“What are you thinking about? I’ve been standing here for five seconds, and you didn’t even see me.”
Gu Heng was holding a freshly washed pair of chopsticks out in front of Zuo Shihuan, who sat there in a daze, pupils unfocused, lost in thought and completely unaware of his presence.
Even though he was standing right there in front of Zuo Shihuan… was his presence really that weak?
All of a sudden, Gu Heng felt a twinge of grievance deep in his chest. He pressed his thin lips into a stubborn straight line and refused to sit down, maintaining his posture with the chopsticks extended, determined not to move until Zuo Shihuan noticed him.
Obviously, Gu Heng failed. Feeling wronged and defeated, he spoke up, “Shihuan, why are you ignoring me?”
Whenever Gu Heng used that low, magnetic voice of his, deliberately drawing out the ending in a teasing, clingy tone,
Zuo Shihuan’s ears would, without fail, start to burn uncontrollably, as if the sound alone could make them go numb and powerless before Gu Heng even touched him.
“I’m not ignoring you, really.” Zuo Shihuan said earnestly as he finally came back to himself and looked at Gu Heng. But Gu Heng clearly didn’t believe him.
Narrowing his eyes, Gu Heng asked in a suspicious, drawn-out tone, “Then tell me, what were you thinking about just now?”
Zuo Shihuan: “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
Gu Heng pouted in dissatisfaction. “Nothing? Then why can’t you tell me? I want to know everything about Zuo Shihuan.”
Zuo Shihuan froze, flustered and unsure what to say. He almost wanted to cover his face to block Gu Heng’s probing, disbelieving gaze. Was he really supposed to tell Gu Heng that just now, his mind had been filled with wild, wandering thoughts. That he had been thinking maybe Gu Heng shouldn’t have taken off that burgundy plaid apron that made him look so much like a homely husband. That even in bed, during those special moments, it would be nice if Gu Heng didn’t take it off…
The moment he thought of that image, Zuo Shihuan’s hands, hidden beneath the table, clenched tightly together. His palms grew hot, heat spreading rapidly through his body; even his ears felt as if they were burning up. He struggled to keep himself composed so Gu Heng wouldn’t notice.
After several intense, passionate nights with Gu Heng, Zuo Shihuan thought he’d gotten used to it, that he wouldn’t get flustered so easily anymore. But apparently, it was still far too stimulating for him.
He couldn’t possibly tell Gu Heng all those indecent fantasies running through his head.
Even though he had no doubt that Gu Heng would immediately fulfill every one of those desires, and then, with that insatiable boldness of his, push for even more outrageous requests until Zuo Shihuan couldn’t get out of bed again.
It was already noon when he woke up today; if they did it again… he really wouldn’t see the sun today. And his waist definitely couldn’t take another round.
Even if he was an Alpha with good stamina, he still needed some rest.
Even the hardest-working machine in a factory needs time to cool down, or else the gears would overheat and melt.
All things considered, Zuo Shihuan’s expression flickered with panic, but he quickly composed himself and changed the subject, saying, “You barely ate anything. You just watched me eat the whole time. Gu Heng, you must be hungry too, come sit and eat.”
Of course, Gu Heng didn’t mind doing that.
But as he accepted the chopsticks, he frowned, still unwilling to drop the issue. “Eat… sure, but Shihuan, you still haven’t told me what you were thinking about, so distracted you didn’t even see me. Don’t tell me…”
“Shihuan, were you thinking about me?”
Gu Heng’s lips curved upward instantly, his black eyes bright with sly delight. He braced both hands on the table and leaned forward across it toward Zuo Shihuan.
Zuo Shihuan’s pupils constricted sharply. His heart skipped in panic, because Gu Heng had hit the nail on the head.
And because Gu Heng was leaning too close, those blazing, mischievous eyes of his seemed to strip away every hidden thought in Zuo Shihuan’s mind, leaving him with nowhere to hide.
Zuo Shihuan’s breath caught; his body froze, pulse hammering wildly as his hands clenched tighter and tighter under the table.
“So I guessed right, huh?”
Gu Heng looked mildly surprised, then quickly understood from Zuo Shihuan’s honest reaction.
He arched a brow, eyes gleaming with pride, and flashed a self-satisfied grin. “If you’re thinking about me, just say it! It’s not like I’d stop you. Shihuan, you can think about me all you want, twenty-four hours a day if you like!”
Zuo Shihuan: “…” He was utterly speechless at this smug, overconfident man.
But seeing that there was no way to hide it, Zuo Shihuan couldn’t help but laugh softly and decided to indulge Gu Heng a little.
“I was thinking about you.”
“…”
Gu Heng was struck speechless. The words he’d meant to tease Zuo Shihuan with completely vanished; his mind went blank, replaying that single line, I was thinking about you…
He looked up, eyes full of stunned hope, meeting Zuo Shihuan’s gentle, light-brown gaze, the kind that overflowed with warmth and affection, as if it could drown him. Zuo Shihuan smiled faintly, a dimple showing, and said softly, “Is it wrong to think about you?”
In that instant, Gu Heng felt like his heart had been hit dead-on. His ears flushed red, and he awkwardly rubbed the bridge of his nose, taking a few seconds to recover before mumbling, “…It’s not wrong. As long as you like it.”
After saying that, Gu Heng sneaked a glance at Zuo Shihuan, half-covering his face with one hand to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips, his mouth pressed tight with shy anticipation.
Just moments ago, he’d been all arrogance and chatter. Now, struck by Zuo Shihuan’s open confession, Gu Heng’s ears were pink, and he’d fallen suddenly quiet.
