Go Back to Your Big Cat Form! Chapter 5: Catnip-Scented Trouble

Chapter 5: Catnip-Scented Trouble

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

 

The Marriage Matching Act required that alphas and omegas who had been mandatorily paired complete a marking within three days of marriage. Law enforcement officers would then conduct a blood test to verify. From then on, during every estrus cycle, the presence of a mark would be checked.

On the night Lu Yao and Zhou Yunchen registered their marriage, Zhou Yunchen brought it up. Lu Yao’s cold expression shifted slightly. He frowned faintly and looked at Zhou Yunchen. He didn’t need to say anything. Zhou Yunchen could already guess. With Lu Yao’s personality, he would never agree to being marked by a stranger alpha he had just met.

Fortunately, the law only required checking the pheromone concentration of the blood. It didn’t probe into whether the matched couple had engaged in any deeper physical intimacy.

Before Lu Yao could speak, Zhou Yunchen said quietly, “There’s another way. I don’t have to… bite you.”

“What way?”

“We can use a syringe. I’ll extract my pheromones and inject them into your gland. The blood test results won’t be a problem.”

Lu Yao studied Zhou Yunchen’s sharp, solemn face. His features were like stone, hard and unyielding—not at all like he was speaking to a new spouse, but rather negotiating with an enemy commander. Polite. Serious.

It was difficult to feel warmth in such a manner, but that very lack of emotional intimacy actually made Lu Yao relax. That was simply the kind of person Lu Yao was. If Zhou Yunchen had shown warmth or tenderness, he would have been thrown off balance and unbearably uncomfortable.

This cool distance, instead, suited him perfectly. Still, he hesitated at Zhou Yunchen’s suggestion. “There’s no way to bypass the test?”

“No. All the data gets uploaded to the Central AI.”

“Fine. Do it your way.” Lu Yao sat down on the edge of the bed. Zhou Yunchen went to gather equipment. When he returned, the long syringe already held half a vial of pale, viscous liquid.

The needle glinted under the light, sharp enough to sting the eyes. Lu Yao had long been accustomed to injections, since he always used injectable suppressants instead of the standard oral kind. Even so, his gaze flickered now, uncertain of what was about to happen.

Zhou Yunchen, still in full uniform, pressed his lips together. He said nothing as he approached. What should have been a tender wedding night, a night of marking, carried instead a strange chill, one that made blood and heartbeat quicken.

Lu Yao didn’t speak either. He simply brushed his long hair aside. The room was silent except for the faint sound of fabric and strands of hair sliding against each other. He undid a few buttons at his collar, then tilted his head to expose his nape to Zhou Yunchen’s downward gaze. The skin there was smooth and pale. Just beneath the surface lay a thumb-sized, faintly raised spot.

The omega gland. Lu Yao was thin, his neck long and delicate, as though one hand could encircle it—one squeeze enough to snap it. The gland was fragile, sensitive. With his lashes lowered, he looked defenseless, as if offering his neck for execution.

Zhou Yunchen’s left hand trembled slightly. He restrained the instinct to reach for him, tucking that hand behind his back. He only moved the syringe closer with his right hand. At that moment, Lu Yao said softly, “You’d better hold me down.”

Zhou Yunchen’s right hand jerked. The needle tip trembled, a droplet forming and falling in rhythm with his uneven breathing. A faint trace of alpha pheromones leaked out. It wasn’t enough to trigger any reaction, only enough to announce the presence of an alpha. Lu Yao seemed unfazed. He simply shifted his hair again, waiting.

Zhou Yunchen steadied his breathing, forcing his hand not to shake as he pressed it against Lu Yao’s shoulder. The first touch was with an alcohol swab, cool and sharp against the skin. Then, colder still, the tip of the needle pressed down. It slid in slowly, millimeter by millimeter. Lu Yao’s expression remained calm—until Zhou Yunchen pushed the pheromone liquid into the gland.

Lu Yao’s brows pinched instantly. His teeth clenched. The syringe held barely more than a milliliter, but halfway through the injection, Lu Yao’s body convulsed violently. His face went white as paper. Cold sweat broke out across his skin. He gasped for air, as though the next moment he might suffocate.

This was not a normal reaction to pheromone injection. An omega might feel soreness, weakness, even the stirring of desire—but never violent convulsions like this, never as if they were going into shock.

