Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Yale's pupils constricted.

He suddenly realized that the male insectoid wasn't trying to attack him; it was attempting to support him since he appeared unsteady on his feet.

This thought firmly took root in his mind, causing him to subconsciously drop his guard and cease his sharp mental assault.

His mental energy withdrew too swiftly, causing the male insectoid's rigid body to twitch before collapsing like a mountain, landing heavily on the floor.

"Hey, you...!"

Yale's expression shifted slightly as he crouched down to check on the insectoid. As he reached out, his hand encountered an unusual warmth and dampness.

"015!" he said with a cold demeanor, not turning his head. "Turn on the lights."

Click.

The dim living room was fully illuminated, revealing the chaos that had been concealed by darkness. A river of blood originated from the sofa, flowing all the way to the male insectoid lying at Yale's feet.

The situation was more severe than he had anticipated, but the worst part wasn't the torn wounds. It was Yale's realization that he was running a high fever, indicating a clear infection and inflammation in the wounds, which might have already progressed to necrosis.

"Antipyretic, where's the antipyretic... Nindine, Abel, come here..."

Yale gently opened the chest, revealing several medications with distinct properties. Just as he was about to administer them to the male insectoid, he suddenly paused.

"…Madness, how can one casually consume medications?"

He forcefully closed his eyes, composing himself, then opened his optical brain to send a communication request to Xueis.

"He just woke up, seemingly triggered into a semi-insect form. He forced himself to stand and walk, possibly tearing open his wounds in the process. He's now in a fever-induced coma with severe blood loss. What should we do?"

Hugh's face appeared on the screen, but his words were cut short as he took in the dire situation. His expression turned grave.

Assuring himself that the medications he had previously purchased were within reach and hadn't been discarded, he promptly instructed Yale on how to perform emergency first aid and administered various injections.

After a frenzied effort, they managed to stabilize the condition of the male insectoid, stopping the bleeding and preventing further deterioration.

Yale, disregarding his appearance, knelt on the ground, panting heavily. His face and hands were stained with dried blood, giving him a disheveled look. "Is... is that all there is to it?"

"Alright then, kindly take him to clean up gently, but avoid any rough movements."

Yale involuntarily furrowed his brow.

The male's bloodied body was a sight to behold, with the dried blood now forming a thin scab adhered to his wounds and flesh. Cleaning it would be akin to re-tearing the injuries, not to mention that wounds should not be exposed to water easily.

"It's alright. Even though he has lost much of his self-healing ability, the vitality of a male is still formidable. He won't die from an infection just by taking a bath. Leaving him unclean would pose a greater risk."

After a series of instructions, Xioas suddenly recalled something.

"Oh, right, it's best not to engage in any activities with him for a few days. Otherwise, there's a high chance of internal bleeding, which could lead to death. Just wait for a few more days until his wounds have somewhat healed."

Yale looked at him in disbelief, wondering how such a word could possibly fit alongside the bloodied and injured male.

A surge of anger welled up inside him, and he spoke coldly, "He is not some pleasure object I brought home to satisfy my desires!"

"No, he's in such terrible condition...!"

The handsome male on the screen wore an expression of disbelief, his dark eyes flickering with vivid anger as he nearly gritted his teeth, "I'm no beast!"

"Don't be upset, milord."

Huais's tone softened. "It's just a routine reminder. The male's injuries might take a year or so to heal completely. I kindly ask for your patience and understanding. Call me anytime you need assistance."

With a snap, the communication ended.

Yale stared at the mess on the floor, overwhelmed by a headache. His priority now was to settle the male. "015, assist me in moving him to the bathroom."

In response, a series of frantic static sounds filled the air. Turning around, Yale noticed that his old robotic butler's screen had dimmed, displaying the message "1% battery remaining. Shutting down automatically."

"...I'll recharge you first."

Suppressing a sigh, Yale pushed 015 into a corner of the living room and plugged it in.

He gathered all the scattered medicine bottles from the ground and hastily stuffed them back into the medicine cabinet, clearing a path to walk through. Then, he turned his attention to the male on the floor.

"Goodness, I can't lift you like this."

Muttering to himself, Yale approached the male's head, placing one hand under his neck and the other around his shoulders. With a firm grip, he lifted the male into his arms.

The male's body was broad and robust, though its beauty was marred by numerous scars. His beautiful back muscles were almost completely ruined, with moisture coating the area when touched – a mix of cold sweat, blood, and bodily fluids.

The scorching heat transmitted through Yale's palm all the way to his heart, causing an unusual tingling sensation. His eyelashes fluttered as he forced himself to shift his focus.

With both hands under the male's armpits, he struggled to drag him into the bathroom.

"..."

There was no bathtub or rug in the bathroom, so Yale had no choice but to let the male lie on the cold tiles temporarily. The combination of cold and heat must have been uncomfortable, as the unconscious male twitched slightly and curled up.

For the second time after the sofa, Yale felt the confinement of the small space in this room.

The male on the floor was tall and muscular, with long limbs, likely standing over six feet tall. Even in his curled-up position, he occupied most of the tiny bathroom, resembling a powerful stag that Yale had hunted and brought home.

Yale held the showerhead in his hand and turned on the hot water tap.

The old water heater rumbled to life. While waiting for the water to heat up, 015 managed to recharge itself to ten percent and cautiously leaned against the door frame.

"Is there anything else I can assist with?"

The young man's slender and well-built figure stood out awkwardly in the small, dilapidated bathroom.

The events had transpired too hastily; he still wore his black coat to shield him from the snow, with only his sleeves rolled up to his elbows for convenience. The pale, veined back of his hand, testing the water temperature, revealed his efficiency and decisiveness.

