After Transmigrating into an ABO World with My Nemesis (BL) - Chapter 11

Jiang Zhou closed his eyes, then opened them. Somehow, he found himself sitting in a taxi.

His head was heavy, his body was unusually hot, and his breathing felt labored and stifled.

Driven by instinct, he fumbled for the window button, but his vision was blurred and his hands lacked strength. He couldn’t find the switch for the life of him.

An arm wrapped around his waist, pulling the restless Jiang Zhou back into the seat.

Dizzily, Jiang Zhou turned his head to look.

He didn’t see the person clearly; the one holding him had leaned down, breathing warm, moist air directly into his ear. It made Jiang Zhou’s ear itch and burn.

Jiang Zhou reached up to scratch it, but the person caught his restless hand with a hint of helplessness and whispered, “Don’t move around.”

A familiar voice.

Jiang Zhou squinted to identify it. Finally, he recognized his “arch-nemesis of many years” with whom he had transmigrated into this parallel world.

Jiang Zhou was held firmly in his embrace, his entire body slumped against the other.

It wasn’t that Cheng Bing wanted to do this—it was that if he didn’t hold Jiang Zhou up, the guy would immediately turn into a puddle of soft noodles and slide right off the seat.

Jiang Zhou wanted to struggle, but he had no strength. His hands were like dough and his head rested powerlessly against Cheng Bing’s shoulder. He could only ask in a soft, limp voice, “…What happened to me?”

“Pheromone spike,” Cheng Bing said, his lips pressed thin. “We won’t know the specifics until we get a check-up at the hospital.”

Pheromone… spike?

Jiang Zhou’s muddled brain was slow; it took two seconds to process the meaning. So, the “Omega” everyone was talking about on the field… was him?

Cheng Bing saw him frown, the corners of his mouth drooping unhappily.

Driven by an unknown impulse, Cheng Bing reached out and pinched Jiang Zhou’s face. Using two fingers on either side of his cheek, he squeezed until the soft flesh slightly bulged out.

Jiang Zhou grew even more annoyed. His brows knit tightly as he glared at Cheng Bing, but since he lacked the strength to push him away, he had to endure it. He snapped, “What?”

He thought he sounded fierce, but in reality, his eyes were flushed red and hazy with moisture. His damp bangs clung to his forehead, making him look completely non-threatening.

Cheng Bing said, “You look unhappy.”

“Who’s happy when they’re sick?” Jiang Zhou said weakly.

“It’s not because of that.”

Jiang Zhou: “…”

Cheng Bing always had a sharp perception of people. He could always see what others were hiding or suppressing and point it out with a directness that could seem cold.

Jiang Zhou usually found this trait annoying. But this time, Cheng Bing’s voice was gentle, lacking its usual edge.

Perhaps because his body was in pain, Jiang Zhou felt more vulnerable. His lip curled downward, and his voice sounded muffled: “I want to go home.”

He wanted to go back to the original world. He didn’t want to be an Omega.

Jiang Zhou respected every gender—even if he didn’t fully understand the ABO world, he respected Alphas, Betas, and Omegas. He just felt it was… troublesome.

Thinking this, he said it out loud with a trace of grievance: “This world… why is it so troublesome?”

He hated becoming so high-maintenance.

Jiang Zhou was usually self-sufficient and didn’t need much comfort; having spoken his mind, he closed his eyes to “play dead.”

After a while, he felt a very light, gentle pat on his head.

Jiang Zhou opened his eyes dizzily and met Cheng Bing’s dark gaze.

Two lonely souls, huddling together in this bizarre world. Cheng Bing pressed his hand lightly over Jiang Zhou’s head and whispered, “Don’t be afraid.”

At the hospital, Jiang Zhou was given a soothing regulator to inhale. His body didn’t feel as feverish, but he still felt a stifling discomfort deep inside.

However, sniffing Cheng Bing’s pheromones made him feel much better. Without even realizing it, Jiang Zhou began to lean on Cheng Bing, sticking to him like glue.

