Chapter 105: You’ll Never Fill Me Up
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: Karai
Five hours later, Lu Yao finally managed to drag himself out of bed. Zhou Yunchen had worked diligently to prepare him breakfast—or lunch, depending on how one looked at it.
It was still bread with the usual trio of spreads. Lu Yao wanted something cold to drink, so Zhou Yunchen went to the food stores, found some frozen synthetic orange juice, thawed it, and poured him a glass. Lu Yao sipped the juice to soothe his throat, nibbling on bread dipped in sauce.
“Do you still like these three foods?” Zhou Yunchen asked. “Even if they don’t taste the way you imagine them.”
“They’re all the same,” Lu Yao replied. “I can’t even remember the taste of strawberries, or mustard, or curry. I’ve just grown used to eating these three.”
“Back then, the entire CROSS Laboratory case was classified as confidential. All I know is it was closed. What actually happened afterward? Who was really conducting human experiments?” Zhou Yunchen frowned.
Lu Yao’s expression didn’t change. He answered casually, “No one special. Just a group of lunatics trying to merge human and beast genes. At least, that was the answer the Federation Intelligence Bureau gave.”
“Do you accept that answer?”
“Deputy Director Teng from the Federation Intelligence Bureau led the investigation. At the time, he was ordered to close the case, but he’s kept pursuing it ever since.” Lu Yao paused, took a sip of juice, hesitated, then spoke about himself. “As for me, there’s nothing I don’t accept.”
“Were you given a gag order? Or… do you already know the answer yourself?”
“The case was classified. But if it had only been a group of lunatics violating biomedical ethics, humanity’s psyche isn’t so fragile it would collapse upon hearing it. No—there are certain people who simply don’t want it known.”
“You know who?”
Lu Yao looked at him. “There aren’t many beings the Federation fears. Just a few hundred, maybe. To them, one rogue laboratory doesn’t matter in the slightest. I don’t know which one it was, but let the past dissolve into the cosmos. That’s better for us… the victims, the experimental subjects.”
He dropped his gaze, clearly unwilling to continue. He quietly ate bread instead. Distracted, he finished three or four more slices than usual. A few crumbs clung to his pale skin. Zhou Yunchen brushed them away with his thumb and smiled. “Eating better today?”
Lu Yao blinked, thoughtful. “Zhou Yunchen, you do realize ‘pushing up to my stomach’ was an exaggeration, don’t you?”
Zhou Yunchen: “?” Where had that come from? But then Lu Yao frowned, thought for a moment, and added, “Not entirely an exaggeration.”
Zhou Yunchen: “???”
Lu Yao spread his hands, measuring a length. The distance made Zhou Yunchen’s face shift. Lu Yao pressed one palm to his own abdomen, about level with his navel, hesitated, then finally raised it just above.
“Here,” Lu Yao said seriously. His ice-blue eyes held the same rigorous precision he’d shown five hours earlier while comparing the anatomy of a human and a snow leopard. He seemed wholly unaware of the psychological devastation such comments inflicted on an alpha.
“Lu Yao, I…” Zhou Yunchen’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice roughened.
But Lu Yao went on, studying the flat lines of his abdomen. “The stomach is higher still. And there are organs in between.”
He began enumerating without noticing Zhou Yunchen’s heated stare. “Diaphragm, stomach, spleen, pancreas, intestines, appendix… reproductive tract, prostate…” Finally, Lu Yao concluded matter-of-factly, “You can’t possibly reach the stomach.”
The moment he lifted his head, his eyes locked with Zhou Yunchen’s predator’s gaze—hungry, focused, fierce. His hand faltered and drew back, his voice trembling. “Zhou Yunchen.”
“What about above, then?” Zhou Yunchen leaned close, hot breath brushing his face. Lu Yao’s calf twitched, a flash of fear forcing him to swallow, though reason still kept him talking. “That would be even farther. Besides, gastric acid has a pH under three. Strongly acidic. Any protein or DNA would be broken down almost instantly.”
“Even if it weren’t, there’d be no chance for it to take effect.” Zhou Yunchen rose, pressing Lu Yao’s shoulder. Lu Yao tilted his head back to meet his eyes—only for Zhou Yunchen to tilt his head down instead. “We’ve never gone all the way, have we?”
In estrus, a full mark carried over ninety percent odds of conception. This wasn’t the time or place for that. Even a temporary mark was technically ill-advised.
Lu Yao’s pheromone adaptation training had stalled at scent acclimation, yet for some reason, this time, temporary marking hadn’t brought him trauma or pain. The rest would have to wait until they returned to New Blue Star and consulted Dr. Elaine.
Still, for a male omega, as long as no cavity was opened, the probability of pregnancy was nearly zero. The lack of stored protection at the base was not a concern. And if they went another route, there was even less to worry about. Lu Yao’s eyes widened, his fingers clenching tight against the seam of Zhou Yunchen’s trousers.
