The Ascent of a “Tough Guy”

“I’ve never been this popular before,” Yuan Zhanhui shared with Yuan Anqing and Zhuo as they stood at the foot of the mountain. “So many people hit on me on the way here today.”

The three were still in contact. After all, Yuan Zhanhui needed to understand what exactly a Savior was to complete his spy mission, while Yuan Anqing wanted to uncover the organization behind Yuan Zhanhui.

Thus, after Yuan Zhanhui’s cover was blown at the amusement park, Yuan Anqing expressed his “understanding.” This was partly because Yuan Zhanhui was too weak for Yuan Anqing to believe he could pose any real threat, and partly because Yuan Zhanhui had integrated perfectly into human society with no criminal record.

The wording of Yuan Anqing’s text messages to Yuan Zhanhui had been quite ambiguous over the past week, implying at every turn that the Savior had his sights set on him romantically.

The Savior is helping Yuan Zhanhui conceal his identity purely out of lust.

This reason, though somewhat base, inexplicably enhanced its credibility in the eyes of the spy’s handlers. After all, Zhuo’s current role was merely that of an official tool—a bodyguard tasked with keeping the Savior alive.

Hence, upon seeing the two today, Yuan Zhanhui deliberately brought up the earlier flirtations from strangers. He had no desire to become the Savior’s plaything; sacrificing his body for the mission felt far too extreme.

“Really, so many people hit on me, hahaha. There was even a rather small demi-human girl I quite liked,” Yuan Zhanhui laughed awkwardly, hoping Yuan Anqing would grasp his underlying meaning.

Yuan Anqing, of course, understood. However, as a Savior who ‘thought himself to be a tyrant,’ he decided to ignore Yuan Zhanhui’s hint entirely. “Perhaps it’s because you’ve exposed your ears and tail in public.”

Yuan Zhanhui’s leopard ears and tail were no longer retracted. To Yuan Anqing’s knowledge, beastkin demi-humans were quite rare. Most of these ‘human-beast hybrids’ resembled common companion pets like cats, dogs, rabbits, or hamsters. Leopards were exceedingly rare.

“Humans are truly superficial,” Zhuo remarked, scrutinizing Yuan Zhanhui from head to toe.

Yuan Zhanhui maintained his fierce, ‘tough guy’ appearance: a pure black tank top, large tattooed arms, a tight gold chain around his neck, and eye-catching red hair. Originally, humans and demi-humans alike would avoid his gaze and walk around him. Yet, with the addition of his fluffy ears and tail, passersby now stared at him, seemingly quite intrigued.

“By the way, which pair of ears do you actually hear with?” Yuan Anqing asked, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice. Yuan Zhanhui now possessed two pairs of ears: one human, one leopard.

“These ones,” Yuan Zhanhui said, pointing to his leopard ears. “When I revert to my true form, my original human ears become mostly decorative, but these leopard ears are far more sensitive to sound.”

As Yuan Zhanhui spoke, he recalled his handler’s instruction to play for sympathy—to make his image more pitiable to stir the Savior’s compassion. “Actually… I’ve always felt deeply self-conscious because of them.”

“Ah, I understand. They shed a lot, don’t they?” Yuan Anqing could discern Yuan Zhanhui’s full appearance in his mind’s eye. His true form would be even more exaggerated; his head would transform completely into a leopard’s, his hands into paws, and his entire body would be covered in fur. “Cat fur is really hard to wash off furniture.”

“That’s true,” Yuan Zhanhui nodded automatically. He suffered from rhinitis in his human form, so the fur left behind by his true form was nothing short of an allergic disaster for him.

After agreeing, Yuan Zhanhui suddenly felt something was amiss. “Wait! That’s not what I meant! I meant I can’t find a sense of belonging in society. I feel like I look different from everyone else.”

Just then, another demi-human passed by them on the hiking trail.

The demi-human’s skin was as coarse as linen, and their hair was transparent and blocky, like plastic shards. On their face, there was only a mouth; their eyes were located in the middle of their throat.

Noticing Yuan Anqing and his companions watching them, the passing demi-human waved their branch-like hand cordially. “Hello there.”

“Hello,” Yuan Anqing and Zhuo replied politely in unison.

Then, they both turned to look blankly at Yuan Zhanhui.

