Chapter 513: The Forty-First Day of Transmigrating into an Alien War Novel (End)

The thought burned in An Cheng's heart like the flame itself—fierce and unwavering.

Off in the distance, An Yi would occasionally lift his head.

His spiritual sense remained wrapped around the Riftborn, parsing the complex spatial-sensing structures etched deep into their genes, but his gaze would briefly sweep across the clearing, landing on the figure practicing over and over.

An Yi watched for a few seconds.

Then he withdrew his gaze and continued his research.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and it never quite faded.

An Yi looked up, sensing it was about that time.

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"Time to head back," he said to An Cheng off to the side.

Off in the distance, An Cheng immediately snuffed out the flames on his body and hurried over.

"Yeah."

He took An Yi's outstretched hand, lacing their fingers together.

When he opened his eyes again, they were standing in the familiar bedroom.

Outside the window, dawn was just starting to break, a faint pale glow spreading across the horizon.

The rain had stopped at some point, and the air still carried that damp, fresh smell.

The city hadn't fully woken up yet, with only the occasional rumble of a car passing by.

An Cheng stood there, frozen for a few seconds.

Coming from that dark red, barren world back to this warm, familiar room felt surreal, almost unreal.

He looked down at his own hand—flames rose and faded away.

Not his imagination.

An Yi walked past him, grabbed the water glass off the nightstand, took a sip, and set it back down.

"Go wash up," he said. "Then get some sleep."

An Cheng nodded.

He did need a shower—after practicing in that world for so long, his clothes were soaked with sweat.

He walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and warm water poured down, washing away the sweat and fatigue.

An Cheng didn't take long in the shower.

In less than ten minutes, he came out of the bathroom drying his hair with a towel, having changed into clean pajamas.

An Yi had already changed, looking like he was about to head out.

Hearing the footsteps, An Yi turned and glanced at him.

"Catch some sleep," he said. "No classes this morning."

An Cheng nodded, got into bed, and lay down, but didn't close his eyes right away. "Are you going out?" he asked An Yi.

An Yi shook his head. "Nope."

An Cheng turned onto his side to face An Yi, his gaze settling on An Yi's hands as he adjusted his collar.

He watched for a long while.

So long that An Yi finally turned around and pinched his earlobe.

An Yi turned back to straighten his pant legs. "Aren't you sleeping?"

An Cheng's voice came out low and slightly hoarse. "Xiao Yi."

An Yi paused mid-turn.

He didn't look back, just hummed in acknowledgment to show he was listening.

An Cheng said, "I want to hug you."

An Yi finally turned around.

He looked down at An Cheng—who was lying on the bed, looking up at him.

He watched for a few seconds, then bent down, opened his arms to An Cheng, as if saying "come here."

An Cheng sat up and hugged him tightly.

The hug was fierce, as if he wanted to press An Yi's whole being into his own. His arms wrapped around An Yi's waist, squeezing tighter and tighter, his palms pressing against the skin of An Yi's back through the thin shirt.

He buried his face in the curve of An Yi's neck.

His breathing was hot and rapid, each exhale brushing against An Yi's neck, warm and damp.

An Yi let An Cheng hold him, tilting his head slightly to give An Cheng's breath better access to his neck.

"Xiao Yi." An Cheng's voice came from against his neck, muffled, as if it were being squeezed out from deep in his chest.

"Xiao Yi..."

An Yi reached up and gently patted his back.

"Mm," he said, his voice soft. "I'm here."

An Cheng lifted his head, and they were close now.

So close their breaths mingled, so close An Cheng could see his own reflection in An Yi's eyes, so close An Yi could see every flutter of An Cheng's lashes.

An Cheng tilted his head up and kissed him softly.

After a long moment, An Cheng rested his forehead against An Yi's, nose to nose, their breaths still tangled together, impossible to tell whose was whose.

"Xiao Yi." He called out again, his voice hoarse.

He paused, then said, "Still more than half a year to go."

He didn't say half a year until what, but they both knew.

