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Chapter Text

The buzzing ambiance of the Xianzhou Luofu's council chamber was silenced by the grave expressions of the medics and Cloud Knight officers assembled. Jing Yuan sat at the head of the table, his usually relaxed posture replaced by a tense rigidity. The discussion had gone on far too long for his liking.

“General Jing Yuan,” the chief medic, Dr. Yaoqin, began gently but firmly, “The suppressant you’ve relied on for centuries has reached its limit. Prolonged use has disrupted your body's natural balance. The risk of triggering mara through instability grows each passing year. We cannot ignore the signs.”

Jing Yuan exhaled through his nose, his golden eyes narrowing as he surveyed the gathered officials. The words settled over him like a storm cloud, thick and oppressive.

The suppressant was failing.

He had suspected it for a while now—the subtle shifts in his energy, the faint but undeniable tension growing in his body. His instincts, once so easily subdued, had begun to claw their way to the surface.

His fingers drummed against the table, slow and deliberate. “What signs?” he countered smoothly, voice laced with ice. “I feel no different. My discipline and control have never faltered.”

Dr. Yaoqin hesitated but persisted. “Your suppressed state is causing strain. Over time, it’s no longer just about control. It’s your health, your essence as an alpha. If the flow is disrupted much further, the consequences could be irreversible.”

“So you’re suggesting I allow myself to be incapacitated?” His voice was still calm, but the weight behind it sent a shiver down the spines of some of the younger officers. “Surely, you realize the absurdity of what you’re proposing.”

“Jing Yuan.” Fu Xuan finally spoke, her voice sharp yet laced with concern. She leaned forward, violet eyes scrutinizing him with the intensity only the Master Diviner could possess. “Listen to reason. If you wait until it’s too late, the consequences could devastate not just you but the entirety of the Luofu. We cannot afford to have our Arbiter-General—our protector—fall to mara.”

A thick silence followed.

Jing Yuan leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply through his nose. He was not a fool. He understood the science behind it, the logic.

“And your solution?” he finally asked, voice quieter, resigned.

Dr. Yaoqin adjusted her stance, clasping her hands tightly. “A controlled rut. Your body needs to reset, to reattune to its natural rhythm. We can provide a safe environment to ensure minimal disruption.”

The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Controlled. As if he were an experiment in a sterile chamber. But even he knew there was no alternative. The last time he remembered being in rut was....never mind.

Some memories were left buried far deeper than possible.

His sharp gaze swept the room, landing briefly on Fu Xuan. She held his gaze firmly, unwavering, her conviction clear.

“Fine,” he said at last, his voice quiet but resolute. “I’ll comply, but I will not risk my own quarters. The safety of the Luofu comes first. I assume you have a location in mind?”

“The Shackling Prison,” Fu Xuan said immediately. “Deep within, where Hooley was contained. It’s fortified to handle someone of your strength. You’ll be secure, and so will the Luofu.”

Jing Yuan let out a slow, sardonic chuckle, tilting his head. “The prison? How fitting.”

Chapter Text

The Shackling Prison loomed before him, an ominous structure bathed in shadows, its oppressive presence sinking into the very air. The weight of countless souls once confined here lingered like whispers in the wind. A tomb for the uncontrollable. A cage for the forsaken.

Jing Yuan stood at its entrance, his usual ornate armor replaced by simpler garb, though his sheer presence remained undiminished. Even now, even as his body betrayed him, he carried himself as the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu.

Behind him, the group of medics and Cloud Knights kept their distance, their eyes flickering between him and the prison’s reinforced gates. Some masked their unease with professional indifference, while others struggled to hide the tension thrumming beneath their skin. They knew what he was—what he could become.

Dr. Yaoqin stepped forward, fingers clasped together in a tight hold, as if steadying herself before addressing him. “We’ll monitor from the outside,” she explained, her voice as measured as ever, but there was no mistaking the underlying concern. “Once the rut subsides, we will assess your condition before releasing you.”

Jing Yuan nodded, but his mind churned beneath the surface.

A controlled rut. A planned descent into primal chaos.

It was a strange thought, knowing he was about to willingly unravel something he had spent centuries suppressing. The last time he had gone through this, the world had been different. It had been a long time ago, close to five centuries now.

The last time his body had succumbed to this madness, his control had shattered.

The memory clawed at the edges of his mind. The unbearable heat, the sheer force of his instincts overriding every carefully honed discipline. The way he had come undone beneath the moon, his senses overwhelmed, his body demanding more—more—more.