Neither said a word, but their meaning was clearly conveyed: If a handsome human-beast hybrid with fluffy ears had to feel self-conscious about their appearance in THIS world, then the waiting list for psychologists would stretch to the moon.

“I’ve never been in a relationship my entire life,” Yuan Zhanhui added, trying another pity angle.

“Me neither,” Zhuo said flatly.

“You two already have each other, but I’m still all alone,” Yuan Zhanhui said, gesturing toward Yuan Anqing beside him. “We’re different.”

Zhuo scratched his head. “Do you mean single people are all self-conscious? But I wasn’t self-conscious when I was single.” He just wanted to stir up trouble.

Yuan Anqing agreed. “Me neither.” Aside from maintaining his physiological need for sleep and food, he had no other superfluous emotions to worry about.

“But I’m still an inferior Differentiated Being,” Yuan Zhanhui sighed, feigning being overwhelmed.

His own personality wasn’t actually prone to sensitivity. Despite being created by the rogue organization, his unremarkable abilities kept him a peripheral figure. Average grades, an ordinary school, a decent job. He hadn’t faced much trouble or worry before; this was his first real spy mission.

“What exactly is your ability?” Yuan Anqing asked, cutting straight to the chase.

Yuan Zhanhui scratched his head. “I can control my dreams. In my dreams, I can have everything I desire.”

Yuan Anqing waited for him to continue.

However, Yuan Zhanhui fell silent.

“And then?” Yuan Anqing prompted him.

“There’s no ‘then’,” Yuan Zhanhui admitted, embarrassed. He could only control his own dreams. Every time he dreamed, it felt amazing, but a sense of crushing disappointment always followed upon waking.

“Wow,” Zhuo chimed in emotionlessly. “What a fantastic ability.”

“Actually, my ability is pretty ordinary. Maybe you just think it’s cool because you don’t understand it,” Yuan Zhanhui said defensively. His ability possessed virtually zero destructive power in the real world.

Did he actually think Zhuo was praising him? Zhuo was profoundly shocked by the spy’s lack of self-awareness. After the initial shock, Zhuo began to seriously consider whether he should just apprehend Yuan Zhanhui now. Someone so weak seemed to warrant no further in-depth investigation.

“You’re actually quite impressive,” Yuan Anqing, however, genuinely praised him. “To be able to maintain your sanity to the greatest extent after an inferior differentiation and integrate into normal society… you are far better than those Differentiated Beings with powerful abilities but no reason.”

“You’re quite good at complimenting people,” Yuan Zhanhui said, not taking it seriously.

“I’m serious,” Yuan Anqing replied, adjusting his glasses. “Uncontrollable power is a disaster. When one’s mind is unclear, the stronger the power, the faster one dies.”

Yuan Anqing always spoke in a steady, corporate tone, but when Yuan Zhanhui heard that last sentence, he couldn’t help but break out in a cold sweat. He felt as if Yuan Anqing’s words carried a hidden, lethal meaning, yet he couldn’t quite fathom it.

Yuan Anqing was unwilling to climb the mountain. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t exert himself; it was just that his physical fitness, no matter how good, was merely ‘superior among ordinary humans.’ The scenic peak Yuan Zhanhui had chosen was over ten kilometers from the foot to the summit, requiring several hours of steep climbing.

If Yuan Anqing climbed all the way up, he would undoubtedly be red-faced and panting—a state far removed from his terrifying ‘possessing formidable physical prowess’ persona.

“Huh? But we came here to hike,” Yuan Zhanhui said, finding it incredible that they were walking toward the ticket booth. “Wouldn’t taking the cable car be a waste of the trip?”

“Is there a difference between hiking and strolling?” Yuan Anqing countered smoothly.

The difference was enormous, but Yuan Zhanhui, considering the Savior’s unique, terrifying nature, refrained from directly refuting him.

“Let’s take the cable car together,” Zhuo invited him, wanting to keep the spy close.

“No, I’ll climb by myself,” Yuan Zhanhui decided. He needed to get closer to Yuan Anqing, but he dared not stay in the same confined space as him. He was deeply afraid of the Savior; if the Savior decided to do something to him inside a locked cable car, he wouldn’t be able to escape. There would be plenty of time to rest and chat once they reached the summit anyway.

