Chapter 5: Little Cat, Little Dog

Not only had the bruises faded, but the red marks on his wrists and ankles had also grown lighter—though they still carried that lingering chill when touched. The stone pressing on An Mo’s heart loosened a little. At least he had room to breathe.

The medicine really worked.

The confusion and doubt he’d felt yesterday about the medicine, the strange whispers during the drinking process, and the pain and bewilderment that followed had all eased equally. An Mo was improving—visibly so.

Nothing could have surprised him more than this, even if Chu Jiu had ulterior motives toward him.

A comfortable environment, a recovering body, delicious food—Chu Jiu had given him too much, too abundantly.

But even though his body felt much lighter, when he woke up his skin was very sticky, as if he’d sweated all over after exercising.

An Mo quickly grabbed a larger T-shirt from his old backpack and changed into it. Sure enough, the back of the shirt he’d taken off had a large wet patch, as if something moist had pressed against it.

He had slept very deeply last night and didn’t remember sweating that much.

He thought about taking a shower first, but water resources in C District were 2 liters per person per day—only enough for an ordinary person’s basic sponge bath. A shower required extra contribution points, or saving up part of the daily ration. An Mo had originally indulged in a shower only once every two months.

Before he knew whether the villa’s water was exchanged by Chu Jiu using contribution points, he didn’t want to cause any more trouble.

Wanting both this and that wasn’t his principle—especially when he already couldn’t repay what he owed.

Sunlight streamed brightly into the corridor. Today’s temperature was a bit higher than the previous days, and the sound of wind came through the windows. The peace inside the house matched An Mo’s mood at this moment.

Meanwhile, Chu Jiu was in the kitchen making breakfast. He didn’t seem to know how—his movements were clumsy, and the failures were laid bare beside him. In the trash can were egg liquids and remains that had died with their eyes open—egg shells mixed with blackened, thoroughly burnt failures. It looked like there were four or five of them.

An Mo had followed the burnt smell to find him struggling in the kitchen. His figure was stiff, and there was a trace of frustration and unwillingness about him—insisting on getting what he wanted. Chu Jiu only glanced at An Mo when he pushed the door open, then turned his head to continue what he was doing.

“Good morning, Mr. Chu.”

Hearing An Mo speak, Chu Jiu ruthlessly tossed the just-failed burnt black charcoal into the trash can and calmly put the lid on.

“Morning.”

“Are you trying to make fried eggs?”

An Mo guessed.

Not knowing how to cook was normal. The base surely had special places to exchange for food. He’d heard A District had food that C District didn’t, and S-class superhumans’ treatment was even like before the apocalypse—or better.

Why make fried eggs himself, then? He clearly didn’t look like he knew how to cook.

Then where had the porridge from the past two nights come from?

An Mo realized this belatedly.

“Your breakfast.” Chu Jiu’s tone was stiff—not at An Mo, but at the three remaining eggs on the counter. He was preparing to continue.

“Let me do it.”

Three simple words. Chu Jiu paused, silent.

“I’ll make it, okay?”

An Mo turned the statement into a question.

Something flickered through Chu Jiu’s silver-gray eyes—impossible to tell what—and then he stepped aside.

An Mo hadn’t cooked in a long time, but the unfamiliarity faded quickly the moment he touched the eggs.

It was instinct. Over ten years of taking care of himself—he’d thought he had forgotten, but he hadn’t. Before the apocalypse, he had often cooked. To save money—having grown up in an orphanage as an orphan, he’d relied on student loans and government policies to get into university.

Then came the accident, the collapse. He became one of the most ordinary bottom-level members of C District.

Chu Jiu was right there beside him. The few seconds An Mo spent staring blankly at the eggs were also taken in by him. But he didn’t urge him—just quietly waited for the other to come back to himself. His silver-gray eyes watched every movement An Mo made without blinking. The focus in his gaze gave An Mo a sense of familiarity, yet he couldn’t recall anything.

The egg was cracked open, deftly flipped in the pan—three or four movements, and a complete fried egg emerged.

The aroma was mouthwatering.

An Mo fried all three eggs and divided them onto two plates—two for Chu Jiu, one for himself.

Chu Jiu said nothing and swapped their plates.

“Mr. Chu, thank you.”

Chu Jiu’s unquestionable manner left An Mo no choice but to accept.

Then Chu Jiu looked at the plate in front of himself for three seconds, and calmly pushed it over to An Mo, who was about to start eating.

“They’re all yours.”

“Aren’t you eating?”

Surely he hadn’t made breakfast just for An Mo? Was that appropriate?

“No need. You eat.”

An Mo wanted to refuse, but the person across from him showed no intention of opening up the topic, so he honestly lowered his head and prepared to devour the three golden eggs.

After changing clothes, An Mo looked even thinner—the T-shirt hung loosely on him.

Those silver-gray eyes just stared at every bite he took. The shift from no emotion to a change in his pupils took only seconds before he suddenly spoke.

“You like it?”

“Yeah.” An Mo answered while eating. “So fragrant. I haven’t had fried eggs in so long.”

The instinctive “thank you” he was about to say was cut off by another question from Chu Jiu.

“What else do you like?”

An expression unlike his usual ones actually appeared on his face—was it seriousness or curiosity? It wasn’t blank anymore.