And then there had been him.

The scent of lilies and vanilla, curling in the night air, soft yet grounding. Slender fingers tracing patterns over his fevered skin. A voice, quiet yet unshaken, guiding him through the madness that threatened to consume him. A moment stolen under the stars, hidden on a war-ravaged planet, far from civilization.

Jing Yuan’s jaw tightened. 

The past was a phantom that refused to be exorcised.

With a slow breath, he forced himself back to the present. He moved towards the prison.

Fu Xuan stepped forward, standing at his side as the heavy gates of the Shackling Prison groaned open. Unlike the others, she did not waver beneath his gaze.

“Do not resist it, Jing Yuan,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Allow it to run its course. That’s the only way this will work.”

He let out a slow exhale. “Easier said than done.”

Her lips twitched slightly, a rare moment of levity in the thick tension. “You will manage.”

The gate loomed before him, its ancient steel lined with layers upon layers of reinforcement. Even now, fate-sealing formations shimmered faintly across the metal, etched into place by Fu Xuan’s own hand.

This place had been built to contain monsters.

And now, it was being used to contain him.

Without another word, he stepped inside.

The doors groaned as they slammed shut behind him, the finality of the lock clicking into place like a death knell.

His cell lay deep within the prison, far from any other occupants. Reinforced. Shielded. Utterly solitary.

A perfect cage.

Days passed in relative quiet.

Jing Yuan meditated, keeping his mind honed, his breathing steady. He was no stranger to discipline, to control. He had mastered it for centuries. He could endure this.

And then it began.

At first, it was nothing more than a whisper beneath his skin, a faint hum vibrating through his bones like an untuned string. The tension curled low in his gut, a slow ember igniting into something deeper, something insatiable.

And then—it struck.

A wave of heat. Of hunger. Of raw, unfiltered need.

It slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs, sending him to his knees before he even realized he had fallen. His scent saturated the cell. Amber and honey permeated the walls, heating the space, transforming it into a den of a rutting prime alpha. Intoxicating, commanding and all consuming. 

His breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers clawing at his tunic, desperate to free himself from the suffocating warmth that seeped into his very skin. Too much. Too hot. Too fast.

His golden eyes flared, his vision blurred at the edges as instinct overtook logic.

Lightning arced across his skin, flickering wildly along the prison’s reinforced walls. The scent of ozone thickened in the air, his very presence crackling with unstable energy.

Shit.

The formations were barely holding.

He could feel it—the deep-seated rage of his instincts, clawing its way up, demanding dominance. Demanding claim.

There was no enemy to fight. No battle to wage. But still, his body raged for something—for someone.

Jade eyes.

A soft smile, knowing and unreadable.

Slender, tall form with golden blonde hair cascading in waves of spun gold.

Luocha.

The name surfaced before he could stop it, a whisper that cut through the haze like a blade.

Jing Yuan growled, shaking his head violently. No. No. No.

He had buried this. He had buried him.

But his body and instincts did not care for his denials.

His cock throbbed, aching, heat pooling in his core, his rut demanding an outlet. His mind, fevered and raw, could think of only one thing.

Find. Claim. Breed. Knot.

No, not just any omega.

His omega.

The one who had once borne his scent.

The one who had once carried his child.

Luocha. He needed Luocha.

No.

Jing Yuan let out a snarl, his entire body trembling as he slammed his fists into the stone floor, cracks splitting beneath his weight.

His vision swam, the fire in his veins boiling over, threatening to consume him whole.

He stumbled forward, catching himself against the cold, unyielding stone, his fingers digging into the ground as he fought for a control that was slipping, slipping—slipping.

This was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

By the second day, it was clear that the Shackling Prison could no longer contain him.

Jing Yuan’s rut had reached a peak intensity that overwhelmed the very fortifications meant to restrain him. The formations strained under the sheer weight of his presence, flickering like dying embers against the raw, untempered force of a Prime Alpha in full heat. The air within the cell crackled with erratic bursts of electricity, ozone thickening until it became difficult to breathe.

His control had fractured.

Lightning Lord flickered and lashed against its bindings, unstable and untethered from its master’s will. Every tremor that wracked the great beast of energy sent shockwaves rippling through the Luofu, shaking the very bones of the ship. The prison’s walls moaned under the strain, reverberating with the violent pulses of uncontrolled power. The reinforced barriers, painstakingly crafted for absolute containment, were no longer enough.

