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canon what canon. another snippet from my nameless old man yaoi au focusing on swl's problematic dads. this is my canon divergent take starting from the night gao tu climbed out of a bathroom window to escape the dinner with swl and gao ming. this is what could have happened when he got home..

previous [x]

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You used my trust. Plotted and deceived to fall pregnant with my child, only to ask for ten million when it’s time to abort them? Ten years, Gao Tu. You’ve been by my side for ten years! Is this what it was all for?!

The words wouldn’t stop echoing. They ricocheted through Gao Tu’s head like metal doors slamming shut one after another — the sound of borrowed time finally running out.

For ten years he waited for the other shoe to drop, stolen one moment and then another. He could see clearly now, that he'd been lying to himself more than anyone else, indulging in the delusion that as long as Shen Wenlang didn't know, he could continue to stand under his light.

This was his fault.

Gao Tu, is this true?

Shen Wenlang’s gaze had held him fast — disbelief layered over anger, and beneath both, the unmistakable pain of betrayal. That was what gutted Gao Tu the most. To know he had hurt Shen Wenlang. To be looked at like that by the one person he had spent a decade quietly orbiting and loving from the edges. Shen Wenlang, who let no one close, who had only ever trusted him—and now saw him as just another opportunist, a liar who used scent and pheromone to twist affection into leverage. A filthy omega with filthy omega tricks, like Shen Wenlang always despised. Gao Tu felt something give way inside, a quiet breaking that didn’t make a sound.

You're a thief, Gao Tu. The weakest, darkest part of himself laughed now. And coward. How could anyone forgive this kind of lie? Today was always coming for you. You knew it.

This was just your reckoning.

His fingers fumbled with the key, slick with sweat. The metal scraped against the lock, slipped, scraped again. He pressed his shoulder to the doorframe just to keep from shaking. The corridor was empty but felt watched — the kind of silence that carried weight, as if someone had just stepped out of sight.

Behind him, the city of Jianghu buzzed in muted chaos. Sirens somewhere far below. The metallic thrum of the elevated trains. A wet gust of air carried the smell of rain and exhaust up through the narrow stairwell.

Gao Tu swallowed, forced a breath, tried again.

The key caught this time. A click.

He told himself he’d made it this far. Just a few more minutes and they’d be gone — him, Gao Qing, and the fragile heartbeat inside him. He could think later. Break later. Cry later.

The lock turned.

He pushed the door open.

There was light spilling from the living room, pale and steady.

“xiao-Qing?” he called softly. No answer. The word seemed to die halfway down the hall. She couldn’t be asleep — not after that call. His sister was young, yes, but sharp. She would have heard the urgency in his voice, the warning he hadn’t had the emotional bandwidth in the moment to say aloud.

Without thinking, his hand went to his lower belly.

His heart thudded once, hard, then again, faster. Something deep and wordless in him pulled tight — a small, instinctive recoil that told him to stop, to turn around, to run.

But there was no road behind him anymore. Not in any sense that mattered.

He moved forward, slow and steady, the air stretched thin around him. The narrow vestibule funneled him toward the light, until he turned a corner and stepped into the rented living room.

Click.

He froze.

Gao Tu might have grown up poor, but he wasn’t naïve. He’d seen enough films, enough late-night news reports, to know the language of that sound. The short, click of malicious intent — and then the cold touch of metal against the base of his skull.

Across the room, Gao Qing sat rigid on a chair dragged in from the kitchen, a gun trained on her too. She wasn’t crying, not yet, just trembling, one hand clutching the hem of her shirt. Her eyes were wide, stunned, uncomprehending — seventeen years old and already out of depth in a world that didn’t care whether she lived or died.

By her feet, and scattered across the living-room floor, four bodies lay facedown in slow-spreading pools of blood.

The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the sound of his own pulse beating in his ears.

Gao Qing’s face crumbled when she saw him, as if his safety was the subject of her fear and not herself.

“Ge—ge—you need to leave— I tried to call you — but they — it’s not safe here—they—they—”

In three strides, Gao Tu had crossed the small floor space and enveloped his sister in his arms. It didn’t matter that she was an alpha and he an omega. She was his baby sister. Even after forty years since RV-Y46 overturned human civilization, perhaps some reminiscent of the old world still clung stubbornly to people’s bones—the sense of what a brother owed, what family meant when everything else had fallen apart.

He was Gao Qing’s older brother. He had to protect her.

Except… despite the utter disaster Gao Tu has made of his life and by extension Gao Qing's, he didn't think being pregnant with his boss's illegitimate child would call for armed guards to raid his home.

