Chapter 50: Bite His Leopard Ear!

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

“Do you think he’d be angry, or would he be hurt?” Lu Yao asked. Elaine looked at him, seeing a face that was cold yet suppressing aggression. She was momentarily taken aback. Rationally, she knew he was seeking an answer, but the expression made it seem like he was venting frustration.

“I’ve only had one conversation with General Zhou,” she said. “It was clear he cares about your safety. If he understands your personality, he’d realize anger isn’t your usual state, and any abnormal behavior from you would worry him.”

“As for whether he’d be angry… I don’t know. General Zhou is a military leader, always showing a tough and cold exterior. Probably, it’s been a long time since anyone dared to scold him. When someone challenges an authority figure, of course they get angry, but they’ll also assert control immediately. I’m curious—what did you say to him?”

“I told him to leave.”

Elaine was shocked. “And then? How did he respond?”

“He… he left. Didn’t say anything.”

“Was he there the moment you woke up?”

“He stayed by the bed, waiting for me to wake.”

“He wanted to talk to you,” Elaine said. “And that made you agitated. You didn’t want to be watched—or maybe you just weren’t ready to talk yet?”

“Dr. Elaine, I am talking to you right now over video.” Lu Yao stated the obvious, but Elaine knew he was trying to divert the topic, his mind unwilling to dwell on the previous question.

“Yes,” she said, “because it’s my job as your endocrine synchronist to get you to speak to me. We’ve spent over ten years building that balance. I have many ways to coax you into talking, but General Zhou probably wouldn’t do the same. Did his presence make you uncomfortable?”

“He showed up here. I felt his alpha pheromones,” Lu Yao said. “It made me feel… terrible.”

“You shouldn’t feel that way. For an estrus-period omega, a temporary mark and an alpha’s presence would normally bring comfort and satisfaction. Your physiology hasn’t changed—this effect should work for you too.”

“But I feel awful. Those… memories keep surfacing.”

“You mean the triggered traumatic memories bring back pain,” Elaine said. “Lu Yao, alpha pheromones and marking don’t cause pain in themselves. Recalling the past—even during that disaster—the temporary mark, for an omega in estrus, was a kind of remedy. It’s just that the remedy was taken amid pain, so its effect intertwines with your memory of suffering. You need to separate them. The gentle affection during the marking isn’t the cause of your pain, nor its consequence. It just happened at that moment.”

What Elaine didn’t say was that in the past, she had recommended suppressing or forgetting these memories. Back then, he doubted whether Lu Yao even wanted an alpha—just to help him recover. Now, she believed he could face these traumatic memories and separate pain from salvation. No one could kidnap, imprison, or experiment on him again. Once he disentangled the alpha mark from those memories, his trauma-induced episodes would be unlikely to resurface.

Lu Yao remained silent. For Elaine, that was an answer—it meant he was beginning to consider her words. Then, suddenly, she saw Lu Yao lift his head. Before she could ask what was happening, a silver-white fluffy mass landed on him, covering him completely. Something long and cylindrical passed through the floating screen, making it flicker several times. Was that… a tail?

“Ugh—ugh…” Lu Yao struggled, tearing the furball from his face. Hairs inhaled into his nose made him sneeze several times and cough uncontrollably.

“Awwooo…” The snow leopard stepped back slightly, looking pitiful, as if apologizing, but his claws still clung stubbornly to Lu Yao’s shoulders.

“Major General Lu,” Zhao Minghe appeared behind the snow leopard at the door. Lu Yao looked at him, dust-covered and weary. “Aide Zhao, you brought the snow leopard?”

Zhao Minghe hesitated at the door. The alpha pheromones lingering in the room from Zhou Yunchen were too strong. “Major General Lu, the General said he has urgent matters and isn’t sure when he can return. He worried you’d be bored, so he asked me to bring the snow leopard. I also checked with Mo and Chang—they agreed, so here I am.”

Lu Yao paused. Zhao Minghe assumed he was annoyed at this unilateral decision, but then heard him ask, “Will General Zhou come back?”

Zhao Minghe couldn’t read his expression. Was Lu Yao wanting him to come, or not? He looked toward Zhou Yunchen for help, but the snow leopard was now sprawled across Lu Yao, indulging itself completely, leaving the poor aide helpless.

“Yes, he will,” Zhao Minghe said, gritting his teeth. Lu Yao nodded, expression dark and unreadable, but he didn’t say anything further to make Zhao Minghe feel awkward. Zhao Minghe left the room like a man released from captivity.

Elaine, watching the scene, saw Lu Yao holding the large snow leopard tightly, apparently forgetting she was still online. She cleared her throat to remind him, “Is this the snow leopard you’ve adopted? I’ve seen one like him in a documentary.”