So, the three of them split up: Yuan Anqing and Zhuo went to take the cable car, while Yuan Zhanhui began to aggressively climb the mountain alone to prove his stamina.

“No one is following us,” Zhuo whispered into Yuan Anqing’s ear.

“Mm, I know,” Yuan Anqing acknowledged, leading Zhuo to the station and buying three tickets. One for himself, and two for Zhuo, whose massive frame occupied the space of two regular people.

“Why don’t we just capture him?” Zhuo asked again. “He’s not very strong, not very useful.”

“His ability isn’t powerful, but his utility might not be small,” Yuan Anqing replied softly. “He’s a small hook thrown out into the water. If we cut the line now, the person holding the fishing rod will become wary and disappear.”

“The person holding the fishing rod?” Zhuo reached up and rubbed his ear. He felt Yuan Anqing’s whispered breath made it tickle slightly.

“What Bai Tian and the authorities want is detailed information about the organization behind him,” Yuan Anqing nodded. “We need to infiltrate Yuan Zhanhui’s ‘social circle.’ He should introduce us to more inferior Differentiated Beings.” After all, the organization was actively trying to bait them, and Yuan Anqing only needed to ‘take the bait’ at an opportune moment.

As they spoke, Yuan Anqing and Zhuo queued up and boarded the cable car.

Three other people joined them: a man, a woman, and a child, who looked like a family. The child, about seven or eight years old, was at that annoying, energetic age. As soon as they boarded, they began to loudly point at the mountains outside.

The parents were preoccupied with hushing their offspring, leaving them no mind to pay attention to Yuan Anqing and Zhuo.

Zhuo continued to chat with Yuan Anqing in a low voice. “So, that’s why you praised him just now? To make him comfortable? He was really bad at feigning misery.”

“We need him to cooperate,” Yuan Anqing nodded.

“You’re really good at putting on an act,” Zhuo remarked, impressed. “Even though you didn’t like it, there was no hint of reluctance when you praised him. You seemed utterly sincere.”

“Is that so?” Yuan Anqing considered that he was merely steering the situation in a less complicated, HR-approved direction.

Zhuo wanted to say that Yuan Anqing was so convincing in his pretense that it made Zhuo unsure which of Yuan Anqing’s emotions were truly genuine. However, Zhuo couldn’t speak.

It wasn’t due to shyness; it was mainly because the child had suddenly fallen silent, and their curious gaze had landed squarely on Yuan Anqing and Zhuo. Zhuo heard a very soft sigh—a sound that came from Yuan Anqing, who seemed weary, as if facing yet another troublesome customer service matter.

But after this sigh, which only Zhuo could hear, Yuan Anqing flawlessly donned his gentle, corporate smile once more and asked the child, “What are you looking at?”

The cable car only went halfway up the mountain, taking about eight minutes from the base. During these eight minutes, Zhuo couldn’t manage to exchange a single word with Yuan Anqing. The child had grown very fond of Yuan Anqing, even sitting comfortably on his lap.

The child had also wanted to touch Zhuo’s tail or horns, but Zhuo’s menacing glare was too obvious, so the child didn’t dare and simply huddled closer to Yuan Anqing.

When the cable car stopped, and they finally separated from the family, Zhuo voiced his displeasure. “I hate children.”

“I don’t like them either,” Yuan Anqing said, rubbing his temples. Clearly, chatting with the child had drained a considerable amount of his social battery. Yuan Anqing couldn’t keep up with the child’s rambling thoughts or understand the random things they shared. However, children of that age could continue talking to themselves, so Yuan Anqing only needed to smile and nod occasionally.

“Couldn’t you have just thrown him off you?” Zhuo asked, patting Yuan Anqing’s clothes, which had been rumpled by the kid.

“Throwing him off would cause more trouble,” Yuan Anqing shook his head. “You don’t know the child’s true nature—whether they’d throw a massive tantrum, or if their parents would become aggressive. We can’t afford an uncontrollable public scene that might prevent us from even getting off the cable car smoothly.”

“They can’t restrain us,” Zhuo argued, not believing two ordinary humans could do anything to them.

“Nor can you beat them up; they’d call the police,” Yuan Anqing said, adjusting his glasses. “Going along with it avoids a lot of paperwork and unnecessary fuss.”

