Spring on campus arrived wrapped in warm wind and the faint scent of blooming jacaranda trees. Students hurried between buildings with the anxious energy that only the final weeks of the semester could produce, clutching notes, textbooks, and enough caffeine to power a small city.
Inside the literature building, however, Mingzhe sat perfectly still.
His final examination paper rested neatly beneath his hand. The classroom was filled with the restless scratching of pens and the occasional groan of someone realizing they had forgotten an entire theory section.
Mingzhe, meanwhile, had finished twenty minutes ago.
He reread his answers calmly, the way someone might check a travel itinerary rather than a life-determining exam.
Across the room, Yize floated invisibly near the ceiling fan, spinning slowly like a fluffy Earth that had grown bored of orbiting Sun.
[Host has completed the final examination.] He clapped his thick and fat hands, giggling happily.
"Yes."
[Host's answers exceed the professor's expected rubric by approximately three academic tiers heheheh~~]
"If you say it like that, it sounds inefficient."
[Host also referenced six additional philosophical frameworks not included in the syllabus.] He sprinkles a basket of artificial flowers visible only to Mingzhe.
Mingzhe lightly tapped his pen against the desk. "My mom once said that overachievement builds one's character." He peek a bit towards the lazy system. His eyes said clearly the fact that Yize have poor character. Yize rotated lazily. He knows Host is teasing him.
[Host finished the Perfect Student task months ago.]
Mingzhe let out a soft breath. "That doesn't mean I should start failing now." He said.
Outside the window, the sky stretched wide and bright over the campus. Beyond the university walls, the world of 2030 moved with a far heavier rhythm.
News headlines flickered across digital billboards in the city:
Rising temperatures across northern regions.
Unseasonal droughts continuing for the third year.
Coastal flooding warnings issued across multiple countries.
Humanity had reached the stage where the consequences of its own habits had begun knocking loudly at the door.
Global warming was no longer an abstract concept discussed in academic journals. It had become a daily inconvenience, a slow tightening of the planet's lungs.
For Mingzhe, however, it was merely... interesting.
At first.
When he had first arrived in this world three years ago, humanity fascinated him.
Mortals were always fascinating at the beginning. Their short lives burned with such bright urgency. Their mistakes were messy, emotional, unpredictable.
They built cities. Broke them. Rebuilt them again. They created music, art, literature. And at the same time they quietly poisoned their own oceans. Posters, ads, posts and more kept crying for ecosystems out there but humans simply feeling empathy for a second and shed a tear or two, but the next day they continued abusing nature.
Mingzhe had watched it all with the curiosity of someone observing an unusual species.
But curiosity had a lifespan.
After a while, patterns repeated.
Humans panicked. Then they adapted.
Humans argued. Then they delayed.
Gradually, the novelty faded. Over the years, Mingzhe watched humanity destroys itself. Selfishness had been carved in their bones, burning intensely the closer it is to destructions.
Yize had noticed the shift long before anyone else.
One evening while Mingzhe was reading quietly in his apartment, the system floated beside him and asked carefully.
[Host no longer watches the news.]
Mingzhe turned a page. He now wears a glasses. According to Yize, he looks more mature and reliable like this. Mingzhe doesn't know where he got these random ideas but for the sake of Yize, he grant his small wishes.
"I already understand the outcome." He doesn't need the news to announced it.
[Host sounds bored now.]
"I'm not bored."
Yize rotated slowly.
[Host sounds extremely bored.] He is very confident with his old sage analysis !
Mingzhe sighed softly. His gaze drifted toward the city skyline outside the window.
"…Humans are admirable creatures," he said thoughtfully. "But they tend to repeat the same mistakes across every era."
Yize nodded.
[Yes. This system has observed similar patterns across multiple civilizations.]
Mingzhe leaned back against the couch.
"Fortunately," he added lightly, "this world already has someone fixing the problem."
His eyes drifted toward a particular direction across the city.
Toward the greenhouse.
Toward the research labs.
Toward the quiet professor who had spent the past three years slowly exhausting himself trying to revive dying land. Because the truth was simple.