Lu Yao sat up against the bed, cradling the big feline. “Yes. He originally belonged to Zhou Yunchen. When we divorced, I took him.”

“If you truly wanted to sever ties with Zhou Yunchen, that wasn’t a wise choice.”

“But he’s a snow leopard,” Lu Yao said matter-of-factly. No one could resist a big, docile snow leopard. No one.

Elaine laughed. “Alright, alright. Looks like my suggestion back then—that you try keeping a cat—was the right one. You’ve completely fallen for this creature. Soft, beautiful things always inspire affection and joy. Though yours is a bit large now, the pleasure and security only increase if it behaves.”

Seeing Lu Yao begin to brush the snow leopard’s fur, his focus shifted from therapy. “Let’s end today’s session here. Video calls can’t replace in-person meetings. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll schedule a face-to-face session.”

“Okay.”

“Goodbye, Lu Yao.”

After Elaine ended the call, the hospital room was left with only Lu Yao and the snow leopard. He cupped the snow leopard’s head in his hands and rubbed its cheeks vigorously—much harder than usual—so that the fur squished and the big feline occasionally bared its teeth.

“I didn’t come back last night. D probably fed you, but today’s automatic feeding hasn’t kicked in yet. Haven’t you eaten, baby?” Lu Yao’s words reminded Zhou Yunchen, who quickly used his chip to message Zhao Minghe, instructing him to adjust the AI’s feeding schedule at the mountain villa.

Lu Yao noticed a portable cooler Zhao Minghe had placed in the corner, filled with special nutritional formula for the snow leopard. He got out of bed and grabbed a tube. But there were no bowls in the room, and his hands had wounds—he couldn’t let the leopard lick them. So he positioned the snow leopard to lie low on the bed, cradling its head with his arm.

Lu Yao opened the tube and carefully poured the pale blue liquid into the snow leopard’s mouth. The big feline’s pink tongue rolled the nutrition down in eager swallows. Afterwards, Lu Yao wiped the formula from its whiskers with a paper towel.

The snow leopard kept its gray eyes locked on him. Lu Yao stared into those glassy spheres and saw his own reflection. Only then did he notice how drained his face still looked. He wasn’t sure whether it was Zhou Yunchen’s recent presence in the room or the possibility that the snow leopard carried traces of alpha pheromones from Zhou Yunchen’s flight that had triggered the unrest still simmering inside him. He lay back on the pillow, dragging the snow leopard close. “Meow?”

Lu Yao pressed a forceful kiss to the snow leopard’s forehead, nearly flattening the fur. His omega neck pressed against the leopard’s nose, the scent of catnip mingled with guaiacwood—an intoxicating, possessive aroma that made the snow leopard’s brain spin.

After that first kiss, Lu Yao began rolling back and forth with the snow leopard in his arms, releasing the pent-up energy that felt like a stampede of a thousand horses charging through his chest and throat. He could only vent through squeezing and kneading the big feline into different shapes.

Soon, the intensity left him gasping for air. He paused, resting his cheek on the short fur of the snow leopard’s forehead, feeling a peculiar warmth and tingling. The snow leopard stayed perfectly still in his lap.

Suddenly, Lu Yao felt his ears trapped in a sealed, damp, buzzing space. He tried rotating them back, only to hit something hard. His own teeth. He had bitten the snow leopard’s round ears. The leopard stiffened immediately.

But Lu Yao wasn’t satisfied. After leaving teeth marks on both ears, he grabbed the rigid tail and bit down—halfway, since a human mouth couldn’t close fully around it. The snow leopard stared in panic, tail twitching like a rattlesnake.

Lu Yao’s reddened eyes met the leopard’s. The snow leopard, ready to bolt, froze. Bite, he thought. He bit Lu Yao once, didn’t he? Now Lu Yao was returning the favor. Apparently, Zhou Yunchen had never realized that Lu Yao liked biting when he was angry.

By the second day, with most injuries healed, Lu Yao left the hospital. The remaining wounds didn’t restrict his movements, and Zhou Yunchen’s temporary mark ensured his estrus pheromones wouldn’t leak. Psychological agitation, however, couldn’t be soothed with medicine, so staying longer in the hospital was pointless.

After giving himself a suppressant injection, Lu Yao mounted his bike and rode toward the research base. The snow leopard came along, handy for grounding him during anxious moments.

The small, delicate cat Torque had learned to avoid Lu Yao’s vigorous handling these past few days, always skirting around him. Only the thick-skinned, docile snow leopard could withstand the “magic hands” of his omega.

 

 

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