Chapter 28: He Turned Back Human?!

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

Had he changed back from a snow leopard into a human? Zhou Yunchen flexed muscles that felt unfamiliar and slowly stood, lowering his gaze to confirm the human limbs and body before him. The emotions of a human were more complex than a snow leopard’s, yet easier to control; his reasoning clearer. Within moments, Zhou Yunchen had regained his composure from the initial shock.

The power of the Villeau civilization was not entirely fixed. If its wielder underwent a drastic transformation, the way their wishes manifested could also shift. Just like now—Zhou Yunchen desired, in this moment, to appear as a human beside Lu Yao, so he had changed back. But how long would this form last?

If the snow leopard disappeared permanently, how could he explain himself to Lu Yao? Even more pressing was how he would justify suddenly appearing inside the first research and development base. With so many classified projects here, stealing secrets was a serious crime, potentially punishable by military tribunal with exile to alien worlds.

Zhou Yunchen had once, behind the scenes, manipulated the case of a base leaker—the major whose hands weren’t clean—and successfully ensured the tribunal sentenced him to exile on the harsh ice planet NGC692890. In the third year, the major had frozen to death during forced labor. He had no intention of becoming the second person sent before Lu Yao for a military trial.

Taking a few careful steps to the blind spot of the office’s surveillance cameras, Zhou Yunchen dialed Zhao Minghe. “Zhao Minghe, I’ve reverted to human form. I’m at the first research base. Bring Distant Star immediately—the spacecraft is in the L section of the underground garage waiting for me.”

Energy and Propulsion Laboratory

The camera crew had set up their equipment in front of a row of sealed containers, inside which glimmered substances in every state: solid, liquid, gas, all dazzling in color.

“These are the seven primary energy sources currently used by mecha,” the lab supervisor explained. Li Yan sat beside Lu Yao, asking according to the script, “We’ve always heard that mecha and starships run on controlled nuclear fusion. How does that relate to these energy sources?”

“To achieve nuclear fusion, extreme temperature and pressure are required. Using inertia, gravitational fields, or magnetic fields, these seven fuels act as the keys to unlock fusion,” Lu Yao explained. “Each fuel yields different energy efficiencies. The most efficient is Hela Red Crystal Liquid, supplied by Helios Energy Group. Its ultimate energy efficiency reaches 2.5%, exceeding even a Dyson sphere directly using stellar energy.”

“But you haven’t abandoned the other fuels?” Li Yan pressed.

“The density and stability of each vary, used in different parts of the mecha under different conditions,” Lu Yao said, “and Hela Red Crystal Liquid is extremely expensive.”

Li Yan leaned closer during a quiet moment, “The Federation funds the military generously. Starfleet exploration can gather vast resources—would cost still be a concern? If we used Red Crystal everywhere it’s needed, could it improve success rates and reduce casualties?”

Lu Yao glanced at him. “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”

“You mean… Red Crystal could fail?”

“No. But I don’t think helping an energy corporation monopolize power is a good idea.”

From behind, the crew whispered, “Cut this part—start from where he says Red Crystal is expensive.”

Lu Yao’s identity and demeanor allowed him to speak freely, but the crew didn’t want to offend a powerful energy conglomerate. Taking advantage of the recording being off, Li Yan leaned closer, whispering, “Major General Lu, you don’t like… businesspeople?”

“Not really—they’re just suppliers,” Lu Yao frowned slightly, shifting a step aside.

“And military personnel?” Li Yan continued softly, “Almost forgot—you’re a Major General too. That’s impressive. My father is in the military; I’ve always admired the profession, though I never served.”

“You’re still young.” Lu Yao rose, bypassing Li Yan as he walked toward the exit.

“Where’s Major General Lu going?” the director asked Li Yan.

“I have no idea,” Li Yan replied, bewildered.

Lu Yao was slightly weary of Li Yan’s chatter, but what truly caught his attention was Mo Feng, running toward the lab, out of breath.

Lu Yao intercepted him. “What’s the urgency?”

It couldn’t be a trivial matter that required Mo Feng personally.

“Zhou… Zhou Yunchen is here,” Mo Feng panted. “With Distant Star. He’s brought it along. The spacecraft is already in the garage, and the mecha hoist is still outside. I came to ask where to place it.”