Seeing this, Zuo Shihuan took the chopsticks from him and said, “Sit down. You worked hard cooking all this in the morning, you must be hungry too.”
Of course Gu Heng was starving.
But after calming his racing heart a little, he looked at Zuo Shihuan’s calm, steady face across the table, and just those few simple words were enough to throw him into chaos again, though it was a sweet kind of turmoil.
He really was Zuo Shihuan’s helpless victim, and he didn’t mind one bit.
After sitting down for only a few seconds, Gu Heng suddenly pulled his chair forward with a scraping sound.
The noise made Zuo Shihuan glance up curiously, only to meet Gu Heng’s poised, striking smile. His dark eyes gleamed vividly, and when his bright red lips curved into that dazzling grin, they showed just how breathtakingly handsome Gu Heng truly was.
Though the light was dim at the dining table indoors, the moment Gu Heng smiled, it felt as if the whole world was illuminated, sunlight and rosy clouds seemed to shine together, and the invisible brilliance outlined the curve of his smile, engraving vivid and tender colors in Zuo Shihuan’s heart.
Zuo Shihuan’s eyes were stunned by that sight. He didn’t understand it himself, yet he couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on Gu Heng, looking once, twice, again and again, unable to look away.
His hand held the chopsticks, his stomach growled, but still he couldn’t take his eyes off him.
He clearly knew that staring at Gu Heng wouldn’t fill his stomach, yet Zuo Shihuan just couldn’t bring himself to start eating. Or perhaps, beauty could be food enough, and he was already full.
Still, Zuo Shihuan couldn’t quite understand why Gu Heng was suddenly so happy, smiling like that. What he had just said, wasn’t that kind of talk pretty normal between couples?
He’d heard Gu Heng say the same sort of thing before.
When he did, Zuo Shihuan had felt warmth and joy welling up from the bottom of his heart, along with a bit of embarrassment and self-consciousness. He wondered if Gu Heng wasn’t being a little too clingy, too cheesy; maybe they should keep a little distance.
Or rather, Zuo Shihuan just hoped Gu Heng wouldn’t flirt with him sweetly one moment, then tease him childishly and deliberately make him angry the next.
But when Zuo Shihuan saw how genuinely happy Gu Heng looked now, he thought maybe it wasn’t so bad to be a little thick-skinned himself, to say some sweet and slightly corny words once in a while.
At least, it clearly worked, even Gu Heng had gone quiet and bashful.
If Gu Heng was truly that happy, Zuo Shihuan thought, he wouldn’t mind saying such things again in the future.
Resting his chin on one hand, Zuo Shihuan looked at Gu Heng with a small smile and said, “Enough smiling. Aren’t you tired from grinning that long? Come on, eat, the food’s getting cold.”
“Not tired at all. How could I be, after hearing you say you missed me?”
Gu Heng kept up that aristocratic, striking smile, and shamelessly added, “Eat? Sure. But I want you to feed me.”
Zuo Shihuan, who had just begun to relax, froze up again, that all-too-familiar sense of foreboding creeping in. He’d been ambushed by Gu Heng’s sudden remarks too many times; by now he was both used to it and helpless about it.
Covering his forehead with one hand, he lifted his gentle, light brown eyes and said, “Then you have to eat properly. No more weird requests.”
He knew perfectly well that if he didn’t agree to Gu Heng’s demand, or if Gu Heng didn’t accept his condition, this meal would never be peaceful.
So he decided to stop resisting, while still trying to bargain a little.
Gu Heng’s eyes turned slightly, sly like a black fox weighing pros and cons, but in the end, he nodded.
“Alright, alright, I’ll behave. Shihuan, ”
Zuo Shihuan finally let out a breath of relief, took the chopsticks Gu Heng handed him, and asked, “Gu Heng, what do you want to eat?”
Gu Heng lowered his gaze, gave the dishes a quick scan, then looked back at him expectantly. “Anything’s fine. Or better yet, whatever you want me to eat.”
Zuo Shihuan immediately picked up a piece of meat and placed it in Gu Heng’s bowl.
He thought that would be the end of it.
But Gu Heng, dissatisfied, raised a brow and pointed to his open mouth. “Ah, ”
Clearly asking Zuo Shihuan to feed him directly.
Zuo Shihuan was speechless, but in the end, he picked the piece back up from Gu Heng’s bowl and fed it to his open mouth, watching as Gu Heng finally started chewing contentedly.
“You’re still a child, huh? Need someone to feed you by hand?” Zuo Shihuan muttered.
Gu Heng didn’t find it embarrassing in the slightest. He immediately picked up some food with his own chopsticks, held it up to Zuo Shihuan’s lips, and smiled. “It tastes better when you feed me. You should try it too, see if it’s better when I feed you.”
Zuo Shihuan, of course, knew food wouldn’t suddenly taste better just because of who fed it.
But even as he thought it was childish, he still accepted the bite Gu Heng offered, chewed, and looked at him, sitting across the table, eyes full of laughter and affection, and somehow the sweetness that rose from his heart seemed to spread all the way to the tip of his tongue.
Too sweet. Far too sweet.
Gu Heng, with that teasing grin, urged, “See? Right? It is better when I feed you, isn’t it?”
Zuo Shihuan’s face flushed red; he couldn’t argue, but he also couldn’t admit it.
If he did, Gu Heng would only get more brazen, and this meal would drag on endlessly with more teasing and play-acting.
