Chapter 111: Safety Precautions, Seriously?
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: Karai
Lu Yao was an atheist. Yet, when a faint light touched his eyelids and the crisp, melodic chirping of birds mingled with the scent of flowers and a gentle breeze, he couldn’t help but ponder, seriously, whether heaven might actually exist. The question lingered in his mind until he forced his heavy eyelids open and saw a bright, cozy hospital room. Heaven probably didn’t look like a hospital. This had to be either a dream or reality. Either way, it signified one thing—he was still alive.
Either he truly lay in the hospital, or his brain, still numbed, had spun a comforting illusion inside the escape pod. But it didn’t feel like a nightmare. Birds with gleaming wings chirped at the window, their tails brushing lightly against the panes. The late-autumn sunlight filtered in gently, warm but not blinding. A soft breeze carried the scent of the garden below.
The sheer curtains fluttered slightly. Intelligent instruments detected the patient’s awakening and called for the doctor. Lu Yao sat up slowly. His limbs and back felt soft and weak, but there was no pain—he had not been seriously injured.
A group of doctors, both human and robotic, bustled in, surrounding him. They measured his temperature, checked his pupils, handled his hands and legs, moving with urgent efficiency. Lu Yao remained calm. Everything in front of him seemed veiled in a soft haze, a diffused light that made the scene feel dreamlike and unreal.
Even when the doctors asked whether he remembered the source of certain bruises, Lu Yao could not answer. His brain had seemingly erased those memories. All the loneliness and pain evaporated in that instant. The infinite, dark universe shattered into fragments, glimmering in memory yet impossible to grasp.
He quietly watched sunlight drift through the air, observing tiny particles of dust suspended within it. Pale shapes blended with the background, forming a moving tableau. Time seemed to pause, frozen at that moment—like the three chaotic, orbiting stars he vaguely remembered, suspended in eternity.
Suddenly, the sharp sound of military boots broke through the murmur of doctors and nurses. Though Lu Yao still faced the window, his ears twitched. A low, resonant voice spoke, mingling with the indistinct chatter of the medical staff. The words were fuzzy, drowned in the white noise of the crowd, but the deep timbre reverberated sharply in Lu Yao’s ears.
The boots grew louder. All other sounds gradually faded into the distance, leaving only that resonant presence. When the black leather boots finally came into view, Lu Yao’s world seemed to consist solely of the lingering resonance of a massive pipe organ, its deep wood vibrating through the air after a grand performance. After the echo faded, a quiet hum remained.
He looked up and saw a hand brush his hair and touch his forehead to check for fever. The familiar touch made him recognize Zhou Yunchen. Yet even Zhou Yunchen’s face appeared hazy, as though shrouded in mist. His lips moved, speaking words Lu Yao could not catch.
“The group of star pirates and mercenaries hired to assassinate you came from Jaeger Industries. The Federation is investigating and preparing prosecution… surface details… hidden power plays… whether it all ultimately falls on Jiang Wei… he’s the prime suspect…”
Zhou Yunchen seemed to say a great deal, but Lu Yao could not comprehend it. He only nodded five seconds after Zhou Yunchen finished. Seeing him lost in thought, Zhou Yunchen frowned. “Do you want something to eat?”
Lu Yao did not answer. The staff had quietly left. Zhou Yunchen retrieved a nutrition drink from the fridge, opened it, and held it to Lu Yao’s lips. Lu Yao obediently drank. Then Zhou Yunchen seemed to speak again, but Lu Yao only heard buzzing. He didn’t care whether he understood the words; when Zhou Yunchen embraced him, that was enough.
That night, Zhou Yunchen did not leave the hospital. After Lu Yao drank the nutrition drink, he fell asleep again. Zhou Yunchen stayed in the room, sitting on the sofa opposite the bed, working.
Due to the incident, the second stage of the Sparrowhawk exercise ended abruptly. The PR department worked overtime to edit the footage into an inspiring highlight reel. Zhou Yunchen ignored these trivialities, focusing on the follow-up investigation into Jaeger Industries.
Moonlight poured softly across the room. With no lights on, Zhou Yunchen frowned at the fast-scrolling data on his screen. Suddenly, he noticed a flicker in the corner of his vision.
He looked up to see Lu Yao had woken unexpectedly. In the moonlight, he sat upright on the edge of the bed, legs dangling.
