Archive of Our Own

Ever since that unexpected encounter at that fantastical theme park in Country V—when he saw that small figure holding Gao Tu’s hand—Shen Wenlang’s life philosophy had shifted from “efficiency above all” to “shameless persistence.”

At a speed that would make anyone’s eyes pop, he became Gao Tu’s neighbor across the hall.

At this moment, he was leaning against his own doorframe, staring at the closed wooden door diagonally across from his—a door decorated with hand-cut paper bat decorations. The air was thick with the sweet scent of pumpkin pie baking next door, and also, well, a whiff of burnt icing drifting from the room behind him—

The evidence of his umpteenth failed attempt at baking Halloween cookies for Lele.

Knock, knock, knock.

He finally raised his hand and knocked on that door.

The door opened. It was Gao Tu. He was wearing an apron, his hands dusted with flour, apparently in the middle of making dinner. When he saw Shen Wenlang, there was no look of surprise on his face, only a faint trace of resignation in his eyes. He stepped aside to let him in. “Come in. Lele’s in the living room.”

This was more or less the most “friendly” version of Gao Tu since their reunion—not pushing him away, but stopping there. An invisible line lay between them.

Shen Wenlang walked into the living room, and his gaze immediately fell on the small figure sitting on the carpet, earnestly drawing a jack-o’-lantern design. That was his son, Gao Lele. The child had eyebrows and eyes strikingly similar to his own, but his expression carried Gao Tu’s characteristic quiet stubbornness.

“Lele,” Shen Wenlang tried to make his voice sound as gentle and non-threatening as possible. He held up the box of cookies—ugly as sin, but made with top-tier ingredients—his latest batch of “failures.” “Ba… Uncle Shen made you some cookies.”

Lele looked up. Those clear eyes, so much like Gao Tu’s, swept over Shen Wenlang and the cookie box in his hands. His little mouth pressed into a thin line. Then he looked back down and continued drawing, as if Shen Wenlang were nothing more than irrelevant air.

“…”

A wave of unprecedented frustration washed over Shen Wenlang. In the business world, he was unstoppable. But at this moment, before a three-year-old child, he was utterly defeated.

Gao Tu’s voice came from the kitchen, tinged with weary diplomacy: “He’s been really into drawing lately. He’s preparing for the Trick-or-Treat event next week. Don’t take it personally.”

How could Shen Wenlang take it personally? He only felt his heart being squeezed by an invisible hand. He knew—Gao Tu had given birth to and raised Lele alone in a foreign country, enduring hardships Shen Wenlang could only begin to imagine. In Lele’s heart, this “Uncle Shen” who had appeared out of nowhere meant nothing compared to Gao Tu.

He set down the cookie box and crouched beside Lele, searching for a way in. “The jack-o’-lantern you drew is really special. Can you tell Uncle what kind of candy you want? Uncle can—”

“I want Daddy to be happy,” Lele said without looking up, his voice clear as a bell, yet each word landed like a pebble in the still lake of Shen Wenlang’s heart, sending ripples through everything. “Daddy was always so tired during the holidays before.”

The child’s simple words hit Shen Wenlang exactly where it hurt most. All those years he had been absent, Gao Tu had shouldered every ounce of “tired” on his own.

Shen Wenlang took a deep breath, forcing down the lump in his throat. He looked at Lele with utter seriousness. “Okay. Then Uncle will work with you to give Daddy the happiest, least tiring Halloween ever. Deal?”

Lele finally looked up again, studying him with appraising eyes, as if judging whether these words could be trusted. At last, without changing expression, he looked back down and muttered under his breath:

“We’ll see how you do.”

Shen Wenlang: “…”

Well. At least that was a response that wasn’t a death sentence?

Shen Wenlang returned to his own cold apartment across the hall. The burnt cookies went into the trash. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching other families’ children playing in the garden below, but his mind was stuck on loop with Lele’s words—“Daddy was always so tired”—and the memory of that perpetual hint of exhaustion in Gao Tu’s eyes.

He dialed Secretary-General Qin’s number. His tone was the same cold, commanding voice he used in boardrooms, but the content was something entirely different:

“One. Find the best pediatric nutritionist and health specialist in Country V—someone with experience in children with weak constitutions, a history of premature birth, and managing information disorders. I want a detailed dietary and immune-boosting plan. Fast, and discreet.”