So Zuo Shihuan simply grabbed another chopstickful of meat, a big one this time, and shoved it straight into Gu Heng’s mouth before he could speak again.
Gu Heng accepted the food whole, smiling with bright black eyes fixed on Zuo Shihuan as he chewed, the crisp, bone-crunching crack crack sound making Zuo Shihuan freeze, pupils tightening.
Then he realized, he’d just fed Gu Heng a lamb rib. With the bone still in it.
He opened his mouth to tell Gu Heng to spit it out, but right before his eyes, Gu Heng easily bit down, crushed the rib bone, and swallowed it, meat and bone together, with a soft gulp.
Then he looked up and said, “Shihuan, I want more…”
Gu Heng’s noble, handsome face was lifted in a radiant smile; his black eyes gleamed, long dark lashes casting shadows, and his bright red lips glistened with moisture, as if freshly wetted by the blood of living prey, slowly licked clean. He looked like a dangerous lion, relaxed after a hunt yet still savoring his meal.
And then, as though nothing was wrong, he bent his dark eyes, feigning the harmless charm of a spoiled cat, and continued to ask Zuo Shihuan for food.
A chill crept down Zuo Shihuan’s spine; his hand holding the chopsticks didn’t dare move.
It was as if he were watching a great beast feeding, devouring its prey, flesh and bone alike, leaving not a trace, then pretending innocence, rubbing affectionately against its keeper to beg for more.
…Not good. Really not good.
A visceral sense of being eaten crawled over Zuo Shihuan. His hands trembled twice, and only when Gu Heng tilted his head in confusion and urged him again did he shakily pick up another bite of food.
“Eat some vegetables.”
Zuo Shihuan didn’t dare let Gu Heng eat any more meat.
How could anyone eat a lamb rib, bones and all? It wasn’t like fish bones; it was honestly a little terrifying.
“Alright…” Gu Heng lowered his black eyes in dejection, opened his mouth, and bit into the piece of bright green broccoli Zuo Shihuan fed him, chewing slowly and weakly.
Again and again, every bite that came was broccoli.
Even though it was crisp and not bad-tasting, Gu Heng, who had just tasted meat, still felt ravenous. He’d swallowed even the bones of the lamb ribs; how could a few florets of broccoli possibly satisfy him?
He glanced repeatedly at the other meat dishes, obediently eating each piece of broccoli, but the pitiful look in his eyes couldn’t be clearer, he wanted meat.
Zuo Shihuan seemed to notice it too and felt a twinge of guilt.
After a moment, he decisively switched to another plate.
Gu Heng’s dark eyes immediately lit up, a bright smile breaking across his face, it was as if a black wolf’s tail behind him had started wagging madly, waiting expectantly for Zuo Shihuan to feed him big mouthfuls of meat.
Under that scorching, hungry gaze, Zuo Shihuan’s chopsticks paused midair, goosebumps rising on his arms. In the end, he decided it was better to give Gu Heng something green and healthy again.
Vegetables… were fine. Really.
So, just when his chopsticks were about to pick up a piece of chicken, they shifted slightly, landing instead on the carrot and the soft, tender potato simmered alongside the chicken in the stew.
Gu Heng ended up with a mouthful of carrot and potato. He chewed, finally tasting a faint hint of meat, but his eyes were still full of grievance and longing as he stared straight at the unruffled Zuo Shihuan.
The carrots and potatoes weren’t bad, rich with the creamy chicken flavor, sweet and soft, even carrying tiny shreds of stewed meat.
But Gu Heng’s moody eyes still lingered on the plates of meat across the table, the craving was obvious.
As an Alpha who’d been on the move since yesterday, not stopping even through midday today, nearly starving for an entire day, Gu Heng felt like he could eat an entire cow right now, no exaggeration.
Or perhaps devour a whole hundred-kilogram Zerg creature, that would work too.
He suddenly recalled the texture of certain Zerg species, their firm, tender flesh marbled with fat, bones hard but rich in calcium, and a unique mouthfeel that added a special savor.
Back during his adolescent differentiation into an Alpha, his body had demanded huge amounts of energy. The meat of the Zerg filled that bottomless hunger far better than ordinary food ever could.
At the time, young Gu Heng was never satisfied with the Zerg meat the chefs prepared for him. Even though frozen and processed meat barely differed in taste, for someone whose genetic evolution had honed his senses, even his palate, to extreme precision, he could instantly tell when the nutrients had diminished, when the flavor was off. The disappointment, the restlessness, the gnawing hunger, it all drove him mad.
Later on….
Gu Heng, still young, began heading to battlefields himself. He hunted Zerg personally, and cooked them himself, too.
Perhaps that was how his culinary skill was born.
There’s an old saying: “A growing boy eats his father into poverty.”
But in Gu Heng’s case, it was the Zerg who starved to death.
Back then, stationed long-term on a remote frontier planet, he nearly ate an entire subspecies of Zerg, the Green Serpent Venom Bee, to extinction, simply because their larvae tasted too good.
At first, he only hunted and ate the adult bees.
The Zerg that would normally swarm at any human they saw began, upon spotting Gu Heng, to shriek and flee for their lives, though they never escaped in the end, always winding up as his meal.
The smarter ones began hiding deep in their hives, hibernating if they had to, starving themselves just to avoid being devoured by the human demon.
Soon, Gu Heng realized they’d grown cunning. After searching for a long while without finding even a trace of them, he understood they were hiding.
But Gu Heng’s sense of smell was keen.
He followed their scent straight to their nest. After a fierce but not particularly difficult battle, the Zerg, each the size of a calf, able to fly but no match for his physical power, Gu Heng found that their venomous stingers couldn’t pierce his skin at all, and their toxins were useless against him.