Muchen's soul fragment could not be collected yet.
Not until the current obsession anchoring his life disappeared.
In this lifetime, that obsession had taken the form of a monumental task.
Reviving the northern provinces.
Restoring land that had been strangled by drought and decades of ecological abuse.
It was not just a project.
It was the axis of Muchen's entire existence.
And until it was finished...
The fragment would remain firmly rooted inside him.
Like a seed refusing to leave the soil.
Over the past three years, Mingzhe's relationship with Muchen had quietly transformed. At first there had been suspicion. A literature student wandering into a research greenhouse every afternoon.
Then came reluctant tolerance. Muchen eventually stopped questioning why Mingzhe appeared so often. Then conversations began. Small ones at first.
About plants.
About literature.
About why anyone would voluntarily major in classical poetry.
Eventually those conversations drifted beyond campus.
One rainy evening, after a particularly long research day, Muchen had looked up from a stack of lab reports and asked abruptly.
"...Do you want dinner?"
Mingzhe blinked once. He doubted his ears for a second.
As if starlights had decorated that eyes, they sparkles gently "Is that an order, Professor?" He questioned, feeling delight for a simple sentence.
Muchen grimaced.
"Stop calling me that when we're not in class."
"Then what should I call you?"
A pause.
"...Muchen is fine."
That had been the first evening they ate together outside the university.
No lab coats.
No student desks.
Just two people sitting across from each other in a quiet restaurant while rain tapped gently against the windows.
Somewhere above them, Yize had nearly short-circuited from excitement.
[Host has achieved Friendship Level.]
"Please stop gamifying my life." He sounds like Mingzhe had leveled up after years of farming monsters and building his exp.
Time continued moving forward.
Seasons shifted.
Semesters ended.
And eventually the final examination week arrived.
Back in the classroom, Mingzhe placed his completed exam paper neatly on the professor's desk before leaving the room.
His steps were light.
Three years had passed almost effortlessly.
Outside the building, a small crowd of graduating students gathered beneath the university banner.
Mingzhe stood among them wearing the traditional black gown, the tassel of his cap shifting slightly in the warm breeze.
When the results were announced weeks later, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.
Graduated with highest honors.
Perfect academic record.
Top ranking in his department.
The Perfect Student task was complete.
Yize updated the mission log that night.
Primary Task: Completed ✔
Remaining Objectives:
• Romantic Progress (Optional)
• Soul Fragment Retrieval
• Side Quest: Monitoring World Consciousness
Mingzhe glanced at the list and chuckled softly. "…So now the real work begins."
Yize spun happily.
[Host can finally focus on Master!!!] They can finally begins the chasing arc !
"And on something else."
Right, [World Consciousness.] Yize's eyes narrowed as he grips his small scabbard.
Mingzhe's eyes glinted faintly.
"Yes."
Because during those three quiet years, he had occasionally... tested it.
Nothing too dramatic though. That's why he said they're tests. He did some small provocations. Sprinkles a bit of tiny disturbances in probability or subtle manipulations of coincidence.
Each time, the world consciousness responded.
Like an invisible immune system nudging reality back into place.
Mingzhe found the reactions fascinating.
He had begun poking it the way a curious cat taps a sleeping dragon.
Very carefully.
Very politely.
Just to see what would happen.
.............
Three Years Later
The world looked different now.
The drought in the northern provinces had slowed.
Satellite images showed thin veins of green creeping slowly across land that had once been dust.
The research networks had expanded.
Several governments had adopted Muchen's ecological restoration models.
But success had come at a cost.
The first thing Muchen noticed about the past three years was that they had disappeared.
Not in the poetic sense people used when talking about time passing too quickly, but in the very literal, uncomfortable realization that entire seasons had blurred together into one continuous stretch of work.
Research proposals.
Government briefings.
Satellite data.
Emergency calls from agricultural departments that sounded increasingly desperate every summer.
Somewhere inside that cycle, the northern provinces had begun to breathe again.