“Two. Acquire a top-tier local artisan candy workshop. Make sure the ingredients are absolutely safe. The flavor… should appeal to children.”

“Three. Find out which community and school Halloween events are the biggest, safest, and… what it would take for a child to be the most special one there.”

He wasn’t just going to give Lele candy. He was going to put an entire candy kingdom in front of his son.

Still, Shen Wenlang wasn’t blind to Gao Tu’s fear.

In those first moments after their reunion, the flash of near-panic in Gao Tu’s eyes—there and gone in an instant—had lodged itself like a thorn in Shen Wenlang’s heart. At first, he didn’t understand what Gao Tu was so afraid of. Then Hua Yong spelled it out for him, blunt as always.

Gao Tu was terrified that Shen Wenlang—the sole heir to the Shen family in Country P, the man in control of the HS Group—would use his power to take away the child that meant everything to him.

Shen Wenlang remembered the way Gao Tu had instinctively stepped in front of Lele, that thin but taut body braced for a fight. The image had carved a wound straight through his chest. All his arrogance, all his obsession—crumbled in that instant.

He hadn’t argued. He hadn’t demanded. In a voice so humble it barely sounded like his own, he had said: “Gao Tu, don’t be afraid. I just… want to see you. I’m not going to take anything away. I swear.”

He didn’t choose confrontation. Instead, he chose the clumsiest, most honest path he knew—to become their neighbor, to weave himself into the fabric of their lives, and to prove with time and action that what he wanted wasn’t to “take” but to “join.”

Shen Wenlang’s scheming had long since moved beyond simple material generosity. It had become a quiet, total infiltration.

He had quietly acquired a local artisan candy workshop known for its quality, commissioning enough premium allergen-free sweets to supply Lele’s entire kindergarten class—just to ensure that one portion could reach his son without risk. He had also, through channels no one would trace, bought a stake in Gao Tu’s company, becoming the new boss—a boss with a mysterious interest in traditional Chinese medicine. A conveniently timed “employee health initiative” brought in a nationally renowned TCM specialist visiting Country V for academic exchange. An all-staff checkup was arranged. Naturally, Gao Tu was included. A carefully disguised path toward better health for him and his son had been laid.

Gao Tu wasn’t stupid.

From the “coincidental” company perks to the occasional new Band-Aids and tiny cuts on Shen Wenlang’s hands—so out of place on a man of his standing—he saw through it all. Day by day, the fear born of power imbalance began to be replaced by something more complicated.

A reluctant, wary, quietly aching sense of being moved.

His initial terror—shaking, defensive—slowly softened. He stopped flinching when Shen Wenlang appeared. He allowed Shen Wenlang to walk with him to pick Lele up from kindergarten. Sometimes, when urgent work called, he even trusted Shen Wenlang to stay with Lele at the playground while he stepped away.

The turning point came on an ordinary evening.

Gao Tu had stepped aside to take a work call. In that brief window, the older kids in the neighborhood—the ones who followed the little blond ringleader—cornered Lele in the sandpit where he was building a castle alone.

“Look at that little Oriental shrimp with no daddy!”

“Your daddy doesn’t want you, does he?”

Malicious taunts like these were almost routine for a child as precocious as Lele.

From a distance, Shen Wenlang’s heart seized. A dark, shameful part of him even hoped—hoped Lele would look at him, would ask for help.

But Lele only pressed his lips together, his long lashes trembling slightly. Then, as if he hadn’t heard anything, he went back to packing sand harder against his castle, building a hard shell out of silence, locking his hurt and anger inside.

In that moment, every ounce of patience Shen Wenlang had drained away.

He strode over, his tall frame slicing through the evening light, casting a shadow of pure intimidation. He didn’t even need to raise his voice. He just fixed his cold gaze on the little ringleader and asked, in flawless, icy local language:

“Who did you say has no father?”

The sheer force of an Alpha at the top of the hierarchy—a man accustomed to power, now blazing with protective fury—froze the children mid-taunt. Their faces went pale. They stammered, then scattered.