When they realized they couldn’t defeat him, the surviving Zerg tried to flee, carrying their queen and part of their hive with them. The rest, the unhatched pupae and the spoils of war, were taken back by Gu Heng.
It was then that he discovered something new.
When he tried eating the Zerg pupae, he found them incomparably delicious, delicate, with a faint grassy sweetness like flower honey, and even richer in nutrients than a full-grown Zerg. Small, tender, and perfect for eating.
So, instead of leaving as planned, Gu Heng decided to stay a bit longer.
The planet the Zerg occupied was barren and sparsely populated; most of the Imperial civilians had already been evacuated.
Gu Heng had no need to hold back, he could indulge freely.
And before long, he broke the Zerg’s defenses completely.
This human demon was picky, he no longer ate the adult insects, only the larvae and pupae!
No matter how they hid their hives, he’d track them down like a bloodhound.
Even with the hive’s extraordinary reproductive ability, they couldn’t keep up, Gu Heng dug out their nests day and night, eating their larvae and pupae faster than they could grow. The queen herself was dumbfounded, her young were devoured before they even matured, her race unable to reproduce fast enough.
In the end, when they saw Gu Heng approaching their hive again, they didn’t even bother resisting, they simply let him eat.
But without struggle, their kind truly would be eaten into extinction. And yet, the human demon’s strength was too overwhelming, even if this subspecies vanished, no higher Zerg would dare step in to oppose him. They’d all sooner flee in terror than face this terrifying man.
For the sake of the survival and continuation of their species, the Green Serpent Venom Bee Queen, leader of this particular Zerg branch, decided to temporarily betray the Zerg. She strained her limited intelligence to recall the human words of begging and surrender she had once heard from those devoured by her kind.
All the Zerg lay prostrate on the ground, ceasing resistance, as the queen expressed submission and the desire to negotiate with Gu Heng.
She declared that the entire Green Serpent Venom Bee branch would wholeheartedly become Gu Heng’s subordinates, pets, slaves, anything, as long as their kind could be spared.
Gu Heng wasn’t interested.
It was his first time seeing low-grade Zerg surrender, even speak some human words. Though the queen’s sentences were disjointed and incoherent, she had still managed to express submission clearly enough.
He was a little surprised. Among the Zerg, only the high-grade ones were known to possess intelligence, capable of communication, learning human language and strategy, and becoming cunning and deceitful.
Low-grade Zerg, on the other hand, were usually controlled and commanded by the higher ones, fighting to the death, limbs flying, hurling themselves into suicidal attacks without fear, as if born to be disposable weapons of war.
Gu Heng had intended to refuse the queen’s surrender, but the imperial scientists accompanying him stopped him.
They were fascinated by this phenomenon, low-grade Zerg surrendering of their own accord.
Such a thing had never been seen before. Even when the Empire had captured high-grade Zerg, not one of them had ever revealed a single detail about the Zerg Queen; some would even self-destruct by controlling their own biological systems.
It was as though the Zerg possessed a special mechanism, with the Zerg Queen serving as the central brain, connecting every Zerg together in a rigid hierarchy, moving as one disciplined army, obeying superior Zerg unconditionally, even to the point of death. It completely violated the biological instinct for survival.
The Empire’s scientists had studied for years but still couldn’t understand how such a system was possible. Even in ancient times, when humans had genetically divided themselves into Alphas, Betas, and Omegas to fight the Zerg, they had never reached such unity.
For millennia, the Empire had hunted and crushed the Zerg again and again, nearly driving them to extinction several times, yet they always managed to survive and resurge.
Now, under the command of Emperor Gu Fuyan, Gu Heng’s own father, the Imperial Army once again seemed to hold the hope of wiping out the Zerg completely.
So the Empire wasn’t willing to waste even the slightest chance to gain an advantage. The Imperial Academy of Sciences, which constantly monitored the Crown Prince’s movements, immediately sent an emergency call, pleading that His Highness spare a few Zerg for research.
Unable to resist the scientists’ desperate pleas, Gu Heng begrudgingly relented, watching with displeasure as the captured low-grade Zerg were bound in chains and surrounded by heavily armed soldiers, the creatures themselves looking almost cheerful at having survived.
Gu Heng doubted any real research would come of it and trusted the Zerg even less.
When he occasionally visited the Imperial Research Institute, he found these low-grade Zerg being well-fed and pampered by his subordinates, which only irritated him more.
What annoyed him the most was that he could no longer casually feast on their larvae. Even though the Zerg would still voluntarily offer up some unhatched brood, they were nowhere near as plump or delicious as the ones he had once dug from the deepest part of their hive.
The best larvae had long been hidden away by the queen and her worker bees, leaving him only rejects, underdeveloped, stale, or genetically inferior ones.
And after months of “research,” all Gu Heng saw was that the Zerg had gotten fatter, no other results whatsoever.
The researchers kept saying, “Soon, soon, we’re close to a breakthrough!” But Gu Heng didn’t believe them. He distrusted the Zerg and hated that they were living so comfortably.
So he proposed sending them to the battlefield, to atone for their crimes and prove their loyalty to the Empire.
He was ready for the researchers to protest fiercely, but surprisingly, after some discussion, they agreed.
Since most of them approved, the Zerg’s opinion didn’t matter. Gu Heng took the group of Zerg to the front lines, disguised them as Zerg soldiers, and coordinated with Imperial forces to launch an ambush.
The results were remarkable.
