Chapter 39

Jing Chi let out a soft hum and turned to leave with the towel in hand.

To his surprise, Pei Rui took it anyway, despite his earlier refusal.

Pei Rui knew he was imposing on a total stranger. Though he couldn’t fathom the odd shift in Jing Chi’s demeanor moments ago, he accepted the gesture with good grace. Clearing his throat lightly, he said coolly, “Thank you.”

His face remained impassive, but inwardly, he felt a twinge of discomfort. Slapping his own face like this wasn’t something Pei Rui made a habit of.

The decisive General Pei cut an imposing figure out in the world, a man whose word was law. Yet here he was, backtracking because of one stranger insect’s sour expression. Pei Rui found the whole thing rather peculiar.

Jing Chi arched a brow as Pei Rui accepted the towel, his earlier frustration evaporating in an instant.

He knew Pei Rui never minced words for anyone outside these walls, never softened his tone for any insect. For him to bend even this much was a victory.

And watching Pei Rui fumble awkwardly with his damp hair nearly drew a laugh from him.

The slight curve of his eyes gave away his amusement.

Pei Rui glanced up, only to meet the young man’s laughing gaze. Those eyes were striking—beautifully shaped, with tails that swept upward, betraying the insect’s buoyant mood.

A mood sparked by his own clumsy efforts.

The realization sent Pei Rui’s heartbeat skittering faster. He could scarcely believe that one day, another insect’s simple actions might stir something in him.

The thought flickered through his mind and vanished. His expression hardened instantly, a wave of self-reproach washing over him for his foolishness.

But his impeccable manners held him in check. He set the towel down on the nearby table and asked curtly, “Where can I catch a starship out of here?”

His light brain had been destroyed along with the warship. Otherwise, he would have contacted his subordinates the moment he could.

Instead, he was stuck relying on Jing Chi.

Jing Chi paid no mind to Pei Rui’s sudden chill. It was just the general’s way, after all.

He replied patiently, “The only way off is the starships from Lan’an—first through fifth of every month. Costs a hundred thousand star coins.”

He’d gotten the details straight from the System ahead of time.

Jing Chi emphasized the sum deliberately, playing up his role as a down-on-his-luck insect from Desolate Star. It was no small fortune—or so he’d let on. Deep down, he knew it was pocket change for Pei Rui.

Pei Rui opened his mouth to respond. A hundred thousand star coins? Trivial. But the thought of his ruined light brain stopped him cold, forcing the words back down his throat.

With a working light brain, that amount would have been a drop in the ocean. Now? His shoulder insignia and the warship’s wreckage were likely his most valuable possessions.

He didn’t have a single star coin to his name.

No one carried currency into battle, after all.

Under Jing Chi’s expectant stare, Pei Rui exhaled slowly.

“Oh.”

“Just ‘oh’?” Jing Chi blinked, prodding gently. “Nothing else?”

Pei Rui frowned but nodded all the same.

Jing Chi’s face fell into visible disappointment. Pei Rui eyed him suspiciously. “What’s with that look?”

Jing Chi straightened up at once, rubbing the tip of his nose with a sheepish grin. “Nothing. Just worried you won’t take to living here. You scream ‘prosperous star’ from a mile away.”

Pei Rui accepted the excuse, however grudgingly, and pressed on. “Any quick way to make a hundred thousand star coins?”

No one here could fix his light brain, that much was clear. Earning a starship ticket the old-fashioned way it was.

This fell squarely outside Jing Chi’s wheelhouse.

He consulted the System right away, not forgetting to gripe first. “What happened to those meal tickets you promised?”

The System gave a nervous chuckle. “Host, I didn’t see his light brain getting wrecked coming.”

That explained it. Jing Chi nodded to himself.

Who would’ve thought a mighty general would stoop to scraping together his own fare?

“Alright, where can I make star coins fast?”

“Host, Desolate Star might be poor, but it’s got a black market. There’s an underground fighting arena there—the quickest way to earn big. Prize for a win is a hundred thousand star coins. But it’s brutal. Life or death, no rules.”

Jing Chi passed it all along to Pei Rui verbatim.

Pei Rui didn’t hesitate. “Then take me there tomorrow.”

After all, in Pei Rui’s mind, the sooner he left this place, the better.

Jing Chi shook his head, however. “Not tomorrow.”

Pei Rui’s gaze settled on Jing Chi’s face. Assuming he was angling for some reward, a glint of understanding flashed in his eyes. “I’ll compensate you,” he said coolly, “but only after I get back.”

Jing Chi stared at the insect across from him, who seemed utterly convinced of his mercenary motives. Speechless, he replied, “The Underground Fighting Arena only opens on Sundays, and today is Wednesday. Even if you had Star Coins right now, they wouldn’t do you any good—it’s mid-month already. The next opening is still a long way off, and besides, you’re injured. I suggest you wait until next Sunday. Though if your wounds don’t bother you, disregard what I just said.”