Shen Wenlang ignored them. He turned back, his ferocious aura melting away the instant his eyes landed on the small figure in the sandpit. He crouched down, bringing himself to Lele’s eye level, and offered a smile—warm, a little clumsy, an effort so earnest it almost hurt. Then, carefully, he reached out.

“Lele,” he said, his voice so gentle it was almost a whisper, afraid of startling something fragile. “Let’s go find Dad. And then… then let’s go get ice cream. Okay?”

The little boy in the sandpit paused. He looked up, those eyes so like Gao Tu’s, and regarded Shen Wenlang in silence for a few seconds. In that gaze, there was lingering hurt, curiosity, appraisal… and a faint, barely perceptible flicker of safety. The feeling of being protected.

Then, just as Shen Wenlang was about to suffocate under the weight of that silence, Lele set down his little shovel. With hands covered in sand, slowly, tentatively, he reached out his small arms and returned the embrace.

That was the first time.

Shen Wenlang held his son—this soft, milk-scented little body—as if he were the most precious treasure in the world. In that moment, the HS Group meant nothing. The Shen family of Country P meant nothing. His nose burned. All his scheming, all his clumsy efforts—every bit of it was repaid in that silent hug, more than he had ever dared to hope.

The Halloween atmosphere grew thicker by the day.

Shen Wenlang sponsored a small Halloween carnival in the community square near home, exclusive to Lele’s kindergarten. Word spread through the parents’ group, and the children were thrilled—every kid could come for free and receive a beautifully packaged box of exquisite artisan candy.

On the day itself, Shen Wenlang knocked on Gao Tu’s door. In his arms were several meticulously chosen Halloween costumes, from a cool Iron Man to a mysterious wizard—whatever the hottest trends were for little boys these days. He also brought several jack-o’-lanterns. Their carving was… well, let’s say “abstract.” The lines were crooked, but the effort behind them was unmistakable.

Gao Tu’s gaze swept over the expensive costumes and landed on the still-prominent Band-Aids wrapped around Shen Wenlang’s fingers. He knew, without being told, that those pumpkins were the cause of those wounds. He could picture it: this man who had never done such manual labor in his life, who commanded boardrooms with a word, crouched over a pumpkin with a carving knife, fumbling with comical yet dead-serious determination.

He looked at Lele, who was trying hard to keep a straight face, but whose eyes were already glued to the Iron Man costume, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself.

Gao Tu let out a small, quiet sigh.

All the fear, the resentment, the hurt—they seemed to dissolve, bit by bit, under the weight of Shen Wenlang’s relentless, clumsy efforts, and under the barely suppressed hope shining in Lele’s eyes.

He raised his own gaze to meet Shen Wenlang’s anxious, expectant look. And finally, he reached out and took the hunter’s costume that had been set aside for him.

A wordless signal.

A tacit admission.

Not just to the carnival, but to Shen Wenlang himself: a welcome, at last, into the world that had, until now, belonged only to Gao Tu and his son.

Holding Lele’s hand—the little boy now transformed into an Iron Man, his face flushed with excitement—Gao Tu moved through the small carnival Shen Wenlang had set up. Jack-o’-lanterns and streamers were everywhere, children’s laughter rising and falling in waves.

At some point, Gao Tu realized Shen Wenlang had disappeared.

But soon his attention was caught by a figure in a bulky, furry wolf costume. The “wolf” was clowning around with a little Iron Man. Every time Lele struck a pose like he was firing a repulsor blast, the wolf would spin, let out an exaggerated “Aroooo!” and collapse “dramatically,” rolling on the ground, earning peals of delighted laughter from Lele that cut through all the carnival noise.

Gao Tu stopped walking and simply watched.

He watched the wolf, completely unconcerned about the expensive costume getting covered in grass and dirt, fall again and again, just to wring one more bright laugh out of Lele. Something soft and tender knocked against his rib cage. He had never imagined that Shen Wenlang—the man who dominated every room he entered, who looked down on almost everyone—would one day make himself look this ridiculous, this utterly sincere, just for a child’s smile.

Seeing Lele laugh with such pure joy, the last of Gao Tu’s bitterness over the hardships of the past seemed to ease. Was it true, then—that blood was thicker than water?

Finally, worried Lele might be getting too tired, and suspecting the person inside the costume might be about to pass out, Gao Tu stepped forward and gently stopped Lele before he could launch another “attack.”