The land that once appeared on satellite images as endless pale dust was now threaded with cautious strips of green. Not forests yet, not even close, but enough plant life to stabilize the soil and prevent the worst of the desertification from spreading.
Every environmental conference called it a breakthrough.
Every politician called it a miracle.
Muchen called it barely enough.
Which was why he was still in the laboratory at nine in the evening, staring at soil recovery data with the same intensity most people reserved for emergency surgery.
The lab lights hummed softly above him. A half-finished cup of tea had gone cold beside the keyboard.
By the time Muchen finally looked up from the computer, the lab had gone quiet in that deep, hollow way buildings did after most people had gone home.
The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly. One of the ventilation ducts rattled every few seconds like it had a cough it refused to fix. Outside the tall windows, the campus was soaked in dark blue twilight, the last smear of sunset already swallowed by the city skyline.
Muchen rolled his neck slowly until something popped.
"Great," he muttered under his breath. "I'm turning into an old man."
The spreadsheet on his screen was still glaring at him like an accusation. Soil humidity levels. Root density growth. Rainfall projections that looked decent on paper but felt fragile in reality.
Three years of work.
Three years of conferences, policy meetings, government funding battles, and watching satellite images like they were heart monitors for a dying patient.
The land was recovering.
Technically.
Still fragile. Still stubborn. Still one bad drought away from undoing everything.
Muchen rubbed his eyes and reached for the mug beside his keyboard before realizing the tea had gone cold an hour ago.
He sighed.
Then he noticed something.
The faint rustle of paper.
His head turned.
Mingzhe was sitting in the chair near the corner table, one ankle resting over his knee, a book open in his hands like he had always been there.
Muchen blinked.
"...How long have you been sitting there?"
Mingzhe didn't look up immediately. He finished reading the last line of the page, slid a bookmark in place, and closed the book with quiet care.
"About half an hour," he said.
Muchen stared at him.
"Half an hour?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't say anything?"
"You were frowning at your screen so hard your eyes almost scarlet," Mingzhe replied calmly. "I assumed interrupting you would be unwise."
Muchen leaned back in his chair slowly.
"Damn, you could've at least coughed or something."
"I did consider it."
"And?"
"I decided watching was more interesting."
That got a short laugh out of him.
"Wow. So I'm an entertainment now." He faked a hurt expression on time.
"Sometimes."
Muchen shook his head, but he was smiling faintly now.
It still amazed him how quietly Mingzhe could occupy a room. Most people who visited his lab made noise immediately. Chairs scraping and their phones buzzing. Non stop questions firing like bullets.
Mingzhe just... appeared. Watching everything like he had unlimited time.
Muchen pushed his chair back from the desk and stretched his arms over his head. His shirt lifted slightly as his shoulders pulled tight, muscles protesting after hours of sitting.
When he lowered his arms again, Mingzhe was looking at him. Not in a creepy way.
Just observing the man.
"You look tired," Mingzhe said.
"Brilliant deduction from the top student."
"I'm serious."
"So am I," Muchen replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "That rainfall model's still unstable. If the precipitation cycle doesn't settle soon, the vegetation won't survive the next heat wave."
Mingzhe leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.
"How bad?"
"Thirty percent collapse risk."
"It's survivable if it like that."
"That sounds like three years of work going down the drain," Muchen said flatly.
Mingzhe tilted his head.
"You scientists really love worst-case scenarios."
"That's because worst-case scenarios tend to happen."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Muchen noticed something then.
Mingzhe had rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms. The fabric was a bit wrinkled like he had been wearing it all day. His hair looked slightly messy too, the kind of messy that happened when someone absentmindedly ran their fingers through it too many times.
"You came straight here after work?" Muchen asked.
"Yes."
"No dinner?"
"Not yet."
"You're terrible at taking care of yourself."
Mingzhe's mouth curved faintly.
"That's rich coming from someone who forgets meals during research weeks."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I'm saving the planet."
"You're saving dirt and a lot of worms."
"It's important dirt and cute worms."
Mingzhe chuckled quietly.