Delivered by crane? Has something gone wrong? Lu Yao steadied himself. “Place it at Maintenance Bay 3—it’s still vacant. And…” He glanced at the crew peeking from the side. “You keep filming in my stead. I’m going to meet Zhou Yunchen.”

When they arrived at the parking garage, several reception staff arranged by Mo Feng stood in a line. The fading hum of the spacecraft engines mingled with the hydraulic hiss of the opening hatch, announcing the arrival of a guest.

Lu Yao walked past them and saw a pair of polished military boots touch the ground first, followed by a set of strong, knuckled hands holding the door. Zhou Yunchen stepped down, posture straight, aura sharp. His gaze swept over the crowd, landing on Lu Yao. Though only a few steps apart, the distance felt like an interstellar chasm.

“General Zhou,” Lu Yao greeted, voice calm as always. The sound made Zhou Yunchen pause mid-step. …Not the same tone you use when calling a spoiled little cat your darling.

“Major General Lu,” Zhou Yunchen said, coming to a stop before him. He wore a steel-blue mecha combat suit.

They maintained a six foot social distance. This was the first time Lu Yao had seen Zhou Yunchen in the mecha suit. Compared with the ceremonial uniforms often seen in promotional footage, it carried less haughty authority and more practical power.

Each major fleet’s mecha combat suit was co-designed with R&D bases. Apart from the gleaming stars of rank on the shoulders, Zhou Yunchen had made no modifications to this uniform. It was the same suit everyone wore, yet his presence instantly overshadowed any others Lu Yao had seen trying it on.

The scent of steel and gunpowder almost seemed tangible—dry, cold. Top lighting illuminated both of them, yet a distance remained, their formal salutations highlighting the newly estranged relationship between these divorced ex-spouses. The reception staff behind Lu Yao buried their heads, watching neither left nor right, pretending they had seen nothing, refusing to meddle in the boss’s private affairs.

“Is something wrong with Distant Star?” Lu Yao asked.

“No,” Zhou Yunchen paused, “but I have a few questions regarding Distant Star.”

“Urgent?”

“Yes. I don’t have much time.”

Lu Yao considered for a moment and had Deus postpone some of his work. “General Zhou, Distant Star is parked at Maintenance Bay 3. Someone will guide you there. I need to return to the office first and will come by later.”

“Major General Lu, wait… your snow leopard…” Zhou Yunchen called after him.

Lu Yao turned. Zhou Yunchen’s lips moved, yet no words came out, only a complicated look in his eyes directed at Lu Yao, arousing his suspicion.

At that moment, Zhao Minghe hurried forward to clarify. “Major General Lu, the snow leopard’s injury requires a follow-up check. When the General and I saw his location via the tracking chip, we took the opportunity to send someone to escort it to the doctor.”

“Already taken?”

“Yes. The aircraft departed a few minutes ago.”

Lu Yao frowned. He was clearly not pleased, but considering the snow leopard originally belonged to Zhou Yunchen, and he had only taken care of it for a few days before accidentally injuring it, Zhao Minghe’s hurried intervention was purely to ensure the animal received medical care, with no complaint or intention of reclaiming it.

Feeling a mix of guilt and unease, Lu Yao’s tone softened slightly. “Understood. Let’s head straight to Maintenance Bay 3.” Zhao Minghe exhaled, relieved that Lu Yao wouldn’t get caught up in trivial matters.

Two aircraft had been brought. Zhou Yunchen stealthily left Lu Yao’s office and boarded one before the reception staff were fully in position. Lu Yao arrived, got out of the vehicle again, and acted as if he had just appeared. The other aircraft took off immediately, serving as a cover story for “taking the snow leopard for a follow-up check.” Finally, they even sneaked into the base’s surveillance system to modify the data, completing a thrilling game of hide-and-seek right under Lu Yao’s eyes.

As Lu Yao’s group walked toward Maintenance Bay 3, the documentary crew had just exited the Energy and Propulsion Lab, heading to the Systems Engineering and Digital & IT labs opposite the bay.

Li Yan’s peripheral vision caught sight of Lu Yao’s long hair. He turned, raising a smile to greet him from afar—only to meet a pair of jet-black, piercing eyes. Lu Yao didn’t notice Li Yan, but those accompanying him did. The stars of rank on his shoulder and the sharp, commanding expression immediately revealed his identity to Li Yan.

Alliance Warlord. Commander of the Silver Halberd Fleet. Lu Yao’s alpha—General Zhou Yunchen.

