Chapter 96: I’m Here

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

It felt like a dream. The sudden appearance of the snow leopard, the illogical presence of Zhou Yunchen—it was as if each moment had been spliced together from scattered fragments of a surreal film, bizarre yet cutting straight into the deepest recesses of Lu Yao’s longing.

What he thought by day, he dreamed by night. Perhaps this was only a dream. His reason struggled to resist, whispering doubt, trying to convince him otherwise. But his heart… his heart was sinking, descending into a warm and gentle abyss of darkness.

He felt Zhou Yunchen’s lips pressing against his own, then traveling across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his brow, the corners of his eyes, finally falling upon the tears sliding down to his throat. Zhou Yunchen’s lips were not soft—chapped and rough, they scraped Lu Yao’s skin, leaving faint red marks. Every touch shot an electric current into the back of his skull.

Zhou Yunchen held him too tightly, pressed too close. Lu Yao could hardly breathe, his back arched against the sink, his head pressed against the mirror for support, his body bent into a precarious curve. Zhou Yunchen’s palm burned against his waist, pinning him inescapably.

Gasping for air, Lu Yao tipped his head back, throat stretched like a swan in its final struggle. At last, he pulled away from the desperate kisses, forcing Zhou Yunchen to stop. Yet still they clung to one another, their ragged breaths mingling, neither willing to let go.

Lu Yao lifted trembling hands to cup Zhou Yunchen’s face, brows drawn tight, his eyes swimming with tears as he studied him intently. In a flash of memory, he recalled a dream he once had—of the snow leopard transforming into Zhou Yunchen. But that had been in the middle of the night. He had asked nothing, only fallen back into sleep. Now, though, he was awake.

“Zhou Yunchen…” His voice shook, his eyes red. “Is it really you?”

Zhou Yunchen lowered his gaze, letting Lu Yao’s tear-streaked face fill his vision. His voice came soft, low as a sigh, heavy with emotion. “It’s me.”

Not a dream. Two simple syllables struck like twin blades, driving straight into Lu Yao’s chest, stealing every breath. His body trembled, emotions crashing so violently he could hardly breathe.

Alarmed, Zhou Yunchen reached to steady him, but Lu Yao clung to him instead, arms locking tight around his neck. His hands came away sticky with blood and crusted scabs. Zhou Yunchen’s breath faltered, but he made no sound of pain.

Tears surged again, unstoppable, falling heavy and fast. Lu Yao’s vision blurred as if a storm had swept down, rain veiling everything in white. His ears rang with thunder like the pounding of his heart.

Heat and shadow wrapped him whole. Zhou Yunchen was here. He should feel joy—or perhaps anger, for being deceived so long. But the tidal wave of feeling left him no clarity. His chest and throat ached raw, his stomach twisted bitterly, his fingers clawed for something to hold, something to tear apart, yet everything slipped through like water, gone in an instant.

“Zhou Yunchen…” Lu Yao buried his face in his shoulder, desperate to cling to everything that belonged to him.

“I’m here. I’m here.” Zhou Yunchen’s arms tightened, his hand stroking his back. “I’m here.”

Lu Yao had never cried like this. His calves cramped, his stomach seized, tears flooded so fiercely they ran into his nose and choked him. He swayed on unsteady legs, coughing hard. Bit by bit, Zhou Yunchen kissed him, held him, soothed him until at last he could guide Lu Yao into the bathtub to sit and rest. By then, Lu Yao’s eyelids and cheeks were swollen from tears.

Yet unlike the bruised swelling of blows, this flush made him seem fever-warm, his soft cheeks like delicate sponge cake. The vivid color only deepened the brilliance of his tear-shining lashes.

Lu Yao stared at Zhou Yunchen quietly, then suddenly covered his face. His voice rasped. “Don’t look. I must look awful when I cry.” 

Zhou Yunchen blinked in surprise. Lu Yao’s face was undeniably beautiful. Even though his features were too sharp, too cold for an omega, his unearthly grace transformed what could have been a flaw into a beauty so striking it could stop hearts. Countless people had praised him for it.

But Lu Yao himself had never cared. This was the first time Zhou Yunchen had ever heard him judge his own appearance—good or bad. He was still drowning in emotion, still trembling from the storm.

Quietly, Zhou Yunchen fetched a towel, soaked it in cold water, and returned to kneel by the tub. “It’s all right. I’ll wipe your face. A little cold compress—it’ll help.”

Lu Yao didn’t move. But when Zhou Yunchen gently pulled his hand away, he did not resist.

Half of Lu Yao’s face was revealed, flushed red, his eyes lifted toward him, wet and luminous. In that instant, Zhou Yunchen was struck all over again—no, a hundred and eighth time—by the brilliance of his beauty. His heart thundered, his hand trembling as he pressed the towel to Lu Yao’s cheek.

Warmth and softness met him through the cloth. When he finished wiping one side, the towel was hot with Lu Yao’s fevered skin. He returned for fresh water, then tended the other side, his movements careful, reverent, as if handling a priceless treasure.

