speak, nor did she wipe her tears. She silently stepped off the bed and left the bedroom without a moment’s pause. She closed the door behind her, never looking back at Wen Zhiqing once.

As she watched Lin Wantang leave, a sudden, unfamiliar sense of panic surged in Wen Zhiqing’s heart.

Many things tonight hadn’t gone according to her plan. Her intention was to show Lin Wantang that relying on Qi Yishu was a bad move, because with just a flick of her finger, she could easily erase all of Qi Yishu’s efforts.

She was simply using her own way to make Lin Wantang see reality. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Besides, it was just a small supporting role. She had intended to set up a whole production for Lin Wantang to be the lead later.

Wen Zhiqing remained lying on her back. The bed still held the messy traces of their encounter, but the other person’s body heat was dissipating rapidly. She suddenly felt a chill in the air tonight.

She slowly closed her eyes, but it took a long time to fall asleep.

Her sleep was restless, and she had a rare dream. She dreamed of Lin Wantang in university, her eyes full of spirit and a bright smile on her lips. Wen dithered for a moment. But in the dream, when Lin Wantang saw her, she seemed frightened; she turned and walked away quickly.

Wen Zhiqing stood there, watching Lin Wantang drift further away. Though she felt nothing in her heart, her body in the dream chased after her uncontrollably.

She watched Lin Wantang’s back as she passed through the long tree-lined avenue, walked out the school gate, and suddenly stepped into a heavy, mid-winter snowfall. Snow quickly covered Lin’s shoulders, and her silhouette grew thinner and paler against the vast white, appearing as if it would vanish the next second.

Finally, Lin Wantang entered a room.

It was a room Wen Zhiqing had never seen—startlingly white in every direction. The walls, the sheets, the curtains, even the light outside the window, were the same temperatureless, cold white.

Wen Zhiqing didn’t want to care where Lin Wantang had gone, but her body in the dream chased until she was exhausted. In the end, she was still one step behind.

She saw Lin Wantang walk to the window and push it open. The cold wind howled in, carrying flying snow and blowing Lin Wantang’s thin clothes and black hair.

Lin Wantang never looked back. Like a bird finally escaped from a cage, she leaped downward without hesitation.

Her figure was quickly swallowed by the swirling snow, leaving only the white curtains fluttering in the cold wind.

Wen Zhiqing woke up with a start. A suffocating, dull pain radiated from her chest. She propped herself up, gasping for breath. A long, long time passed before she finally, slowly turned her head to look beside her.

The other side of the bed was empty. Lin Wantang wasn’t there.