Chapter 38: What’s Zhou Yunchen Thinking?

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

At the end of the workday, the atmosphere across the base remained buoyant and celebratory.

The first field test of the FL03 had been a complete success. Its flexibility, offensive power, and engine efficiency all exceeded expectations. The test pilots reported that the newly improved gravity system was extremely user-friendly, helping to ease the fear of crushing g-forces during full acceleration.

Amid the applause and cheers, Lu Yao slipped away alone, descending into the underground museum storage and switching on the lights. Thick walls and iron doors cut off every trace of outside noise. The psychic core device lay quietly on a sheet of insulated waterproof fabric. It was simply too large—none of the current laboratory platforms could contain it.

The bloodstains on its surface had already been scrubbed clean. Otherwise, left like this, the congealed gore would have turned black and foul. Lu Yao pulled over a swivel chair and sat down, opening the files Zhou Yunchen had sent him and reading through them once.

He did not expect to find an answer that very night. Inspections at the microscopic level were far more complicated than analyzing overall structures—especially since Distant Star had failed in the environment of outer space.

Each supernova eruption, each comet that streaked past, even every burst of light leaping from a nearby star, could have influenced the mecha. Most of those influences were manageable, but the accumulation of small changes might have sparked a qualitative shift. Perhaps Zhou Yunchen had simply been caught at the exact breaking point. As for what had actually gone wrong, no conclusion could yet be drawn.

Lu Yao accessed his own encrypted database and pulled up the TL01/01 psychic core design schematics. Following the diagrams, he divided the core into several sections, then carefully disassembled the components within each, sealing them in isolation bags to be sent to the lab for testing.

That task alone took him four hours. Once the parts were cataloged, he personally supervised a transport robot as it carried the items into the intelligent laboratory.

He then instructed Deus to record in the lab’s system log that the facility had sustained durability damage and was temporarily closed to outside personnel. A full analysis would take time.

When Lu Yao left, he ran into Chang Jian. “You’re still here?” Lu Yao asked.

“I had dinner in the base cafeteria with Mo Feng,” Chang Jian replied. “We meant to call you, but you buried yourself in the lab and never came out.”

“Some personal work.”

“I figured. I just wanted to ask if you’ve seen the chatter online about you?”

“The pregnancy rumor?”

Chang Jian froze for a second at Lu Yao’s calm, detached expression, then admitted, “Yes. That. Once I confirmed you weren’t pregnant, I had people suppress the trending searches.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Just my job.”

“Oh, by the way,” Lu Yao added, “I’m drafting the initial conceptual design for the NTL. I should have it finished and ready to submit within the next few days.”

“That fast?”

“I found inspiration while repairing Distant Star. Much of the framework comes from it, so I didn’t have to rebuild everything from scratch.”

“Good. Work out the budget proposal with Mo Feng and submit it along with the design. I’ll convene a review committee.”

Strictly speaking, both the Chief Supervisor and the Secretary General of the Space Planning Department were supposed to oversee the Chief Engineer’s use of project funds. But when it came to Lu Yao, Chang Jian, and Mo Feng, the three of them were more like co-conspirators, wringing every last cent they could out of the budget.

“One more thing, Lu Yao,” Chang Jian said. “You need to think about your relationship with Zhou Yunchen. If you don’t care for him, you’d better cut the cord before it tangles further.”

Lu Yao pressed his lips together, his lashes casting a shadow over his eyes. “I don’t consider it a tangle.”

Li Yan caught sight of Lu Yao’s retreating figure and blinked in surprise. “This is the first time I’ve seen Chief Engineer Lu leave so late.”

Mo Feng, who was dining with him, chuckled. “Do you know why everyone in the mecha industry fights tooth and nail for a spot here at First Research Base?”

“Because Chief Engineer Lu has a lot of personal charisma?”

“If you put it that way, sure, that’s part of it,” Mo Feng said. “But the real reason is that he’s a staunch supporter of the eight-hour workday. By his rule, the whole base clocks out on time. Only the posts that must be manned run on shifts. Tell me—who wouldn’t want a boss like that?”

Li Yan arched his brows. “I always thought Chief Engineer Lu would be the type who’s…”

“Hm?”

“A workaholic. Or some kind of science maniac, holed up in the lab day and night.”

“You wouldn’t be entirely wrong about the latter,” Mo Feng admitted. “Sometimes he still tinkers with mecha research at home. It’s his hobby. But a workaholic? Not at all.” He tipped his head back. “People always misunderstand him. The truth is… ah, forget it. No need to explain.”

Li Yan paused for a moment, then suddenly pressed, “Then what if there were a war crisis—humanity on the brink of extinction? Would he… work overtime?”

Mo Feng thought about it. “In that case, he wouldn’t be building mechas here. He’d probably turn to developing some doomsday weapon—something that could wipe out half the universe with a single blast.

“Building mechas is his passion, but he doesn’t expect them to achieve earth-shattering feats by themselves. The outcome always depends on the pilot. People are more important than tools.”

When Lu Yao arrived home, the faint night and the bright stars blanketed the mountains. The villa, lit from within, stood like a lighthouse amid rolling waves—calm yet radiant.

He landed directly on the helipad in the courtyard. A silver-gray fluff streaked through the night from the house, rushing toward him. This time, he had learned to slow down properly, decelerating until he circled behind Lu Yao, completely reducing its speed so he could affectionately rub against his knees.

“Good baby,” Lu Yao murmured, spreading his hands to massage and nuzzle the snow leopard’s neck and head, as if venting the day’s exhaustion. The warmth of his fur always felt comforting, and this large cat even tilted his head, looking at Lu Yao with gem-like pale gray eyes. He let out a low rumble, then nudged his head into his palm. The weight of it was profoundly satisfying.