“Lu Yao?” Could he be allergic to pheromones? Impossible. In the past—

Zhou Yunchen tried to pull the syringe out, but Lu Yao clamped down on his hand, forcing the rest of the pheromones into himself. Only then did he yank the needle free and toss it aside. The glass shattered against the floor. Lu Yao collapsed with it, curling into himself and clutching his head. He shook and spasmed in agony, ragged, gasping breaths tearing from his throat.

Zhou Yunchen dropped to a crouch instantly, reaching for him— But Lu Yao slapped his hand away. “Not now. Don’t touch me!”

“You—! I’m calling an emergency medic!”

“No!” Another firm, agonized shout rang out. Lu Yao clutched his head, feeling as if his skull was fracturing. Darkness and shards of red swirled across his vision, and every muscle in his body tensed painfully. He still managed to shout at Zhou Yunchen. “Just stand there. Don’t move…” 

Ill-timed fear and weakness surged from his memory, and sweat instantly soaked his long hair. He curled up on the floor like a frightened animal, ready to shout at Zhou Yunchen if he tried to approach—or leave—the room.

It took nearly half an hour before Lu Yao finally regained some control. He held onto the edge of the bed and struggled to sit up. When his blurred vision cleared, he saw Zhou Yunchen standing at the foot of the bed, a half-human-sized housekeeping robot delivering warm water, glucose, and a damp towel.

“Are you allergic to pheromones?” Zhou Yunchen asked. “Your body…”

“This is… a psychological condition.” Lu Yao wiped his forehead with the wet towel and took another sip of water. “I have a stress reaction to estrus and alpha pheromones, like just now. It usually occurs during estrus, but in the past suppressants kept it under control. I didn’t expect marking to trigger a stress reaction too.”

“Does it harm your body?” Zhou Yunchen pressed the question. Lu Yao looked at the tall alpha. “It’s okay. I’ve been using suppressants for years, and it hasn’t happened in a long time.”

Zhou Yunchen gave no response, neither confirming nor denying. Moments earlier, Lu Yao had nearly gone into shock. “I’m so sorry, General Zhou. I should have told you this before we married.” Lu Yao’s face still lacked color.

“No… I should be the one apologizing.” In truth, Lu Yao thought the one who really should apologize was that damn Central AI. Over the next three years, Zhou Yunchen spent most of his time away at war, never staying home more than three months. Outsiders assumed that either one of them—or both—suffered from the coldness between them. Lu Yao didn’t know what Zhou Yunchen thought, but he felt fortunate.

Although the Central AI required omegas to accept marking and inspection during estrus for the matching period, the rule wasn’t absolute. Zhou Yunchen had command authority far above the matching regulations while on the front lines, and the Central AI couldn’t demand he return just for one marking session.

The syringe-based marking had only been used once or twice out of necessity. Lu Yao didn’t want to endure another agonizing stress episode. He just wanted a quick divorce to escape the constraints of the matching marriage law.

He climbed out of bed, shook his head, and after a sip of water, dug out his personally carried suppressant from his suitcase. He broke open the ampoule of the strong suppressant and injected himself with it. Sitting on the edge of the bed to rest, he waited for the suppressant to take effect. Gradually, the heat and oppressive tension faded. After washing up, he applied a pheromone suppressant patch to the back of his neck.

By the time he reached the mecha hangar, Shen Zishen had already reassembled the limbs of the Distant Star as instructed. Technicians were welding joints, and golden sparks scattered through the air. The mecha’s back armor remained open, leaving a passage for Lu Yao to enter the cockpit and calibrate the psychic control unit.

Inside the cockpit, bathed in the light from the hangar’s massive searchlights, Lu Yao linked the central system to his AI and began setting new parameters. He wasn’t just restoring TL01. He had also requested extensive combat data from Zhou Yunchen and, by analyzing the General’s fighting habits, made personalized improvements to the Distant Star.

A mecha’s fighting style could reflect the pilot’s personality. Research bases even had behavioral endocrine synchronists who proposed modifications based on pilot psychological profiles. Lu Yao had studied their methods. To him, this damaged Distant Star revealed Zhou Yunchen’s personality more transparently than three years of observation ever could.

In Lu Yao’s hazy memories, General Zhou had been a tall, stern, taciturn figure, almost like a mountain. Their face-to-face interactions rarely lasted more than three minutes, and he seldom spoke more than fifteen words at a time. But the Distant Star showed a Zhou Yunchen tempered with resolve and ruthlessness.