“Lele, take a break,” he said softly. “Why don’t you go play ring toss with the other kids?”

Lele looked reluctant but nodded obediently and ran off.

Gao Tu turned to the wolf, who had gone still. He reached out and helped lift the heavy headpiece.

Underneath was Shen Wenlang, hair plastered to his forehead, face flushed, breathing a little hard. Sweat-damp strands stuck to his skin. He looked a mess. But his eyes, fixed on Gao Tu, were incandescent.

Gao Tu’s heart did something complicated. He pulled out a tissue and handed it over, his tone carrying a teasing warmth he hadn’t quite meant to show:

“Exhausted? The old Shen Wenlang would have said, ‘I don’t see the point of places like this. What a hassle.’”

Shen Wenlang didn’t take the tissue immediately. Instead, he looked deep into Gao Tu’s eyes, hearing the self-deprecating question beneath the words.

He raised his hand—still wearing the fuzzy wolf paw—and clumsily, gently, wrapped it around Gao Tu’s wrist, where the tissue still lay.

“Gao Tu,” he said, his voice still a little breathless from all the playing, but each word was steady and clear. “I didn’t do all this just for Lele.”

He paused, his gaze locking onto Gao Tu’s, refusing to let him look away.

“I did it more for you.”

Gao Tu’s heart missed a beat.

“I didn’t use to like most Omegas,” Shen Wenlang said, without a hint of shame about his former self. “And I thought kids were a pain.” His tone shifted, growing impossibly earnest. “But when that Omega is you, and when that child is Lele—the one you risked everything to bring into this world—”

His voice dropped, soft as a vow.

“I can say without hesitation: I love you both. More than anything in this world.”

The evening breeze carried the sweet scent of candy and distant children’s laughter, but to Gao Tu, everything else had fallen away. Only Shen Wenlang’s words remained, each one landing squarely against his heart.

“I was such an idiot before,” Shen Wenlang said, regret thick in his voice. “I took you for granted. I was so caught up in my stupid Alpha pride that I wouldn’t even admit how jealous I was—jealous of those ‘Omega partners’ you made up, the ones who never existed.”

He gave a bitter laugh, his grip on Gao Tu’s wrist tightening.

“If I had figured out my own feelings sooner… maybe I would have pulled a Hua Yong ages ago. Shameless. Ruthless. Whatever it took to keep you by my side.” He looked at Gao Tu with blazing honesty. “Even if you had someone else back then. Even if it meant being the other man. I’d take it.”

Gao Tu was stunned.

He hadn’t expected words like these. They weren’t polished or poetic. They were clumsy, stubborn, pure Shen Wenlang. And they moved him more than any elegant declaration ever could. He looked at this man—sweaty, disheveled, eyes burning—and at the little kingdom of light and sweetness he had built for them.

All the hesitation, all the uncertainty—it melted in the warmth of that clumsy, blazing confession.

He gently freed his wrist from Shen Wenlang’s grip. As Shen Wenlang’s eyes flickered with dismay, Gao Tu threaded his own fingers through the fuzzy wolf paw still wrapped around his hand.

“Come on,” Gao Tu said, turning his face away to hide the heat rising to his cheeks, his voice barely audible but clear as a bell to Shen Wenlang. “Mr. Wolf. It’s time to take your Iron Man son… and us… home.”

Shen Wenlang’s eyes lit up like suns. A tidal wave of joy crashed over him. He clasped Gao Tu’s hand in return.

“Yes. Home.”

The bathroom still held the lingering steam and milky scent of child’s body wash. Lele, soft in his pajamas, had been tucked into bed by Gao Tu, his small face rosy from the warmth of his bath.

Gao Tu was reading him a bedtime story in a low, gentle voice when Lele suddenly blinked and whispered, “Daddy… can Uncle Shen come in?”

Gao Tu paused, then smiled, warmth spreading through him. He got up, walked to the living room, and nodded at the man sitting there—still fidgeting, still in his shirt damp with sweat from the costume, the wolf suit discarded. “Lele’s asking for you.”

Shen Wenlang practically launched himself off the sofa, moving to the bedroom with an urgency that was nonetheless careful, as if afraid to shatter something fragile.

He stood awkwardly by the bed, his tall frame both out of place and yet strangely natural in the cozy children’s room.