Li Yan froze. That brief gaze felt like a bone-deep threat and warning, almost enough to make him shrink and hide in a crack in the floor. Once Lu Yao and Zhou Yunchen had walked out of sight, the director called to Li Yan again, snapping him back to reality.

…Wait, weren’t these two already divorced? Lu Yao was no longer Zhou Yunchen’s legal omega.

“Have you tested the restored Distant Star?”

Lu Yao and Zhou Yunchen stood before the mecha. Its colossal shadow stretched across their sides. At over seventy meters tall, looking up from its base, Lu Yao couldn’t see its apex.

The base’s main construction space was vast enough to accommodate a dozen mechas of this scale. Massive spotlights along the walls and ceiling cast bright beams, yet the facility was so immense that the lights barely reached the far edges. Everything beyond remained shrouded in deep blue shadow.

I’ve activated it, Zhou Yunchen thought, but I couldn’t operate it in snow leopard form. I’ve never used an S-class neural core before, so I’m not entirely familiar with its controls.

Zhou Yunchen had never piloted an S-class mecha. To be precise, very few mechas had ever reached S-class since their deployment as weapons.

Mass-produced mechas were built for B-class neural and physical capabilities. C-class pilots could manage with diligence. Custom mechas were usually A-class, occasionally A+. The difference between B and A was roughly like 1 and 2—but S-class wasn’t 3. It was more like 10… or 100.

The demands on the designer were extreme. First, they had to understand the thinking and neural state of an S-class pilot. Such a designer had to be either exceptionally gifted or possess S-class neural capacity themselves. Lu Yao had both.

In his youth, he had even conceptualized several S-class mechas—but Distant Star was the first S-class mecha he had fully realized. Lu Yao tilted his head, examining the towering machine. Zhou Yunchen quietly observed his profile; the earlier conversation had faded into silence.

Zhao Minghe, trailing behind, felt as if hundreds of ants were crawling inside his chest. As an outsider, he was more anxious than the two principals. He cleared his throat involuntarily.

Lu Yao glanced back at him.

“Nothing, nothing,” Zhao Minghe waved off, “it’s just that the outdoor air in Sector 8 is drier than usual, and I’m not accustomed to it.”

“Mm.”

Once Lu Yao looked away, Zhao Minghe sent a quick signal to Zhou Yunchen with his eyes. The General’s brow twitched, lips parted, but no sound emerged. He hesitated, then finally asked, “Major General Lu, I’d like you to join me in the cockpit to test system operations.”

“Of course.”

Inside the mecha cockpit, the pilot’s seat formed the central hub for all controls. Single-pilot mechas had no secondary seats. Both climbed into the Distant Star. Zhou Yunchen stopped in front of the pilot’s seat. 

Lu Yao studied his broad back, puzzled. “General Zhou?”

If Lu Yao’s usual coldness came from a lack of emotional fluctuation, Zhou Yunchen’s icy tone came from his commanding, authoritative presence. Yet now, his voice carried a hint of hesitation. “Major General Lu… should I… bring a chair for you?”

Lu Yao regarded his back for a moment before replying, “General Zhou, you sit first. Start up Distant Star.”

“A chair?” Zhou Yunchen still hesitated.

“There’s a seat for me in the cockpit,” Lu Yao explained, moving to the side-rear of the pilot’s station. “General Zhou, you’ve never had a mecha maintenance engineer ride with you before?”

The question sounded almost like: Darling, you’ve never been with another man before?

“No,” Zhou Yunchen answered honestly, bracing himself for judgment. Before Lu Yao could respond, the cockpit’s display panels lit up. A voice, his own from previous maintenance work, echoed through the speakers:

“Greetings, General Zhou. I am Lu Yao, responsible for this Distant Star’s maintenance and upgrades. Due to replacement of the neural core, the new core lacks prior combat records. I have copied all relevant battle logs; to add additional data, consult the AI and follow its instructions. The overall system has been updated, with an optional replaceable system adapted for S-class neural capacity. To switch, consult the AI.”

It was the note Lu Yao had left when repairing Distant Star. Cold, emotionless—exactly like Lu Yao himself.

“You can disable this voice,” Zhou Yunchen said. He didn’t answer immediately, only, “I’ll modify it.”

“Advanced universal settings.” Zhou Yunchen donned the neural interface helmet and followed Lu Yao’s instructions step by step.