In the higher sectors of the Luofu, Cloud Knights scrambled to keep order as disruptions spread like wildfire. Aurumaton units faltered and seized in their movements, their systems destabilized by erratic surges of energy. Starships hovering within the docks flickered in and out of stability, their navigation panels thrown into disarray by the sheer electromagnetic force emanating from the depths of the Shackling Prison.

Across the ship, Fu Xuan’s careful efforts to keep the situation under wraps were unraveling. She stood in the heart of the Divination Commission, her mind racing as she analyzed every possibility, every risk. She had seen this coming. She had predicted it. But knowing and experiencing the full brunt of Jing Yuan’s untethered rut were entirely different matters.

“The situation is worsening.”

Fu Xuan’s voice was clipped, taut with urgency as she stood at the heart of the Divination Commission, her sharp violet eyes scanning the floating monitors with growing unease. The readings were unstable, erratic—a clear indication that the Shackling Prison was losing its battle against the monstrous force confined within.

The monitors flickered, the security feeds distorting under the electromagnetic surges that crackled through the Luofu. Lightning pulsed like a heartbeat, violent and unrestrained, carving jagged scars into the prison walls. The power levels surged past their projected containment limits, and the ancient seals groaned under the strain. They would not hold for much longer.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. It was happening faster than she had foreseen.

She turned sharply toward her aides. “Enact immediate lockdown protocols. Full-scale. No exceptions.”

A ripple of movement spread through the commission. City-wide curfews were issued within minutes. Sections of the Luofu were sealed off in rapid succession as protective measures were implemented. Aurumaton patrols doubled. Cloud Knights deployed at critical junctures. Yet none of it would be enough if he broke free.

Fu Xuan inhaled sharply. She had anticipated this. She had prepared for it. And yet, there was nothing more they could do—except call for aid.

Her fingers danced over the control panel, opening multiple communication channels at once. She had already reached out to the Vidyadhara elders, but even they had refused to involve themselves directly. Jing Yuan’s state was beyond reason—beyond anything a healer could mend. Not even their most gifted medics could approach him safely.

She had also contacted arbiter general Feixiao on the Yaoqing, requesting additional reinforcements. But even the mightiest warriors among the Xianzhou could not subdue a Prime Alpha in rut.

No one could.

No one except—

“We need reinforcements,” she ordered sharply, pivoting toward her aides. “Contact the Astral Express immediately. Request Dan Heng’s presence. Only a Vidyadhara can safely approach him now.”

There was a pause. A brief, fleeting moment of hesitation.

One of her subordinates, face pale with unease, shifted on their feet. “But General Jing Yuan.....”

Fu Xuan’s violet eyes flashed dangerously. “That is irrelevant.” Her tone brooked no argument. “This is about survival, not sentiment.”

Her aide swallowed and nodded before rushing to carry out the order.

She turned back toward the floating map of the Luofu’s internal structure, her brows furrowed as she observed the damage. The disruptions in the Shackling Prison’s energy grid were worsening. The seal-bearing formations flickered in and out of function, and the surveillance within Jing Yuan’s containment chamber had gone completely dark. Even without the monitors, she could feel the primal weight of his presence—a pressure unlike anything she had encountered before.

If this continued unchecked, it wouldn’t be just the prison at risk. The entire Luofu could suffer catastrophic consequences.

Fu Xuan clenched her fists. They were running out of time.

The transmission from the Luofu reached the Astral Express within minutes. Besides everyone, Yukong and Fugue watched with wary anticipation. Both were getting ready to board a ship back to the Xianzhou alliance, after meeting up with Yukong in Penacony. 

Dan Heng stood before the holographic display, his expression carefully neutral as Fu Xuan’s face flickered onto the screen.

There was a tense silence lingering in the air, with worry evident on everyone's face. Jing Yuan had been a steady ally for the astral express whenever they required his help or expertise. They felt indebted to him for all the help he provided during the stellaron disaster on Loufu as well as the incident with Hooley just earlier that system year.

Dan Heng’s voice was even, measured. “You’re sure about this?”

Fu Xuan’s face was a mask of control, but beneath it, the strain was evident. “We have no other choice.”

A beat of silence. Dan Heng understood.

The golden-haired General’s instincts had completely overtaken him, and not even the strongest Cloud Knights could risk approaching him now. The sheer intensity of a Prime Alpha in rut was an overwhelming force, one that could bend even betas and weaker alphas into submission. Omegas would be immediately compromised just by standing near his containment chamber.

Only a Vidyadhara—immune to such biological influences—could get close without consequence.

