Chapter 65: Painfully Beautiful

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

“Zhou Yunchen, you saw me long ago.” Lu Yao’s side hair fluttered in the night wind, partially obscuring his eyes. “But three years ago, when you saw me, you acted like I was a stranger. I don’t understand… Did that meeting leave no impression? Has so much time passed that your memory faded, and you could no longer recognize me?”

“I would never forget you.” Zhou Yunchen tried to see Lu Yao’s expression, but the shadows made it impossible. “Time will not make me forget.” Alone in an unknown star system for fifteen years, Zhou Yunchen could only recall one thing over and over: Lu Yao.

It was a dark, decaying system. Its stars were old and weak, their light dim. Many had collapsed into black holes that devoured everything nearby, warping time and space. At first, Zhou Yunchen piloted Distant Star through it, trying to encounter another temporal current, but in vain. Distant Star’s energy began to dwindle sharply, so he switched to low-energy survival mode, letting inertia and gravitational forces carry the ship.

When engineers designed mechas, they anticipated pilots could become lost. Beneath each cockpit were a rescue pod and a hibernation chamber. If a pilot entered hibernation mode, the mecha could drift through space for fifty years without attack, until human rescue arrived.

Zhou Yunchen had considered using the hibernation pod. But Distant Star might encounter a temporal current mid-drift, undetectable by radar or gravity sensors. Only a pilot on board could confirm its presence. To avoid missing the chance to return home, Zhou Yunchen chose to remain awake.

The ship’s spare food could sustain him for three years. Beyond that, he extracted nutrients from the survival and hibernation systems and administered them intravenously to keep the ship functioning.

Standing on the solid ground of the New Blue Star, he gazed at the night sky—a dark silk draped with countless jeweled stars, glittering romantically. He had read that thousands of years ago on Earth, humans could see distant stars forming a bright river across the sky. Star maps from telescopes depicted colorful, vivid nebulae, drawing the imagination into the vast, mysterious universe.

Yet drifting alone in space, those once-diamond-like points of light became massive, terrifying fireballs, their flames threatening to vaporize the thin metal shielding humans. Away from stars, space turned cold and dark again. Silence reigned, infinite and directionless, with no end in sight. To hear a sound, one had to collide with a celestial body, feeling tremors and terrifying oxygen leaks. Zhou Yunchen did not risk himself for mere noise.

In the first years, he conversed with Distant Star’s AI. Over time, he exhausted every dialogue pattern. The AI ran out of responses; he ran out of words. He stopped speaking to it, occasionally talking to himself to preserve his language ability. And most often, he spoke only when thinking of Lu Yao.

The cockpit was dark, lit faintly. Zhou Yunchen sat at the controls, catching his reflection in the window. For a moment, he imagined Lu Yao beside him—but it was only a trick of the mind. He had not descended into madness. There were no hallucinations, only memories of Lu Yao’s face, voice, and gaze.

Against the universe’s black canvas, he traced Lu Yao in his mind over and over. Childhood memories faded, but Lu Yao remained vivid. Every gesture, every smile, every glance was sharpened with lifelike detail, sparkling like high-frame cinematography. Love grew and fermented in isolation, silence, and darkness. Seeing Lu Yao again became the only thought sustaining him.

With emotions overflowing and no outlet, Zhou Yunchen tried to write poetry—to read it to Distant Star. But the AI lacked humanities data, offering neither guidance nor feedback. The empty cockpit echoed only his voice. The verses were clumsy, childish, unordered—barely poetry, mere words stitched together. He dared not read them to Lu Yao, lest he spoil the moment.

Lu Yao, draped in Zhou Yunchen’s uniform, walked through the quiet wind. Zhou Yunchen followed, catching a faint warmth and scent. Fate smiled: after fifteen years adrift, Distant Star returned to Federation space, and Zhou Yunchen could be near Lu Yao. He noticed subtle differences from his mental image of Lu Yao—but better. Lu Yao was not an untouchable, gleaming statue, aloof and distant. He was… tangible, warm, scented.

“If you remembered, why didn’t you tell me?” Lu Yao asked. Zhou Yunchen’s voice was low. “You might have hated me.”

Lu Yao stopped walking. The last time he asked if Zhou Yunchen was the alpha who had marked him, Zhou Yunchen had asked if he hated him. Lu Yao didn’t understand why Zhou Yunchen was so cautious, so humble, so timid. He didn’t understand at all. “And if I hated you, what then?”

Zhou Yunchen raised his eyes sharply. “You… I… I can’t change your thoughts if you hate me, but at least I can choose what I face myself.”

“You think that as long as I don’t ask and you don’t tell, you won’t know how I feel about the alpha who marked me. So if I hated you, you could pretend it never happened?”

Zhou Yunchen said nothing. A futile attempt to escape the truth. Lu Yao frowned, looking at the sharp, handsome face of the General. His head was lowered slightly, avoiding eye contact despite being perfectly angled to see Lu Yao. High brows cast shadows over deep-set eyes. They stayed silent for a long moment. Zhou Yunchen’s eyelids twitched, as if wanting to look, but Lu Yao’s gaze caught him.