“Press the red button to transfer technical admin privileges to me. Done. Now enable the admin monitoring station.”

A seat rose slowly from the floor to Zhou Yunchen’s right. Its design was simpler than the pilot’s, but it featured an additional system data display. Lu Yao sat there.

“Do you often sit in this position?” Zhou Yunchen asked. Lu Yao paused as he fastened his seatbelt. The gesture mirrored his earlier question about the side seat—slightly abrupt, but well within the realm of professional procedure. He replied, “Yes. During the final flight test, my position is always in the mecha.”

“Only during the final flight test?”

“Yes. It’s a safety protocol stipulated in the testing regulations. The Chief Engineer does not ride during preliminary testing.”

“Safety is indeed crucial. Perhaps the rule requiring the Chief Engineer to participate in actual flight tests should be reconsidered. Cultivating a competent mecha engineer is no easy task.”

Lu Yao glanced at Zhou Yunchen, who stared straight ahead, delivering the observation with calm objectivity. “General Zhou, we generally don’t equate life with value.” At least not openly. Some sacrifice and resource wastage are inevitable. “Moreover, I only participate in ground tests, not flight operations. The risk is minimal.”

“I hope so,” Zhou Yunchen murmured. Lu Yao thought it might be a trick of perception, but today, the usually laconic Zhou Yunchen was unusually talkative. It was well known across the Federation: General Zhou spoke little. He himself had admitted it. On the eve of a monster war, when he was still a rising star, he delivered a pre-battle speech. Standing at the microphone, illuminated by lights, his face chiseled and resolute, lips thin and firm: “Predicting or assessing a war with words is not my forte. I have nothing more to say but: victory.”

The campaign ended in overwhelming triumph, and his speech was replayed in every media outlet. Reverence was universal.

Around the No. 3 maintenance platform, irrelevant personnel had been cleared, leaving Distant Star fully powered and poised.

“General Zhou, run Test Motion One to check connectivity and articulation. Just operate—the values will feed back to me.”

Every pilot from the Military Academy learned a standard set of test maneuvers to verify mecha integrity. After completing the universal system test, Lu Yao instructed Zhou Yunchen to switch to the S-class system for a second test. Everything functioned perfectly. After initial unfamiliarity, Zhou Yunchen quickly mastered the new system. An hour later, the S-class alpha remained composed, a stark contrast to Lu Yao’s own earlier flustered attempts.

“Distant Star is functioning well,” Lu Yao said. “Next: atmospheric weapon and flight tests. I’ll notify management to clear the area.”

He busied himself on the communications screen. Moments later, a beam of sunlight streamed through the front viewport, cascading onto the console like a waterfall of light. The illumination expanded gradually.

The base roof slowly retracted, revealing clear skies. Four metal panels slid to the edges, leaving a gap large enough for the massive mecha to exit.

“No other mechas are scheduled today. One thousand square kilometers around the base are allocated exclusively for Distant Star, including all atmospheric layers,” Lu Yao transmitted the map into Zhou Yunchen’s neural interface. “Tier-three weapons may be tested. More destructive armaments require space-based testing; there’s no time today.”

“Understood,” Zhou Yunchen replied. “Test Motion One for flight and weapons sequence?”

“Correct.”

A protective force field enveloped the ash-gray Distant Star in blue. Ignition began. The mecha trembled as Lu Yao gripped the armrests. The thrusters lifted Distant Star vertically, flames licking the field, hissing and sparking. Once clear of the building, it transitioned to horizontal flight.

One thousand square kilometers was modest for interstellar mecha operations, so Distant Star flew slowly, gradually stabilizing. Lu Yao’s pale knuckles relaxed. He exhaled. “Ahead, the mountain range is our laser and electromagnetic weapons test target. Enter preparation mode.”

Even the unstoppable General Zhou was now like a young, clumsy student—following each instruction step by step, without complaint. He even hoped Lu Yao would give him more to do.

Cannons roared, distant explosions like thunder, dazzling fire almost blotting out the sky. Lu Yao squinted against the glare, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them, Distant Star had already plunged into a cloud of dust. Yellow sand and grit pelted the mecha’s exterior, sparks flickering with each strike.

“Ascend. Dust may affect maneuverability.”

This time, Zhou Yunchen did not immediately comply. He pressed his lips together. “Your sunglasses?”

Lu Yao frowned but answered, “I left them in the office. Let’s ascend. Next are troposphere and stratosphere flight tests; we start with the climb.”