Caught off guard by the “traitors” among their own ranks, the Zerg army fell into chaos, unable to distinguish friend from foe.
Before the Imperial troops even joined the fight, the Zerg had already torn each other apart, countless dead and wounded.
The high-grade Zerg commander was furious, issuing orders and even personally executing his own subordinates, but it was useless; the low-grade Zerg had gone berserk, slaughtering one another mindlessly.
The Imperial Army, sitting back to enjoy the show, didn’t lose a single soldier and easily claimed victory, even capturing the high-grade Zerg leading that campaign, one of considerable rank.
It was a complete triumph.
Afterward, Gu Heng turned his gaze toward the trembling Green Serpent Venom Bee Zerg, his own “spy bugs.” Even with their limited intelligence, they seemed aware that what they had done was rather treacherous, returning with a guilty, uneasy air.
Resting his chin on one hand, Gu Heng studied the insects that had proven unexpectedly useful and wondered whether he should try it again.
And he did, several times.
Each time, the Imperial Army won a decisive victory.
Eventually, the high-grade Zerg realized there were traitors among them. Believing the Empire had developed a way to control Zerg soldiers, they were driven into rage and panic. To root out the supposed traitors, they even sought the Zerg Queen’s permission to activate the self-destruct gene.
In an instant, swathes of Zerg self-detonated. Like collapsing walls and falling mountains, their ranks fell silent, and the smoke-filled battlefield was left in utter, deathly stillness.
Looking around, all the Zerg were dead.
Not just the low-grade Zerg, who made up eighty percent of the cannon fodder, but even the special mid-grade ones, the backbone of the swarm with decent combat power and rank, were all dead.
Not a single scream before dying.
Even the Imperial soldiers, enemies of the Zerg, felt a chill deep in their hearts. They could hardly believe that the fierce Zerg soldiers who had been raging only a moment ago had been so easily abandoned by their superiors, discarded without even a final word.
Even these humans, who hated and loathed the Zerg beyond measure, couldn’t help but feel a kind of sorrow, a sorrow born of shared existence as living beings, as soldiers, as creatures fighting for their own kind, only to be tossed away like worthless trash by the very being they revered most.
The sight was so shocking, so deathly silent, that even Gu Heng had never seen anything like it. He hadn’t imagined that the Zerg had such a hidden move among themselves.
While the Imperial soldiers stood frozen in horror, mouths agape, Gu Heng’s sharp eyes noticed something within the field of corpses, a few still alive. Among them were not only some high-grade Zerg that had gone mad and turned on their own, but also the Empire’s new collaborators, the Green Serpent Venom Bees, their so-called great contributors.
Those “heroes” stood dazed amidst the corpses of their kin, not understanding why they still lived while the other Zerg had suddenly perished.
Watching the scene, Gu Heng found it rather amusing. It seemed the Imperial researchers really had discovered something, perhaps they had somehow severed the mental link between these low-grade Zerg and their Queen.
He quickly slipped into the center of the battlefield strewn with bodies.
At the same time, the high-grade Zerg who had caused this massacre were shocked beyond belief. They had sacrificed so much, and yet the traitors still lived, and not just any traitors, but the lowest of the low, the Green Serpent Venom Bees, a species despised even among the low-grade Zerg.
Aside from their venom, they were nearly useless, their combat strength was poor, and compared to eating humans, they preferred collecting nectar and fruit to make honey.
An embarrassment to the Zerg!
Enraged, one high-grade Zerg unfurled its ten-meter-long purple steel-edged wings. Forty-eight crimson compound eyes burned with fury, its fanged mouth wide open as it lunged toward the trembling Venom Bees, determined to slaughter these traitorous wretches.
But Gu Heng, who had already noticed and infiltrated the battlefield earlier, intervened. He stepped in front of the rampaging Zerg, blocking its attack and shielding the bewildered traitors.
Even Gu Heng found the situation absurdly funny.
He never imagined there would come a day he’d be protecting Zerg. To anyone watching, he’d look like a traitor to humankind.
Still, he went through with it, partly to fulfill the nagging requests of the Imperial researchers, who had kept pestering him to spare some of these experimental Zerg.
Drawing the man-length blade from his back, Gu Heng slashed at the furious purple Zerg. After a brief but strenuous fight, he severed the creature’s wings, tore them off, and threw them to the ground. With several more strikes, he splattered the earth with dark red Zerg blood, then pinned the monster underfoot, ready to finish it off.
Just before death, the purple fly-like Zerg let out a hoarse, furious roar, its strange, cracking voice like the vibration of a hollow, splintering log, clearly not something produced by human vocal cords.
“Human!”
The purple Zerg, heedless of death, glared at Gu Heng with blazing red eyes and shouted in halting human speech: “Despicable humans! What method did you use to make those ignorant low-grade Zerg obey you?! They’ve lost their sense of fear and pain, they’re not even afraid of death! Why do they follow your orders?!”
“We checked again and again and found nothing unusual, no trace of human technology! Did you vile humans invent some kind of sonic weapon that can control these stupid low-grade Zerg?!”
Gu Heng gave a short, scornful laugh.
Without answering a single word, he swung his blade cleanly and severed the creature’s head.
He then glanced back at the trembling Green Serpent Venom Bees, their scales raised in terror, their bodies quivering uncontrollably.
Compared to the enraged high-grade Zerg, these instinct-driven low-grade ones were clearly far more afraid of Gu Heng, the human demon who had once eaten so many of them.
Gu Heng frowned and muttered, “You’re coming back with me.”