“But you yourself are so tired,” Zhuo pointed out.

“Which is why I want to avoid the possibility of getting even more tired,” Yuan Anqing said, looking up the trail. “We still have a bit more climbing to do, but we’re already much faster than Yuan Zhanhui. By the time he reaches the summit, I should be able to feign a perfectly composed demeanor.”

“You’re going to climb the rest yourself?” Zhuo asked, surprised.

“Is there another cable car that goes straight to the summit from here?” Yuan Anqing countered.

“I’ll carry you up,” Zhuo offered immediately. “I won’t get tired, and neither will you. There’s no need for you to put on an exhausting act.”

“You’ll carry me?” Yuan Anqing was taken aback by Zhuo’s suggestion.

“I run very fast,” Zhuo continued eagerly. “I can take you up without using the paved stairs. I’m very agile, and neither of us will get dirty. There are only thick trees here, so no one will see you on my back. I’ll put you down once we arrive, and you can walk the rest of the way to look cool.” He even thoughtfully considered Yuan Anqing’s pride.

Yuan Anqing, of course, didn’t mind his pride. He had simply never considered this possibility. After all, he was an adult male with a unique, isolated upbringing. Being carried was an experience he had never had, nor was it something he had ever imagined.

“You don’t like it?” Zhuo asked him, his tail drooping.

Yuan Anqing shook his head. “It just feels very strange.”

“Strange?”

“An indescribable strangeness.” Yuan Anqing couldn’t explain the emotion. He felt a hint of shame at the thought of being carried on someone’s back, as if it were a privilege reserved only for children or the deeply loved. However, Zhuo’s expression was so natural; he clearly wasn’t overthinking it.

“No one will see you!” Zhuo emphasized, thinking Yuan Anqing was just shy. At this, he even patted his own broad back. “Besides, my back is very comfortable.”

‘Comfortable’—what kind of descriptor is that?

Yuan Anqing met Zhuo’s bright gaze. Zhuo clearly looked forward to carrying Yuan Anqing on his back.

Yuan Anqing cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “Find a less crowded spot in the trees.”

Zhuo chuckled triumphantly. “Alright!”

Meanwhile, Yuan Zhanhui, climbing the mountain alone, regretted countless times why he had chosen this specific location. It was too high. As a human-beast hybrid, his stamina was slightly greater than an ordinary person’s, but at most, he could manage dignified bipedal walking—unlike some other exhausted climbers around him who were literally scrambling on all fours.

However, his legs were already starting to tremble, and the higher he went, the colder the temperature became. Yuan Zhanhui was only wearing a small tank top; he had chosen to expose his heavily tattooed arms to look tough. The people crawling on all fours around him had absolutely no energy to notice his intricate tattoos.

After his arduous, agonizing ascent to the summit, he found Yuan Anqing and Zhuo standing side-by-side at the observation railing. They were holding cups of hot tea in a synchronized manner, gazing peacefully into the distance. They looked exactly as immaculate as they had before starting the climb.

Only Yuan Zhanhui was drenched in sweat, his eyes vacant and bloodshot.

When he saw the leisurely pair, he felt a powerful urge to turn around and leave. They were too relaxed, seemingly from a different world than him. However, Yuan Zhanhui couldn’t leave. Firstly, he had a mission, and secondly, his legs were shaking so badly he simply had no strength left to descend. He desperately needed to rest.

Yuan Anqing and Zhuo, who had been idly chatting, only noticed Yuan Zhanhui when he squeezed past them to reach a bench. Yuan Zhanhui was soaked, his vest clinging to his body with sweat. A sharp gust of wind on the summit made Yuan Anqing feel cold just by looking at him.

Yuan Zhanhui, holding a freshly bought, super-sized bubble tea, greeted them breathlessly. “You two must have been waiting here for a long time.” The massive bubble tea in his hand was probably more calories than Yuan Anqing’s and Zhuo’s teas combined, symbolizing Yuan Zhanhui’s silent, pathetic defiance.

“We weren’t paying attention to the time,” Yuan Anqing said smoothly. He and Zhuo had been chatting comfortably. Although they hadn’t discussed life philosophies or deep preferences, they inexplicably felt incredibly relaxed in each other’s company.