There was a hint of sarcasm in the young man’s final words.

Pei Rui realized his mention of compensation had cooled Jing Chi’s demeanor, erasing the mild smile from moments before.

He knew he’d misjudged him, but spoken words were like spilled water—irrevocable. In the end, he managed only a stiff grunt of acknowledgment.

His lips parted, but the apology stuck in his throat.

Jing Chi watched him wrestle with his inner turmoil and had to fight back a laugh, though his expression remained impassive and cool. He rose and headed toward the bedroom.

Pei Rui’s hands clenched into fists. He sat bolt upright on the sofa, rigid as a statue.

Yet his eyes betrayed him, trailing after Jing Chi’s retreating back until it vanished from sight.

Moments later, Jing Chi reemerged, something in his hand.

Only when he drew near did Pei Rui recognize it as a tube of Nutrient Liquid.

Surprise flickered in his eyes.

Jing Chi set it down in front of Pei Rui and turned to go.

He wasn’t truly upset—Pei Rui hadn’t done anything wrong, just let a thoughtless remark slip. Still, he wanted the general to grasp how deeply his words could wound.

And only when guilt, gratitude, and other complex emotions took root in an insect’s heart would deeper feelings follow naturally, without fanfare.

The principle held true for humans… and for insects alike.

Jing Chi had just turned away when a hand closed around his wrist.

It was warm, the fingers bearing faint calluses, the skin pale and the knuckles sharply defined.

His gaze traveled up the arm to Pei Rui’s face. Conflict etched the exquisite, coldly beautiful features. Pei Rui’s lashes lowered, veiling his eyes, and his gem-hued lips parted. At last, he spoke. “I misunderstood you earlier. I’m sorry.”

He withdrew his hand at once. Having delivered his apology, Pei Rui seemed to shed an unwelcome burden, snapping back to the haughty demeanor he’d shown at their first meeting.

As though none of the awkwardness had ever occurred.

Jing Chi gave a neutral hum, his face betraying nothing of whether the offense lingered.

Pei Rui picked up the Nutrient Liquid and took a sip. The taste was bitter and astringent—the cheapest grade available. He frowned faintly but drained the tube anyway. He knew even this meager sustenance must be precious on Desolate Star.

“You can sleep here tonight or in the bedroom,” Jing Chi said. “But there’s only one bed in there, and it’s mine. Your choice.”

With that, he retreated into the bedroom, leaving the decision to the insect behind him.

For a fastidious insect with germaphobic tendencies, the sofa was the obvious pick.

Yet after a night on it, Pei Rui regretted his choice.

It was far less restful than going without sleep altogether.

Fine for sitting, the sofa proved woefully inadequate for lying down—too short, too narrow, and unforgivingly hard.

When Jing Chi opened the bedroom door the next morning, he spotted the faint shadows under Pei Rui’s eyes.

He figured it wouldn’t take two days before this particular insect came knocking for a share of the bed.

The pair coexisted peacefully over the next couple of days.

Jing Chi made no special effort to impose himself, sticking to his everyday routine.

Pei Rui observed him venturing out only to bask in the sun before returning to idle about the house like some retired elder insect.

He couldn’t fathom how such a slothful female insect had ended up here.

Every female insect he knew was fearless and valiant on the battlefield, tireless and capable in private.

Jing Chi, for his part, noted Pei Rui’s wide-eyed astonishment on the first day as he pottered about. By the second, the general had taken to pitching in with simple household chores.

It was a welcome change—having an extra pair of hands around. General Pei Rui might hold a lofty rank, but he proved surprisingly adept at domestic tasks, far outshining Jing Chi’s own haphazard efforts.

In the two days since Pei Rui’s arrival, the little home had taken on a fresh, invigorated air.

By the third day, Pei Rui finally decided the sofa was too uncomfortable. He ended up knocking on Jing Chi’s door.

Late at night, Jing Chi rubbed his eyes and opened the door. The moment he did, he saw the female insect standing there in disarray, clothes in complete dishevelment.

Pei Rui was wearing Jing Chi’s pajamas. The two insects had similar builds—in fact, Pei Rui’s figure was even better.

Perhaps that was simply the difference between a female insect and a male insect.

The female insect had only fastened two buttons on the pajama top. His clear collarbones were visible above, while firm, taut abdominal muscles peeked out below.

Jing Chi had moved past his initial surprise and grown accustomed to it. As for such a bold style, he just hoped Pei Rui wouldn’t regret it later once he realized Jing Chi was a male insect.

He let out a yawn and asked, fully aware of the situation, “What’s wrong? Is something the matter?”

Jing Chi’s gaze finally settled on Pei Rui’s face.

The female insect’s hair was a bit messy, strands falling across his forehead. His ruby-red eyes, already lacking rest, now had slightly reddened rims that lent him a pitiful air. Yet his lips were pressed tight, his chin lifted just a touch, revealing a hint of pride. It felt more like a declaration than a request:

“Tonight, I’m sleeping with you.”