C82 — A Little Kiss

The dazzling colors quickly withdrew from sight. Wings, the predators, and the still-roaring, unwilling psychology teacher were all flung far away, sinking into indistinguishable darkness.

Kou Dong felt dazed, as though someone were holding his hand.

Strangely, the hand that clasped his seemed large enough to completely envelop his own —

not like how he was now, but more like…
…a child.

“When you see them later, don’t say anything,”

said a young, gentle woman’s voice.

Her warm hand brushed against his cheek and pressed his hat lower. Her voice trembled slightly, fingers softly tracing his face.

“Be good, Dongdong, alright?”

Kou Dong couldn’t remember anything, yet that voice felt inexplicably familiar and tender.

He seemed to nod faintly in the darkness.

The woman tightened her grip on his hand and drew in a shaky breath. Together they crossed a tall threshold and walked for a long time. The road beneath was uneven, and slick with moss. She held him the entire way until, finally, they reached another place—then she let him go.

He vaguely sensed that the woman had knelt down beside him.

“Please… I’m begging you,” she pleaded over and over, her voice desperate, her forehead striking the floor with each word.

“Please, save this child… He’s my only child. Please, spare his life!”

After that, Kou Dong couldn’t hear what they said. A moment later, a man’s furious shout split the air:

“This child will bring disaster to the Ye family! Cast them out!—He must never set foot here again!”

Countless hands shoved him backward. Kou Dong tripped on the threshold and fell forward—

but a small pair of hands caught him before he hit the ground.

He smelled something faint and clean, like bamboo leaves trembling after a rainfall.

“Careful.”

Another young voice spoke — different, yet calm and clear.

The pushing stopped immediately.

“Young Master,” the servants stammered, bowing deeply.

Even though the voice was childish, it carried an unshakable authority.

“Why are you pushing a guest?”

“No— it was the patriarch’s order,” one of them blurted. “He said to throw them out. Young Master, you—”

“Step aside,” said the child. “I’ll speak to Grandfather myself.”

Then the tone softened again, and the voice moved close to Kou Dong’s ear:

“Are you alright?”

…

Are you alright?

That voice overlapped, gradually blending with another — the voice of the onetruly standing before him now.

Kou Dong felt his body sink, as though stepping off a cloud—

 

and when he opened his eyes again, a face was right in front of his, so close it startled him.

Even after all his nerve had been hardened by the horrors inside the game, Kou Dong still jumped a little at seeing someone’s face barely half a palm away.

The owner of that face seemed to notice his fear, silently leaned back a bit, and gazed at him.

“……”

Kou Dong’s mind was still foggy. He subconsciously looked over the person before him—

and the first thought that popped into his head was:

Quite good-looking.

That was, without question, a compliment.

Though it sounded a bit shameless, Kou Dong himself wasn’t exactly plain. Otherwise, if some average-looking guy had been chased around by NPCs every day inside the game, Song Hong and the others would have long doubted the developers’ sense of aesthetics.

He’d seen his own face enough times to be immune to it—so for someone to make him think “not bad”, they had to be very good-looking indeed.

Yet the contours of that face were cleaner, sharper — steadier than his own, his brows and eyes darker, deeper.

At first glance, Kou Dong nearly lost himself in those unusually dark pupils.

The man’s lips parted slightly. His voice was calm, even:

“Just woke up?”

 

Kou Dong’s consciousness slowly returned.

That look… that bearing…

That voice…

He blinked — then suddenly sat upright.

“Cub?!”

*What the hell?* He’d only been gone for a short while, and his kid had grown up again?!

Old Father Kou was instantly overwhelmed by the sorrow of having missed his child’s entire growth spurt. He almost clutched his chest in despair.

“You’ve grown too fast! At least give your dad a little time to adjust!”

Ye Yanzhi watched him babble on foolishly. The irritation from being forced to call this man dad earlier finally began to ease a little. He nodded once, expression unreadable.

“I told you — I’m twenty-one.”

At last, the twenty-one-year-old man had reclaimed his rightful age and dignity.

But Kou Dong wasn’t ready to accept it.

“You didn’t look this big before! Look,” he said, holding out a hand to gesture, “you were only about this tall—”

Ye Yanzhi: “…”

He really didn’t want to hear that sentence ever again.

Every time he did, it felt like an insult to his very existence.

Without another word, he simply picked up the cup of water beside him and pressed it to Kou Dong’s lips, effectively shutting him up.

