Gu Xun arrived on campus at 6:03 a.m. wearing a neon-yellow shirt that hurt to look at directly.
Front, in screaming glitter block letters:
CAMPUS DOG – DO NOT PET WITHOUT OMEGA PERMISSION
Back:
I BARK ONLY FOR LU RIN
He carried:
- Two tiny carbon-fibre backpacks that probably cost more than most professors' cars
- One black designer diaper bag stocked with organic snacks, emergency suppressants, and spare underwear printed with little lotuses
- A rolled-up memory-foam dog bed the size of a twin mattress (Lu Rin's exact lab specifications)
- A thermos of 85 °C bitter black tea that he had personally tested with a digital thermometer at 4:47 a.m.
He looked like a luxury Sherpa who had lost a bet with Satan.
Students were already filming before he crossed the main gate.
#CampusDog is trending before the sun is fully up. Perfect.
He found Lecture Hall 3.
Lu Rin was already in the front row, legs crossed, reading a paper journal like the internet had personally offended him. No suppressants today; the entire hall smelled like the way the Arctic would smell if it could hate you.
Gu Xun walked the aisle on his knees so he wouldn't block anyone's view. Phones rose like periscopes.
He stopped beside Lu Rin's desk, set the thermos down with both hands, and whispered, "Good morning, Rin-rin. Tea is there anything else you need carried, thrown away, or set on fire?"
Lu Rin turned a page. Didn't look up.
"Your existence is blocking the overhead light. Move left two centimetres."
Gu Xun scooted exactly two centimetres.
Then Lu Rin reached over, picked up the thermos, and dropped it straight into the trash can beside him without breaking eye contact with his textbook.
"Next time bring it at 83 °C. Your obsession with precision is apparently theoretical."
Gu Xun's ears went red, but the tail that didn't exist started wagging anyway.
"Understood. 83 °C tomorrow."
He stayed on his knees until the professor arrived.
The professor took one look at the 195 cm former CEO kneeling like a penitent golden retriever and decided today was a good day to discuss solvent safety instead of whatever was scheduled.
Lunch break.
Gu Xun sprinted across campus with the dog bed under one arm and the twins riding his shoulders like conquering warlords.
Beiyan had decided the university founder's statue needed a moustache. Permanent marker.
Beiyu had decided the security guard needed to learn submission. Again.
The same guard from yesterday spotted them, took one look at Beiyu's tiny scowl, and immediately dropped into a full kowtow on the grass.
"Welcome back, young masters," he croaked, forehead to the ground.
Beiyu patted the man's bald spot like a benevolent emperor.
Beiyan leaned down from Gu Xun's shoulder and offered the guard a half-eaten lollipop as tribute.
Gu Xun sighed, shifted the dog bed higher, and kept walking.
#CampusGuardHasTwoNewOverlords was already trending.
By 3:00 p.m. the twins were napping in the library's private study room (Gu Xun sitting on the floor outside the door like a very expensive doormat).
Lu Rin exited two hours later, stepped over him without breaking stride, and said a single sentence:
"Tomorrow, 5:00 a.m. My apartment. You will cook congee, fold laundry, and memorise the twins' allergy list. You may sleep in the hallway if you arrive early."
Gu Xun's heart tried to launch itself out of his ribcage and lick Lu Rin's shoes.
"Yes, Rin-rin," he answered, voice cracking like a teenager.
Lu Rin paused, glanced down at the yellow shirt stretched across Gu Xun's stupidly wide chest, and added:
"And burn that shirt. The colour is giving me migraines."
Gu Xun looked wounded. "But you picked the colour."
"I have changed my mind. Dogs should wear black. It hides blood better."
He walked away.
Gu Xun stayed on the floor another thirty seconds, grinning like an absolute idiot.
Day one body count:
- Dignity: deceased
- Stock price of Gu Holdings: still falling
- Heart rate every time Lu Rin spoke: 180 bpm and climbing
He gathered the sleeping twins, the dog bed, the diaper bag, and what was left of his pride, and headed for the campus gate.
Tomorrow he would be up at 4:00 a.m. to practice folding tiny socks into perfect lotus shapes.
The golden retriever had found his leash.
And he was never, ever letting go.
Next morning, 4:55 a.m.
Gu Xun stands outside Lu Rin's penthouse door in a brand-new black T-shirt that reads, in elegant white script:
I AM LU RIN'S
(ask him what I am, I'm not allowed to say)
He is holding a tray of congee, a laundry basket, and the desperate, pathetic hope that today his Omega will look at him for longer than 1.8 seconds.
The grovel continues.