The steel rolling mill, especially Workshop No. 5, always carried a heavy smell of smoke, oil, and hot metal. The loud clanging of machines echoed like thunder as sparks scattered across the floor. In this noisy and tense place stood Professor Rowan Wells, quietly observing the young man who had just greeted her with unexpected politeness—Leon Ford.
It was her first time meeting him, yet something about Leon felt strange—almost out of place, like a bright crystal hidden among piles of dull stones. He blended into the workers' environment, but at the same time, he seemed to shine in a way no one else did.
Rowan couldn't explain it, but the moment she saw him, she felt a strange sense of safety.
A feeling she hadn't experienced for a long, long time.
Rowan Wells, an intellectual with a brilliant mind, had spent years in research. Her passion was deep, her curiosity boundless, but lately, her life had been swallowed by fear and uncertainty. The social atmosphere around her had shifted suddenly, violently. She may have been a professor at Tsinghua University, but even that title was no longer enough to protect her.
People called her a "turtle"—a slur for her background and education. They accused her of being disconnected from society. She was criticized openly, mocked, and treated like an outsider.
At university, students once admired her. Now their eyes glowed with a dangerous, fanatic excitement. Their words grew harsh and threatening. The respect she once enjoyed had evaporated. Every time Rowan stood in front of a class, she felt those sharp, burning stares cut into her confidence.
Every night, she suffered nightmares.
In these dreams, she was dragged away by students, stripped of dignity, forced to wear red high-heeled shoes around her neck—shoes symbolizing deep shame. She woke trembling, soaked in sweat, unable to separate dream from reality.
So when her superiors told her she would be transferred to the steel rolling mill to help translate engineering drawings, she agreed almost immediately. It was an escape—a way to get away from the campus before something terrible happened.
But reality was cruel.
The steel mill was worse.
Here, there was no illusion of politeness. The workers didn't hide their disgust. Their hostility was raw and painfully direct. Even the kind-hearted workers kept their distance after learning about her background. Others spat near her feet, cursed her, or glared as if she carried a plague.
In just thirty minutes at the mill, Rowan had been interrogated by the inspection department, criticized by leaders, and suffocated by endless rumors. Even Lewis Grant, one of the few who showed some basic respect, only cared because her English skills helped him complete tasks.
She quickly realized something painful:
There was no place in this world that could protect her.
Not the university.
Not the steel mill.
Not society.
She felt cornered, hopeless—like a bird with broken wings trapped in a cage set on fire. Her heart shrank with despair, every breath heavy.
And at that moment of deepest darkness—
Leon Ford appeared.
From the moment she entered the workshop, Leon greeted her with the international handshake, a gesture of respect rarely given to someone like her anymore. He didn't show disgust. His eyes were clear, calm, sincere. He didn't mock her lipstick-smeared mouth or judge her appearance.
For the first time in months, Rowan felt something she had forgotten:
Respect.
Her emotions boiled inside her without control.
Despair.
Happiness.
Comfort.
Gratitude.
Leon, with his strange ability to sense pheromones, could see these emotions rising from her like floating bubbles. The sudden shift of feelings shocked him. It wasn't normal for someone to react so intensely to a simple greeting.
He sighed inwardly.
People of this era… their thoughts were so straightforward, so fragile. A little kindness, a little respect, and they were moved beyond measure.
Rowan finally snapped out of her daze, embarrassed that she had stood silently for so long.
"Master Leon, I—I'm sorry. I was distracted," she said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear.
Her voice trembled slightly. She was afraid she had been rude. Politeness was important here, especially for someone like her whose identity already offended many people.
"I will work hard," Rowan added with genuine emotion.
Leon watched her closely. To him, Rowan wasn't just a scientist—she was an unopened treasure chest, full of valuable knowledge. Her expertise in bioinformatics could help him deeply, especially with his secret project based on ant civilization technology from the dream world.
But to use her knowledge effectively, he needed to bring her completely under his control.
As he stood up and shook her hand again, he thought carefully about his next move.
"Alright, Professor Rowan. Let's begin our work," Leon said with a warm smile. "I hope we can cooperate happily."
And then—it happened.
When their hands met, Leon secretly activated a new ability he had discovered:
Pheromone Marking.
He released a stream of invisible, specialized pheromones from his brain directly into Rowan Wells' body. A tiny spark ran through his fingertips into her skin, unnoticed by everyone except him.
This was an advanced power he had learned from the ant civilization. Not only could he read another person's pheromones through touch, but he could also inject his own.
Different types of pheromones served different purposes:
Marking pheromone
Alarm pheromone
Aggregation pheromone
JP pheromone
And other mysterious variations ants used to communicate
Right now, Leon used the marking pheromone.
The moment it entered Rowan's body, a new pheromone information model formed automatically inside Leon's mind. It was like a glowing map, constantly updating.
From now on—
Leon could sense Rowan's emotions, physical condition, and exact location as long as she remained within 1,000 meters.
She couldn't escape his range.
She couldn't hide from him.
She couldn't lie to him.
He knew everything.
Rowan Wells was now marked.
Leon didn't show any expression, but deep inside he was impressed.
Ant pheromones really were far superior to any human communication method.
Rowan, unaware of the invisible tag now inside her body, simply smiled with quiet relief. For her, this handshake was a kind gesture in a world full of cruelty.
For Leon, it was the first step in claiming a valuable asset.
The noisy workshop continued its clattering rhythm, but something had changed. One woman's despair had been interrupted by hope, while one man's plan had advanced another dangerous step.
The steel mill smelled of heat and iron, but mixed within it was something new:
A scent only Leon could sense—
the scent of a marked human.