He dared to approach the deadliest beasts, letting their claws pierce the mecha’s abdomen to bait a close-range kill. He rejected standard gradual acceleration, repeatedly opting for extreme bursts as if the pain from rapid gravity shifts meant nothing to him.

The only modification Lu Yao found was a self-destruct mechanism. A century ago, self-destructs had been banned by the Federation as inhumane, but Zhou Yunchen had added it personally. Lu Yao couldn’t interfere—he only layered additional safety measures.

Yet beyond that, Lu Yao discovered elements of Zhou Yunchen’s gentleness… No, that wasn’t the right word. After thinking it over, he decided it was better described as quiet, peaceful aspects of the General’s nature. Zhou Yunchen clearly cared for the Distant Star.

Although the mecha had been battered through blood and fire, its scars unavoidable, its pilot kept the cockpit meticulously clean. The control sticks were polished smooth, and not a speck of dirt lingered in the crevices between buttons. Even the oxidized lubricating oil, which most pilots ignored, had been carefully wiped away by Zhou Yunchen. Perhaps, as outsiders often remarked, Zhou Yunchen treated his mecha like home. Lu Yao shook his head, forcing himself back from his dazed thoughts.

Halfway through his work, Zhao Minghe entered the mecha hangar and called away some of the busy technicians. The lift platform descended slowly. Lu Yao asked, “Aide Zhao, is there a problem?”

Zhao Minghe saluted him. “Major General Lu, it’s like this: another batch of mecha in the lower hangar urgently needs repair and deployment. After discussing with Mr. Shen, we decided to reassign some personnel. If you need help here, I can send fleet mechanics over.”

“No need,” Lu Yao said. “General Zhou is still at the front. This mecha isn’t urgently required.”

“I thought so too.” Now transformed into a snow leopard, Zhou Yunchen indeed couldn’t operate a mecha, but he also wasn’t on the front lines. “Major General Lu, take your time with the repairs. Don’t overwork yourself.”

Lu Yao nodded, resumed controlling the lift, and continued his work. Zhao Minghe hurried away, a little uneasy. Removing some of the technicians had been General Zhou Minghe’s order. He claimed it was because Lu Yao was in estrus and instructed Zhao Minghe to move the alpha technicians elsewhere, forbidding Zhou Minghe from staying nearby.

Zhao Minghe had no idea how Zhou Yunchen had discovered Lu Yao’s estrus. They shouldn’t have met yet. The thought left Zhao Minghe feeling prickly all the way to the hangar’s exit, as if invisible eyes were following every move. He took several deep breaths and quickened his pace.

Cold light from the hangar’s searchlights filtered through narrow gaps in the silver-white walls, falling on thick white fur. The snow leopard blinked his gray-blue eyes and quietly watched the figure working on the Distant Star.

Lu Yao was taller than an average omega, slim, his research institute’s silver-gray uniform draped over the clear contours of his bones. His pale skin gleamed under the light, flashing hints of gold and blue. When he worked, his gaze was so focused it appeared almost severe, like hardened ice.

The snow leopard’s long tail thumped unconsciously against the shadowed floor. A faint, sweet mint scent drifted through the hangar’s ventilation and slipped through the gaps.

Hiding behind the wall, Zhou Yunchen watched Lu Yao for several days. When he smelled Lu Yao’s estrus pheromones, he immediately instructed Zhao Minghe to handle the others nearby, moving all other alphas away.

It was an abuse of power. Zhou Yunchen despised himself for it, yet the sweet scent sent addictive signals from his brain to his body. Alpha possessiveness drove his actions. He had smelled Lu Yao’s pheromones before, assuming it was plain mint—but with a subtle sweetness, it wasn’t exactly mint.

Transformed into a feline, his sense of smell had sharpened. He could detect pheromones from a distance and realized Lu Yao’s scent was indeed not simple mint—it was catnip. No wonder that white cat at Lu Yao’s home always clung to him during estrus.

Even from dozens of meters away, the catnip’s stimulus made the snow leopard lower his head and nuzzle his paws, fluffing his thick fur. Zhou Yunchen fought to control the instincts of a large feline and, tail flicking, slinked away through the wall gap of the mecha hangar.

