Winter at Beijing University always arrived overnight, blanketing Ginkgo Avenue.
Three months was enough time for the once-dripping green fan-shaped leaves to gather a heavy coat of crushed gold. It was also long enough for Silas Shen to complete an "adventure" inside that laboratory—now filled with the scent of oranges and fir—that was capable of overturning conventional Alpha-Omega concepts.
The heating inside the laboratory was cranked up high, and a thin layer of condensation misted the glass windows, completely shutting out the clamor of the outside world. Silas sat alone before the master computer, the neon fluorescence of the blue screen washing over his cool profile. The deep pupils behind his lenses stared unblinkingly at the final set of simulation curves that had just finished running.
His long fingers rested on the black mouse, the tips slightly blanched from his subconscious pressure.
On the screen, three different colored curves extended across a complex coordinate system in a nearly parallel fashion.
Those were his core research data points: the control group consisted of Beta-Omega couples like the Lins, who had paired naturally without the shackles of pheromones; the experimental group, however, was himself and Hunter Huo—an Alpha and an Omega possessing a top-tier compatibility percentage who, over the past ninety days, had artificially severed all biological induction through physical isolation and high-strength autonomous blockers.
The results of the data were clear to the point of being brutal, yet tender enough to bring tears to one's eyes.
Across the three dimensions of emotional connection strength, long-term stability, and the hardest metric to quantify—"subjective well-being"—there was absolutely no statistically significant difference between the two datasets.
This meant that even when stripped of the instinctual behavior governed by genes and glands, love could still grow wildly within the crevices of the soul in its purest, most resilient form.
"It's a success."
A low voice laced with a smile resonated from behind.
At some unknown point, Hunter had already padded over quietly. Today, he wore a softly textured, beige-gray knit sweater, stripping away a fraction of his court-side aggressiveness and replacing it with the gentle tractability characteristic of family. Extending his hand, he naturally rested it on the back of Silas's chair. He leaned down, bringing his head close to the crook of Silas's neck as their eyes fell upon those beautiful curves together.
"Professor, your hypothesis has been proven. That 99% compatibility percentage really isn't the admission ticket to love."
Silas didn't speak, his breathing drawing out somewhat long in this instant.
He stared at the cold data on the screen, but his mind played out countless trivial fragments like a film rewinding. He remembered many years ago, when he had just entered the research institute, how his excessively striking Omega appearance and aloof temperament had drawn sharp, malicious rumors questioning if he had "climbed the ranks using his looks." He remembered that thunderstorm night in Haicheng, where the youth—battered and bruised—stubbornly blocked the path ahead of him, growling like a young wolf.
And he recalled Lin's wedding, and the fine, warm smile lines around the corner of that ordinary Beta groom's eyes as he looked at his bride—lines that had nothing to do with pheromones.
The emotions he had tried so hard to suppress with rationality and strip away through experiments over the long years were finally granted the most justifiable, grand absolution under the witness of science.
"It wasn't a solo achievement."
Silas finally spoke, his voice carrying a long-absent, delicate tremor. He scrolled the mouse downward through the dense documentation, finally letting the cursor halt right over the name that followed his—the one already etched deep into his heart.
"Hunter Huo, look. Your name is on it too."
Hunter lowered his head.
Within that exceptionally solemn authorship column on the computer screen—the one representing the pinnacle of academic validation—his name sat snugly right behind Silas's:
[Corresponding Author: Silas Shen; First Assistant Researcher: Hunter Huo]
In that exact split second, Hunter felt the organ named "love" inside his chest cavity thud heavily.
He thought back to that bright, sunny afternoon several months ago, when he had taken that unformed project proposal and written "A Lifetime" on it like a rogue and a saint all at once.
Back then, he had simply been driven by a hot-blooded desire to bind himself and Silas together. He had never dared to dream that this permanently rigorous, even somewhat impossibly detached Professor Shen would truly take that absurd, confession-like promise and apply an everlasting official seal using this extraordinarily formal, highly academic method.
This was status. It was a covenant of the soul that made Hunter feel far more grounded than any marriage certificate or temporary marking ever could.
"Professor..." Hunter called out in a low murmur, his arm subconsciously wrapping around Silas's shoulder, bringing with it a wave of warm orange fragrance.
"This is only the first dataset."
As if sensing the youth's excitement, Silas lifted his hand with immense restraint and closed the laptop. The moment the screen went dark, the laboratory was left with nothing but the golden evening glow reflecting from outside the window.
He stood up, his waist somewhat stiff from prolonged sitting, but Hunter was quick to support him. Silas looked at the handsome, even somewhat flamboyant face before him, his tone returning to its habitual composure: "There is still a very long road ahead. Long-term sample tracking, the dynamic equilibrium of neurotransmitters... all of these require time to grind through."
"I know."
Hunter followed behind him like an inseparable, large loyal dog. He watched Silas roll up his lab coat sleeves to organize the test tubes in a slow, methodical manner, the smile at the corner of his own mouth impossible to suppress.
"But Professor Shen, you forgot—what did we write for the research duration of this project?" Hunter tilted his head, the setting sun making his short blonde hair look as though it were glowing. "It's 'A Lifetime.' So, take it slow, I'm not in a hurry. We have all the time in the world to turn every single experimental data point into our daily life."
Silas's hands organizing the test tubes paused marginally.
He turned his head, looking out the window.
The ginkgo leaves at Beijing University were turning golden one by one, twirling as they fell in the wind. This time last year, he had still been that solitary scholar aging alone amidst the scent of fir. But now, a searing shade of orange had entered his world, refusing to fade away.
"A lifetime, huh..."
Silas repeated the words in a low murmur. A profoundly shallow smile rippled across his eyes—like the first melt of winter snow, leaking an enchanting sweetness.