Startled, the Venom Bees didn’t even glance at the dismembered corpse of the high-grade Zerg, the one they had once looked up to as untouchable. They even stepped on its severed limbs in their haste to follow Gu Heng closely, terrified that if they lagged behind, he might decide to eat them after all.
Gu Heng frowned again but couldn’t drive them away, they were, after all, major contributors to the victory.
On the other hand, he could understand the frustration of the high-grade Zerg, and he silently answered its dying question in his heart.
There was no human technology controlling them.
The lower the intelligence of a creature, the more it was ruled by instinct.
These low-grade Zerg had simply been scared into submission. They feared death, feared being eaten until their kind was nearly extinct, and thus chose to surrender to humans.
The higher and smarter a being, the prouder it becomes, scorning those below it, never realizing that it isn’t nearly as clever as it thinks, and that one day, it might still be bitten back by those it despises.
Because of their stupidity, the low-grade Zerg acted purely on instinct.
And instinct told them to survive, to do whatever it took to keep themselves, and their species, alive.
They didn’t care about betrayal. The concept didn’t even exist in their minds.
Before, they hadn’t “betrayed” simply because the high-grade Zerg controlled them. But once that control weakened, and after facing the terror of near-extinction at Gu Heng’s hands, their primal survival instinct led these foolish, looked-down-upon creatures to willingly submit to this human who had once devoured them.
Even if it meant biting back at those once lofty, high-ranking Zerg, the lower Zerg still chose to do so, eagerly, even.
This, at the same time, reminded Gu Heng of something important.
No matter whether it was the Zerg or humankind, they shared certain similarities. Both were lifeforms striving to thrive and reproduce within the universe, willing to bow and kneel for survival, yet destined, one day, to rise in opposition when survival was no longer possible.
Even the citizens of his own Empire were no exception.
No matter how prosperous or magnificent the Empire became, there would always be those who defected. There would also be individuals from other federations, other interstellar races, and even Zerg with the deepest grudges who would choose to join the Empire.
Fortunately, most defectors from the Empire did not flee because of hunger or deprivation, but rather due to crimes or failed political struggles that drove them to escape in fear.
If, after thousands of years of development, to the point of inventing interstellar tourism, the Empire still could not provide its people with the most basic means of survival, if they still had to starve…
Then such an Empire had no reason to exist. He, as the Crown Prince, might as well end his own life in shame.
Later on, Gu Heng waved his hand to have the group of spy-Zerg taken back by Imperial researchers. He no longer intended to have them participate in the war, they would be of little use on the battlefield now.
The higher Zerg, realizing there had been traitors, even went so far as to pay a heavy price to force entire Zerg legions into self-destruction, all to root out the ones being controlled by humans. Next time, they would surely devise countermeasures and treat those lower Zerg even more cruelly and mercilessly.
Sure enough…
On the next battlefield, Gu Heng saw for the first time that among the massive, healthy Zerg army, there were a few lower Zerg whose states were clearly abnormal, their movements unstable, swaying as if they were drunk.
But such a small number blended seamlessly into the vast tide of Zerg, like a drop of water in an ocean.
The Empire’s army again achieved victory, with no anomalies detected.
Yet Gu Heng, ever vigilant, remembered those few problematic Zerg and later sent several corpses to the Imperial Research Institute for analysis.
The results revealed a biological virus never seen before. It was not targeted at humans, but specifically at winged Zerg. The virus would infect them from their wings, paralyzing them, spreading throughout the body until they grew weak and died.
The Imperial researchers deemed the virus highly valuable for study and began attempts to cultivate it, a potential new weapon against the Zerg.
After extensive experiments, they found that the virus required a special kind of energy to activate.
Unfortunately, the Empire’s current scientific capabilities could not replicate that energy. Despite countless trials, they always failed at the crucial step, unable to reproduce or weaponize the virus. It was clearly a biological technology unique to the Zerg, though still of immense research value.
The researchers requested that Gu Heng bring back more of these virus-infected Zerg corpses.
Gu Heng, curious about the level of biological technology the Zerg had achieved, agreed to their request.
However, he did not always encounter these virus-bearing Zerg. After several successful recoveries, it seemed the higher Zerg had realized their plan had failed, and stopped employing such tactics. Some furious Zerg leaders even issued bounties, publishing wanted portraits of the traitorous lower Zerg.
Terrified, the Green Serpent Venom Bee Zerg housed in Imperial labs refused to take a single step outside, preferring to live comfortably as well-fed research specimens under human care.
Those that had distinguished themselves in service grew bolder, even persuading the Imperial researchers to plead with Gu Heng, asking him to show restraint and not consume so many venom-bee pupae, leaving them more specimens for study.
Gu Heng’s face darkened for quite a while, but he ultimately agreed to their reasonable request and stopped demanding so many of the delicious, nutrient-rich pupae.
Still, whenever he happened to encounter the now plump and glossy Green Serpent Venom Bee Zerg raised by the researchers, he would glare at them with a dark expression, and mysteriously, one or two tasty pupae would always “fall off” afterward.
Sadly, there were too few of them, and he didn’t have time to watch over the matter closely.
Since his own domesticated Zerg were now off-limits, Gu Heng had no choice but to look elsewhere for food, turning to other sources instead.
His genes always told him instinctively which food was the most nutritious.
Just as the Zerg preferred to hunt high-ranking Alphas and Omegas, the more evolved, the more appetizing, Gu Heng, too, found that the flesh of higher-level Zerg was incomparably delicious. Not merely in taste, but in a deep, genetic sense, a flavor that satisfied something primal within him, that unlocked the gene chain and provided the high-quality energy needed for human genetic evolution.