Two hours later, the results came in: Jiang Zhou had a sudden case of Pheromone Disorder.

Upon learning that Jiang Zhou hadn’t been taking his meds as prescribed, the doctor gave him a thorough scolding. Jiang Zhou practically buried his head in his knees. He felt bad for not taking care of himself.

“However, in your case…” The elderly doctor peered through his glasses at the report.

There are two people from whom you never want to hear that phrase: a fortune teller and a doctor.

Jiang Zhou grew tense. He swallowed hard and asked, “What… what’s wrong with me?”

Seeing the doctor’s solemn expression, Jiang Zhou’s heart tightened. No way. Am I going to die in this world before I even find a way home?

Jiang Zhou asked tentatively, “Am I… at death’s door?”

The old doctor chuckled. “Not quite.”

His gaze shifted back and forth between Jiang Zhou and Cheng Bing.

Jiang Zhou was sitting on the exam chair, and Cheng Bing was standing right beside him—very, very close. Close enough that their fingers would occasionally brush against each other. Their body heat and scents merged silently.

It was awkward, but because Jiang Zhou was so physically uncomfortable and desperately needed the pheromones, he chose to play dumb and ignore the strangeness. He even forced himself to ignore the doctor’s scrutinizing look.

“If you don’t want to frequently suffer from Pheromone Disorder and have it develop into a chronic condition, it’s best if you exchange pheromones with him daily. You’ll need to maintain this for at least half a year,” the doctor said, looking at Cheng Bing. “Same goes for you, young man.”

Jiang Zhou blanked. “Wh-what does that mean?”

Since Jiang Zhou had arrived in a bad state but acted like a cat on catnip around the Alpha, the doctor had sent Cheng Bing for a test as well.

Sure enough, their compatibility was a staggering 99%. However, they both had differentiated very late—less than three months ago—meaning their pheromones were extremely unstable.

Furthermore, their pheromone grades were very high. Usually, the higher the grade, the more demanding the Alpha and Omega are for a specific match. They often become “Pheromone-Bound.”

Given their complex situation, they had become bound patients. They needed each other’s pheromones just to get through Ruts and Heats.

“Your disorder isn’t just because you missed your meds,” the doctor continued. “The primary cause is your unstable pheromones and the lack of timely exchange with your Alpha.”

Jiang Zhou asked cautiously, “Then… how do we ‘exchange’ pheromones?”

The doctor didn’t even look up. “Young man, did you not pay attention in high school biology?”

Jiang Zhou: “…”

I’m not from this world! How was I supposed to know ABO biology?

He had a bad feeling. Given the “intense” setting of this world—Heats, Ruts, kissing, hugging, exchanging fluids… Exchanging pheromones… it couldn’t be that, could it?

Sure enough, the doctor spoke: “The simplest and most efficient way is to sleep together and complete a permanent mark.”

Jiang Zhou: “?”

What kind of wild talk is this!

A bolt of lightning struck Jiang Zhou, nearly turning his petrified self into a pile of ash. Is this allowed? Is this even a conversation for my ears?

Jiang Zhou wanted to explode, but in a serious hospital in front of a stern doctor, he couldn’t. He could only turn crimson and stammer, “Isn’t… isn’t there a more… ‘harmonious’ way?”

Is this something pure college students should be hearing?!

The doctor adjusted his glasses. “Of course there is; that’s just the most efficient way. You can simply scent each other, but the more intimate the act, the more effectively you stabilize your pheromones. You can choose the method yourselves. Just come back for regular check-ups.”

He then turned to Cheng Bing. “Don’t be careless either. Your reports show your pheromones are fluctuating too. If you go too long without an Omega’s soothing, you’ll fall into disorder soon as well.”

Cheng Bing nodded. “Understood. Thank you.”

Jiang Zhou: “…”

Understood what? How do you understand? I don’t understand at all!