For Lu Yao, daytime indulgence was a waste of youthful energy. Two hours later, he seized the moment—while Zhou Yunchen lingered in that low, absent state of post-release—and rolled out of bed. He rushed into the shower, cleaned up, pulled on clothes, and bolted for the door, determined that his wisdom and sweat should serve the progress of science, not be squandered on the bed.
But he had only taken two steps outside when his knees nearly buckled, and he had to clutch the doorframe to keep from collapsing. Zhou Yunchen’s arm wrapped around his waist, lifting him easily back against his chest. Lu Yao kicked and shoved at his shins, but couldn’t break free.
“Where to?” Zhou Yunchen asked in his ear. Lu Yao wore only a white utility jumpsuit from the base stores. Through the thin fabric, the heat of Zhou Yunchen’s muscles radiated against his back, engulfing him like a hot spring.
“Work!”
“You think you can walk?”
“I’ll walk slowly.”
Zhou Yunchen released Lu Yao’s hand. “I’ll go with you.”
Lu Yao turned to look at him, doubt flickering in his eyes. He had long since meant to get up and work, yet time and again Zhou Yunchen had dragged him back.
“I’ll go first. You get dressed properly and let Oasis bring you to me.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
Zhou Yunchen watched him limp toward the far end of the corridor, then hurriedly showered, dressed, and asked Oasis for his location. To his surprise, Lu Yao hadn’t gone to the lab. Guided by Oasis, he walked down a long corridor, took the elevator, and descended all the way to the eighth basement level.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a massive steel gate. As Zhou Yunchen approached, it slowly parted before him. An immense, cavernous space unfolded, revealing its secrets piece by piece. “Mechanical Assembly Zone. Arrived,” Oasis intoned.
The assembly zone stretched from the eighth basement level up to the third, vast and open, untouched by a single ray of sunlight. Even with banks of floodlights suspended from ceiling and walls, the far reaches still drowned in shadow.
Unlike New Blue Star’s mecha research facilities, this place had a raw, untamed brutality to its design. Machinery ended in sharp angles, offering no concessions. Bare metal beams stood unpainted, their coarse, cold sheen laid bare beneath the lights.
At the center stood four enormous structures of steel, silent and unmoving, like beasts bowing their heads, baring fangs before their master. That master stood on a suspended lift, back straight, his figure lean and austere. Clad in a white work suit, he looked like a handful of ice and snow reflecting a blinding light.
He had been watching the inner workings of the machine parts, the roar of their motion filling the chamber. But at the sound of the opening gates, he turned, rested a hand on the rail, and beckoned the newcomer closer. Zhou Yunchen quickened his steps, climbed onto the lift, and joined Lu Yao’s side.
Lu Yao stared at the machines before him, lost in thought, a vintage tablet cradled in his hand, its screen crowded with rows of technical readouts. Zhou Yunchen couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. These components didn’t look like mecha, nor like any kind of aircraft.
“What are you looking at?” Zhou Yunchen asked, genuinely curious. Lu Yao blinked. “Sixteen cylinders that form the rear drive assembly. They just reminded me of—”
The four steel constructs would eventually form a single device, but assembly hadn’t yet begun. For now, the inner workings of the drive mechanism lay exposed. Sixteen massive cylinders encircled a core, each driving piston rods that thrust metal plungers up and down.
The plungers were designed to fit perfectly inside the cylinders, pressed tight against their walls. Each cylinder was wider than a basketball, every detail magnified before their eyes. Thick, brownish oil coated the surfaces, emulsifying into milky strands under the plungers’ motion, clinging in ropes too viscous to break, piling layer upon layer at the base. If used too long, the accumulation of this residue would clog the cylinders.
Originally, Lu Yao had only meant to observe the operation and consider whether a different oil might be better suited. Yet as he watched the synchronized pounding of the sixteen cylinders, his thoughts slipped elsewhere.
Zhou Yunchen liked to prop a pillow behind his waist, lifting him just enough that, with a tilt of the head, he could see everything—clear as day, even the sparks that shot through his mind like bolts of lightning.
“Reminded you of what?” Zhou Yunchen pressed. Lu Yao startled, quickly tapped the tablet to shut off the machinery, and turned to him instead of answering. “Once these cylinders have run over thirty thousand cycles, they’ll break down from oil residue.”
The plungers slowed, their pounding dulling as the sound of friction softened. The rods’ motion revealed itself more clearly: not a simple up-and-down, but a calculated arc that twisted the plungers in a spiral against the cylinder walls, amplifying wear.
“Every machine wears down eventually,” Zhou Yunchen said. “But cylinders that fail after only thirty thousand cycles? That’s not up to production standards. It’s not your design—something external is at fault.”
He glanced at the clogging residue. “Because this oil emulsifies and hardens? Swap it for another type, and the rods and cylinders should be fine.”
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