Chapter 112: Dodging the Mark

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

When Zhou Yunchen reopened the door to the room, he only pushed it ajar slightly. The evening sun’s glow fell across the two empty sofas in the examination room. The breeze stirred the sheer curtains; everything was so quiet it felt as though time itself had stopped.

The indentation in the sofa had already flattened. Elaine had long since left the examination room connected to the smaller room, leaving the space entirely to Zhou Yunchen and Lu Yao.

After confirming that no one was around, Zhou Yunchen returned to the center of the small room. Lu Yao was curled up on the single sofa, his hair and clothes in disarray, too exhausted to move.

Zhou Yunchen took a tissue to wipe the sweat from Lu Yao’s face. When he tossed it aside, the lid of the smart trash bin automatically opened, revealing a wet, glossy rubber item inside. The distinct scent lingered briefly before being overtaken by the mingled aromas of guaiacwood and catnip.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shower?” Zhou Yunchen asked in Lu Yao’s ear. Lu Yao nodded, letting Zhou Yunchen lift him effortlessly and carry him to the bathroom.

After cleaning up and changing, Zhou Yunchen set the small room’s ventilation system to maximum to clear the lingering scents. Only after the air was fully refreshed did he leave the examination room.

Elaine was sitting at the hallway bar, finishing a sandwich. Seeing the two of them come out, she set down the half-eaten meal, straightened her suit, and approached. “Sorry, I got a bit hungry—you two took quite a while… ahem. Anyway, how does Lu Yao feel now?”

“What do you mean?” Lu Yao’s throat felt hoarse. Elaine raised an eyebrow. “What else? No stress reactions this time?”

Lu Yao understood, licking his lips to suppress the faint expression that had flickered across his face. “No. Everything’s normal.”

“That’s incredibly encouraging,” Elaine said excitedly. “We’ll run another set of scales and EEG tests to confirm, then repeat a few more times. If things remain stable, your emergency responses should recover fully.”

Lu Yao followed Elaine to the testing area. He was so exhausted that halfway through the EEG procedure, he simply tilted his head back and fell asleep. Elaine didn’t wake him, quietly leaving to report to Zhou Yunchen. All the data looked stable—precisely the outcome she wanted. Both could rest easy.

The EEG room was clearly not ideal for sleep. After discussing the results, Zhou Yunchen, seeing no signs of Lu Yao waking, carried him to the car, and they headed home.

When Lu Yao stirred awake, his eyes caught the sunset spilling across the room. The deep crimson-rose sunlight slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting intricate patterns across the bare branches of the trees outside and the pale grid of the curtains. Shadows danced lightly on the cherrywood floor. The world was tranquil, filled only with their breathing and heartbeats.

Lu Yao lay in Zhou Yunchen’s arms, gazing over his broad, powerful shoulders at the sunset. The space felt oddly familiar, yet also unfamiliar.

His gaze drifted over Zhou Yunchen’s collarbone. Zhou Yunchen began to stir. Lu Yao shifted under his arm to lie flat, a lazy, comfortable position. He stared at the ceiling lamp, letting his heated thoughts wander until he slowly remembered—they were back in Zhou Yunchen’s old bedroom in the villa. He had only entered this room once or twice over the past three years.

Wrapped in the thick, plush comforter, Lu Yao felt heat suffuse his entire body, almost to the point of suffocation. He didn’t want to get up; he simply slipped one arm out and rested it lightly on Zhou Yunchen’s neck.

The sunset stretched endlessly outside. They spoke casually, without serious technical discussions or political matters. Zhou Yunchen mentioned the blanket, the curtains, leaves in the yard, the grass—and for some reason asked about Lu Yao’s time at the Federation Military Academy.

During the fall semester, there wasn’t much coursework, and the cooler weather was pleasant for students in physical training. Students sometimes strolled leisurely, yet Lu Yao had spent ten years consistently running to the library.

“Why did I rarely see friends around you? You were always alone.”

Zhou Yunchen’s warm breath brushed Lu Yao’s ear, the heat from the blanket amplifying the summer-like warmth. Lu Yao clutched the blanket. “I have friends—Chang Jian and Mo Feng. You know them. They just didn’t attend the Military Academy, so we only chatted online.”

“What would you talk about? I never understood why you two got along.” Zhou Yunchen’s curiosity about Lu Yao’s past was genuine.

“Nothing much…” Lu Yao’s voice was faint. He didn’t want to expend energy talking now; the blanket’s warmth seemed to cloud his mind. “Mostly picking brides for Mo Feng, checking on his 108th little boyfriend…”

Zhou Yunchen remembered that this friend and colleague was a Beta—did he prefer alphas or another gender?

“He… uh—” Zhou Yunchen started to ask but was immediately silenced as Lu Yao pressed a hand over his mouth. Before Zhou Yunchen could react further, Lu Yao’s other hand under the blanket grasped his lifeline.

“I don’t want to talk about that now, Zhou Yunchen,” Lu Yao said, looking into his eyes. “We… haven’t done this in this room yet.”

He leaned close to Zhou Yunchen’s ear and whispered something that made Zhou Yunchen’s eyes widen instantly.