Warm water flowed down Kou Dong’s throat, easing the dryness. He half-closed his eyes, finally feeling a bit better.

Then came another question:

“How did I get out?”

Ye Yanzhi: “Don’t remember?”

“Not clearly.” Kou Dong frowned, sifting through fragments of memory. “You… turned into a giant fluttering moth?”

He vaguely recalled seeing two pairs of wings before he escaped.

The enormous black pair clearly wasn’t his — so it could only have been Ye Yanzhi’s.

At his description of “a giant fluttering moth,” the corner of Ye Yanzhi’s mouth twitched. Apparently, he hadn’t realized until now just how undignified that sounded.

After a long pause, he reluctantly replied:

“…Yes.”

That the other man even had.emotional weak points didn’t surprise Kou Dong. During their flight through the dungeon, he’d already noticed that Ye Yanzhi wasn’t entirely immune to the psychology teacher’s manipulative voice.

 

After all, who could claim all their emotions were purely positive and bright?

So Kou Dong didn’t press further — instead, he focused on the last scene he remembered.

“Those two pairs of wings…”

 

Ye Yanzhi’s tone was calm.

 

“I broke yours. Song Hong cut off mine.”

Kou Dong vaguely remembered not feeling any pain, but hearing that made him blurt out,

“Holy crap—didn’t that hurt?!”

That was a blade, for god’s sake!

His face paled; without thinking, he reached to touch the young man’s back.

“Does it still hurt? Are you okay?”

His slender fingers brushed lightly over Ye Yanzhi’s back through the thin fabric. The man’s body went slightly rigid before he caught Kou Dong’s wrist and firmly pulled his hand away.

“I’m fine.”

Kou Dong scolded him, frowning.

“Idiot! Why didn’t you just break your own?”

Ye Yanzhi’s technique had clearly been practiced — swift, precise, and yet imbued with a strange gentleness that made it almost painless.

In comparison, having Song Hong swing a massive blade? That was another level entirely.

And wings — wings were an especially sensitive area. Just imagining it made Kou Dong’s scalp prickle. He couldn’t help but pat Ye Yanzhi’s shoulder again in sympathy.

But Ye Yanzhi’s expression remained calm. He only said quietly:

“You’re afraid of pain.”

His tone was purely factual—without the slightest trace of pride or self-praise.

But when Kou Dong heard it, something in his chest went soft all at once.

A warmth began to rise, swelling and swelling until it nearly drowned him completely.

He said nothing.

Just propped himself up and pulled the other’s head gently into his arms, patting it in a quiet, comforting rhythm.

Ye Yanzhi froze at the sudden embrace. His face stayed calm, but beneath the surface his heartbeat stumbled uncontrollably—until he heard Kou Dong murmur against his ear:

“Silly child…”

Ye Yanzhi: “…”

…And just like that, all that flutter of emotion died.

Expressionless, he pried the man’s hand off and said flatly:

“Go cook.”

The tender father-and-son moment shattered mercilessly, leaving Kou Dong standing there, wounded and wronged.

Fine. Fine!

He was the dad here, after all.

He slipped on his shoes and headed for the kitchen—but as he walked, his thumb brushed over his lips almost absently.

Because at the instant his wings had been broken, he’d had the oddest sensation—

It felt as though someone had leaned down and kissed him.

Even now, there still seemed to be a faint trace of that warmth lingering there.

But the only person in front of him then had been—

Kou Dong’s steps faltered.

He turned his head sharply, glancing back at Ye Yanzhi.

The young man was already on his feet.

In his grown form, he now stood half a head taller, and with a smooth, natural motion, he pulled an apron around his lean waist and tied it behind him.

“What do you want to eat?”

Kou Dong stared blankly, caught for a moment watching those long fingers loop the strings and tie a neat knot at his back.

He found himself dazed—he’d hugged that waist before, and it had felt solid, firm muscle under his palms…

And abs. Definitely abs.

But how could someone be that lean and still that strong?

When he didn’t answer, the young man’s dark eyes lifted to meet his.

“Hm?”

Kou Dong snapped back to himself and, trying to hide his sudden awkwardness, dropped his gaze.

“Egg noodles,” he blurted.

Ye Yanzhi’s expression said I thought so.

He moved past him with quiet ease, took up the kitchen knife, and said simply:

“Go rest.”

Kou Dong still stood rooted to the spot, making a faint noise of protest.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” Ye Yanzhi said, leaving no room for argument.