Dan Heng let out a slow breath. “I’ll come.” His voice was steady, but there was something else beneath it. A weight. A knowledge of what this meant.

Fu Xuan’s gaze sharpened. “I hope you understand the complications this may cause.”

Dan Heng glanced away briefly. He did.

He knew who Jing Yuan would be searching for in his haze. He knew what kind of torment awaited him when the General’s instincts led him to a ghost from his past.

But this was bigger than personal history.

This was about keeping the Luofu from falling apart.

Dan Heng met Fu Xuan’s gaze once more and gave a single, firm nod.

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter Text

By the time Dan Heng arrived, the Shackling Prison was on the verge of collapse.

The air itself was thick, cloying, heavy with an intensity that pressed down like an unseen force, demanding submission. Each breath he took felt heated, oppressive, tinged with the unmistakable scent of ozone and the raw, untempered pheromones saturating the confined space.

The moment Fu Xuan led him through the upper halls, he felt it.

The slow, rhythmic pulses of power—not just energy, but something more primal, more suffocating. Like the deep tremors that preceded an earthquake, the faintest of warnings before the ground split apart. The ship itself felt as though it were holding its breath.

Dan Heng kept his expression neutral, his movements fluid and composed. But inside, his instincts were screaming.

Even before they reached the lower levels, the Cloud Knights escorting them began to falter.

Their steps grew sluggish, uncertain. Hands twitched at their sides, fingers curling inward, as if their bodies were resisting an unseen force. Even the strongest among them—those most experienced in battle—were struggling to stand their ground. The weight of Jing Yuan’s presence alone was unbearable.

Fu Xuan’s pace remained brisk, but Dan Heng could sense the tension in the way her shoulders tensed slightly beneath her robes.

“We don’t have much time.”

She didn’t need to say it—the entire prison was groaning under the strain of an alpha whose control had been shattered.

The deeper they descended, the worse it became.

Each step closer to the containment chamber felt like walking through a thickening storm, one charged with crackling lightning and the suffocating heat of a wildfire.

The reinforced steel doors of the prison creaked ominously, darkened with burnt streaks of energy where lightning had lashed against them. The once-immovable walls shuddered from within, the stone foundation splintering, fracturing, as the force inside tried to break free. Alarms flickered between red and white, the emergency systems struggling to compensate.

The guards came to an abrupt stop.

One collapsed to his knees, his breathing ragged, forehead damp with sweat. Another leaned heavily against the wall, eyes unfocused, his instincts forcing him to retreat.

Dan Heng barely spared them a glance. He had expected this.

This close to the eye of the storm, no one but him could move forward.

Fu Xuan exhaled sharply, her usual poised expression tinged with something just a degree shy of frustration. “This is where we stop,” she murmured. “It’s just you from here.”

Dan Heng nodded once. Then, seamlessly, his form shifted.

Scales shimmered into existence along his skin, his serpentine tail uncoiling lightly behind him, his features sharpening into the ethereal elegance of his Vidyadhara heritage.

Unlike the others, he remained unaffected.

Fu Xuan hesitated. A rare thing.

She looked as if she wanted to say something—a warning, a final caution. A moment’s pause before sending him into the depths of the abyss.

Instead, she simply murmured, “Be careful. He’s… not himself.”

Dan Heng didn’t answer.

He stepped forward.

And the prison doors opened.

Heat slammed into him like a tidal wave.

Inside, the chamber was drenched in gold.

Lightning surged erratically, veins of raw electricity carving through the room in wild, untamed bursts. The very air crackled, charged with an energy that defied control, unstable and ravenous in its intensity.

At the center of it all—

Jing Yuan.

Or what remained of his restraint.

He was a beast shackled by human skin, his golden eyes glowing with unnatural ferocity, his breath ragged, each exhale a barely contained snarl. His entire body was trembling.

Too hot. Too tight. Too much.

The walls of his world were caving in.

His tunic hung open, disheveled, sweat-slick, clinging weakly to a form coiled with unspent tension. The muscles of his arms were taut, shaking, his fingers digging into the stone floor as if trying to ground himself—but there was nothing left to hold onto.

Nothing except the fire consuming him from the inside out.

And then—

His head jerked up.

For a moment, the sheer animalistic haze in his gaze sharpened, his pupils narrowing as his senses latched onto something new.

Someone new.

Dan Heng.

A flicker of recognition—

A breath of something almost human—

Then it was gone.

Dan Heng took a step forward, his voice steady. “Jing Yuan.”

The moment the name left his lips, something inside the General broke.