The sound was soft enough that it blended into the quiet of the lab.
Muchen suddenly noticed something else.
"…You finished that book already?"
Mingzhe lifted it slightly.
"Yes."
"That was the 600-page one you started last week."
"I read quickly."
"Sometimes I wanna pry open your head and look at your brain."
"Why?"
"Because you also remember everything you read and I wanna do some research on it"
Mingzhe's lips twitch slightly. "What kind of professor are you? A serial killer?" He asks unhurriedly.
"But, my speciment is only you."
Muchen studied him for a moment.
"You know something?"
"What?"
"You've been showing up here a lot."
Mingzhe raised an eyebrow. Yeah, like he don't know that.
"A lot?"
"Yeah. Lab. Cafeteria. Coffee shop near the south gate."
Mingzhe was unconvinced. "You go to all those places too."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
Muchen leaned back again, folding his arms loosely.
"I thought you'd disappear after graduation, you know?"
"Disappear?"
"That's what students usually do. You all gonna have new jobs, goes to new cities and have new lives."
Mingzhe's gaze lingered on him for a second longer than usual.
"And if someone simply likes spending time with you?"
Muchen blinked. He licked his dry lips.
"...That sounded suspiciously smooth."
"I wasn't trying to be smooth, I'm talking about it literally."
A small smile tugged at Mingzhe's lips.
Muchen exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself.
"You realize if one of my students said that to me I'd report them for flirting."
"Are you planning to report me?"
"You're not my student anymore."
Muchen studied him again.
Up close, Mingzhe had always been... strange. Not in a bad way. Just slightly out of step with everyone else. He's too observant, too calm and too comfortable sitting in silence.
But there was something else too.
Whenever Mingzhe looked at him, it felt focused. Like his attention didn't scatter the way most people's did.
It lingered.
"…You're weird," Muchen said finally.
"I've been told."
"Mostly by me."
"Yes."
"And you keep coming back anyway."
"That's correct."
"Why?"
Mingzhe leaned back in the chair slowly.
The movement was relaxed.
"Because," he said, "you're interesting."
Muchen snorted.
"Wow. That's vague."
"It's accurate."
"Try again."
Mingzhe just giggle a bit. His beautiful face doesn't change at all. The only thing that changed is he became far more dazzling than when he was a student. Like a star brightly lit amongst other dim ones.
Silence settled again.
Outside the window, a faint breeze moved the tree branches along the walkway.
Muchen rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"…You know what's funny?"
"What?"
"Three years ago you were this quiet student who barely spoke in class."
"Don't slander me. I spoke when necessary."
"You corrected my lecture on desertification statistics."
"You were wrong at that time." It's funny how Muchen still remembers that.
"I was rounding numbers."
"You were rounding too generously."
Muchen shook his head, laughing softly.
"And now you just show up in my lab whenever you want."
"You've never told me to leave ever since I came here years ago unannounced."
"....That's because you're usually quiet."
"I could change that."
"Please don't."
Mingzhe laughed again.
Muchen pushed himself up from the chair, stretching his back one more time before grabbing his jacket from the hook.
"Alright," he said. "You said you haven't eaten."
"Yeah, I know you're also not."
"And if you pass out from hunger in my lab, the university will blame me for not taking care of their little prince."
Their banters continued on naturally. It's like a sword has coming back to its sheath.
"So," Muchen said, shrugging the jacket on, "we're getting noodles."
Mingzhe stood up slowly.
The two of them moved toward the door together. Right before they stepped out, Mingzhe spoke again.
"You know," he said lightly, "you never answered my earlier question."
"What question?"
"If I'm flirting."
Muchen paused with his hand on the door handle. He glanced sideways at him.
"…You are," he said.
"And?"
Muchen opened the door.
"Buy me noodles first," he replied. "Then we'll discuss it."
...........
The noodle shop was a cramped, steam-filled sanctuary tucked into an alleyway that smelled of roasted sesame and rain-slicked pavement. It was the kind of place where the fluorescent lights flickered just enough to make everything feel like a memory before it even ended.