“I want a sip of your bubble tea,” Zhuo said, much more direct than Yuan Anqing. His eyes were fixed on Yuan Zhanhui’s sugary drink. Zhuo had already had several cups of tea. The one he held now was specifically chosen to try and understand Yuan Anqing’s taste, but he hadn’t finished it after half a day. It was bitter, unsweetened hot tea, and he hated it.

Yuan Zhanhui directly handed over the bubble tea in defeat. He usually didn’t drink such high-calorie beverages; he had only bought it to try and annoy them, feeling uncomfortable seeing Yuan Anqing and Zhuo so relaxed. In truth, Yuan Zhanhui knew he wouldn’t actually annoy anyone, but he needed a sugar rush to make himself feel better.

Zhuo took a sip, then his red eyes lit up. “Yours tastes good.”

“Then you drink it,” Yuan Zhanhui said, resigned. His little fit of pique was instantly punctured. He realized the childishness of his behavior; it wasn’t going to bother the Savior at all.

“Don’t you want to rent a jacket from the gift shop? The wind is quite strong today,” Yuan Anqing reminded the spy.

“I think I’m fine,” Yuan Zhanhui replied stubbornly. He was somewhat of a clean freak. In Yuan Zhanhui’s opinion, the jackets rented on the mountain had been worn by countless sweaty tourists and were certainly not clean. He’d rather freeze than wear dirty clothes.

Yuan Anqing noticed the leopard tail behind Yuan Zhanhui had puffed up like a startled feather duster in the cold. “Why don’t you transform into your true form? At least you’ll have thick fur and won’t be exposed naked to the wind.”

Yuan Zhanhui considered this, then declared, “I’m very self-conscious about my true form.” He hadn’t forgotten his pity-angle yet.

Yuan Anqing admired his dedication to the bit. “You don’t like leopards?”

“No, I couldn’t even watch wildlife documentaries because of my true form,” Yuan Zhanhui offered a new, tragic reason. “Especially the leopard episodes. I had to wait until I was twenty-one before they were unlocked by the parental controls.”

“Once they were unlocked, I eagerly opened them,” Yuan Zhanhui said, this time telling the truth.

“Can’t you watch human adult content?” Zhuo asked him bluntly. “Humans have so many tricks. As for leopards, they’re not about pleasure, just reproduction, right?”

“Actually, I could find human-related content online much earlier,” Yuan Zhanhui shook his head. “But documentaries specifically guard against beastkin demi-humans; their internet secrecy is much better. I could only access them once I turned 21, so documentaries held a much greater appeal for me.”

This kind of caution had backfired spectacularly, Yuan Anqing thought, taking a slow sip of his bitter tea.

“I opened the documentary and was deeply captivated. I fell in love with a leopardess on screen. But she had died five years before I even watched the film,” Yuan Zhanhui said, a genuine touch of melancholy in his voice. “She was the most magnificent lady I had ever seen.”

Yuan Anqing: “…”

Yuan Zhanhui continued, “When I watched the documentary, I didn’t even mind that she had cubs with another male.”

“She’s a wild animal; you can’t control whether she has cubs or not. Your feelings don’t matter to her,” Zhuo reminded him brutally. “You think too highly of yourself.”

“Anyway, my first love just disappeared like that.”

“It was your first crush,” Yuan Anqing corrected him.

Zhuo then consoled him, “Look on the bright side. Even if she hadn’t died of old age, she wouldn’t have liked you anyway. In a true leopard’s aesthetic, your bipedal form would probably be considered a horrific, deformed mutant.”

“I just don’t look very good myself,” Yuan Zhanhui sighed, actually agreeing.

“Actually, you could set your sights on humans,” Yuan Anqing reminded him. “You don’t necessarily have to like leopards, as ordinary leopards can’t typically integrate into human society and date humans. Or rather, leopards themselves have no interest in ‘dating’; they merely want to perpetuate their species.”

“But humans don’t like me either,” Yuan Zhanhui said, feeling dejected. After his despondency, he looked at Yuan Anqing again. “Surely many people like you, right?”

Yuan Anqing raised an eyebrow slightly, then nodded in admission. “You could say so, but it’s not that they ‘like’ me; it’s more that they ‘liked me once’.” Once they got to know Yuan Anqing more deeply, those who wanted to further their romantic relationship with him would swiftly retreat due to his coldness.

