Chapter 88: What Else Are You Hiding?

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

Zhou Yunchen could not see Lu Yao’s expression. He could only feel the hand gripping his shoulder, fingers pressing into the muscle, the voice that followed carrying a faint chill. Zhou Yunchen drew in a breath, turned, and clasped Lu Yao’s hand.  “Yaoyao, listen to me—”

“Is it over?” Lu Yao cut him off.

“It’s over.”

Lu Yao nodded. No emotion showed on his face. The next moment, however, he pulled his hand free, swept past the desk, and strode toward the door.

“Lu Yao, where are you going?” Zhou Yunchen shot to his feet.

“Back to New Blue Star.” Lu Yao didn’t even look back. He pushed open the door and walked away, long legs carrying him swiftly down the corridor. Zhao Minghe, standing at the entrance, shrank his chin and stepped aside to give him room.

Zhao Minghe lingered in the doorway, watching the retreating figure vanish into the distance. Then he turned back to the blank-faced Zhou Yunchen, one hand braced against the desk. After several moments of hesitation, he asked carefully, “General, aren’t you going to stop him?”

Zhou Yunchen jolted awake, shoved the door wide, and bolted down the hall. He ran too fast, skidding at the corner and slamming straight into the wall. His hair fell messily over his brow. Lu Yao. Lu Yao was leaving… but before he left, he would surely come back for the cat.

Clenching his jaw, Zhou Yunchen sprinted toward Section H. His boots thudded against the floor. He passed several figures in the corridor, but his mind had no room to register who they were or how they reacted to his reckless dash. One scene filled his head, shattering and reforming again and again: Lu Yao’s blurred face, and those piercing pale-blue eyes, clear and cold.

Only when Zhou Yunchen charged into the empty Section H did clarity return. The wavering memories gave way to stark, cold-white walls. His pace slowed. Breath ragged, he fought to steady himself. He stopped before a closed door, a vine of bitterness tightening around his chest and throat. He shut his eyes hard, forcing the fear back down.

When he pushed the door open, Lu Yao’s figure appeared. He sat alone at the edge of the bed, head bowed over something in his hand, the starry expanse beyond the window framing his silhouette. On the desk, Torque dozed in a curled ball, purring softly. A packed suitcase rested by Lu Yao’s feet.

The bitterness loosened, but Zhou Yunchen’s throat still ached. His voice came out hoarse. “You haven’t left.”

Lu Yao turned his head, features shadowed and unreadable. “The traffic controllers are still arranging ships and flight lanes. It won’t be that fast.”

Zhou Yunchen stepped closer. Only then did he see the paper in Lu Yao’s hand—covered with formulas and design sketches. By the faint starlight, his features softened. Especially his eyes, pale enough to nearly fade into the whites. Still cold and distant, but stripped of their edge, their sharpness dimmed under the glow of the stars.

Zhou Yunchen wondered if it was an illusion. He thought Lu Yao seemed… not angry. He should have been. Furious. Bitter. Spitting curses. Whatever the form, Zhou Yunchen felt it would have been deserved. He should never have hidden the truth. Never sent that message in the haze of his heat cycle.

He should never have looked down on Lu Yao. And now he could not bring himself to simply sit beside him. They locked eyes in silence until confusion gathered in Lu Yao’s expression. Zhou Yunchen suddenly bent, caught Lu Yao’s hand, and dropped to one knee at his feet. “Lu Yao, I’m sorry…”

“For what?” Lu Yao asked suddenly. “For hiding that your heat period was over?”

Zhou Yunchen pressed his lips together and nodded. Lu Yao’s hand slipped from his grasp. Zhou Yunchen’s heart plunged to the depths—only to soar a breath later.

Lu Yao’s hand rose to his face. His thumb traced the line of Zhou Yunchen’s brow and eye socket. His brows pinched faintly, an unreadable emotion flickering in his gaze. It was not anger, nor sorrow, nor forgiveness. It was as though he were examining something closely, searching.

“Tell me—why hide it?” Lu Yao’s hand drifted lower, fingertips brushing over his cheekbone, his jaw, finally the vulnerable hollow of his throat. His nails were short and smooth, harmless, but the gesture was intimate, dangerous.

Zhou Yunchen knew there was no trace of desire in Lu Yao’s touch. The act was closer to violation, a transgression. And yet, the more forbidden it was, the more it sent a shiver down his spine. Looking up along the path of those fingers, he saw Lu Yao’s lips, pale but sharply defined, parted just enough to reveal the deep red within.

Zhou Yunchen swallowed hard. He had no answer. But Lu Yao wasn’t waiting for one. “Did you want me to stay? Or did you like things the way they were?”

The question came with piercing focus. To him, Zhou Yunchen was no different than a machine he had built himself. If it failed to meet expectations, it would be melted down and discarded.

Zhou Yunchen knew it wasn’t true. The thought was his own fear, projected onto every one of Lu Yao’s movements. What Lu Yao wanted was the question itself. He didn’t care how Zhou Yunchen lied, or whether he lied. He only cared why. “Both,” Zhou Yunchen answered.

Lu Yao’s brow arched slightly. “Is that so… You should have told me sooner.” His palm came to rest along Zhou Yunchen’s jawline.

