TPLTMOE - Chapter 14

The people who had been hurrying past Ling Ran suddenly halted, their gazes flickering between him and the retreating figures of Jiang Ronglian and her group.

Wasn’t this little Omega about to marry into the Jiang family’s second branch?

Why was the second branch ignoring him while Jiang Zhiyu of the main family stepped in?

Ling Ran looked up, his vision blurring as his eyes grew unbearably sore.

If no one had offered him shelter, he could have gritted his teeth, pulled himself up from the mud, and trudged down the mountain alone in the rain.

But now that an umbrella shielded him—now that someone had stopped for him—his tears spilled over without warning.

Helpless, he bowed his head again, tears mixing with raindrops as they fell into the cold earth. His slender frame seemed to have taken root there, too weak to stand on his own.

"Zhiyu, why haven’t you gone down yet?"

A deep, aged voice cut through the downpour.

Old Master Yin, seated on a simple palanquin carried by two burly bodyguards, was being escorted down the mountain. A servant walked beside him, holding an umbrella aloft.

The Yin and Jiang families had been close for generations, and even Jiang Zhiyu had to show the elder some respect.

He gave a slight nod. "Uncle Yin."

The old man’s sharp eyes flicked to the shivering Omega curled at Jiang Zhiyu’s feet, and immediately, he sensed the tension in the air.

"That’s Shengyi’s fiancé, isn’t it? I heard there was some trouble with the second branch earlier." His tone was measured, diplomatic. "Today is your grandfather’s memorial. With so many outsiders present, making a scene reflects poorly on everyone. Your father didn’t come to the gravesite due to his health, so I had Chu Chu smooth things over with the second branch. As for this one…"

A clap of thunder drowned out his next words. The rain grew heavier.

Ling Ran shuddered—then froze as a cool, resonant voice spoke above him.

"Just a young one acting out," Jiang Zhiyu said. "No need for you to trouble yourself, Uncle Yin."

The old man’s expression chilled imperceptibly. "Your father and I have matters to discuss. I’ll take my leave."

Only after the palanquin had departed did Ling Ran dare to wipe his tears with a sodden sleeve.

Then came the command, firm and unyielding:

"Get up."

His legs trembled as he struggled to stand.

Drenched and fragile, the Omega stood before the towering Enigma, his soaked clothes clinging to pale skin, emphasizing how pitifully slight he was.

Jiang Zhiyu turned and began descending the mountain. Ling Ran followed obediently, staying close beneath the expansive black umbrella.

Thankfully, the umbrella was large enough that his slender frame took up hardly any space.

Zhao Qin was already waiting by the car at the forest’s edge. The two entered the vehicle in silence.

Only when the door closed did Ling Ran realize how familiar this scene felt.

His clothes were thoroughly drenched, and the wind during their descent had left him shaking uncontrollably.

Zhao Qin, glancing in the rearview mirror, discreetly turned on the heater.

Warm air gradually seeped into Ling Ran’s bones. His shivering eased, and he shot the driver a grateful look.

Zhao Qin smiled back—then froze when he met the icy gaze of a certain pair of phoenix eyes in the mirror.

His scalp prickled. He promptly fixed his eyes on the road and lowered the partition between the front and back seats without a sound.

Ling Ran adjusted his pants, discreetly tugging the hem up to check the suppressor fastened around his delicate ankle.

This thing was expensive. What if the rain had damaged it?

Relief washed over him when the device’s screen lit up, displaying all functions intact.

At least it wasn’t broken.

Then his phone rang.

Worried about disturbing the man beside him, he turned away and answered in a hushed voice.

"Hello… Gege?"

Ling Su’s voice exploded through the car’s silence: "What the hell did you do at the memorial?!"

Ling Ran’s heart lurched.

"The Jiangs just called me, saying you have a hormonal disorder—that you can’t have children?!"

There was no way the man beside him hadn’t heard every word.

Humiliation burned through him. He lowered his voice further, pleading. "It’s not like that, Gege. Let me explain properly when I get home, okay?"

Ling Su, already furious after Jiang Ronglian’s call, wasn’t having it. "You think just because you’re marrying into the Jiangs, you can hide things from your own family? Huh? If Jiang Shengyi’s mother hadn’t told us about that suppressor, we’d still be in the dark!"

Ling Ran bit his lip hard, fighting back tears.

This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to tell them.

In this family that treated Omegas as mere tools for political marriages, no one cared about his illness—only whether he could still bear children for Jiang Shengyi.

Ling Ran parted his lips, about to respond, when a hand suddenly reached toward him.

The fingers were long and elegant, veins faintly visible beneath the skin, radiating both strength and sensuality. With just two fingers, they easily gripped his chin.

Startled, Ling Ran widened his peach-blossom eyes as his face was turned forcefully, meeting a pair of dark, fathomless ones.

The fingers tightened slightly, brushing over the left cheek that had been struck earlier. The pain made his eyes redden instantly.