Yuan Zhanhui thought he understood. “You rejected them?”

“They gave up on their own. They thought I wasn’t someone suitable for settling down with,” Yuan Anqing honestly replied. Yuan Anqing actually felt they weren’t quite right. If a partner didn’t demand deep emotional attachment, Yuan Anqing could easily be responsible for providing for a family—though he himself had no desire to start one.

“Then you must have been like the campus heartthrob! I really envy your type,” Yuan Zhanhui began to praise him. “Have you ever had even one relationship before?”

“No,” Yuan Anqing shook his head. “Too busy with work. No time.”

“Not even when you were in school?”

“Why date in school? Aren’t students supposed to go to school to study?” Yuan Anqing countered logically. “Dating when neither party has a stable economic foundation is just playing house fueled by hormones.”

“You’re such a good student,” Yuan Zhanhui said, defeated. He truly couldn’t fathom Yuan Anqing’s ascetic mindset. “So, Mr. Zhuo is your first love?”

“Yes,” Yuan Anqing nodded, maintaining the cover story.

Yuan Zhanhui truly felt that the organization’s instruction for him to mimic Zhuo’s behavior was a terrible move. Such imitation would surely not be appreciated by the original, and if Zhuo disliked him, how could Yuan Anqing—who supposedly shared a bed with Zhuo—have a good impression of him?

“I don’t find you annoying anymore,” Zhuo said suddenly. “You can join us too, you know.”

Zhuo wanted to adopt a large orange cat. This Yuan Zhanhui was different from the previous weeping assassin; he wouldn’t hurt people, and he seemed more like a pathetic animal. A cat that was 1.9 meters tall would be quite impressive to walk around. He did shed a bit, but Yuan Zhanhui could clean up after himself, so it wasn’t a major drawback.

However, these innocent words took on a completely different meaning in Yuan Zhanhui’s ears. These two are really kinky! They want a third?!

“It’s just that following us might be a bit tiring,” Zhuo added thoughtfully. Yuan Zhanhui might have to take on their household chores as the ‘pet.’

“Thanks, but no need,” Yuan Zhanhui refused, horrified.

“Zhuo,” Yuan Anqing interrupted. He knew what Yuan Zhanhui had misunderstood, and he also knew Zhuo was deliberately teasing the spy. “Don’t scare him anymore.”

Zhuo chuckled. “But I really do like him quite a bit.”

Yuan Zhanhui swallowed hard, wanting to retreat.

“You also really like being with us, don’t you?” Zhuo asked, narrowing his eyes predatorily. “Otherwise, why would you come looking for us every single day?”

“Mainly because you don’t discriminate against my beast traits,” Yuan Zhanhui maintained his pitiable persona. “I don’t have any deeper… desires… for you two.”

“Hey, but you’re always staring intently at Yuan Anqing,” Zhuo said, wrapping a massive arm possessively around Yuan Anqing’s shoulders. “You even mimicked my speech patterns before. You definitely like Yuan Anqing, don’t you? Are you refusing to come to our home because you dislike me? Am I getting in the way of your fantasy?”

Zhuo was quite excited now. When he got excited, he wanted to express his feelings, and causing a little psychological mischief was exactly what he liked.

Earlier, when Zhuo carried Yuan Anqing up the mountain, he could feel Yuan Anqing’s physical tension and bewilderment. Yuan Anqing had almost stiffened into a rigid plank on his back. Zhuo liked Yuan Anqing’s nervous demeanor; at such times, Yuan Anqing’s performance was less perfectly corporate, and more real. In fact, upon closer reflection, many of Yuan Anqing’s imperfections had been revealed to Zhuo recently. Their relationship had certainly grown more intimate. Otherwise, Yuan Anqing’s attitude towards him would have remained the same as when they first met—choosing compliance for peace, seemingly agreeable but in truth, utterly indifferent.

As they neared the summit, Yuan Anqing had gradually relaxed his body against Zhuo’s back, becoming accustomed to the exaggerated speed, even having the leisure to turn his head and observe how Zhuo’s scaly tail maintained balance while running. Zhuo found this quiet trust very comforting—a comfort that even Yuan Zhanhui’s annoying arrival couldn’t disrupt.

