Chapter 95: I Just Missed Him
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: Karai
Creisson had just returned with his men, dragging the snow leopard down the narrow corridor on his way to find Lu Yao, when a hoarse, unending scream split the air ahead. The sound was raw, ragged—not Lu Yao’s voice. Creisson exhaled in brief relief, only to realize the truth a moment later: if it wasn’t Lu Yao, then the one screaming could only be one of his own men. What was Lu Yao doing?
He tossed the bleeding snow leopard to the man behind him, drew his gun, and charged forward. One powerful kick sent the lab door slamming open. The screams inside grew louder, now joined by the nauseating stench of burning flesh.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Lu Yao had his knee pressed hard against the crippled pirate’s gut, pinning him to the floor. His clothes were in disarray, the always-neat collar ripped open three buttons. Combined with the thick, pungent reek of alpha pheromones filling the room, Creisson understood instantly what had happened.
But the sight of his man was shocking. The pirate’s thigh had been pierced clean through by a welding torch. The charred wound gushed blood in a thick stream, likely from a severed artery, his body jerking in spasms. Worse still was his hand—skewered by the electromagnetic molecular blade. The electromagnetic field had shredded his flesh on the molecular level, then fused it with metal as it restructured. His palm bulged grotesquely, blistered red and purple. Blood bubbled and separated into red and white layers where it touched the blade.
The horror of modern technology mangling human flesh into something monstrous sent a chill down every spine. But there was no fear in Lu Yao’s face—only fury, cold and unflinching, a blade of ice slicing through reason.
Creisson froze for only an instant before lowering his gun and barking, “What are you standing there for? Pull them apart!”
Two pirates grabbed Lu Yao’s shoulders, dragging him off the crippled man. Lu Yao still gripped the knife, its eerie blue glow making the pirates hesitate, trembling, afraid to draw too near.
The wounded pirate wailed. Lu Yao’s hands dripped with his blood as he glared at the gun in Creisson’s hand, then flung the knife aside. “Tell your men to back off.”
Creisson arched a brow. His face went cold as he barked at the cripple, “Pathetic fool. Get out of my sight.”
But the pirate’s other leg had also been pierced. He howled, unable to stand. Lu Yao, disgusted, kicked him again. The two pirates exchanged nervous looks at Creisson’s glare and quickly hauled their comrade away.
When they tried to move him, they discovered his mangled hand was fused to the floor. No amount of pulling freed him. With no choice, they sliced away a layer of flesh. He would need a prosthetic hand for the rest of his life.
The screams faded down the hall, leaving only the heavy reek of blood behind.
Creisson crouched before Lu Yao, seized his cold, stubborn face in one hand, and gave a mocking laugh. He seemed utterly unconcerned by the carnage. “Didn’t expect Chief Engineer Lu to be such a fierce little omega. If that’s the case, I ought to reward your wisdom and courage somehow, shouldn’t I?”
Lu Yao lashed out with a kick. Creisson dodged easily, stood, and clapped his hands. “Bring in the spoils.”
The color drained from Lu Yao’s face. A silver-white, striped snow leopard was dragged inside, blood streaming from the back of his neck. His eyes were half-lidded, his breath shallow, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps.
“Where did you—” Lu Yao’s voice broke, rising and falling, his panic laid bare.
“Fell from the sky,” Creisson drawled. “The Federation lost a fight against some mercs. That General’s aide, Zhao, fled in an escape pod with this snow leopard. The pod was wrecked, the man died. Only your cat survived.” Watching Lu Yao’s face blanch, Creisson’s lips curled. “See how good I am to you? Found your cat and brought him back. You like him that much, don’t you?”
Lu Yao’s throat felt strangled, words stuck fast. He couldn’t make sense of it. How had the Silver Halberd Fleet ended up here, fighting mercenaries? How had they been routed so badly the General’s aide had to flee?
And even fleeing—why would Zhao Minghe have put the snow leopard into the pod with him? The fragments made no sense, spinning in his mind like a vortex that dragged down reason and spat out nothing but chaotic, overpowering emotion.
What had happened after he left?
Creisson was more than satisfied with Lu Yao’s stricken face. “Want your cat?”
Lu Yao’s ice-blue eyes locked on him.
“Of course you can have him,” Creisson said smoothly, “but you’ll have to give me something in return. After all, you nearly killed one of my men. If I let you off easy, what will the rest of my crew think?”
Lu Yao narrowed his eyes. He could tell Creisson was nothing like the brainless cripple—he valued tangible gains far more than an omega’s body.
“The design schematics for an electromagnetic annihilation gun. Do you want them?”
Creisson’s brow shot up. “Electromagnetic annihilation gun? Never heard of such a weapon. Last I checked, the Federation could only put that tech into large-caliber shells.”
“Exactly. The Federation hasn’t manufactured handheld versions. Only artillery shells. But the factories you have access to will never produce material strong enough to withstand the energy of an annihilation cannon. A smaller gun is weaker, but black-market foundries can build it.”