A third time he wet the towel and cooled Lu Yao’s face until the swelling faded to a faint blush. Then he switched towels to clean the blood from Lu Yao’s hands. The bathroom adjoined a small side room off the lab. The star pirates had left a bed and meager supplies there for Lu Yao, a cramped space once meant for researchers working overnight.

The bathroom itself was narrow, with no dry-wet partition, only a tub at the far end. The single ceiling lamp cast dim light across lead-gray walls, hardly reflected at all.

In that gloom, thick with steam, their breathing echoed. Lu Yao lowered his gaze, watching as Zhou Yunchen wiped the blood away. His skin looked pale as ice beneath the dim light, yet warm in Zhou Yunchen’s hands.

The hush between them grew heavy, intimate. Even the sound of cloth sliding over skin seemed loud. Then Zhou Yunchen frowned. A stain remained no matter how he wiped it. He rubbed harder—twice, three times—but the yellowed bruise clung stubbornly to Lu Yao’s wrist.

His frown deepened. He tugged Lu Yao’s sleeve higher. Inch by inch, the fabric slid back, revealing shocking bruises blooming dark and swollen across his arm. Pain and fury tangled in Zhou Yunchen’s eyes. He pushed the sleeve past the elbow. There, harsh puncture marks scarred the flesh, scabbed over but ringed with ugly swelling where needles had been forced in. The bruising spread upward in blotches of purple and yellow, vanishing beneath his sleeve toward the shoulder.

Lu Yao saw the look on his face. His other hand twitched back, but Zhou Yunchen caught it, yanking the sleeve up. Identical bruises marred the skin.

“They—” Zhou Yunchen’s voice dropped, ragged with a growl. “They drew some blood,” Lu Yao murmured.

“Some?” Zhou Yunchen’s voice shook with rage. Lu Yao hesitated. “You did see it, didn’t you… the scene they faked? My… death?”

“I saw it,” Zhou Yunchen ground out. “They scattered your blood into the void.”

“You didn’t believe it, did you?”

“I never believed you would just die like that. And Torque disappeared too. I thought that cat had to be with you.”

Lu Yao fixed his gaze on Zhou Yunchen. The ice-blue of his eyes held something unreadable. He stared so long that Zhou Yunchen began to doubt whether he had done something wrong just moments ago. Only then did Lu Yao slowly speak.

“Then how do you explain the other cat beside me? Zhou Yunchen, you’re my…” He faltered, suddenly remembering all the casual names he had once called the snow leopard. Now, it was strangely difficult to say them aloud.

Zhou Yunchen tightened his grip on Lu Yao’s hand. “Yes. The snow leopard was always me. Your little obedient one, your treasure, your sweetheart—it was always me.”

Lu Yao bit down on his lip, a gesture he rarely made. His face shifted into an expression no one had ever seen before, so strange it defied words—something between shock, regret, embarrassment, disbelief, and a mysterious grievance. It was subtle, fleeting, and utterly unique. His usually quick mind crashed under the weight of information, frozen, unable to form a single sentence in response.

Zhou Yunchen was a man. How could he also be his cat? How had things turned into this? Then the slam of the main door shattered the tension between them.

In the blink of an eye, Zhou Yunchen shifted from man to snow leopard, baring his teeth in a savage roar at the bearded star pirate who had pushed open the door. His fangs flashed, gums blood-red.

Behind the bearded man, Torque arched his back, fur bristling, and shrieked. One large cat and one small cat boxed the pirate in, leaving him trapped and suddenly unsure of his next move.

“What are you doing here?” Lu Yao rasped, snatching up the towel that had fallen to the side.

The bearded pirate answered stiffly. “We… we saw you take the snow leopard into the bathroom and you never came out. We were worried he’d eaten you, so we came to check.”

Lu Yao stretched out a hand and ruffled the thick fur on the snow leopard’s back. The beast obediently sank down at his touch. “He’s mine. He won’t bite me. Whether he’ll bite you after you hurt him—that’s another matter.” The snow leopard flashed his teeth again.

“Fine, fine.” The bearded man turned to leave, but after only two steps, he glanced back over his shoulder. “So now that you’ve got a big cat, you don’t like little cats anymore? Then maybe—”

Lu Yao’s eyes narrowed. “What? Get out! Wait. Bring some medicine. My cat’s injured.”

The bearded man instinctively glanced at Torque, who was perfectly unharmed, before remembering that Creisson had ordered the chip torn from the snow leopard’s neck.

A while later, he returned with an armful of medicines and nutrient solutions, claiming they were for both cats. Once Lu Yao confirmed the pirate had left and the laboratory door was sealed shut, he went back into the bathroom, the one place without surveillance.

Zhou Yunchen shifted back into human form. He had just parted his lips to speak when Lu Yao pressed firmly on his shoulder and forced him down onto the closed toilet lid. Standing behind him, Lu Yao began cleaning the wound at the back of his neck, applying medicine with steady hands.

Zhou Yunchen watched their shadows overlapping on the floor, his and Lu Yao’s merging into one. He swallowed hard and finally spoke, his voice low and cautious. “About the snow leopard… I should have told you sooner.”

Author’s Note:

Cuddles. Wife cried.

 

 

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