Jiang Zhou turned to glare at him. Cheng Bing noticed and raised an eyebrow back.

Jiang Zhou: “…”

Fine. We’ll talk about this back at school.

By the time they left the hospital, it was around 7:00 PM. The sky was a blend of fiery orange, fantasy blue, and purple. A cool evening breeze blew by.

Still feeling unwell, Jiang Zhou shivered. Cheng Bing noticed him rubbing his arms for warmth and silently stepped in front of him to block the wind.

Feeling down, Jiang Zhou walked behind him, lightly bumping his head against Cheng Bing’s back. “Cheng-y Bing, Cheng-y Bing, Cheng-y Bing…”

Cheng Bing, his ears ringing from the chanting, turned around. His dark brows were low as he asked, “What is it?”

Jiang Zhou drawled in a low, muffled voice, “Cheng-y Bing… think of a way to get us home.”

As he spoke, he kept bumping his head against the taller boy’s back. The force wasn’t heavy; it was like a child sulking after being upset.

Cheng Bing frowned at the thought. Actually, Jiang Zhou was someone who knew how to act cute (sajiao); he was sweet-talking and could charm anyone from an 80-year-old lady to a 3-year-old kid.

He could be charming to anyone—except Cheng Bing. Usually, Jiang Zhou turned into a blowfish the moment he saw him. But today, because he was hurting and uneasy, his guard had failed.

Cheng Bing felt a tingly itch in his heart. He labeled it as “discomfort.”

Cheng Bing raised his hand and pressed it against Jiang Zhou’s forehead, stopping the “suicide head-butts.” “There is no way,” he said softly.

His palm held Jiang Zhou’s forehead; soft strands of hair tickled his skin.

Jiang Zhou looked up at him. From this angle, his eyes looked exceptionally large and bright, shimmering with a trace of moisture. He looked incredibly innocent.

But soon, that innocence turned to piteous frustration. “Aren’t you supposed to be omnipotent?” he whispered.

“No one is omnipotent,” Cheng Bing answered.

Jiang Zhou muttered, “Then why did you used to be so resistant to people getting close to you?” Acting like you could handle everything alone without anyone else.

Cheng Bing fell silent.

Jiang Zhou lifted his eyelids to peek at him, catching Cheng Bing’s quiet, downward gaze. It was like a pool of still water reflecting him. Caught peeking, Jiang Zhou quickly looked away.

He looked down at their overlapping shadows on the ground. This was wrong; their relationship wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But Jiang Zhou was too distressed to care about what their relationship “should” be. He reached out and grabbed a corner of Cheng Bing’s shirt, like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood.

His fingers gripped the fabric so hard his knuckles turned white. There was a sense of desperate, near-terminal struggle in that grip.

“Cheng Bing,” his voice rose in the night wind, sounding small and lost. “Can we really go back?”

When they arrived, Cheng Bing had sprayed him with blockers, but after hours, the effect had faded. He could faintly smell Jiang Zhou’s scent again. Pheromones reflect the owner’s mood—the peach candy scent now carried a hint of bitterness.

Cheng Bing’s hand moved as if to reach out, then paused, as if he’d realized what he was about to do. But after a moment of hesitation, he rested his hand lightly on Jiang Zhou’s back. He didn’t stroke or pat; he just held him there.

The evening was muggy, but Cheng Bing’s palm was even hotter. That heat spread through Jiang Zhou’s back, dispelling the chill.

Jiang Zhou looked up at him again.

“We can,” Cheng Bing said, looking into his eyes. He said it flatly, but with a tone of absolute certainty. It felt almost like… a comforting tenderness.

This was rare for Cheng Bing, who usually carried a sharp, cold indifference.

Jiang Zhou stared at him for a long time, trying to see if he was lying. Cheng Bing’s dark eyes reflected Jiang Zhou’s face without blinking.

He spoke softly: “Jiang Zhou, let’s move in together.”