Lele looked up at him, small fingers twisting in the blanket. A shy blush crept onto his cheeks. “Uncle Shen… thank you. I had a really good time tonight.” He paused, gathering his courage. Then, so quietly it was almost a breath, he added: “Daddy… Father… good night.”

“Father.”

The word hit Shen Wenlang like the most powerful magic. A rush of heat, fierce and sweet, surged from his heart through his entire body, stinging his eyes, burning his throat, trembling in his fingertips. He opened his mouth but found his voice had been stolen by the overwhelming tide of emotion. All he could do was nod, hard and fast, as if that alone could answer the gift he had just been given.

Gao Tu watched the man standing there—the one who looked like he might burst into tears or scream with joy or both—and shook his head with a soft smile. He bent down, pressed a light kiss to Lele’s forehead, and tucked the blanket more securely around him.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

When he straightened, he took Shen Wenlang’s wrist—the man still frozen in place, dazed with happiness—and gently led him out, pulling the door quietly shut behind them.

The moment they were back in the living room, away from Lele’s presence, the wild joy that Shen Wenlang had been holding back surged to the surface, sharpened by the instinct of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. He turned and took Gao Tu’s hand, his fingers still trembling slightly, but his gaze already burning with intent.

“Gao Tu,” he said, his voice low, roughened, a laugh threading through it, “did you hear that? Lele called me ‘Father.’”

His damp shirt clung to his chest, outlining the muscles beneath—a kind of disheveled, raw energy. Gao Tu, still in the fitted hunter costume he had worn to the carnival, with its leather straps accentuating his lean shoulders, stood facing him. Wolf and hunter, eye to eye.

Shen Wenlang bent down, picked up the fuzzy wolf-ear headband from the sofa, and placed it back on his head. His eyes, predatory and bright, gleamed beneath the soft gray ears—a disarming mix of playfulness and unguarded desire.

He stepped forward, caging Gao Tu in his presence.

“As a reward for winning our son’s approval…” He lowered his head, his warm breath ghosting over Gao Tu’s lips, carrying the sweetness of candy and the faint, familiar iris scent of Shen Wenlang himself. “…don’t I get to claim my treat?”

Gao Tu didn’t step back. He looked up, studying the wolf ears, the eyes reflecting lamplight and his own image. He could feel Shen Wenlang’s heart beating, just as unsteady as his own.

He didn’t answer.

But his silence was answer enough.

Shen Wenlang’s throat worked. Instead of kissing him outright, he moved with deliberate slowness, brushing the corner of his lips against Gao Tu’s—a question, a beginning.

The overture to a long, enchanted Halloween night.

Moonlight slipped through the window, stretching their tangled shadows long and far.

That night, perhaps no one but Lele would sleep.

Gao Tu’s silent consent was the last spark.

Shen Wenlang swept him up, lifting him with undeniable care, and carried him across the hall to his own apartment. The lock clicked behind them, sealing off the quiet warmth of Gao Tu and Lele’s home.

Unlike Gao Tu’s cozy space, Shen Wenlang’s apartment was spacious, luxurious, but carried a chill of disuse. The autumn coolness still lingered in the air.

They didn’t make it past the bedroom.

Shen Wenlang laid Gao Tu down on the dark silk sheets, then knelt beside the bed and kissed him—deeply, hungrily, nothing like the gentle question in the living room. This was conquest, reclamation. Gao Tu made a sound against his mouth but didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head, parted his lips, let him in.

The Alpha’s iris scent, no longer held back, flooded the room—cold stems and heady blooms. Gao Tu’s own scent, the bitter calm of clary sage, rose to meet it, intertwining in the cool air until they were tangled together, breathing as one.

Shen Wenlang’s fingers, still burning, traced over the leather straps of the hunter costume, the fabric beneath, each touch raising goosebumps on Gao Tu’s skin. Button by button, he undressed him, reverent as if unwrapping something precious.

When the last piece of clothing fell away, Gao Tu shivered against the cold air. Shen Wenlang covered him immediately, warming him with his own body, his kisses, his touch.

Heat built.

Shen Wenlang’s lips left Gao Tu’s mouth, trailing down like he was rediscovering a treasure. He kissed trembling eyelids, caught the wetness at the corners, followed the pulse in his neck to the hollow of his collarbone, and lower, until he took a nipple into his mouth.