Zhuo was exhilarated. “Did you deliberately show your ears and tail today to seduce him? You know most people like fluffy things in this world, right?”

Zhuo waited for the reaction.

“Zhuo, that’s enough,” Yuan Anqing said, pulling down Zhuo’s arm. Sure enough, Yuan Anqing intervened to stop the bullying again. This interaction heightened Zhuo’s excitement even further.

“He’s just joking with you,” Yuan Anqing explained to Yuan Zhanhui, sounding exhausted. “He’s just like that. A bit childish, but not a bad person.”

Yuan Zhanhui also noticed Zhuo’s happily wagging tail tip. “Your personality is really beyond my expectations, old man.”

He had initially thought Zhuo was the Savior’s submissive “soft wife,” then later believed Zhuo was a pure tough guy who was merely kidnapped by Yuan Anqing’s Savior halo. Now, it seemed Zhuo hadn’t been kidnapped at all; he was perfectly happy, even capable of raising hell beside the Savior.

Yuan Zhanhui felt a headache coming on. Neither Yuan Anqing’s nor Zhuo’s personalities were familiar to him; he had never dealt with targets like them before.

“You haven’t met anyone like Zhuo before, have you?” Yuan Anqing asked, gripping Zhuo’s tail tip and silently increasing his grip to warn him. Zhuo wouldn’t feel pain, but his tail had sensation, and at least it stopped twitching wildly after Yuan Anqing grabbed it.

“Yeah, my friends are all quite straightforward,” Yuan Zhanhui scratched his head.

“Oh? Do you have many friends?” Yuan Anqing asked him smoothly.

“Actually, there are many people like me in this world,” Yuan Zhanhui quickly chimed in, eager to set the hook for the organization.

“That’s wonderful,” Yuan Anqing sighed, leaning against the railing. “I don’t have many friends.”

“Well, how about I introduce you to some sometime?” Yuan Zhanhui perked up again.

Yuan Anqing smiled warmly. “I would love that.”

Yuan Zhanhui froze for a moment. Only after Yuan Anqing retracted his smile did he react. “You actually look quite handsome when you smile.”

But before Zhuo could demand that he mind his wandering eyes, Yuan Zhanhui let out a huge sneeze. The explosive sound startled several young girls admiring the scenery nearby.

Yuan Zhanhui’s sneeze was like those of middle-aged men—wild, unrestrained, as if he wanted to sneeze his brains out.

“Excuse me. I have rhinitis,” Yuan Zhanhui said, pulling a tissue from his pocket. “It’ll pass in a bit.”

Yuan Anqing looked at Yuan Zhanhui’s tail, which still hadn’t smoothed down from the cold. “I don’t think this is just a rhinitis issue.” After sweating profusely, his body temperature had rapidly dropped, and with the strong, freezing mountain wind blowing, it would be biologically impossible for him not to get sick in a tank top.

“Maybe my tail is shedding. Sometimes my leopard fur gets into my nasal cavity, it’s really annoying,” Yuan Zhanhui sneezed again.

So your fur can actually interfere with your daily life, Yuan Anqing thought, clearing his throat. “The wind is blowing directly at your face. The fur on your tail behind you can’t possibly get into your nose.”

Yuan Zhanhui couldn’t respond. He kept sneezing, and after five or six consecutive sneezes, he felt dizzy and disoriented, as if the world before him had lost all order. “Could it be that I really caught a cold?”

Yuan Anqing looked at the array of thick windbreakers and jackets available for rent on the summit, then at Yuan Zhanhui’s exposed arms. His vest, initially soaked with sweat, had now been frozen dry by the mountain wind. “Not necessarily. Maybe someone’s just badmouthing you behind your back.”

Zhuo found this deadpan mockery highly amusing.

But Yuan Zhanhui still couldn’t respond; he was still sneezing incessantly.

“If it’s really that bad, let’s go down the mountain,” Yuan Anqing said, unable to watch the pathetic display any longer. “Don’t collapse on the mountain later.”

“Achoo! I—achoo! I’m perfectly fine!” Yuan Zhanhui was an undisputed strongman in his ordinary human social circle, the kind who was called ‘Big Bro’ everywhere. He felt he had already lost enough face in front of this Savior. He had been disheveled enough climbing the mountain, and now he absolutely had to maintain his dignity! His last shred of dignity! “I’m fine! I’m absolutely fine! We’ll just stay here for a while.”