"Return to recharge. You're not needed here," Yale said without turning around. "When you're done, please tidy up the living room."

Unit 015 obediently acknowledged and, before closing the door, caught a glimpse of Yale using the showerhead to thoroughly drench the female insect from head to toe.

"Splish-splash!"

Steam rose along with the flowing water, dissolving the layers of congealed blood and washing it down the drain.

The female insect was visibly cleansing at an astonishing pace, resembling a marble statue that had just been dusted off.

Although the water from the showerhead was adjusted to a gentle flow, it was still too harsh for the wounds. Yale dared not let the most severely injured part of the insect, its back, come into direct contact with the water. Instead, he meticulously washed its limbs and abdomen.

The warm water slowly melted the honey-colored ice, causing the extremely tense muscles to gradually regain their suppleness.

The muscular thighs of the female insect, which had been curled protectively around its waist and abdomen, now parted slightly like an oyster spitting out sand.

Yale turned off the shower, hung his coat on a hook, rolled up his pants, and crouched down. He poured some sterile cleansing solution into his hands.

The slightly cool liquid flowed through his palms and between his fingers, dripping onto the male's skin, causing a subtle rash to appear.

He gently and swiftly stroked the male's body, removing clots of blood that wouldn't wash away from the wounds and rubbing away any remaining dirt on the skin.

Washing the male was similar to when he had bathed a puppy before—albeit equally challenging, at least the male didn't struggle fiercely, thrashing his tail and splashing water all over him.

His fingers followed the taut, sleek lines downward, with the feline's cleft fitting perfectly in the hollow of his palm, descending further... into the shadows, completely unguarded.

Yale hesitated, unsure if it was better to act as an emotionless cleaning machine or to avoid suspicion by simply rinsing quickly.

"Uhn..."

Pausing for too long, the warmth of the water had dissipated, causing the male beneath his hands to shiver. A muffled groan escaped his lips, and his tightly closed eyelids twitched nervously.

Yale promptly grabbed the showerhead again, drenching the male once more.

"Cough... don't..."

A hoarse and disheveled whisper abruptly broke the silence; the male had awoken, clumsily raising an arm to shield himself from the water, his actions somewhat panicked.

"Awake?"

Yale turned off the showerhead, observing him cautiously with one hand already on the doorknob, ready to bolt at any moment. "Are you fully conscious now?"

The male didn't move and remained silent, his wet white hair obscuring his face. His lowered forehead rested against the bathroom floor as he panted, his powerful, ridged back muscles undulating like a silent, breathing mountain range.

...Something was amiss here.

Something was terribly amiss.

Xi Ze labored for breath, exerting all his strength to quell the trembling of his body.

He became aware that he was lying on the floor, his body pressed against the cold, smooth tiles, yet he didn't feel any chill.

When he first regained consciousness, he thought another bucket of icy water was being poured over him. However, before his muscles could tense up, he was enveloped in a soothing warmth that relaxed his entire being.

In the next moment, the gentle flow of water ceased, and a pleasing voice rang out —

"How are you feeling? Any better?"

The inquiry was entirely unfamiliar yet devoid of malice, belonging to no Zerg in his memories. The current situation likewise perplexed him, yet it evoked a long-lost sense of safety and comfort.

His memories were a jumbled mess, but the scene before him was enough to deduce that...

He had been taken in by the Zerg before him.

But who was he? Who had allowed this? What was the purpose? What did they want from him?... A multitude of questions swirled in his mind, entwining into a confusing and disoriented fog.

Xi Ze's head throbbed fiercely, and he shook it slowly.

He raised his head slightly, but his vision was blurred and dim, unable to make out any distinct shapes. He could only discern the approaching insect by its sound, before it crouched down beside him.

"The doctor said you have an eye infection. Can you still see?"

A finger gently tapped at the corner of his eye, caressing it softly as if handling a precious porcelain.

Despite this, Xi Ze instinctively shrunk back, shifting his incredibly vulnerable eyeball away from the perceived threat of an unseen blade.

The insect before him paid no attention to his movement, muttering softly to itself, "Both eyes can't see anymore? I'll have to ask Huais later about what to do..."

Severe pain akin to having his bones being carved out came in waves, but Xi Ze gritted his teeth and endured it. However, he heard a question, "What's your name?"

A fiercely familiar sensation suddenly surged within him, as if in an icy and painful snowy night, a dry and warm palm had seared through his long-frozen flesh. A voice abruptly echoed.

It was also a question, but without anticipation of an answer. It was calm and accepting, carrying a vibrant and powerful life force that pulled him out of the brink of death.

—"Do you still want to live?"

...

Yale let out a silent sigh.

The female insect before him remained silent, no longer losing control like before. However, he was still filled with vigilance and resistance, as if he was huddled within a thick shell, passively and numbly defending against any potential harm.

In his previous life, when he volunteered for the animal welfare association, the rescued stray animals were just like this.

They either desperately struggled and bit at every outstretched hand, or cowered fearfully into corners, or, in severe cases, developed psychological trauma and slowly starved themselves to death. Ultimately, only a few were completely healed.

It requires basic sustenance, meticulous care, great patience, respect, and affection, along with an abundance of time.

Placing the showerhead in the male's palm, Yale said, "Although it's inconvenient for you to see, you might still want to wash yourself. Be careful, and call me if you need anything."

But the showerhead thumped onto the floor, sending ripples across the water's surface.

That hand, rough with calluses and scars, firmly clasped the slender wrist before him.

Like a tendril extending from a snail's shell, desperately clinging to the last straw —

The male's voice was hoarse.

"Xi Ze... My name is Xi Ze."

Author's Note:

The general is miserable, but his tears flow from his mouth. (;_;)