Imperial researchers discovered that consuming appropriate amounts of high-grade Zerg flesh could even repair certain human genetic defects and illnesses. Many Zerg species were now used as sources for genetic medicine and therapeutic agents.
Naturally, Zerg meat fetched extremely high prices on the market.
To kill even the lowest-level Zerg required at least ten ordinary soldiers, and for higher ones, entire mech divisions were needed.
But for Gu Heng, no matter how advanced the Zerg, their flesh was not hard to obtain.
He knew that Zuo Shihuan had once suffered from a genetic disorder. Even though he appeared recovered now, Gu Heng still could not rest easy. Humanity might have sequenced every gene, but human genetics still contained endless mysteries, and dangers.
Gu Heng especially didn’t trust the Federation’s level of medical care.
If possible, he wanted to take Zuo Shihuan back to the Empire for a thorough medical examination. Unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly tell Zuo Shihuan they were “going on a trip to the Empire” and then just happen to do a full body check-up while there.
Just thinking about it made it clear Zuo Shihuan would never agree, and Gu Heng couldn’t explain it to him either.
Whether it was Zuo Shihuan’s current identity as a member of the Zuo family, Gu Heng’s own false identity within the Federation, or the string of trouble that followed their escape from the engagement banquet, all of it meant that many forces were now watching them closely. They couldn’t afford any reckless moves, let alone a trip to the Empire.
However, after some maneuvering, even if he couldn’t bring a person to the Empire, he could still transport some Zerg meat back, secretly using it for cooking. He even brought back some of the delicious Zerg pupae for Zuo Shihuan to try.
What worried Gu Heng a little was whether Zuo Shihuan would accept eating Zerg meat.
Even in the Empire, there were many delicate and foolish nobles who refused to eat such bloody, savage food. Yet the high-grade nutrient solutions and various medicines they used all contained Zerg components, and their ancestors had survived by consuming countless Zerg themselves.
It was clearly delicious.
Gu Heng’s stomach growled. He couldn’t help licking his lips, a glint of crimson hunger flashing through his deep black eyes, like a great beast at the top of the food chain, just waking from hibernation and ready for a grand feast.
He was craving meat, badly.
Back in the present…
He suddenly bit down on the chopsticks that Zuo Shihuan was using to feed him.
Zuo Shihuan stared at the chopsticks clamped between Gu Heng’s teeth. A cracking sound echoed, wood splintering under strain, as the hungry Gu Heng’s dark eyes gleamed with a predatory light.
…Was he actually going to eat the chopsticks too?
Zuo Shihuan swallowed hard, his voice trembling nervously. “Don’t eat the chopsticks! Um, Gu Heng, why don’t you eat by yourself? I’m too slow.”
Gu Heng, who had been lost in thought about which kind of Zerg meat to use and what dish to make for Zuo Shihuan, was pulled out of his reverie by those words.
He slowly loosened his bite on the chopsticks.
Zuo Shihuan, still pale from shock, watched as the wooden chopsticks, cracked through by Gu Heng’s teeth, fell apart into splinters once released.
Completely ruined.
Not eaten, but not much better off either.
Gu Heng’s eyes suddenly lit up as he looked at Zuo Shihuan, completely unconcerned about the destroyed chopsticks. He bared his white teeth in a bright smile and asked, “Shihuan, is there any food you don’t like?”
“Huh?” Zuo Shihuan hadn’t processed it yet. He stared blankly at the pitiful remains of the chopsticks and stammered, “Should I, uh, get you a normal pair first?”
“That’s not important,” Gu Heng said earnestly, his gaze bright and serious. “What I really want to know is, are there any ingredients you can’t accept? I want to be prepared ahead of time, so you won’t accidentally eat something you dislike.”
It was such a normal scene, yet it sent a chill down Zuo Shihuan’s back. He felt an instinctive fear, like prey being watched by a great predator.
He wasn’t particularly picky, he could even stomach the cheap, gritty nutrient packs, and had never really noticed any food he disliked. He could eat just about anything.
…Or rather, as long as Gu Heng didn’t eat him, that was already good enough.
Zuo Shihuan stood there dazed, mouth slightly open, his eyes flicking from the broken chopsticks to the strangely intense Gu Heng. “Wait, shouldn’t we still change these chopsticks? How could you even bite through them? I just don’t get it.”
Gu Heng’s gaze wavered guiltily for a split second. He quickly swapped out the broken pair for a new one and flashed a refined, handsome smile. “There, all better. So, Shihuan, could you tell me? If, just if, in the future I cook for you using some special ingredients, and you come across something you dislike or avoid, promise you won’t get mad at me.”
“What’s there to be mad about?” Zuo Shihuan asked, puzzled.
Gu Heng let out a breath of relief, his smile brightening. “That’s good. I was worried you might think my cooking tastes bad.”
Zuo Shihuan shook his head. “Your cooking is great, it’s almost on par with the Zuo family chefs. But house chores should be shared. I can’t let you do all the cooking alone. Next time, let me cook.”
Gu Heng’s eyes lit up instantly. His gaze softened, filled with tender affection and anticipation. His tone became impossibly gentle, almost liquid with warmth.
“All right. I’ll wait for Shihuan to cook for me.”
Zuo Shihuan’s cheeks heated under that focused, fiery gaze. What he’d said was such a simple, reasonable thing, yet Gu Heng looked at him as if he’d given him the greatest gift in the world, so full of joy that it made Zuo Shihuan feel both embarrassed and touched.