“Come on, let’s go inside. I want to see if you’ve eaten properly,” Lu Yao said.

At home, the two cats were fed twice a day. The AI took care of lunch, and Lu Yao cooked meat for the snow leopard in the evenings. But tonight, he hadn’t made it back in time, so the AI had prepared the meal. He checked the bowl—clean.

Torque, sitting by the wall licking itself, perked up when he saw Lu Yao and scampered over, circling his feet with little mews. His white fur, blue eyes, and pink nose made him delicate and charming.

Lu Yao scooped him up, opening the cabinet to give Torque some snacks—but his gaze froze on an empty space among the cat food cans. He normally stacked the cans neatly, taking them one by one. Why… was one missing in the middle?

“D, did you feed Torque an extra can?”

No, it couldn’t be. His AI hadn’t evolved enough to be tricked by Torque’s mews into opening a second can secretly. “No, Mr. Lu,” the AI replied.

Then who had taken the can? Lu Yao looked at the cabinet. The door used a push-to-open mechanism. Torque couldn’t jump that high or exert that much strength—he hadn’t opened it himself. That left only one possibility.

“Snow leopard opened the cabinet and took a can?” Lu Yao asked. The snow leopard lay flat on the ground, barely daring to breathe.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he eat it?”

“After opening the can, snow leopard handed it to Torque.”

Lu Yao stared in disbelief at the curled-up snow leopard on the floor. He had learned to share?

“Meow~” Torque mewed delicately in Lu Yao’s arms. Sure enough, his belly had puffed out from the extra food.

“Meow—”

Lu Yao put down the protesting Torque and told the AI, “D, load the cat-playstick program onto the house robot. Make sure Torque gets enough exercise to burn off that extra can.”

“Yes, sir.”

As for the snow leopard, Lu Yao crouched slightly, extending a finger to tap its nose. “No more of that, understand?”

“Awooo~” the snow leopard shrank its already short neck, making it look like one giant furball. Lu Yao didn’t expect the snow leopard to understand human speech. Rising, he headed toward the bathroom, telling the AI, “Install a biometric lock on this cabinet.”

“Yes, sir. Expected installation by tomorrow afternoon.” The snow leopard followed Lu Yao until he entered the bathroom, then stopped. Shhh-click—the bathroom door closed, steam and warmth wafting out from the gap.

Zhou Yunchen circled outside the bathroom twice, listening to the occasional splashes hitting the floor. His ears flushed, he finally ran off to the courtyard to supervise Torque’s post-dinner exercise with the house robot. After the exercise, Torque lay exhausted, sprawled into a thin cat pancake—much thinner than the usual snow leopard pancake.

At that moment, the second-floor bedroom lights came on. The glow filtered through the glass onto the courtyard floor, illuminating a slender human silhouette that moved like a painting. Torque immediately perked up and ran toward the second floor. At the top of the stairs, it noticed that the large snow leopard hadn’t followed. “Meow, meow, meow~”

Although Torque hadn’t fully grasped the relationship between Zhou Yunchen and the snow leopard, that didn’t stop him from bringing the household’s food hunter to another food hunter. Hunters that got along well could eat more meat.

Zhou Yunchen hesitated for a moment, but when Torque’s cries turned plaintive, he had no choice but to lift his paws and follow. Upstairs, Lu Yao’s bedroom door wasn’t fully closed. A shaft of light spilled onto the dark floor, and Torque squeezed through the narrow gap.

Zhou Yunchen recalled that this little white cat never slept in his room. Lu Yao’s pillow was its real home, and Lu Yao always left a lamp on at bedtime, waiting for Torque to jump up.

“Meow~” Torque’s tone shifted, likely recalling how Lu Yao had kneaded him like a long-haired dough ball. The snow leopard lowered its head, its shadow stretching thin and solitary.

“Meow?” Suddenly, a round cat head popped back through the door gap, urging the snow leopard inside.

“Torque? Did my baby come?” Lu Yao’s voice followed closely. Torque lifted a paw and swiped at the snow leopard’s whiskers. Zhou Yunchen, at a loss with this little white cat, nudged the door open with his head and stepped into Lu Yao’s bedroom. Light instantly washed over his fur.

Torque leapt back onto Lu Yao’s bed, and the snow leopard arrived at the bed’s edge. Its head was just the right height to rest on the frame. Lu Yao stroked the short fur from its forehead, between its brow and nose, then lifted the snow leopard’s paws. “Come on, baby, come to me.”

Zhou Yunchen was once again pulled onto the bed. This time, Lu Yao didn’t place him on the other side. Instead, the snow leopard lay atop Lu Yao, who cradled his head carefully to inspect his face. Zhou Yunchen gazed at the face so near, breathing cautiously. The faint scent and warm steam filled his nostrils. The snow leopard trembled and radiated heat, but its engine-like breathing masked everything.

“What do you think Zhou Yunchen is thinking?” Lu Yao pondered their conversation with Chang Jian that afternoon. He had always thought his relationship with Zhou Yunchen was very simple. A former legal mate, now a work partner—nothing more. But… what did Zhou Yunchen feel?

No relationship ever stayed the same. Zhou Yunchen’s mind had only one thought at the moment: he wished the long night would never end, the moon would hang at its zenith, and dawn would never arrive—so he could forever remain in Lu Yao’s gentle embrace.

Author’s note: 

Lu Yao, resolute supporter of the eight-hour workday.

 

 

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