“Not bad.” Creisson grinned. “Deal. Three days from now, I expect to see detailed schematics.”
Having gotten what he wanted, he left without hesitation. His men tossed the half-conscious snow leopard at Lu Yao’s feet. As they filed out, one of them hurled a heavy sack to the floor, nearly striking Lu Yao’s legs. He jerked back just in time.
The sack split open. Sand poured out in a wave, dust rising in choking clouds that made him cough hard.
“Rrrhh—” The door sealed shut again. The snow leopard whimpered low, and Lu Yao immediately bent down, cradling the great head in his arms, inspecting the bloody wound at his neck.
The pirates had stripped Lu Yao of his personal AI assistant and all accessories to prevent tracking. Out of carelessness—or arrogance—they had ignored Torque’s plain triangular tag.
But the snow leopard, fallen from the sky, they had examined thoroughly. They cut off his collar and carved the chip from his neck with a knife.
Blood had soaked into the thick fur, drying stiff into clumps. With painstaking care, Lu Yao parted the fur to inspect the ragged wound. The pirates’ crude hands had nearly shredded the flesh in the process. With every harsh breath, the torn muscle quivered.
Through all his fear, vigilance, and anger since capture, Lu Yao had never once wanted to cry. Yet now, with the bloodstained snow leopard in his arms, his eyes and nose burned. He had never expected to see his great cat again.
Sensing Lu Yao’s trembling, the snow leopard stirred awake, turned his head, and gave a soft, broken mewl before licking Lu Yao’s face and hand. The rough tongue rasped across his skin. Lu Yao froze. His hands were still stained with pirate blood.
Neither Zhou Yunchen nor Lu Yao had ever fed the snow leopard raw meat with blood, but the instincts of a natural-born predator were indelible. The snow leopard was, after all, a large and dangerous beast. Once he tasted human blood…
The star pirates had taken away the shock collar and the ring. As much as Lu Yao felt a deep, aching relief to have the snow leopard back by his side, an unshakable dread crept in alongside it. He longed to hold the snow leopard close, yet he forced himself to draw back his hand.
The snow leopard gazed at him with pale gray eyes, as if pondering something. After a brief pause, he lowered his head to nuzzle Lu Yao’s hand, then stepped away, circling the lab with deliberate care. His tail swished as he inspected the room’s layout and surveillance cameras. Finally, he flicked his tail once more and padded toward the bathroom, glancing back at Lu Yao every few steps.
When the plume of his long, fluffy tail vanished around the corner, Torque bolted out of the bathroom like lightning, then planted himself at the doorway, hissing and yowling with furious indignation. His sharp, rasping cries sounded like he was cursing the intruder who dared to claim his territory. Lu Yao pressed his lips together and carefully rose to follow.
Torque, certain Lu Yao had come to stand up for him, lifted his chin in smug defiance and glared at the snow leopard. Yet the instant Lu Yao stepped into the bathroom, the snow leopard swung his long tail around the handle and tugged the door shut, cutting off the lab from view.
Torque: “???”
Lu Yao: “?”
Since when had his snow leopard grown this clever—clever enough to close a door?
“Meooow!” Torque howled outside, scratching and flailing in helpless outrage.
Inside, the snow leopard sat upright, his tail curled neatly around himself. His posture was regal, his expression both obedient and commanding as he looked up at Lu Yao. Lu Yao misread the gesture, thinking the cat wanted water. He turned to the sink and twisted the faucet open.
Behind him came a rustle of movement. Lu Yao assumed the snow leopard was approaching for a drink, and he shifted sideways to give the big cat space. But when he lifted his head, the mirror in front of him reflected a tall, shadowed figure.
The snow leopard was not this dark, nor this tall. Lu Yao spun around, heart pounding—just in time to glimpse a face flashing before him. His reason could not yet place the fleeting figure, but his pulse surged, emotions bursting free in a flood.
Then those strong arms seized him, pulling him close without warning, and a storm of desperate, consuming kisses crashed down before Lu Yao could react. All the fear, all the longing, all the aching worry spilled into that fevered embrace.
The kiss was wild, urgent, like an ambush. Lu Yao’s eyes fluttered shut, and in the darkness behind his lids, fleeting impressions replayed themselves again and again, merging little by little with the familiar face he knew.
He could not understand how any of this was possible—how Zhou Yunchen had suddenly appeared before him—but his body recognized the truth before his mind did. Heat, strength, the shelter of that embrace: it could only be Zhou Yunchen.
All the words he had no courage to speak, all the disbelief, drowned beneath the tidal wave of that kiss. Tears, just held back, broke free and spilled down his cheeks. His nose prickled, his eyes burned, and even a soft, trembling cry escaped his throat. It was not pain he wanted to share, nor grievance he wished to voice. He simply missed him.
Author’s Note:
When I wrote this chapter yesterday, I got so emotional that I ended up having nightmares at night. Sigh-shake.jpg
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