Lu Yao’s eyes were injured, so he normally wore sunglasses. Few knew the full story. His naturally dark eyes had been almost blinded in an accident during the Military Academy. Federation medicine restored his vision, but cleared the iris pigments, giving his eyes an icy blue color under light.

Doctors had suggested prosthetic eyes, superior to the originals, but Lu Yao had already replaced the rear of his skull with metal and refused further alterations. The incident was over twenty years ago, when he was still an unknown rising academic. The injury was classified.

Zhou Yunchen had no way of knowing about it. Before Lu Yao could process all this, the sudden brightness made him shield his eyes. Zhou Yunchen tilted Distant Star’s head upright and began climbing. Lu Yao felt Zhou Yunchen’s gaze but didn’t look back.

“I’ve modified the nozzles for faster acceleration and less soot accumulation. Try it.”

The engines roared in response. Thrusters in the legs, elbows, chest, and back blazed steady blue. Cherenkov-like radiation glimmered cleanly. Flames turned airborne dust into tiny glass shards, sparkling as they scattered.

Lu Yao felt shoved, lowering himself into the seat and logging notes in his personal AI: TL01/01—Improve nozzle stability.

Distant Star surged skyward. Clouds tilted beneath, and Lu Yao, penning notes, felt his mind grow dizzy. Accelerating through the upper atmosphere induced severe gravitational overload. He felt his body being pulled downward, muscles tense, spine braced, blood rushing to his feet. Oxygen deprivation and crushing pressure clawed at his brain.

Following textbook anti-gravity procedures, he tightened muscles and regulated breathing. Yet the light outside dimmed, replaced by creeping darkness and dull pain threatening unconsciousness.

“Lu Yao! Lu Yao——”

A voice sounded faintly in his ear. Lu Yao could barely make it out. Even if he wanted to respond, his muddled brain no longer obeyed. Seconds later, he blacked out completely. It wasn’t until a rush of pure oxygen filled his nostrils and lungs that his consciousness was forcibly dragged back to reality.

“Cough…” The oxygen mask fogged with his breath and exhaled carbon dioxide. Through the haze, Lu Yao vaguely saw Zhou Yunchen’s outline. Blinking, his pupils gradually refocused. He noticed the strands of hair falling across Zhou Yunchen’s forehead. The sculpted, striking face was tinged with anxiety; brows furrowed like mountain ridges, eyes locked on him. It was as if…

The expression made Lu Yao feel as though he were seconds from death. It was only a gravity-induced faint. He tried to move his hands, to summon the data screens, but couldn’t lift them. Looking down, he realized he was no longer in the observation seat. Zhou Yunchen must have moved him to the floor, performed emergency measures, and secured the oxygen mask.

Now, Zhou Yunchen’s right hand held both of his wrists, preventing self-injury while unconscious. Lu Yao could almost feel the warmth and rough calluses of his palm.

“Still climbing?” Lu Yao’s voice emerged muffled through the mask.

“No. We’re cruising slowly in the stratosphere. Testing ends here today,” Zhou Yunchen’s tone carried an unyielding firmness. “I’ll take you back.”

“Mm.” Lu Yao felt his circulation and mind returning. He wanted to ask Zhou Yunchen to release his hands, but when he opened his mouth, the words came out as, “Your eyelashes are very long.”

Both froze. Instinctively, Lu Yao’s gaze followed Zhou Yunchen’s eyes. He had never studied them up close before. Black as ink, reflecting the cold metal floor of the cockpit and his own disheveled self. And yes, the lashes were long, dark, dense. For once, Zhou Yunchen’s usual cold, commanding demeanor softened. A shadow of confusion—and something Lu Yao couldn’t name—lay in his gaze. Behind those lashes, deep and inscrutable emotions stirred.

Melancholy. Touching. Why the sadness? Lu Yao doubted Zhou Yunchen believed a regular human incapable of handling S-class mecha acceleration could faint and die in Distant Star’s cockpit today.

“You…” Zhou Yunchen’s voice sounded hoarse.

Lu Yao, lying on the floor, watched the motion of his Adam’s apple as he spoke. The lingering effects of hypoxia blurred Lu Yao’s own thoughts; he wondered what Zhou Yunchen would say next. ‘Thank you. Your lashes are long too,’ perhaps?