He felt his heart race and his face grow warm, surrounded by the quiet, earnest affection Gu Heng radiated, an affection that wrapped around him like a steady, tender warmth.
He thought to himself…
Next time it’s his turn to cook, he had to do well. He’d study some recipes in advance; even if he couldn’t make a full table of dishes as effortlessly as Gu Heng did, he should at least manage a few decent ones.
Although Gu Heng was already glowing with anticipation, he hadn’t forgotten his original intention. Clearing his throat, he looked up and asked, “So, Shihuan, you really don’t have any food you refuse to eat, right?”
Zuo Shihuan, reminded again and again, finally remembered one thing he genuinely disliked. His gaze cooled slightly. “There is one.”
Gu Heng was a little surprised. “What is it?”
Zuo Shihuan’s expression darkened. He pressed his lips together and said, “I don’t like foie gras.”
It reminded him of when he first entered the Zuo family, how they mocked and humiliated him, treating him as some ignorant lower-class outsider who had never even seen foie gras. They explained its cruel method of production with scornful smiles, forcing him to swallow that greasy, nauseating piece of liver in silence.
It felt as if he, too, were a goose being force-fed to the brim, forced to swallow greasy, nauseating food, his stomach churning with disgust yet unable to vomit it out.
“I don’t want to eat foie gras, and I won’t eat it again.”
Zuo Shihuan’s expression suddenly turned cold. The nausea rose up along with the memory, bile rolling in his stomach, a bitter taste coating his tongue. He pressed his pale lips together and emphasized once more.
From Gu Heng’s perspective, it was obvious that Zuo Shihuan’s aversion wasn’t simply about this one ingredient, there must have been a story behind it.
Since Zuo Shihuan didn’t bring it up himself, Gu Heng wouldn’t force him to recall something unpleasant.
“Alright. I won’t make foie gras anymore, and I won’t eat it either. Any other kind of liver, I’ll stay away from it too,” Gu Heng said gently, reaching across the table to clasp Zuo Shihuan’s slightly cold hand. Then he lifted his head with a sly, playful smile and winked, trying to cheer up the pale-faced Zuo Shihuan.
Normally, Zuo Shihuan disliked troubling others, even when it came to things he personally disliked. Yet, when it came to Gu Heng, somehow it felt easier to speak his mind.
“Okay then. You’re not allowed to eat it anymore.”
Propping his chin on one hand, Zuo Shihuan’s mood lightened; a soft smile spread across his face. The gentle affection gleaming in his light brown eyes nearly overflowed, utterly at odds with the commanding tone of his words.
Gu Heng’s eyes lit up. Smiling, he replied, “Yes, sir!”
Zuo Shihuan couldn’t help laughing, scolding lightly, “I’m not your officer. What kind of subordinate are you, always making people angry? One day you’re going to drive me to my grave… Forget it, I don’t actually hate it that much. If you really want to eat it, go ahead, just don’t make me eat it.”
Gu Heng caught his hand again, raising his brows high and curling his lips in a teasing grin. “You are my only commanding officer. You’re the only one in this world who has the right to punish me.”
Zuo Shihuan’s pupils contracted; his face reddened as he pressed his lips together. “Punish? How childish. Eat your food properly, you’re so hungry you’ll start eating your chopsticks if you keep thinking about nonsense.”
“Alright, yes, sir!” Gu Heng stopped his teasing, but his mouth didn’t stop moving. “Reporting to the officer, I’ve always been the most obedient soldier. And according to military rules, an obedient and excellent soldier should receive his special reward, right?”
Zuo Shihuan blinked. “……” What was he even talking about?
Since when did “obedient” and “Gu Heng” ever belong in the same sentence? He suddenly had a bad feeling that Gu Heng was about to pull something.
Zuo Shihuan drew back warily, pulling his hand free and shifting his chair back, ready to escape. “I’m full. You stay here and eat slowly, I won’t bother you.”
That look of cautious retreat made Gu Heng feel utterly defeated and wronged.
He hadn’t planned to do anything, so why was Shihuan running away from him?
Gu Heng lifted his gaze, looking up pitifully at Zuo Shihuan. “Shihuan, you’re really going to leave me here alone after eating?”
“Uh…” Zuo Shihuan felt a little guilty at that, so he picked something up and handed it over. “Then… how about this? I’ll leave you my good pair of chopsticks, think of it as me keeping you company.”
Even Gu Heng was speechless for several seconds at that move.
Finally, he pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed. “Shihuan, I wasn’t asking for much, I just wanted a good-morning kiss.”
“Just that?”
“Just that.”
Zuo Shihuan glanced out at the blazing noon sun. What morning kiss? The sun was practically burning his face already. Still, he reluctantly nodded.
“…Alright.”
Across the table, Zuo Shihuan leaned forward and lightly kissed Gu Heng’s forehead, a gentle, helpless smile curling his lips. “There, your morning kiss. Satisfied?”
Gu Heng pretended to think it over, then couldn’t help breaking into a grin, touching his lips with a finger. “Satisfied. Now it’s my turn.”
Zuo Shihuan had already expected he wouldn’t get away, and chuckled. “I know.”
Then, with both hands clasped behind his back, Zuo Shihuan let Gu Heng gently cradle his face and press a warm, tender kiss to his forehead.
The bright midday sunlight spilled over both of them.
When they lifted their heads, they met each other’s eyes and smiled. No words were needed, their hearts already understood. The warmth between them felt as soft and glowing as the sunlight itself.
The sunlight is really nice.