“Yaoyao, what’s wrong?” Zhou Yunchen asked. Lu Yao did not respond, staring down at the patches of moonlight on the floor.
The frost-like silver light fell over his long hair, transforming him into an ethereal, almost soulless figure. The quiet autumn night stretched outside. The pale moon drifted slowly. A single tear fell, catching the moonlight. Lu Yao had just awakened, yet the tears began to flow. Zhou Yunchen panicked, dropping his work and rushing to him.
“Yaoyao, tell me what’s wrong. Why are you crying?” Zhou Yunchen reached to wipe the tears, but they kept falling, forming small streams across Lu Yao’s face. His fingers could not stop them, and the tears rolled into his palms, hot and wet, as if burning.
Lu Yao’s shoulders trembled. He tried to stop the tears, but some inexplicable force surged from his chest to his face. His eyes and cheeks, flushed red in the silver moonlight, were streaked with tears like fallen butterflies in water. Zhou Yunchen’s heart ached. Half-kneeling, he cupped Lu Yao’s face.
“Yaoyao, it’s okay. I’m here. Look at me. I’m sorry, I’m late. I should have stayed by your side all along.”
Lu Yao could not speak. He sobbed violently, gasping for breath. The real, painful sensation surged back, bringing him fully into the present. Finally, he saw Zhou Yunchen kneeling before him. The stern, cold face now appeared fragile and helpless, like a defeated lone wolf guarding its last mate on a snowy plain. It was all right. It was all right. People could not always endure or be strong. This was reality.
Lu Yao threw himself onto Zhou Yunchen’s shoulder, almost collapsing as he clung to him. Tears and sobs burst forth like a dam breaking, flooding over them, consuming everything in their path.
“Zhou Yunchen… Zhou Yunchen…” Lu Yao gasped between cries, his fingers clawing at Zhou Yunchen’s back. “I don’t want to be alone… don’t leave…”
“I won’t leave, Lu Yao. I’ll never leave you.”
Lu Yao poured out all the emotions he had bottled up during his solitary drifting through the cosmos. At this moment, the world was so painfully vivid and real. The ever-present threat of death, the fear and uncertainty of the unknown, the extreme possibility of eternal loneliness—all these specters swirled in his mind. He had never dared to hope, fearing that hope itself might never be realized and would only become yet another source of anguish.
Rationality, logic, and meticulous planning were never impenetrable—they rarely touched emotions. Once reason withdrew, the suppressed feelings exploded, like an ice blade shattering, spilling with irresistible force. Life was bland, offering nothing. Only a faint spark of perseverance, a tiny flame to keep moving forward, prevented one from succumbing to despair. And that little spark—what was it? It was the emptiness of the universe… Yet somehow, it revealed love.
Elaine’s Examination Room
“Is it all over?”
“This psychological assessment is complete,” Elaine said, closing her notebook and looking at Lu Yao. “Your state is far better than I expected. Wait here a moment; I need to confirm your recent proposal with General Zhou.”
Lu Yao sat quietly on the single-armchair sofa, nodding as he watched Elaine leave for the waiting area.
Elaine closed the connecting door behind her, her previously gentle expression disappearing. Zhou Yunchen, seated at a desk opposite Lu Yao, immediately stood, concern etched across his face.
“Dr. Elaine, how is Lu Yao?”
Elaine saw the worry and sighed. “As you expected… It’s not good. But compared to an ordinary person psychologically fragile after drifting alone in space for a month, he’s doing better. Outwardly, he appears as cold as before, and it’s hard for others to notice, but the shadow lingers deep in his heart. It will take a long time to heal.”
“Just time?”
Elaine blinked. “You mean medication? Not yet. His condition hasn’t reached that point. But please monitor his sleep—if he often can’t sleep, let me know and I’ll prepare a sedative. Surprisingly, his physical health is solid—he hasn’t lost weight, and even seems to have gained some muscle.”
“Hmm. Right.” Zhou Yunchen had felt Lu Yao’s shoulder and torso muscles a few days prior and had been slightly surprised. Good physical health was, after all, a rare blessing.
“Also,” Elaine continued, “Lu Yao expressed a desire to undergo pheromone adaptation training today. I’m a little concerned that adding further stimuli now could worsen his condition.”