“If I had told you earlier,” Zhou Yunchen asked quietly, “would you have stayed?”

Lu Yao suddenly pinched Zhou Yunchen’s cheek. The General’s face carried no excess flesh—hard and unyielding, unpleasant to squeeze but surprisingly springy when tapped.

“Your aide told me your rut usually lasted seven days. So I carved out seven days to see you. I should have left the morning after tomorrow, but Wonderland has already notified the traffic controllers to reassign a ship. It’s no longer convenient to cancel. I didn’t expect I’d be leaving a full day early.”

Zhou Yunchen’s pupils widened. He realized it was his own concealment that had cost him an entire extra day with Lu Yao. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you…”

Lu Yao still couldn’t resist giving his cheek a couple of brisk pats. After the two crisp sounds, he received the message that the return vessel was approaching and rose to gather Torque into his arms.

Zhou Yunchen looked dazed. Holding the cat, Lu Yao glanced at him and blinked before suddenly asking, “Do you have anything else you’ve hidden from me?”

“I…”

Lu Yao’s gaze sharpened. “You do?”

Zhou Yunchen opened his mouth, then suddenly resolved himself. “Yes.”

Lu Yao, startled: “???”

Zhou Yunchen said, “It isn’t the time yet. When I’m back on New Blue Star, I’ll tell you everything. All right?”

He still feared Lu Yao would be angry about the snow leopard. Here, aboard the Silver Halberd Fleet, Lu Yao could always escape on a ship when upset, while Zhou Yunchen had no such freedom. But once back on New Blue Star, Lu Yao would have nowhere else to run.

“What are you hiding? Is it about humanity’s survival—or the fall of nations?”

“No. It’s only about you and me,” Zhou Yunchen replied. Lu Yao’s expression eased. “Fine. I’ll wait for you on New Blue Star.”

Before leaving, Zhou Yunchen suddenly grabbed Lu Yao’s arm and pulled him close. Under Lu Yao’s puzzled gaze, he lowered a kiss. “I just… always want to be with you.”

The ship carrying Lu Yao departed once more. After threading through the gaps between fleets, its engines flared to life. Wrapped in a protective field, it streaked into the vacuum beyond New Pluto, a pale-blue comet.

There were only three crew in the cockpit. Lu Yao sat alone in the passenger cabin, Torque nestled in his arms. The kitten had been jostled for most of the trip and was now batting at Lu Yao’s hair for fun.

Outside the porthole, a vast gray planet had already been left far behind. The six great fleets and countless legion starships and mecha were reduced to a field of glittering, icy lights in the distance. Their mechanical forms were no longer visible—only the flare of high-energy shells, streaking like sparks from a furnace, reminded any observer that the distant vista was not a static painting.

With New Pluto and New Neptune as its center, a radius of 1.68 AU had been cleared for the exercises. Within that vast corridor, Lu Yao’s vessel—S08—was the only craft in motion.

Cold stars winked in the deep void. The chill of the vacuum seemed to seep in through the porthole. Lu Yao caught Torque’s paw as he pawed at the glass. With nothing left to play with, the white kitten sagged into his arms, tail twitching, eyes narrowing to slits before dozing off. The kitten’s purring vibrated up through his palm. Sleep tugged at Lu Yao as well. Life aboard the Ares these past days had broken his biological rhythm, leaving his head in a constant haze.

He glanced at the time. Three more hours to New Blue Star. He dimmed the cabin lights, leaned against the wall with Torque in his arms, and let his eyes drift shut. Spaceflight in a vacuum was smooth and silent. Only the ventilation and temperature-control systems whispered through the walls around him, steady and shallow, like a kind of white noise that never seized the mind.

As he slipped into deep slumber, even his subconscious assessments of the ship’s systems went quiet. The stars were impossibly far away. Yet suddenly, red light seared through the porthole, stabbing at his eyelids.

In the cockpit, the captain sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers slammed the comms button. “Report to the fleet—this is a fast-transport vessel S08! We’ve encountered an unidentified starship. They refuse radio connection. Suspected illegal craft!”

“Captain! Our comms with Fleet Headquarters are jammed—the signal isn’t getting out!”

“What? Find the cause and fix it immediately!”

S08 was nothing more than a passenger craft with a basic defensive field, rated for eight. Against an unknown starship, it was like a fishing skiff colliding with an aircraft carrier.

“Captain! Detection systems are scrambled. We can’t confirm the ship’s class or affiliation,” another pilot cried.

“Then use visual!”

“Report—visual observation shows a patchwork starship. Not in the Federation’s registry—I don’t recognize it!”

A patchwork starship!? It was an absolute crime—such cobbled-together vessels were only piloted by star pirates and illegal mercenaries. But how could star pirates or mercenaries dare intrude into the Federation’s central Rose System—bold enough to brazenly break into a military exercise zone?

The captain never got his answer. Beams of light lit the void, and his pupils shrank violently. In the same instant, a burst of searing brilliance shot toward them like arrows. The glare filled his vision completely.

Boom— The impact jolted the vessel, warping its frame. Lu Yao snapped awake. The next moment, scorching firelight and explosive roars surged through the cabin air. Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Meow!!!”

Author’s Note:

Pat-pat on the face.

 

 

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