But with his jaw held firm, he could only gape wordlessly, clutching his phone as he stared at the overwhelmingly dominant man beside him.

Jiang Zhiyu studied him. The vivid, swollen handprint stood out starkly against the Omega’s delicate, porcelain skin, even more pronounced now.

Suddenly, the phone was plucked from Ling Ran’s grip. The hand on his chin tugged him closer, the man’s gaze inscrutable.

On the other end, Ling Su was still shouting, not seeking answers but simply venting his fury on the meek Omega.

Jiang Zhiyu listened for a moment, then spoke:

"He won’t be returning tonight."

The line went dead silent. Then, erupting:

"Who the hell are you?! Why do you have Ling Ran’s phone?!"

The man’s voice was calm. "Jiang Zhiyu."

A sharp inhale. Ling Su’s tone did a complete volte-face:

"P-President Jiang! My deepest apologies—I had no idea you were with Xiao Ran! My words weren’t directed at you, please don’t misunderstand—"

It was the first time Ling Ran had heard his brother sound like this: fawning, obsequious, dripping with sycophancy.

Clueless about the situation, Ling Su cautiously pressed, "President Jiang, could you… let Xiao Ran speak? I’m just worried he’s troubling you—"

Jiang Zhiyu’s eyes remained fixed on the Omega’s teary, dazed gaze.

"I’ll have him sent back tomorrow."

Then he ended the call.

Ling Ran blinked, uncomprehending. Not going home tonight? Then where—?

The car had already stopped on the lawn outside the main hall. Zhao Qin opened the door, umbrella in hand.

Most vehicles were gone, guests having departed directly after the ceremony. With the storm raging, the remaining Jiang family would stay overnight at the ancestral home.

Bypassing the main hall, Jiang Zhiyu had an elderly butler lead Ling Ran through a side path to the inner courtyard.

The Omega followed silently down a dim corridor, stopping at last before a room.

"Mr. Ling, you’ll stay here tonight. If you need anything, I’m Butler Song." The old man smiled kindly.

Ling Ran frowned. "Butler Song… do you know Song Yi?"

The butler’s eyes crinkled. "He’s my son."

Ah—that explained why their smiles were identical.

After delivering fresh clothes and explaining the room’s amenities, Butler Song withdrew.

Alone, Ling Ran surveyed the lavish guest room. Its antique decor mirrored the main hall’s opulence—the kind of wealth that couldn’t be replicated, only inherited.

He removed the suppressor (water-resistant but not steam-proof), showered quickly, then carefully wiped the mud from the device before reattaching it.

Outside his window, tender bamboo shoots bent under the relentless downpour, their rustling oddly soothing.

The carved rosewood bed looked impossibly inviting. Ling Ran collapsed onto it, cocooned in blankets, lulled by the rain. For the first time in ages, his body and mind unwound completely.

Strange—he’d never been here before, yet it felt like sanctuary.

Maybe it was the black umbrella shielding him in the storm.

Or the deep voice that had taken his phone, handled his brother, protected him.

Either way, sleep claimed him swiftly.

A soft knock roused him hours later. The storm still raged, darkness now blanketing the sky.

Butler Song entered with dinner. "Mr. Ling, your meal."

As the butler turned to leave, Ling Ran hesitated. "Butler Song… where is President Jiang—no, Little Uncle? And Shengyi?"

He’d slept the entire afternoon without greeting the family—how rude.

The butler wavered, as if debating whether to mention the heated argument that had erupted in the main hall earlier.

In the end, he only said, "Everyone has retired for the night. But President Jiang insisted you be woken for dinner, so the kitchen prepared this."

Ling Ran thanked him, eyeing the exquisite spread.

After eating, he found himself wide awake. Curled on the bed, he watched the storm through the window.

A slender bamboo shoot, newly sprouted, bowed under the rain’s weight, on the verge of snapping.

Then—whether impulsivity or madness—he grabbed a small umbrella and dashed outside.

Kneeling in the mud, he propped up the fragile plant, murmuring, "Don’t fall, little one. You can endure this."

Lightning split the sky. The deluge became a wall.

As he stood, satisfied with his makeshift support, movement caught his eye.

Two shadowy figures stood entwined beneath a shared umbrella at the bamboo grove’s edge.

His breath hitched.

Who would be out here in this weather?

Another flash illuminated them: Jiang Shengyi and Yin Chu, locked in a desperate embrace.

Ling Ran gasped, icy air flooding his lungs.

Thunder roared. The pair jerked apart.

Yin Chu spun around, panic-stricken—but the path was empty.

Had he imagined it?

For a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw—

Jiang Zhiyu’s silhouette.

Just steps away, concealed by bamboo, the flimsy umbrella now trembled in a far steadier grip.

The Omega’s back was pressed flush against a solid chest.

A muscular arm barred his vision, a cold, rain-damp palm sealing his mouth shut.

<<Chapter List