At noon the programme team temporarily paused the livestream so the family could rest. The main camera went dark, and the staff confirmed that no cameras were active in the private bedroom area before leaving. Shen Qingyu walked into the bedroom and closed the door. The moment it shut, the smile on his face faded. He stood there for a while, his back to the room, one hand still resting on the door handle.

Lu Jingheng entered behind him and did not speak immediately. After four years of marriage he knew when Shen Qingyu needed words and when he needed quiet, so he waited, and the silence between them was the familiar kind.

After a few moments, Shen Qingyu said, "They're starting to ask."

"About the past?"

"Mm." He laughed softly, but the sound was faint. "Funny, isn't it? I waited so many years for someone to ask what I actually did wrong. Now that they're asking, I still feel—" He stopped.

Lu Jingheng stepped closer.

"Disgusted," Shen Qingyu said.

The word was soft. Almost calm. But Lu Jingheng's eyes darkened.

Shen Qingyu's fingers tightened on the door handle. "Back then, no one wanted evidence. They only needed a story. Shen Jianing was gentle, Xie Linchuan was affectionate, and I was the one with a bad temper — so naturally I was wrong." Lu Jingheng reached out, then stopped before touching him. "Can I hold you?"

Shen Qingyu's shoulders paused. Then he let go of the door handle. "Come here."

Lu Jingheng's arm wrapped around his waist from behind — not trapping him, only holding him steadily, chest pressed against Shen Qingyu's back, breath warm near the side of his neck. The cold cedar scent of his pheromones spread slowly, restrained and careful, patient in a way that felt like a question waiting to be answered. Shen Qingyu closed his eyes, and his own omega pheromones — usually controlled so tightly that almost no one could sense them — loosened by a thread, a faint sweetness touching the air.

Lu Jingheng lowered his head and kissed the side of his neck.

"Lu Jingheng."

"Mm."

"Don't pity me."

"I don't." His voice was low. "I'm angry."

Shen Qingyu opened his eyes.

"I'm angry they hurt you," Lu Jingheng said, pressing his lips closer to the sensitive skin at the back of his neck but still not touching the gland. "I'm angry they made you think being hurt was something you had to explain."

Shen Qingyu's throat tightened. For a moment he could not speak, so he turned in Lu Jingheng's arms instead and caught his collar. Lu Jingheng looked down at him, and the corners of Shen Qingyu's eyes were faintly red — that tiny trace of colour against his cold beauty like snow stained with sunset, somehow more unbearable than tears would have been.

"Then comfort me," he said.

Lu Jingheng's gaze changed. Not rough, not careless, but the restraint in it thinned almost instantly. "How?"

Shen Qingyu smiled. "President Lu, do I have to teach you everything?"

Lu Jingheng lowered his head and kissed him. This kiss was nothing like the one in the morning. That one had been brief, stolen between breakfast and children's voices, barely there before it was interrupted. This one had nowhere to hide. Shen Qingyu's back pressed against the bedroom door, and Lu Jingheng's hand came up to protect the back of his head before the impact could land too hard, while his other hand settled at Shen Qingyu's waist and tightened through the thin fabric.

The kiss deepened. Cedar and snow filled Shen Qingyu's breath as he tilted his head and pulled Lu Jingheng closer, fingers sliding from his collar to the back of his neck. Lu Jingheng's body was too warm, too solid, too present — and the whole world had spent years trying to convince Shen Qingyu he was unwanted, but Lu Jingheng touched him like he was something precious enough to make a powerful man lose composure. Shen Qingyu loved that. Hated it, too. Loved it most when he hated it.

Lu Jingheng's lips moved from his mouth to his jaw, then to the side of his neck.

Shen Qingyu's fingers tightened. "Not there," he whispered.

Lu Jingheng stopped immediately. Shen Qingyu breathed once, then turned his face slightly, exposing the pale curve of his nape.

"Now you can."

Lu Jingheng's eyes went dark. He bent and kissed the gland at the back of Shen Qingyu's neck — not heavily, but Shen Qingyu shivered anyway, his pheromones breaking loose for a second, soft and sweet, instantly wrapped by Lu Jingheng's colder scent.

"Qingyu," Lu Jingheng said, his voice rougher than before.

Shen Qingyu laughed breathlessly. "You're asking again?"

"I want to hear you say it."

Shen Qingyu looked at him for a long moment. Then he pulled Lu Jingheng down by the collar and whispered against his lips, "I want you."

That was enough. Lu Jingheng lifted him, and Shen Qingyu's legs tightened around his waist, arms around his neck, their kiss breaking only long enough for breath before Lu Jingheng carried him toward the bed. The room filled with the sound of uneven breathing, the rustle of fabric, the low murmur of names spoken too close to be heard by anyone else. Lu Jingheng was powerful enough to overwhelm, but every movement still left Shen Qingyu room to choose — every pause asked, every kiss waited — and every time, Shen Qingyu answered by pulling him closer.