A snarl ripped from his throat, guttural, unrestrained. His breath hitched, muscles locking up as his entire body convulsed with renewed desperation.

Dan Heng watched him carefully, his expression unreadable. He had seen ruts before. He had never seen one this feral.

Jing Yuan’s hands curled into fists, his claws unsheathing instinctively, his entire frame trembling beneath the unbearable pressure of his need, his instincts, his hunger.

Dan Heng took another measured step forward. “You need help. Let me.”

But whatever flicker of reason had surfaced—

Was drowned in an instant.

Jing Yuan shuddered violently, his breath breaking into something close to a growl, the sound low, raw, aching. His pupils blew wide, his nostrils flaring as he sensed something, something wrong—something missing—

Not right. Not him. Not his.

And then—

He moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

A feral, guttural snarl tore through the chamber as he lunged, the force of his movement splintering the stone beneath his feet.

Dan Heng barely had time to react before Jing Yuan collided into him.

But—he hesitated.

The smallest fraction of restraint—

The briefest flicker of humanity—

That stopped his claws from tearing into Dan Heng’s throat.

Instead, he let out a shattered, ragged sound—

Before shoving past him entirely.

And then—

The cell doors shattered.

The entire prison shook, walls cracking under the force of Jing Yuan’s escape.

Alarms blared.

Fu Xuan’s voice was sharp through the communicator. “He’s heading toward the docking bay! Block all exits!”

Dan Heng barely steadied himself, his breath coming faster as he turned toward the path Jing Yuan had fled.

His fingers curled into a fist.

He knew where he was going.

Dan Heng lifted the communicator, his voice grim.

“He’s not trying to leave the Luofu.”

His chest tightened, something sinking cold in his gut.

“He’s going to-.”

Chapter Text

On the Xianzhou Xuling, Luocha sat in silence, a delicate porcelain cup of steaming tea cradled between his slender fingers. The fragrance of jasmine and oolong curled in the air, weaving into the crisp scent of the tranquil garden stretching behind his quarters. The gentle rustle of wind through cherry blossoms added a whisper of nature’s lullaby, a stark contrast to the turmoil that constantly trailed his footsteps.

The Seer Strategist had yet to summon him. Both he and Jingliu had been led to a secluded community where they were provided temporary quarters—a place between exile and invitation. It was neither a prison nor a home, merely a waystation in the grand design of fate, waiting for its next command.

Luocha’s fingers traced the edge of his teacup, his thoughts as restless as the ripples upon its surface. Life had a strange way of bringing everything full circle. A path he had long abandoned had curved back upon itself, leading him once more to the doorstep of his past.

When he had left that day from the camp, he had vowed—sworn upon every fiber of his being—that he would never again set foot upon the Loufu.

Yet here he was.

The irony was not lost on him. The past had claws, and it never truly let go.

The weight of memory pressed upon his chest, an inexorable tide that dragged him beneath the surface. Unbidden thoughts surged forward—the ghost of a summer’s night, the warmth of a touch he was never meant to have, the whispered promises that had never been spoken aloud. Regret and relief warred within him, tearing at the careful indifference he had tried so hard to cultivate.

There was a time when he had vehemently denied them, when even the thought of remembrance had been a burden too great to bear. To indulge in memory was to entertain self-doubt, guilt, and longing, all woven together in a suffocating tangle. He had walked away, believing that distance could silence the echo of his past mistakes.

But now—

The years had softened his resistance, eroded the walls he had built around himself. Now, the memories came not as a flood, but as a whisper, curling around the edges of his mind like tendrils of mist upon a quiet lake.

For once, there were no voices demanding his attention. No conflicts to mend, no relentless miles to traverse beneath the crushing weight of his mission. The ceaseless march forward had stilled, if only for a moment.

A rare reprieve. A stolen breath of calm.

One that should have brought him peace.

Yet, peace was a fickle, elusive thing.

It hovered just beyond reach, a specter dancing along the edges of his solitude, always lingering but never quite settling. And in that quiet, in the hollow between past and present, Luocha realized—peace had never been his to hold.

Faint tremors rippled through the room, rattling the surface of his tea. The subtle vibrations stirred a whisper of unease in his chest. Slowly, Luocha lowered the cup, his sharp gaze shifting toward the window.

Smoke.

A distant pillar of dark tendrils rose against the Xuling’s artificial sky, an ominous beacon of turmoil. The faint clang of metal, the telltale hiss of discharging energy, and—

The dying flicker of aurumaton optics.