Until he could have An Yi openly, without any hesitation—there was still over half a year to go.

An Yi looked at him, at the suppressed longing and restraint in those eyes, then smiled. He raised his hand and gently pinched An Cheng's earlobe.

When An Cheng's earlobe was touched by An Yi's fingertips, he could feel that patch of skin instantly grow warm.

"Mm," he said.

An Cheng turned his head and pressed a light kiss to An Yi's cheek.

Then, with a shift of strength, he reversed their positions.

He looked down at An Yi, his gaze serious: "But I can start collecting some interest now."

An Yi lay on his back, looking up at him.

His shirt was a little disheveled from the earlier movements—An Cheng had somehow undone his first button, the collar hanging loose, revealing pale collarbones and a small expanse of chest.

His hair had also come loose, strands of black silk fanned out across the light-colored bedsheet like splashed ink.

An Cheng's fingers settled gently on the second button of An Yi's shirt.

That button was light gray, made of mother-of-pearl, glowing softly in the morning light.

An Cheng's fingertip paused on the button for a beat, then pressed gently, and the button slipped out of its buttonhole.

Then the third, then the fourth...

The shirt fell open completely, revealing An Yi's pale chest and abs.

His skin was so pale it was almost translucent in the morning light, with faint blue veins visible just beneath the skin.

His collarbones curved into an elegant hollow, his chest was smooth and defined, not overly muscular, his stomach was flat and firm, with a V-line that disappeared into his waistband.

An Cheng leaned down.

His lips found An Yi's collarbone, then the side of his neck, where a small patch of skin, very thin, let him feel the pulse beating beneath.

Then he lifted his head and looked at An Yi.

An Cheng swallowed.

"Xiao Yi," he said. "Can I... leave a mark on you?"

An Yi hummed and gave his face a light pat.

An Cheng caught his hand, pressing a flurry of kisses into his palm.

He dipped his head and kissed An Yi's collarbone again.

An Yi's fingers slid into his hair, gently combing through it, his gaze soft as he looked at him.

Sunlight slowly seeped through the gap in the curtains, casting long golden strips of light across the floor.

In the morning light, An Cheng's hoarse voice was faintly audible.

He kept calling An Yi's name: "Xiao Yi."

"Xiao Yi."

"Xiao Yi..."

An Yi tsked: "I'm right here, I'm right here."

An Cheng ducked his head and kissed him again.

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The morning light brightened.

An Cheng lay sprawled over An Yi.

His head was buried in the curve of An Yi's neck, his cheek pressed against the skin he'd warmed with his own breath, his nose buried in An Yi's hair as he breathed in deep.

An Yi's hair smelled faintly of shampoo, mixed with something cleaner and crisper—like the air after rain in a forest, like sunlight breaking through fresh snow.

His breathing was heavy and slow, brushing across An Yi's neck with every exhale.

Sweat slid from his temple, down the curve of his cheek, and dripped onto An Yi's collarbone—landing right on a faint red mark.

The sweat spread along the skin's lines, seeping into the open collar of the shirt, leaving a thin, glistening trail across An Yi's pale chest.

An Yi's hand was still tangled in his hair.

His fingers stroked gently, from root to tip, over and over.

"Xiao Yi," An Cheng said.

His voice came from the crook of An Yi's neck, muffled, as if squeezed from the depths of his chest.

"Mm," An Yi responded.

"Xiao Yi," he called again.

"Mm," An Yi answered again.

"Xiao Yi."

"...Mm."

An Yi's responses grew slower and slower, tinged with a hint of helplessness.

An Cheng called his name many times, over and over, tirelessly.

An Yi responded each time.

Finally, An Cheng stopped calling.

He was quiet for a moment, just lying on top of An Yi, feeling the slight rise and fall of An Yi's chest, feeling An Yi's fingers gently stroking through his hair, feeling the happiness of this moment.

Then he lifted his head and looked at An Yi, smiling very gently.

"Xiao Yi," he said softly. "I'll always be with you."

An Yi said, "I know."