Outside, the world was still arguing over whether Shen Qingyu deserved to be believed. Inside, Lu Jingheng kissed the doubt from his mouth, pressed warmth into his cold hands, and held him as though the answer had never been uncertain.

The afternoon light had shifted slowly across the curtains by the time the room quieted. Shen Qingyu lay beneath the blanket wearing one of Lu Jingheng's shirts, his hair damp at the ends. Lu Jingheng sat beside him with a glass of warm water and a small bottle of pheromone stabiliser placed on the bedside table.

Shen Qingyu opened one eye. "You're looking at me like I'm a patient."

"Your pheromones fluctuated," Lu Jingheng said, touching the side of his face.

"Because of whom?"

A pause. "Me," Lu Jingheng said seriously.

Shen Qingyu laughed softly, his voice still slightly hoarse. Lu Jingheng handed him the water, and he drank half of it before leaning back against the pillow. Neither of them spoke for a while. The old ache in his chest had not vanished completely — pain did not disappear just because someone held you, and four years of rumours, betrayal, and family neglect could not be kissed away in one afternoon — but it had loosened. That was enough. Lu Jingheng sat beside him with one hand still covering his wrist, his thumb resting over Shen Qingyu's pulse as though confirming he was truly there.

"The livestream resumes in an hour," Shen Qingyu said.

"Mm."

"You should change."

Lu Jingheng looked down at his wrinkled shirt. Shen Qingyu's eyes curved faintly. "President Lu, if you appear like this, the audience will know exactly what happened."

"We are married," Lu Jingheng said, his expression entirely calm.

Shen Qingyu had no way to refute that. Lu Jingheng leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'll change. You rest for ten more minutes."

Shen Qingyu closed his eyes. After a while he said, "Lu Jingheng."

"Mm?"

"When they start asking about the past — don't interfere too early." Lu Jingheng's hand paused. Shen Qingyu opened his eyes and held his gaze. "I want to answer it myself."

The instinct Lu Jingheng fought in that moment was visible even in his stillness — to stand in front of Shen Qingyu, to block every blade, to make every person who had ever spoken his name carelessly pay before they could draw breath. But Shen Qingyu had never been someone who wanted to be hidden behind another person's body. He wanted to walk out. He wanted to be seen.

Lu Jingheng lowered his head and kissed Shen Qingyu's wrist. "Alright."

Shen Qingyu's gaze softened.

"But if it hurts too much," Lu Jingheng added, "I will still interfere."

"Bossy."

"Yes."

"Low EQ."

"I know."

"Annoying."

"But you like me," Lu Jingheng said, with complete seriousness. "Xiao Heng provided evidence."

Shen Qingyu stared at him. Then he pulled the blanket over his face. "Get out and change your shirt."

Lu Jingheng stood — and then, before leaving, bent down, drew the blanket slightly lower, and kissed Shen Qingyu once more on the corner of his lips. Gentle, brief, and so familiar it barely registered as a decision.

When the livestream resumed an hour later, viewers noticed two things immediately. First, Shen Qingyu looked slightly lazier than before, his hair loosely tied back, his lips a little redder, his expression colder than ever. Second, Lu Jingheng had changed into a new shirt.

The bullet comments were silent for two seconds.

【Am I allowed to ask why President Lu changed clothes?】

【No.】

【But we all know.】

【We know nothing. This is a healthy family show.】

【Shen Qingyu looks… very good.】

【Lu Jingheng also looks very satisfied.】

【Stop! The children are here!】

【Exactly, be respectful. But also, ahhhhhhhhh.】

Shen Qingyu glanced at the monitor and then looked away with an expressionless face. Lu Jingheng, who had no intention of explaining anything, calmly placed a plate of cut fruit in front of him. Then Xiao Nian ran over and climbed onto the sofa.

"Dad, are you not sad now?"

The bullet comments slowed. Shen Qingyu looked down at his son's clean, worried eyes, and then at Xiao Heng, who had come to stand beside him holding a small notebook.

"Brother said Dad looked unhappy before rest time," Xiao Heng reported. "I reviewed the situation and agree."

Shen Qingyu was silent for a moment. Then he reached out and touched both their heads. "I'm not sad now."

Xiao Nian relaxed visibly. Xiao Heng observed him for two measured seconds. "Truth probability is higher than before."

Shen Qingyu: "…"

Lu Jingheng settled beside him and said, "Correct."

Shen Qingyu looked at the three Lu family members arranged in front of him — one large, two small, all equally serious — and felt the sudden, helpless urge to laugh. So he did. Not loudly, not dramatically, just a short soft sound that almost dissolved into the afternoon light before it fully formed.

But the livestream caught it. The viewers caught it. And for the first time, many of them realised something had shifted in their understanding — not dramatically, not all at once, but in the way a long-held assumption quietly loses its footing. Shen Qingyu did not look like a vicious omega. He looked like someone who had been tired for a very long time, and who had built, despite everything, a home where he could finally laugh.