Luocha stepped forward, his robe flowing behind him as he made his way to the small garden outside his quarters. The moment his boots touched the stone path, his stomach dropped.

Shattered aurumatons lay in ruin along the edges of the courtyard, their once-bright cores dimmed to hollow husks. Their metallic bodies had been ripped apart with terrifying precision, as if their very presence had been offensive.

And then—

A golden glow bloomed on the horizon. It was a force that ignited the very air, humming with unchecked power, with command, with something feral and untamed.

Lightning Lord.

Luocha barely had time to inhale before the radiant entity circled his quarters, weaving a protective perimeter that cut off all outside interference. The air grew thick with ozone, the scent of a raging storm coiling through the enclosed space. The crackling energy of confinement, of possession, of an inescapable fate.

His chest tightened.

And then—Jing Yuan appeared.

A golden storm made flesh, his presence roaring into the garden like thunder cloaked in silk. The calm, enigmatic man Luocha had once known was nowhere to be found. In his place stood a Prime Alpha undone by instinct, his tunic soaked and clinging to the powerful frame beneath—muscle carved and trembling, breath labored, golden eyes molten and unseeing.

He was beautiful in his ruin. Terrifying in his need.

Luocha barely had time to react.

Iron-strong hands closed around his shoulders, not violent—but urgent. Jing Yuan’s body moved with desperation, not cruelty, pressing him hard against the cool pavilion wall. The shock of it sent a shiver through Luocha’s spine. The air between them turned electric—too hot, too thick, crackling with energy and something deeper. Something aching. Something that had waited far too long.

“General—” Luocha tried, his voice caught between command and plea.

But the words drowned in the storm.

Jing Yuan didn’t speak. He only inhaled—deep, greedy—burying his face against Luocha’s throat like a man finally allowed to breathe after being underwater for centuries.

Luocha gasped.

That scent.

Amber. Honey. Wild cedar and the heat of lightning still flickering in his wake. It wrapped around him like chains, pressing into every pore, every nerve, every forgotten corner of instinct.

Even after five hundred years, his body knew.

Even now—his body remembered.

“Mine,” Jing Yuan rasped, voice low and ragged, his lips brushing over the place where Luocha’s pulse thundered. “Mate. Omega. Mine.”

Each word struck like a vow—desperate, raw, and unbreakable.

Luocha trembled.

No. Not like this.

“Jing Yuan…” he whispered, pushing lightly at the Alpha’s chest. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

But Jing Yuan was already lost.

Reason had slipped from his fingers long ago. What remained was instinct—pure, frenzied, burning. The body of a man shaped by discipline, now ruled by the ache of longing, the howl of a rut that had waited half a millennium too long to be answered.

Luocha tried to twist away, but the hold tightened.

It wasn’t forceful. It was pleading.

A man drowning, finding shore.

And Luocha was drowning too.

Jing Yuan—his heat, his scent, the sheer gravity of him—was overwhelming. After so long without contact, without an anchor, his own body betrayed him. His scent responded, curling and rising, rich with slick and want.

When Jing Yuan’s lips brushed the curve of his neck, right above the gland they had both sworn never to speak of again, Luocha’s breath caught in his chest. Not from fear.

From recognition.

From memory.

He felt his pussy throb, warm and wet, instinct blooming like a storm cloud in his core.

Jing Yuan’s nose pressed against the skin there, and he shuddered, a guttural sound breaking free from his throat.

"...Luocha."

It wasn’t a growl.

It was a cry.

A cracked, aching thing that broke open something fragile in Luocha’s chest.

He reached up slowly, cupping Jing Yuan’s face between trembling palms. The Alpha’s eyes were wild—pupils blown wide, gaze unfocused—but beneath it burned pain. A wound that had never closed.

“I’m here,” Luocha whispered, voice raw.

And then—he tilted his head.

A silent offering.

A surrender.

A choice.

Jing Yuan shuddered, then collapsed into it.

He buried his face against Luocha’s scent gland, inhaling in deep, shuddering pulls. His hands trembled where they gripped Luocha’s hips, as if even now he didn’t believe the body in his arms was real.

“I missed you,” Jing Yuan breathed between frantic kisses to Luocha’s throat, his words slurred with need. “Your scent… your voice… gods, your heat—fuck.”

Luocha didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His own instincts unfurled like petals under rain, bending toward the only Alpha his body had ever accepted. His slick dripped freely now, soaking through the fabric of his pants, and when he wrapped one leg around Jing Yuan’s waist, grinding down against the unmistakable hardness pressing into him, he whimpered.