He was, after all, a mental ability user. Even if he had to rely on sheer willpower, he would endure the cold for two hours to prove his toughness!

Thirty minutes later, Yuan Zhanhui collapsed.

He was carried away on a canvas stretcher by mountain firefighters. Fire trucks couldn’t reach this peak, so only the resident firefighters handled rescue operations on foot. The firefighters would have to carry him to the cable car, then transport him down to the foot of the mountain to transfer him to an ambulance. Because he was so large, the firefighters struggled to carry him. Zhuo even had to go over to help lift one corner of the stretcher.

Yuan Zhanhui was still conscious, but his limbs were powerless with a severe fever, and he couldn’t get up.

He heard Yuan Anqing say to Zhuo, “Don’t insist on being a tough guy in the future. Understand?”

“Why?” Zhuo didn’t understand.

“Tough guys who hold out till the bitter end will just end up lying on the ground,” Yuan Anqing said, pointing at the shivering Yuan Zhanhui. “And they’ll cause unnecessary trouble for others. If you can’t take it, you should say so early. That’s better for everyone.”

“Look at Yuan Zhanhui. Such a big guy, being carried down all the way—how many people will stop and stare?” Yuan Anqing mused. “People will actually think you’re frail.”

No matter how much Zhuo pushed himself, he wouldn’t fall ill, but he still nodded, indicating he understood the lesson. As for Yuan Zhanhui… Yuan Zhanhui understood every single word. He wanted to cover his face in shame, but he simply had no strength to lift his arms.

Yuan Zhanhui’s consciousness was blurry, and due to the stress, his appearance had completely transformed into his beastkin state. His head had become a full leopard’s, and his claws and body had undergone varying degrees of transformation. Fur covered his entire body, and his rosetted patterns had fully emerged.

“Wow! Mommy! Is that leopard dead?!” a child exclaimed in surprise upon seeing him carried past on the trail.

“Don’t talk nonsense, he’s just injured.”

“What’s wrong with that leopard?” a university student asked.

“Looks like he got sick from the cold wind. He was shirtless earlier.”

“Frozen?!”

“Maybe he has a high fever.”

“Mommy! I didn’t get a fever climbing the mountain!”

“Because you dressed warmly, sweetie.”

The already weak leopard gradually flattened his furry ears in humiliation, then tears welled up from his eyes. Zhuo, merely helping to carry the stretcher, inexplicably felt secondhand embarrassment and wanted to put on a hat to cover his own face.

Yuan Anqing walked beside the stretcher and comforted Yuan Zhanhui. “It’s okay. You’ll be delirious with fever soon. Once you’re delirious, you won’t hear anything they’re saying.”

He recalled Yuan Zhanhui’s struggle to invent psychological trauma before they climbed the mountain. Yuan Zhanhui had no psychological trauma at all; he lived a very happy life, so his acting was terrible when it came to sadness.

But it wasn’t a big problem. From now on, he would have true trauma. He would never be as happy as before.

Thinking this, Yuan Anqing looked at Yuan Zhanhui with eyes full of fake, paternal affection. He wanted to pat Yuan Zhanhui’s shoulder in comfort, but seeing all that thick fur on him, Yuan Anqing hesitated. Cat fur was hard to wash off suits. Forget it. It didn’t matter. No comfort needed. They could cultivate their spy-friendship next time. Anyway, Yuan Zhanhui would soon be delirious, so comforting him would be a waste of breath.

Yuan Anqing silently shifted his gaze and walked over to Zhuo. “Are you feeling tired from carrying him?”

“Not at all,” Zhuo replied, feeling like he was the truly impressive tough guy today.

Behind them, the sound of a motorcycle engine trying to start echoed, sputtering intermittently, as if the vehicle wouldn’t turn over, or like a hoarse roar from bronchitis.

The firefighter carrying the back of the stretcher exclaimed, “The leopard is crying! He covered his face with his paws!”

“I’ve never seen a leopard cry before!” another firefighter said in awe.

Zhuo looked back. “He probably won’t be smiling after this, will he?”

Yuan Anqing adjusted his glasses. “At least not for this week.”