Gao Tu gasped, his fingers threading into Shen Wenlang’s hair—still mussed from the wolf ears—not sure if he wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Shen Wenlang took his time. He learned this body again with lips and hands, mapping every line, leaving his mark on every inch. He worshipped, as if trying to make up for three lost years in a single night.

The foreplay stretched, sweet torture.

When Shen Wenlang’s hand finally reached the place where Gao Tu was most vulnerable, Gao Tu’s body went taut. They had been celibate for three years. Their last time, in that hotel room, had been driven by instinct, heat, chaos. This was different. This was the first time they would truly know each other.

“Don’t be afraid,” Shen Wenlang breathed against Gao Tu’s forehead. “We’ll go slow.”

He slicked his fingers with lubricant, circling the entrance, pressing gently, then—slowly—pushed one finger inside.

Gao Tu inhaled sharply, frowning at the intrusion.

“Relax.” Shen Wenlang kissed him again, distracting him as his finger moved, rotating, spreading. He felt the tight heat give way, soften, begin to welcome him.

One finger. Two. He stretched him with painstaking patience until Gao Tu’s body was pliant enough to receive him.

He reached for the bedside drawer where a fresh box of condoms sat—just opened. Gao Tu’s eyes followed the movement, a flush rising to his cheeks. “Shen, you came… prepared.”

Shen Wenlang’s eyes darkened. He tore one open, sheathed himself with practiced efficiency. “Your health matters more than anything.”

He positioned himself at Gao Tu’s entrance, pressed forward, and sank in with one steady thrust.

Gao Tu cried out—a sound of pain and pleasure, of being filled after so long.

They were connected. The iris and clary sage scents ignited, merging into something heady, overwhelming.

Shen Wenlang didn’t move immediately. He lowered himself, looked into Gao Tu’s dazed, half-lidded eyes, felt the tight clench and pulse around him. The satisfaction, the love, nearly drowned him.

“Gao Tu,” he whispered, and began to move.

Slow at first. Deep strokes that went all the way in, pulled nearly all the way out, building friction, building heat. Gao Tu bit his lip to muffle his sounds, but soon the pleasure built too high, too fast, and he couldn’t hold back. His legs wrapped around Shen Wenlang’s waist, wordlessly asking for more.

Shen Wenlang answered.

The pace quickened, the force increased. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, mingled with wetness and harsh breathing.

They shifted positions.

Face to face at first, so Shen Wenlang could watch Gao Tu’s expressions, kiss his sweat-damp forehead, his nose, his parted lips.

Then Shen Wenlang turned him, had him on his knees, and took him from behind. Deeper that way. He could see himself disappearing between the swell of Gao Tu’s ass, could grip the slender, flexing waist and drive harder. Gao Tu pressed his face into the pillow, muffling his moans, his back arching, fingers clutching the sheets.

When Gao Tu, breathless and flushed, pushed Shen Wenlang onto his back and climbed on top of him, something in Shen Wenlang’s control snapped.

Gao Tu looked down at him—the man who usually controlled everything, now wild-eyed and desperate—and lowered himself inch by inch, taking Shen Wenlang back inside. He tilted his head back, throat exposed like a swan taking flight, and began to move. Slow, torturous, in command.

It broke Shen Wenlang completely.

With a growl, he flipped them over, pinned Gao Tu beneath him, and fucked him with the force of a storm, fast and relentless.

When Gao Tu came, he clenched around Shen Wenlang so tight it pushed him over the edge. Shen Wenlang buried himself deep, holding Gao Tu against him as they shuddered together.

He stayed inside as they caught their breath, still connected. He kissed the sweat at Gao Tu’s temples, his cheeks, his swollen lips.

Moonlight slipped through the curtains, silvering their tangled limbs. The air was thick with iris and clary sage, entwined, unmistakable.

Shen Wenlang held Gao Tu as he drifted toward sleep, exhaustion pulling him under. Against his ear, Shen Wenlang hummed the melody of that song—soft, an anchor, a promise.

Stay loyal… Stay here… Stay true…

My love remains. I still love you.

The night was long. But their story had finally turned to a new page.

THE END