“Alpha,” Luocha breathed, half-choked on longing, “more—please.”

Jing Yuan’s mouth found his, desperate and uncoordinated, all teeth and breath and aching want. When Luocha nipped his bottom lip with a soft growl, Jing Yuan rumbled.

“Behave,” he warned, voice fraying at the edges.

The command hit deep, curling heat low in Luocha’s belly. He obeyed instantly, tipping his head back, throat bared again in submission.

That was all it took.

Jing Yuan groaned and fumbled with his trousers, pulling them down with impatient hands. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark, already slick at the tip, and the knot at its base visibly swelling.

Luocha’s mouth watered, but there was no time.

The need to feel him, to be filled, outweighed everything else.

Jing Yuan tore through Luocha’s trousers with his bare hands, shredding the fabric with a snarl. He groaned at the sight before him—Luocha dripping, pink and flushed and begging without a word.

“So wet,” he breathed, reverent, before slipping his fingers between Luocha’s folds.

The Omega cried out, hips bucking.

“Gentler,” he gasped, clutching at Jing Yuan’s shoulders. “Please—”

But the Alpha was already lost in the scent and heat. He slid two fingers in, curling them upward, pressing against the spot that made Luocha’s knees buckle.

“There,” Jing Yuan whispered, voice wrecked. “Right here. You always took me so well…”

“Stop teasing,” Luocha growled, biting his jaw in warning. “If you don’t—”

Jing Yuan surged forward, and with one smooth, hungry thrust, buried his cock deep inside.

Luocha cried out, hands flying to grasp his shoulders as the fullness split him open.

“Fuck,” Jing Yuan choked. “You’re—so tight. Aeons—”

He started to move, hips snapping forward in harsh, desperate strokes. There was no finesse left. Only need.

Luocha clung to him, his back arching, lips parting around moans he couldn’t hold in.

Every thrust struck deep, hitting the place that made stars spark behind his eyes. Sweat slicked their skin, the air thick with scent and steam and want.

“Harder,” Luocha gasped. “Give me everything—don’t hold back—”

Jing Yuan obeyed with a growl, pace punishing, rutting into him like instinct demanded. Luocha sobbed against his neck, pussy clenching around the Alpha’s cock, fluttering with every thrust.

“I need—” Luocha cried, voice breaking. “Need your knot—please, Jing Yuan—Alpha—”

Jing Yuan snarled, his teeth dragging across Luocha’s throat, marking without biting. Yet.

“Say it again.”

“Alpha,” Luocha whimpered, desperate and raw. “Knot me. Claim me. Breed me.”

The words undid them both.

Jing Yuan thrust deeper, rhythm stuttering as he neared the edge. One hand slipped between them, fingers circling Luocha’s clit in frantic strokes.

“Come for me,” he begged. “Now. Come now, baobei—”

Luocha shattered with a cry, his body convulsing, cunt spasming tight around the thick length buried inside him.

Jing Yuan followed with a roar, his knot swelling, locking them together.

Before either could catch their breath, Luocha moved on instinct.

He bit.

Hard.

Fangs sank deep into the gland at Jing Yuan’s throat, and the Alpha howled, his entire body shaking from the force of it.

And then—he bit back.

Claimed in return.

Their bond locked into place with a blinding heat, their souls tangling in a way no force in the universe could undo.

They were bound.

Mated.

Forever entwined.

Chapter Text

Luocha woke to the sensation of warmth, weight, and something impossibly vast pressing against his mind.

For a moment, his consciousness lingered in the hazy aftermath of sleep, his body aching, tender, his scent glands burning with a dull throb. There was a presence—deep, steady, unshakable—intertwined with his own. The realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.

The bond.

His eyes flew open.

Jing Yuan.

Luocha’s breath hitched, the room spinning around him as he processed what had happened.

They had fucked, like wild beasts the entire night. Loucha had been bent over in positions he thought anatomically impossible, and knotted more times than he could count through the course of the night. In the end, they had both collapsed on the bed, in the makeshift nest that Loucha had made for himself when he moved into the quarters.

He was still wrapped in Jing Yuan’s arms, trapped in the warmth of their tangled limbs. Their bare skin pressed together, their scents interwoven so tightly that he could no longer tell where he ended and where Jing Yuan began.

It wasn’t just physical—it was deeper than that. Something tethered him to the man lying beside him, something in his very soul, something permanent.

A shiver ran down his spine.