“I don’t like that rubber stuff,” Lu Yao murmured, every soft breath audible. “And changing it every time… it’s too troublesome.”

Zhou Yunchen parted his lips slightly, touching them to Lu Yao’s palm. Lu Yao momentarily relaxed his hold, curious what Zhou Yunchen might say.

“This villa was never prepared for this,” Zhou Yunchen whispered back. The Zhou Yunchen of the past had never imagined he could lie in the same bed with Lu Yao. But now, everything was different.

No sooner had Zhou Yunchen finished speaking than he grabbed Lu Yao’s wrist and flipped him over. A chill wind swept into the blanket, snapping Lu Yao into sudden awareness of what he had just said. He shivered, but Zhou Yunchen’s presence already loomed over him like a mountain.

It was too late to retreat. The wind and rain of emotion had no respite. Lu Yao watched the sunset sink below the horizon, the evening glow deepening, unsure whether it was the encroaching night or the darkness creeping into his vision.

Prolonged monotony numbs the senses. Though Zhou Yunchen had only a few prior experiences, he seemed instinctively attuned to the moment. He allowed brief pauses to let perception calm, making the next pursuit exquisitely sharp.

Lu Yao’s tear glands lost all physiological control; tears even stung his nasal passages, and his pale skin flushed red from coughing and shallow breaths.

Each extension, each touch, triggered an eruption—including the most hidden places. The unique sensations sent a current surging through Zhou Yunchen’s mind; his alpha instincts immediately understood where they had arrived. Scented by the sweet catnip fragrance, he pressed against Lu Yao’s sweat-dampened neck, adjusting his angle, poised to advance.

The unfamiliar stretch jolted Lu Yao. His breath caught, spine shuddering, eyes flying open as he reflexively pushed Zhou Yunchen away.

Initially, Zhou Yunchen tried to steady him, but Lu Yao’s struggle was too obvious, leaving no room for play. With nearly a single, forceful motion, Lu Yao kicked him back, tumbling and curling into a corner of the room.

From intimate closeness, they were now across a divide. Lu Yao gritted his teeth, breathing hard, and glared at Zhou Yunchen with a rare sharpness.

The sudden physical contact had sobered his clouded mind. Trembling, he spoke, voice shaking, “No… don’t… you can’t touch me.”

Zhou Yunchen’s shoulders still bore the mark of Lu Yao’s bite, yet Lu Yao’s resistance to full marking made everything tense. Zhou Yunchen took a step forward—but Lu Yao stopped him with a firm, “Stop there. Don’t come closer!”

Zhou Yunchen froze. He didn’t understand what had just happened. After a while, Lu Yao caught his breath, though his temples throbbed. Looking up, he saw Zhou Yunchen kneeling by the bed, shoulders hunched, attempting to appear non-threatening. But the most threatening force was still present.

In truth, Lu Yao was similarly charged—but he couldn’t allow full marking. Slowly, he got to his feet, legs soft, moving closer to Zhou Yunchen. Stretching out both hands, he said, “Let’s end it with this.”

Lu Yao was trying to guide him, but Zhou Yunchen frowned. The apparent illogic of it all spun his thoughts into chaos. Yet he understood Lu Yao was in distress. Just waking from sleep, he had been blocked by these instincts. He didn’t want distractions—he simply wanted practical execution, but the “vehicle” had malfunctioned before completion.

Zhou Yunchen bit back the urge, lowering his gaze to the hands in front of him. Sweat dripped from his hairline. He gently pushed Lu Yao down. Lu Yao, startled, feared he would continue the marking and reflexively tried to kick Zhou Yunchen away. Zhou Yunchen held his ankle, kissing the inside of his foot gently. “Not marking. You’re uncomfortable, so I’ll take care of you first.”

He backed off as far as possible; all that remained in contact was their hands and heads—enough. As Zhou Yunchen leaned down, Lu Yao sank into the soft, fluffy pillow, fingers clutching the edges, veins prominent.

He didn’t need anything else. Just watching Lu Yao nearly swoon under his touch, the rush of blood to his face, his mind buzzing like it had been electrocuted, was overwhelming.

Later that night, Lu Yao emerged from the shower, hair still dripping. Zhou Yunchen handed him a hairdryer to dry it. It was the first time they had bathed separately after being together. Lu Yao sat at the table; the atmosphere remained slightly tense.

“Why are you still in a shirt? You left your loungewear here—I’ll get it for you.”

“No need,” Lu Yao said. “I’ll leave soon, won’t stay.”

Zhou Yunchen’s heart skipped. Controlling his expression, he said softly, “I’m going with you.”

Lu Yao was silent for a moment. Zhou Yunchen thought this was a tacit agreement, until Lu Yao added, “No, you stay here.”

No matter how hard Zhou Yunchen tried to mask it, he couldn’t suppress the subtle downturned curve of his mouth. Lu Yao, hair now dry, rose hastily, unaware of the change in Zhou Yunchen’s expression. Pulling on his coat, he left.

Zhou Yunchen remained at the floor-to-ceiling window, hairdryer still in hand, watching Lu Yao board an automated public flight craft without a hint of hesitation or longing.

Author’s Note:

Zhou Yunchen: “Seems like my wife doesn’t want me anymore…”

 

 

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