Besides, despite Shen Wenlang's wealthy and tendency to verbally eviscerate others, this kind of clout was not something he had. Like he said, Gao Tu had been at his side for ten years. If the boy he had grown up studying calculus with and doing track and field next to had been some princeling of the criminal underworld… surely Gao Tu would have known.

“I’m guessing the dinner didn’t go well.”

The voice cut through the tension so suddenly that Gao Tu flinched, pulse leaping before his mind could catch up. The source of it came from deeper in the room, where a man sat in the semi dark.

Gao Tu’s eyes adjusted, and that was when he saw him: a man seated casually on the sofa, a picture frame balanced in his left hand. He didn’t need to look to know which one it was. There was only one photograph that mattered enough to be singled out—the one of him and Shen Wenlang in their school uniforms, a little annoyed at the student counsel photographer whose name he has long forgotten bugging them for a pose to put in the graduating year book.

It never made the final cut, but Gao Tu had been roped into helping with last minute edits, and he couldn't resist the temptation of printing a copy of it for safe keeping. Shen Wenlang would be going abroad for university. Just in case, he had told himself. Just in case they never saw each other again.

The man rose slowly, a faint stiffness shadowing the motion—enough to suggest that he was not in the best of health — but he neither asked for help nor showed it mattered.

As he stepped closer, the dim light caught his face. He was in his late forties—tall, slim to the point of gaunt, with the sharp poise of someone who had been beautiful once and had learned to live past it. Phoenix eyes under dark brows, full lips that gave away neither warmth nor pity, an air of indifference that spoke of old breeding. There was something distinctly other about him, a precision to the way he stood, breathed, and watched.

By instinct, Gao Tu knew he was an Omega. But there was no scent—none at all. A blank where there should have been something living, human.

“Don’t look so frightened, child.”

The man was speaking to Gao Qing, who hadn’t moved since her brother stepped in. She sat rigid, hands clenched in her lap, eyes darting between the man and the guns.

With a faint gesture of his fingers, the guards eased their weapons down.

“I’ve no interest in hurting either of you,” the man said mildly. Then his gaze dropped, briefly, to the slight curve of Gao Tu’s abdomen, still barely perceptible beneath his clothes. His tone shifted, dry and precise. “Any of you.”

A chill slid through Gao Tu, clean and absolute. Whoever this man was, he knew—about Shen Wenlang, about the pregnancy, about everything.

His hand went to his abdomen before he could stop himself. His other arm tightened protectively around Gao Qing.

“Who are you?”

The man regarded him for a long moment, as if deciding which answer to give.

“Who am I?” he said at last, almost amused.

“Well, it depends on who you ask. Right now, I’m the only one who can help you. But in the old society, I suppose the baby inside you would call me nainai.”

Gao Qing shot Gao Tu a startled look.

Nainai?? — paternal grandmother. They’d never known their grandparents, which wasn’t unusual. Few people from that generation were still alive. And besides, the word nainai implied a female grandparent—the mother of one’s father.

And the father of Gao Tu's baby…he didn’t have a mother.

Ying Yi made a small, dissatisfied twist of his lips. “Hm, no. Doesn’t sound right, does it? I am still a man, after all. Not that it seems to mean much these days.”

He glanced down at the dead man lying by Gao Qing’s feet and, with casual precision, nudged the body so the face turned away. It was almost gentle, the way he spared her the sight of the open, lifeless eyes.

“孩子的祖父是个急性子，还望见谅。” He said it mildly, but when he lifted his gaze, it was sharp enough to cut. “可是高途，咱们同为Omega，你真该在爱上你的Alpha之前，好好查查他的家底。” (The child’s grandfather has a bit of a temper, I’m afraid. You'll have to excuse him. But Gao Tu, from one omega to another, you really should have looked into your alpha’s background before falling in love with him.)

“Sentiment." The man shook his head in barely concealed judgment, as if Gao Tu was a very foolish child, then raised the photo frame in his hand as evidence. "Doesn’t do well in this family.”

Gao Tu stared, the words slowly sinking in, reality dawning cold and undeniable. Even if the man had said nothing, he would have known. Those phoenix eyes — he had lived every day for the past ten years being haunted by a younger version of them.

“You’re… Wenlang’s omega father.”

The one who was supposed to be dead.

“Yes,” the man admitted, head inclining in polite acknowledgement. “I am Ying Yi.”

Then in a louder voice, Ying Yi declared. "Good! Now we are introduced." He gestured to the sofa. “Do sit. I understand you’ve had quite a night, but we don’t have much time — So focus, and listen carefully.”

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