Zhou Yunchen frowned, thinking. “Dr. Elaine, did Lu Yao mention the temporary marking we did alone on Planet B13? He didn’t show a stress reaction then. Would skipping intermediate steps affect the training?”
“No olfactory adaptation?”
“The olfactory stimulator was damaged and lost; he couldn’t smell anything.”
Elaine stepped back, surprised. “I’d heard about your experiences on B13. I assumed that combining these stressors would worsen his condition. Yet… he was fine?”
Her voice softened as she realized something: Lu Yao and Zhou Yunchen, two emotionally attuned solitary individuals, had spent time alone on an abandoned planet, conducting temporary markings. This suggested that they had progressed beyond even intimate physical markers. Was it the security and attachment from being with a loved one? “If he proposes to try it, let’s proceed,” Elaine decided.
Lu Yao and Zhou Yunchen changed into the outfits Elaine had prepared and entered the small training room. Lu Yao sat in his usual spot, donned the olfactory stimulator, and signaled readiness.
Elaine’s voice came through the headset. “Okay, same as last time. Smell the catnip and guaiacwood placed on the table beside you.”
Lu Yao followed instructions. When he inhaled the catnip, his eyelashes fluttered. He lowered his head, sniffing the inside of his wrist. Elaine couldn’t see the room or the scent, but Zhou Yunchen’s nostrils flared, his gaze fixed on Lu Yao—Lu Yao had released his own pheromones.
He inhaled from his wrist as if confirming the scent, verifying whether his pheromones truly smelled like catnip. Lu Yao lifted his eyes, icy blue and unguarded, meeting Zhou Yunchen’s gaze as if asking if he sensed the same scent. It seemed sweeter.
Zhou Yunchen’s Adam’s apple moved. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. The pheromone scent lingered like syrup, sweet and heady. Lu Yao’s gaze, like a piece of ice-blue mint candy, seemed to shine with the same intoxicating flavor.
Lu Yao set aside the catnip and smelled the guaiacwood. As the aroma entered his nostrils, his face paled, though he quickly controlled it.
“General Zhou, release your pheromones slowly,” Elaine instructed. Zhou Yunchen, already on the edge, recognized her command as permission. He released the guaiacwood pheromones gradually, controlling his own instinctual responses, giving Lu Yao time to adapt.
The dry, warm scent filled the air, pheromone molecules touching Lu Yao’s skin. His body tensed, then slowly relaxed under conscious guidance. The process felt deliberate, some painful memories stirring, yet as the alpha pheromones thickened, mist rose before his eyes. His gaze became hazy.
Desire and pain wrestled; desire surged to dominance, coursing through his body like a relentless chase, nearly flattening every sensory nerve. His breathing grew hot and heavy, fingers gripping the sofa, toes curling instinctively. Lu Yao felt as if thrown into a steaming, thick, herb-infused hot spring, the vapor enveloping his senses.
“General Zhou, how is Lu Yao? His vitals are fluctuating wildly,” Elaine asked over the headset. Zhou Yunchen did not know how to answer.
Leaning against the armchair, Lu Yao’s exposed skin flushed. Sweat beaded on his forehead; his body seemed drenched, yet unlike past stress reactions, he did not suffocate or suffer.
His rational mind began to fade. He felt no dizziness, only an overwhelming drive, almost out of control. This was no proper place, but he couldn’t endure any longer. He didn’t know how to invite Zhou Yunchen while Elaine monitored them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several boxes on a side cabinet. Trembling, he steadied himself, grabbed an XXL box, and tossed it into Zhou Yunchen’s arms while sliding down against the cabinet. Zhou Yunchen flinched at the sudden box. Reflexively, he recalled that they hadn’t needed this before.
“Zhou Yunchen…” Lu Yao’s voice stretched, weak and sticky. Zhou Yunchen reacted immediately. Now was not the time to hesitate. He swiftly helped Lu Yao into his arms, removed their headsets, and stomped them to shards on the floor.
“Yaoyao…” Zhou Yunchen inhaled the rich, sweet scent, Lu Yao leaning hazily against him. Through the headset, only static remained. Elaine paused, realizing what was about to unfold, and quickly jotted notes. Honestly, the headset had a switch—General Zhou didn’t really need to stomp it to pieces.
Author’s note:
Elaine: Young couples, huh…
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