For an instant, Zhou Yunchen faltered, but beneath the panic lay deep, restrained emotion. Like a thief caught by the owner, unable to flee, he had to speak. “Yes, I’d rather be a stranger to you,” he said. He did not want Lu Yao to hate him. “You are a distant, bright star.” Shining icy light in the darkness, guiding a desperate wanderer, yet untouchable.

“But now, I don’t hate you. And we’re not strangers,” Lu Yao said. “So, what do you want to do, General?” Lu Yao’s ice-blue eyes felt like knives piercing Zhou Yunchen’s mind. The signals flowing from them were far more direct and complex than the words Lu Yao spoke. It was as if he were questioning, even mocking Zhou Yunchen: had he never considered this third possibility, never prepared any plan?

Zhou Yunchen was nearly unable to tell whether all of this was reality or illusion. “I… I think you want to go home,” Zhou Yunchen said, his voice shaking slightly. After a brief pause, he continued under Lu Yao’s puzzled gaze, “This afternoon, at the museum, you said you wanted to leave. I held you a little longer than I should have. Your craft is still in the museum’s parking lot. I’ll send you there.”

Once the words left his mouth, the moment stretched into silence. Lu Yao slid into the co-pilot seat of Zhou Yunchen’s craft, slammed the door shut with a bang, and neither spoke another word. Zhou Yunchen felt Lu Yao was angry, but maybe not. He simply stared at the flowing lights outside the window, silent, his face maintaining its usual calm, detached expression.

The craft moved fast. The dead silence between them didn’t last long. When Zhou Yunchen landed in the elevated parking lot, Lu Yao lifted his hand to unbutton the uniform and return it. Zhou Yunchen held his hand. “It’s still cold outside. Keep it on.”

Lu Yao looked at him. “This is your uniform.” He emphasized the last two words. If it were just casual clothing, handing it back would be fine. But this was a General-grade uniform, with the rank insignia on the shoulders, marking Zhou Yunchen’s authority.

Zhou Yunchen didn’t answer immediately. He lifted Lu Yao’s long hair from inside the uniform, carefully setting it aside. His movements were slow and calm, yet the heat radiating from his skin was unmistakable. Lu Yao felt momentarily scorched.

Even by the lakeside, wrapped in two layers of warm shawls, Lu Yao’s hands and feet grew cold. Zhou Yunchen, wearing only a thin shirt, still kept his fingertips warm. “We’ll meet again. Give it back to me then.”

“I will.” Lu Yao glanced at him one last time before stepping out. He didn’t look back, walking briskly. The uniform’s hem rippled like waves in the wind. Once he climbed into his own craft and pulled out of the parking area, he stopped near the side of the elevated bridge.

Lu Yao switched the craft to open-top mode, letting the cold high-altitude wind sweep through. Not far off, countless skyscrapers began extinguishing lights floor by floor. The bridge ran along the middle of the buildings, and the smooth glass reflected Lu Yao’s thin silhouette.

He opened the glovebox on the passenger side and rifled through some draft papers, pulling out a box of mint cigarettes. He hardly ever used them; the box had been left behind by Mo Feng last time.

The mint sticks weren’t nicotine; they contained no tar or nicotine at all. More than cigarettes, they were inhalable aromatherapy made from mint extract—intensely cool and stimulating. But, since they were called “cigarettes,” they were rolled like one and had to be lit.

Lu Yao searched again but found no lighter. He pulled apart the air-conditioning vent, yanked a wire from the control system. The copper core inside was exposed from the tear. He brought two copper wires together, sparks flying instantly. He grabbed a draft paper covered in formulas, held it over the sparks, and a flame leapt along it. The wind flickered the flame wildly.

He brought the cigarette close. Before the gust could extinguish it, the mint stick caught fire. The flame died, leaving curling blue smoke. Ashes swirled and drifted. Lu Yao bit the cigarette, inhaling. The mint hit sharply, almost numbing his brain. Before he could exhale, someone called his name. “Lu Yao!”

Looking toward the voice, Zhou Yunchen was striding over. Across the street, he saw Lu Yao leaning against the car window, the cigarette sparks flickering between his fingers. The wind tousled Lu Yao’s long hair, and the flame blinked in rhythm with the smoke, tangling in strands of hair. In the faint light, Lu Yao’s ice-blue eyes dulled slightly, shadows darkening them.

Only when Zhou Yunchen approached did he see the redness around Lu Yao’s eyes, the tiny glimmers like stars, so painfully beautiful. “Lu Yao…”

Lu Yao coughed, weakly pressing against the window. The strong menthol burned his brain, almost bringing tears. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the tiny print on the cigarette box:

“Ten times stronger mint to refresh your mind, your perfect overtime mate! Developed from traditional Earth medicine, with wormwood, acorus, and dandelion, keeping you cool all day!”

Mo Feng… I’ll get you for this.

 

 

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