An Mo swallowed the first egg in two bites.

“As long as it’s edible, I’m not picky.”

But why ask this? If Chu Jiu had just been kind enough to save him, should he leave once he was better? Or did Chu Jiu have other arrangements for him?

At this point in his thoughts, some things had to be asked.

“Mr. Chu, when I got up this morning, I noticed the bruises are fading. Your medicine works incredibly well.” An Mo first reported his observations about the changes in his body that morning. Then he continued: “Is there anything I can help you with? How… how can I repay you?”

Repay. This word was very fresh to Chu Jiu.

“Stay.”

Three short words, and An Mo couldn’t even eat his egg anymore. Stay to do what? Test medicine? Or… cook? Chu Jiu didn’t even eat—the other plate of eggs was sitting right in front of him, showing off its presence.

“But I haven’t done anything for you. You haven’t even eaten breakfast. Do superhumans not need to eat?”

Or were S-class special, able to absorb energy some other way?

If he continued to shamelessly stay here, he would definitely become the kind of person he himself would look down on. Even though these two days had been incomparably comfortable, it wasn’t earned through his own labor, and An Mo’s conscience bothered him.

Even if Chu Jiu didn’t say it, the failures in the trash can and his behavior this morning all proved that Chu Jiu was keeping him. Perhaps to many people, this was the most comfortable way to live in the apocalypse—cared for by an S-class superhuman, a good environment and superior conditions, getting everything without doing anything, like a gift from fate.

But An Mo didn’t want that.

Chu Jiu was a good person. He had saved him. He had even once suspected Chu Jiu wanted something from him, but in reality, he didn’t.

“You cook, I eat.” Chu Jiu said, pulling the plate back again.

He seemed to want to use this method to prove that his not eating could change.

Of course An Mo wouldn’t stop him, but he didn’t relax either. What kind of reaction was this? Was I urging him to eat breakfast?

Before An Mo could speak again, Chu Jiu swallowed the egg in one bite. An Mo watched him swallow without chewing and, mixed with alarm and doubt, wanted to tell him to eat slowly.

But Chu Jiu moved very fast. In the next second, before An Mo could react, he answered the earlier question.

“Eaten.”

The air went silent.

An Mo didn’t know how things had turned out this way. Chu Jiu was looking at him honestly, as if waiting for him to speak. He even tilted his head—a little… a little cute.

“The point is, you have to stay.”

What he said wasn’t so cute anymore.

The word “have to” carried a subtle sense of compulsion, but combined with Chu Jiu’s rapid swallowing of the fried egg just now, it was also absurdly funny.

An Mo keenly sensed the different meaning in his words and spoke with difficulty.

“I’m not better yet, right?”

Improvement didn’t mean cured. Fading didn’t mean gone. So he had to stay.

Chu Jiu was completely unaware of the difficulty in his words.

“You’ll get better.”

It just needed time. It needed transformation.

“When will I get better? Does it depend on that blue medicine? But I didn’t drink it the night before last.” An Mo had a belly full of questions, but in the end asked the two he cared about most.

“More than that. Not every day.”

The light shone into Chu Jiu’s eyes, his silver-gray pupils dilating, dazzling to look at.

An Mo was indeed a little dizzy. He really didn’t know what to do anymore.

His original plan had been to follow the fading of the bruises—maybe in a few days he could take his leave and return to C District. Live honestly like before, even if he might face contempt. But that was the only way out for an ordinary person.

Chu Jiu was probably acting out of some accidental, rare kindness? Perhaps with a trace of curiosity about the changes in him?

But now there was an illusion of being asked to stay?

What could he do here? The house was spotless—it didn’t even need him to clean it. And he needed to consume Chu Jiu’s food, water, and other resources every day. For Chu Jiu, his being here should be all harm and no benefit.

What was this?

Chu Jiu was keeping him, like keeping a little cat or a little dog.

This fact crashed into An Mo’s mind. A word became glaringly obvious.

Pet.

“Is it as a pet?” An Mo didn’t want to ask.

“Pet?” Chu Jiu repeated the two words, then looked straight at An Mo again. “Okay.”

What did “okay” mean?

Before An Mo could understand, Chu Jiu had already walked straight to the edge of the dining room, pulled open the outer curtain, and gestured for An Mo to come over.

Clearly this villa was in one of the central positions of A District. Looking out the window, there wasn’t much scenery—just villas of various sizes.

An Mo walked over uncomprehendingly, stopping one step away from Chu Jiu’s side, and also peered outside.

Chu Jiu pointed to the right. It was a small villa, its window currently open. A person whose face couldn’t be seen clearly was there. What was surprising was that the person was holding a live, healthy cat in their arms.

He—or she—was gently stroking the cat’s back. In the sunlight, this scene was as beautiful as a painting.

Pets were like that. Chu Jiu was expressing the meaning of “pet.”

The words stuck in his throat. An Mo looked at the person beside him helplessly and heard the most outrageous sentence of his life.

“You hold me.”

Chu Jiu said.

“You hold me. I’ll be your pet.”

I’m your pet?!?

What was he saying?

Could these bruises also cause hallucinations?

Author’s Note:
Jiu: I want to be your pet, going “purr purr” like that cat.