“Rest first.”

And truthfully—he was tired.

After so long fleeing through that cursed dungeon, his body might have recovered, but the exhaustion in his heart hadn’t faded.

He leaned against the counter, feeling that he should probably talk about their father-son bond again—but with this older, steadier Ye Yanzhi standing there, he felt strangely self-conscious.

Especially because of that kiss.

He stood there for quite a while, unable to bring himself to ask.

How was he supposed to say it?

“Before we left, I think someone kissed me. Was that… you?”

What kind of question was that?!

Sure, they weren’t blood-related, but they were as good as!

From the moment Kou Dong had hatched him from that egg, he’d decided to raise this kid properly.

If he died in-game, all his achievements and items would go to Ye Yanzhi; if they made it out, even the money he’d earned as a streamer would be left to him.

He treated Ye Yanzhi like his own son—

And now he was supposed to ask his son whether he’d kissed him?!

That sounded straight out of some depraved drama.

Kou Dong prided himself on having lost most of his shame somewhere along his many NPC chases—but this thought still made his scalp tingle.

He was still human. He didn’t want to be a pe-rvert.

Ye Yanzhi called his name twice, asking him to hand over a tomato.

When he still didn’t respond, the man finally set down the knife and walked toward him.

The young man didn’t seem to feel anything — still lost in a daze.

Ye Yanzhi tilted his chin up slightly, catching a glimpse of that unfocused, thoughtful expression.

“What is it?”

The other’s gaze drifted about, fluttering like a lost bird, until at last it landed back on him.

“Hm?”

Ye Yanzhi lowered his voice.

“What were you thinking about?”

Kou Dong finally came to his senses. He pressed his lips together, unsure whether he should say it or not.

“Mm,” he mumbled vaguely, “just… remembered something…”

Halfway through, though, he faltered.

And shut his mouth again.

Ye Yanzhi, patient as ever, didn’t rush him.

Not even a trace of impatience crossed his face.

“What was it?” he asked softly. “Tell me.”

“…”

To hell with it!

Kou Dong steeled himself.

He had to ask — otherwise he’d never get over it. He needed to know who the culprit was.

If it was his kid, that was one thing. But if it was one of those big fluttering moths… well, then he’d need to run to the bathroom and vomit immediately.

With that grim determination, he pursed his lips again, lifted a finger, and pointed.

“It’s just—this,” he said. “At the time…”

He never finished.

Because his lips were suddenly occupied.

The kiss came out of nowhere—firm, undeniable, prying his mouth open and sweeping straight in.

Kou Dong’s mind went completely blank.

The two rows of guards defending the gates of his brain were caught utterly off guard.

The gates flew wide open, the invading army stormed in, and by the time he realized what had happened, everything—his composure, his reason, his dignity—had been looted clean.

When he finally regained control, he found himself sitting on the kitchen counter.

Kou Dong: “…”

His scalp was about to explode.

He struggled desperately to reclaim lost ground, stammering out,

“Stop! S-stop!!”

He’d only ever talked about scenes this wild in the safety of a game before.

Living through one in real life was another matter entirely—he was a mess, red-faced, ears burning, neck flushed all the way down to his collarbone.

He was so red he could’ve blended in with the tomatoes on the counter, eyes wide and shimmering as if he’d just been bullied.

Not a trace of his usual smug, scheming “dad” persona remained.

When the “enemy troops” finally retreated, a small pop sounded between them.

Ye Yanzhi’s tongue brushed the corner of his lips. His dark eyes lingered deeply on Kou Dong.

“What’s wrong?”

He actually had the nerve to ask.

Kou Dong could barely get his words out.

“You—you—what was that for?!”

Ye Yanzhi’s body went still. He leaned back slightly, gaze calm and unwavering.

“That gesture just now,” he said, “wasn’t it a signal for me to do that?”

Kou Dong froze.

Wait—what gesture?

He replayed the moment in his head.

He’d just… pointed at his own lips—

And—

Oh.

Oh, hell.

That was kind of ambiguous.

When he couldn’t manage to say anything, Ye Yanzhi added softly:

“I thought you wanted a good-morning kiss.”

A pause. Then, deliberately—

“Dad.”

Kou Dong: “…”

He had never—

Never —

Found the word “Dad” sound so terrifying in his life.

At that moment, he was quite sure of one thing:

He wouldn’t be recognizing this “son” again anytime soon.

 

---

TN:

FINALLY!!! The romance is heating up