Zhou Yunchen raised his now-free left hand, extending one finger. Slowly, clearly, he asked, “Lu Yao, how many is this?”

One. Lu Yao thought, then said, “Three.”

Zhou Yunchen’s gaze sharpened at his serious, unflinching eyes. His expression shifted slightly. He parted his lips, hesitated, then finally said, “A few more minutes to landing. You may need a doctor.”

“Mm. I want to sit up.”

Zhou Yunchen released his wrists, instead pressing on his shoulders, “Sit after landing. Lying down helps blood return to the head.”

Lu Yao stayed still. Outside the cockpit window, clouds surged upward as the mecha descended steadily. He pulled over the monitoring display and began reviewing the data from the flight.

“You activated the gravity control system during ascent?” The system, along with the anti-G suit, allows mecha pilots to withstand sudden acceleration, maintaining consciousness and clarity.

“Yes.”

Lu Yao frowned. If the gravity system was active… then why… The flight data stopped him mid-thought. During ascent, the mecha experienced 15G positive acceleration. With the gravity control system engaged, the pilot felt 5G.

Ordinary humans can tolerate 3–4G. Commercial spacecraft limit passengers to under 2G. Elite mecha pilots, chosen from billions and wearing anti-G suits, endure 12G—standard for full-throttle ascent in a conventional mecha.

Lu Yao had designed the system accordingly, never accounting for average humans. Engineers always plan for the maximum, not the minimum. Even so, the suffering under extreme G does not lessen with tolerance—it only preserves awareness. Lu Yao muttered, “Gravity control efficiency needs improvement.”

The blue glow of the display cast over his face. Zhou Yunchen’s gaze lingered on his brows, momentarily puzzled at this sudden assessment. The current gravity system was already highly effective. Thoughts, indistinguishable between wish and calculation, flickered through his mind.

“Do you want to pilot Distant Star again?” In the past, Zhou Yunchen would have kept such a question internal. Words carry power; to ask is already to interfere. But… having spent time as a snow leopard, Zhou Yunchen realized Lu Yao was not quite as he had imagined.

Lu Yao said, “Mm… I’ll continue monitoring the remaining tests. The new series of mecha will also need attention regarding gravity control… cough, cough…”

Distant Star had already returned to the base’s main structure, adjusting its posture as it automatically descended back onto Maintenance Platform Three. Lu Yao nearly slipped, but Zhou Yunchen’s hand caught his shoulder. After a brief sway, the mecha finally stabilized. The base’s roof panels closed, shielding them from the glaring sunlight. The hiss of shifting air reminded them that the cockpit hatch was open.

Leaning on the seat, Lu Yao stood, but the rush of blood through his body made every organ ache. By the time he reached the ground via the elevator, the pain morphed into a sour rolling sensation, like invisible hands kneading his stomach.

He hadn’t walked more than a few steps before the sensation surged into his throat. Pressing a hand to his abdomen, he bent over, knees weakening. Just as he was about to collapse, a pair of strong hands caught him.

Lu Yao instinctively grabbed the arm, as if clutching a steadfast tree trunk, and steadied himself. After the violent motion in midair, his stomach still churned, dry heaving leaving nothing but acid burning in his throat.

“Lu Yao…”

“Chief Engineer!” A young voice suddenly called, cutting between them. Li Yan, who had been filming in the opposite lab, ran over the moment he saw Lu Yao. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine… just dizzy from the mecha… cough, cough,” Lu Yao rasped. Li Yan opened his mouth to say more, but a cold, piercing gaze cut across him like a knife. His words froze in his throat. Zhou Yunchen glanced at him. In an instant, his attention returned to Lu Yao. “I’ll take you to the doctor.”

Lu Yao, still grimacing, slid toward the edge of the maintenance platform, clutching his stomach. “Let me catch my breath… Deus, call the medical team.” The AI responded, “Understood. Calling now.”

Cold sweat ran down his temples. A soft piece of cloth brushed against his fingers. Lu Yao looked up to see Zhou Yunchen pulling a white handkerchief from the pocket at his side and offering it to him. This wasn’t just any cloth—it was the emergency hemostatic material integrated into the combat suit. Lu Yao took the pristine handkerchief, pressing it to his nose and mouth. “Thank you.”

Immediately, a bottle of water was offered. Distant Star’s mechanical arm lowered it, and Zhou Yunchen had already unscrewed the cap.

