Morning in Haicheng arrived with air so humid it felt slightly intoxicated.
As the first ray of sunlight skipped across the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows of Room 2808, Silas Shen was already seated at the edge of the bed. His fingers, long and steady, were meticulously fastening the very top button of his shirt. He had taken the absurd, ambiguous embrace from the night before and locked it deep within a drawer of logic. As far as he was concerned, as long as he didn't mention it, that heart-racing warmth had never existed.
However, when he turned around and saw Hunter Huo stepping out of the dressing room, his usually placid eyes froze for a split second.
This was the first time Silas had seen Hunter in formal wear.
Back in the lab, Hunter always wore simple hoodies or oversized T-shirts, looking like a Golden Retriever ready to bolt into a field at any moment. But now, he had changed into a masterfully tailored, deep navy-blue suit. The cool tone of the fabric suppressed the restless wildness in his aura; the peak lapels accentuated his superior shoulder width, and his narrow waist and long legs appeared exceptionally imposing encased in the suit trousers.
His short blonde hair, usually a bit messy, had been carefully swept back today, revealing a smooth, broad forehead and dark eyes that were as deep as a sunless pool.
"Professor, does this look... alright?" Hunter stood before the full-length mirror, his hands somewhat clumsy as he fumbled with a silk tie of a matching hue.
Because the tie wasn't yet finished, his shirt collar was slightly agape, revealing a hint of his powerful collarbones. He looked at Silas with a gaze filled with the peculiar expectation of a young man—as if he were a pet waiting for his master's praise.
Silas quickly averted his gaze, his voice as flat as still water. "Formal wear is basic etiquette for an academic conference. Let's go."
Only Silas knew that in that fleeting moment, his heart had skipped a beat. This visual impact was far more direct than the embrace through the silk robe the night before.
The conference was held in the hotel's grand multi-function hall.
Massive crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant light across the room, and English-language slides flickered rapidly across the projector screen. As a key invited scholar from China, Silas was seated in the center of the front row. Hunter, in his capacity as an assistant, naturally sat by his side.
Academic reports of this nature were typically dry and high-intensity. Silas had originally worried that Hunter wouldn't be able to sit still; he had even prepared himself for the "puppy" to secretly play on his phone or doze off.
But to his surprise, for three full hours, Hunter didn't so much as glance at his phone. Instead, he listened with extraordinary intensity.
He leaned forward slightly, his long fingers gripping a black fountain pen, occasionally jotting down key terminology in a notebook. Sunlight streamed in from the side windows, carving his sharp profile into something nearly sacred. Silas stole a glance and realized that Hunter's face had lost its usual roguishness, replaced by a level of composure and focus rare for someone his age.
In that moment, Silas suddenly realized: Hunter Huo wasn't just a rich playboy from a powerful Beijing family. He was also a top-tier student at Peking University's School of Life Sciences—one who consistently won scholarships and maintained zero-error precision under high-pressure experiments.
The conference entered the Q&A session.
On stage stood a top expert from the University of Gothenburg, who had just finished sharing the latest progress on "CRISPR-Cas9 Gene Editing in Complex Receptor Stability." This was an extremely cutting-edge and controversial field. Many professors in the audience were whispering to one another, clearly contemplating how to approach the topic.
Just as the hall fell into a brief silence, Silas heard the faint creak of the seat beside him.
He turned in surprise to see Hunter raising his hand with total composure.
"Yes, the gentleman in the blue suit," the expert on stage said with a nod.
Hunter stood up. In that instant, the powerful aura of a top-tier Alpha radiated from him. It didn't feel out of place; rather, it merged perfectly with the solemn academic atmosphere.
He took the microphone from a staff member and spoke in a magnetic, perfectly enunciated London accent:
"Thank you, Professor. Regarding the stability of protein binding you mentioned in Chapter 3..."
Hunter's voice filled the hall through the speakers. He didn't just pinpoint a subtle logical flaw in the expert's model derivation; he also cited three papers published just last week in Nature sub-journals to pose a counter-question.
His English was startlingly fluent, his pace steady, and his emphasis on every technical term was pitch-perfect. More importantly, the question he posed was incredibly tricky yet profoundly professional, striking directly at the core pain point of receptor drug resistance in gene editing.
The expert on stage froze for a second before his expression turned to one of delight. He immediately began a fierce, high-level discussion with the young man.
Faint gasps of admiration began to ripple through the quiet hall.
"Whose student is that? He's so young."
"His reaction time is incredible. I didn't even catch that logical entry point myself."
"He's the assistant Professor Silas Shen brought, right? As expected, a famous teacher produces a brilliant disciple."
Silas sat in his seat, looking up at the high-spirited youth beside him.
From his angle, he could see Hunter's Adam's apple bobbing slightly with excitement and his eyes shining during the academic debate. This was no longer the "puppy" who clung to him for hugs; this was a rising star of science, radiating his own light.
A flash of unprecedented surprise crossed Silas's eyes. Deep within that surprise lay a secret, hidden sense of pride that he hadn't even recognized himself.
As the debate concluded, the expert on stage sighed with genuine admiration. "Wonderful insight, young man. I hope to see your paper soon."
The hall erupted into thunderous applause.
During the mid-session break, several colleagues crowded around. Ostensibly, they were there to exchange pleasantries with Silas, but their eyes kept drifting toward Hunter.
One senior female professor even joked, "Professor Shen, this 'little assistant' of yours is quite something. If he hasn't started his doctorate yet, you must introduce him to me. I happen to have an opening for a talent recruitment program here in Haicheng."
Before Silas could speak, Hunter took a natural step forward, his shoulder subtly shielding Silas.
"Thank you for your kindness, Professor," Hunter replied with a polite but distant smile, his tone carrying an indisputable certainty. "However, I've already decided to stay in Professor Shen's lab for the rest of my life. I'm not going anywhere except where he is."
To the others, it sounded like a declaration of academic loyalty. But to Silas's ears, it felt hotter than any confession of love.
Silas looked away, his heart feeling as though it had been gently nudged by something soft and heavy.
The Haicheng sun grew stronger, casting its light through the high windows and onto their shoulders. Silas felt that it wasn't just the weather that was too hot; even the heavy academic atmosphere seemed to have been led astray by someone.
It had taken on a scent—a sweet, yet dangerous, aroma of oranges.