Lu Yao, in the midst of welding the casing of the psychic control unit, paused slightly. He lifted his head and removed his protective goggles, letting his gaze roam the hangar. The vast space was occupied only by Lu Yao and two other technicians. The cold air carried the sharp scent of metal, and the echo of mechanical impacts rang softly around them. Lu Yao frowned. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been watching him.

 

When the snow leopard returned to the office, an elderly man with graying hair looked up from the data on the light screen. “General Zhou, where have you been? I couldn’t find you anywhere.” The snow leopard jumped onto the desk and began typing. “Just taking a walk.”

“Did you go see Mr. Lu?” The snow leopard paused for a moment, saying nothing. His ice-blue eyes swept over the old man sharply. The man smiled, understanding immediately. The snow leopard typed again, “You came to see me because you have a solution?”

“Oh, yes. I came for that,” Qian Shan replied. The elderly man was the chief Voidologist of the Silver Halberd Fleet and one of the very few who knew that Zhou Yunchen had been transformed into a snow leopard by the advanced civilization on the other side of the void. Zhou Yunchen needed Qian Shan to help him research a way to return to human form.

At present, humanity, governed by the sole legitimate pan-galactic Federation, continued to expand its borders even after unifying the galaxy. Centuries of cosmic exploration had revealed a vast, empty universe, with no other civilizations in sight.

Just as humanity despaired at this lonely expanse, the void civilizations were discovered. Within the universe’s vast, filamentous structures were patches as black as emptiness. Humans had assumed that the absence of galaxies meant no civilization could exist there. Yet unexpectedly, these voids were gateways connecting to other universes.

Some of the universes behind the voids harbored life and civilizations. But not all voids were traversable. Only a rare few black holes allowed passage in one or both directions. The Alien Void, which produced hostile beasts, was a one-way passage.

These aggressive species could attack humans through the void, while humanity could not reach their lairs. From then on, humanity’s military force gained a new mission beyond interstellar expansion: kill the beasts and prevent them from reaching human territory.

Zhou Yunchen, while pursuing one such beast, had accidentally stumbled into another void—the Villeau Void—behind which existed yet another type of civilization.

“I’ve compiled all the reports from those who have encountered the Villeau Void since its discovery and identified certain patterns,” Qian Shan explained. “As you know, humans entering the Villeau Void are granted the most urgent wish in their hearts by the civilization behind it.”

“Mm,” the snow leopard responded. Humans could not pass through the Villeau Void, but the Villeau civilization’s influence was undeniable. It could perceive the deepest desires of humans and fulfill them. These wishes could include curing serious illnesses, enhancing physical beauty, or even becoming the world’s wealthiest individual…

Yet the Federation strictly forbade its citizens from approaching the Villeau Void. Not every wish could be “truly” fulfilled. Individual desires such as health or appearance were achievable. Societal-scale wishes, like becoming the world’s richest person, could only be granted to an individual in dreams. Those who fell asleep would never awaken.

Before the Villeau civilization acted, no human could accurately determine their single most urgent wish. This uncertainty made the Villeau Void extremely dangerous. If not for an anomaly in the psychic control unit that caused the mecha to veer off course, Zhou Yunchen would never have chased a beast into the Villeau Void’s range.

“But human desires can change over time,” Qian Shan said, looking at Zhou Yunchen, now a snow leopard. “Records show three individuals whose circumstances underwent major changes, and their most urgent desires shifted accordingly. What they received from the Villeau civilization changed too. I think you could attempt a similar path. But based on current data, the Villeau civilization’s influence is unstable only during the first year. Beyond that, changes cease.”

Qian Shan’s tone revealed his concern. “General, you must return to human form within a year. Otherwise, for the next century or more, you may remain a snow leopard permanently.”

What worried Qian Shan further were the snow leopard’s physiological traits, which affected Zhou Yunchen’s human cognition, as well as the issue of lifespan.

The snow leopard crouched on the desk, expression growing increasingly serious. “But how am I supposed to change the most urgent desire in my heart?”

Qian Shan sighed, his temples shaking as his white hair trembled. “General, what I want to know first is why the Villeau civilization determined that your most urgent wish was to become a big cat.” The plush tail flicked erratically. “Is it because of Mr. Lu?”

 

Author’s Note:

Next chapter… next chapter, the snow leopard and Lu Yao are finally going to meet!

 

 

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