“Thanks.” Lu Yao sipped carefully, washing down the acrid taste burning his throat. More of the filming crew had gathered nearby, but Zhou Yunchen sent a look to Zhao Minghe. Instantly, he cleared the area, giving Lu Yao space to breathe. By the time the medical team’s vehicle arrived, Lu Yao had recovered enough to release Zhou Yunchen’s hand and follow the doctors.

Zhou Yunchen approached the vehicle as if to get in, but froze the moment Lu Yao looked back at him. “General Zhou?” Lu Yao no longer heaved, though his face remained pale and sweat matted his hair to his cheeks. Zhou Yunchen’s Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed.

He wanted to follow, but a strong premonition held him back—if he stayed, he might involuntarily “perform a grand leopard transformation” in front of everyone. He looked at Lu Yao and said quickly, “I’ll come see you again.”

“Mm… we will see each other again.” Lu Yao’s voice was weak. The doctor beside them shot Zhou Yunchen a disapproving look. “The next test can be scheduled in four days. If ground testing passes, we can proceed to space testing.”

Lu Yao assumed he was still talking about the mecha. Zhou Yunchen’s gaze shifted slightly, but there was no more time to clarify. After closing the car door for Lu Yao, he and Zhao Minghe hurried toward the parking bay.

“General,” Zhao Minghe called, jogging to keep pace, “where are we heading now?”

Zhou Yunchen kept to less crowded paths, quickly descending into the garage. Opening a flight craft, he slid into the backseat. “I may need to change back into snow leopard form.”

“Should I take you to the mountaintop villa?”

“No. First, we’ll leave the base, then switch to another craft to take me home.” Zhou Yunchen settled into the seat. “Just say I’ve—” A low, engine-like growl cut him off.

Zhao Minghe turned. The Federation General had vanished. Only a massive snow leopard lay in the back, teeth bared, tail tapping on the cabin roof.

“Quickly,” the snow leopard typed. “Just say I’ve returned from the checkup.”

Zhao Minghe immediately started the craft.

“The last patient we had faint from gravitational overload was seven years ago,” the doctor said while injecting medication into Lu Yao.

Lu Yao was instructed to lie down and responded softly, “Mm.” Seven years ago, during a prototype test, the propulsion system accelerated abnormally fast, and the gravity control system failed. The test pilot was immediately hit with a surge of overload and lost consciousness.

At the ground control center, Lu Yao’s face had gone cold. He immediately activated the emergency protocol, remotely slowing down the prototype. The pilot suffered internal bleeding and musculoskeletal injuries and remained unconscious for three days.

However, in this era of widespread interstellar travel, such gravitational-overload fainting incidents were considered minor injuries. Because Lu Yao intervened in time from the ground, the pilot recovered fully within a few days. But that pilot was an experienced A-class alpha mecha driver, top-tier in both physical and psychological endurance. The doctor couldn’t equate him with Lu Yao, a purely research-oriented omega.

Using various instruments, the doctor thoroughly examined Lu Yao. Finally, he confirmed: “You’re fine. No internal bleeding or musculoskeletal damage. Only minor gastric mucosal bleeding, likely from vomiting. I’ll prescribe some medicine; you should recover within three days.”

“Doctor,” Lu Yao asked, “after I woke from the unconscious state, I couldn’t control my speech for a while.”

The doctor furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. Then, realization dawned. “Do you mean you said a few nonsensical things?”

Lu Yao’s throat caught. “Yes.”

“That’s a symptom caused by cerebral hypoxia and ischemia. Once your blood oxygen levels return to normal, it should be fine.”

Lu Yao blushed slightly, recalling the odd sentences he’d muttered in front of Zhou Yunchen.

After finishing the injection, the doctor noticed Lu Yao still clutching his stomach, face pale. “Chief Engineer Lu, is the stomach pain still severe?”

Lu Yao closed his eyes. “Somewhat.”

“I’ll give you a painkiller injection. You can rest here a while; once it takes effect, call me if you need anything.”

The doctor left the treatment room, leaving Lu Yao alone. As he lay down, almost dozing off, something soft and warm brushed against his hand. Startled, Lu Yao reflexively grabbed it.

“Meow…” The snow leopard, trapped by Lu Yao’s hand over his mouth, could only make that strange sound. Lu Yao opened his eyes and met his pale gray gaze.

Author’s Note:

To win back your spouse, you really need to be in human form!

 

 

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