He had felt it the moment he woke—Jing Yuan’s presence inside his mind. It wasn’t intrusive, nor was it overwhelming, but it was there, nestled in the very fabric of his being. A constant warmth, a steady pulse, the deep rumble of an alpha’s claim settling into the marrow of his bones.

His scent curled around them both, amber and honey twining with lily and vanilla—a completed bond, unbreakable, irrevocable.

And the weight of it crashed down on Luocha all at once.

What have I done?

His breath turned shallow as guilt twisted deep in his chest. This was a mistake. He should have stopped it. Jing Yuan was vulnerable, lost in his rut, and he—

Luocha pressed his palm over his face, his fingers trembling slightly. He had taken advantage of him.

The thought made his stomach lurch.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t how their story was supposed to unfold.

Too much had happened between them. Too much pain, too much loss, too many years apart. They couldn’t just fall back into place as if centuries of distance had never carved a canyon between them.

A soft sigh beside him made his breath hitch.

Jing Yuan stirred, shifting slightly before his golden eyes fluttered open.

Luocha went still. Too still.

Jing Yuan’s gaze took a moment to focus, the golden warmth of his irises still slightly hazy from sleep. And then, something changed.

The moment awareness flooded his expression, his arms tightened around Luocha, his fingers flexing against his bare waist. His eyes, once dulled by exhaustion, sharpened—locking onto Luocha with an intensity that sent a pulse of heat through him.

“You’re awake,” Jing Yuan murmured, his voice hoarse, rough with sleep. “Good.”

Luocha’s throat tightened. He needed to leave. Now.

He tried to shift away, but Jing Yuan didn’t let him go.

“Luocha.” His voice carried weight, a warning. “Don’t.”

Luocha ignored it. He needed distance, needed space, needed to think. He tried again, but the moment he moved, Jing Yuan moved with him.

A growl rumbled in his chest, not aggressive—possessive.

“You’re running from me.”

Luocha stilled. He hated how easily Jing Yuan could see through him.

“I—”

His voice faltered, and that was all it took. Jing Yuan rolled them both over, pressing Luocha back against the bed, caging him beneath his weight.

Golden eyes bore into him, unwavering, piercing through every last barrier he tried to erect.

“You regret it.”

The words were not a question.

Luocha swallowed. “Jing Yuan, I—”

“You think I wasn’t in my right mind,” Jing Yuan interrupted, his voice quiet, but firm. “That I was vulnerable, that I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Luocha turned his face away, unable to meet his gaze. Jing Yuan knew.

A heavy silence stretched between them.

Then—fingers brushed against Luocha’s jaw, tilting his face back toward Jing Yuan.

“I knew exactly what I was doing,” he said, soft, but absolute. “And if you think for one second that this was some mindless rut-induced frenzy, then you don’t know me at all.”

Luocha felt himself tremble.

“Jing Yuan—”

“No.” Jing Yuan leaned closer, his breath warm against Luocha’s lips. “I’ve spent centuries wanting you. Do you understand that?”

Luocha’s heart stuttered.

“This isn’t a mistake.”

Luocha let out a bitter laugh. “You say that now, but what happens later?”

Jing Yuan’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Luocha’s expression hardened. “You loved someone else, Jing Yuan. I was nothing but a fool who thought I could take his place.” His voice trembled, years of buried resentment, pain, and longing spilling out. “That night in the war camp… I let you have me, knowing I was just a substitute for him.”

Jing Yuan’s eyes widened, and for the first time, he looked wounded.

“Luocha—”

“You called out his name,” Luocha continued, his voice nearly breaking. “You weren’t thinking of me then. And now, after all these years, you expect me to believe this bond is real? That it means something to you?”

Jing Yuan inhaled sharply, his grip on Luocha tightening as he pressed their foreheads together. “I was a fool,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I was blind. I won’t deny that I was still tethered to my past, to a love that had already crumbled long before I realized it.”

Luocha squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight the sting of tears. “Then why do this? Why now?”

Jing Yuan cupped his face, forcing him to look at him.

“Because it’s always been you.” His voice was unshakable, a promise woven into every syllable. “It took me too long to see it, but Luocha—I never wanted anyone else the way I wanted you.”

Luocha’s breath hitched, his chest tightening painfully. “And if you regret it?”

“I won’t,” Jing Yuan whispered, his lips ghosting over Luocha’s cheek, his jaw, his temple. “Not in a hundred years. Not in a thousand.”

Tears slipped past Luocha’s lashes, his barriers crumbling one by one.

Jing Yuan held him through it all.

And for the first time in centuries—

Luocha had nowhere left to run.