They sat at a corner table, the wood scarred by decades of chopsticks and spilled broth. Muchen had finally shed the stiff "Professor" energy, his jacket draped over the back of the chair and his top button undone.
"You're staring again," Muchen said, not looking up as he stirred a generous dollop of chili oil into his bowl.
"I'm observing," Mingzhe corrected, resting his chin on his palm. "There's a difference."
"Yeah? What's the difference?"
"Observation is for data. Staring is for things you actually enjoy looking at."
Muchen's hand faltered for a fraction of a second, his chopsticks clicking against the ceramic. A faint, stubborn heat bloomed across his cheekbones-the kind of blush he tried to bury by taking an aggressively large bite of noodles. He chewed slowly, looking everywhere but at the man across from him.
"You really didn't learn any restraint in those literature classes, did you?" Muchen muttered after swallowing, his voice slightly rough from the chili.
"I learned that if you want something, you shouldn't use metaphors. They're too easy to misinterpret." Mingzhe reached out, his fingers steady as he picked up his own chopsticks. He didn't start eating, though.
Instead, he leaned in, his gaze dropping to Muchen's mouth. "You have... right there."
Muchen paused, a noodle halfway to his lips. "What? Sauce?" He went to reach for a napkin, but Mingzhe was faster.
His thumb brushed against the corner of Muchen's lower lip, a touch so light it felt like a feather. It lingered for a second too long to be accidental-thumb pressing into the soft skin, catching a stray drop of dark broth. Muchen froze, his breath hitching in the back of his throat. The noise of the shop-the clattering bowls, the shouting cook-seemed to fall away into a dull hum.
Mingzhe pulled his hand back and, with terrifyingly casual grace, licked the smudge of sauce off his thumb while keeping his eyes locked on Muchen's.
"A bit salty," Mingzhe remarked, his voice smooth as silk. "But the spice is good."
Muchen felt like his brain had just experienced a total system failure. He stared at Mingzhe, his mouth slightly open, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "You... you can't just do that," he whispered, his face now a vivid, undeniable red.
"Do what?" Mingzhe asked innocently, finally beginning to eat his own noodles.
"That! The... the thumb thing! It's unhygienic. It's... it's highly irregular!"
"We've known each other for three years, Muchen," Mingzhe said, using his name with that low, melodic chime that made Muchen's knees weak. "I think we're past the 'highly irregular' stage. Besides, you weren't using that napkin."
[Host, his heart rate is literally audible to me right now,] Yize giggled, floating invisibly above a plate of side dishes. [If he gets any redder, he's going to photosynthesize.]
Let him, Mingzhe thought back, a small, triumphant smile playing on his lips.
Muchen tried to regain his composure by drinking half a glass of iced tea in one go.
"You're dangerous," he said, setting the glass down with a firm thud. "I spend all day dealing with complex environmental collapses, and yet ten minutes with you is more exhausting than a government funding hearing."
"That's because you can't predict me with a spreadsheet," Mingzhe teased. He reached over and snagged a piece of braised beef from Muchen's bowl—a move so bold only someone who knew Muchen's specific food-sharing boundaries would dare.
Muchen didn't even protest. He just watched Mingzhe eat it, a strange, soft look flickering behind his glasses. "I like that you don't use metaphors," Muchen said quietly, his voice losing its defensive edge. "The world is complicated enough. You're...very clear."
"Is that a compliment, Professor?"
"It's an observation," Muchen echoed, a slow, genuine smirk finally breaking through his shyness. He leaned forward, matching Mingzhe's posture. "And for the record? I don't hate the staring. Just don't expect me to be good at the 'flirting' part. I'm out of practice."
"Don't worry," Mingzhe said, his eyes darkening with a sudden, intense warmth. "I'm a very patient teacher."
..........
The walk home was supposed to be a short trek to the parking lot, but the universe or perhaps Yize's meddling - had other plans.
Just as they stepped out of the noodle shop, a low rumble of thunder vibrated through the pavement. Within seconds, the humid night air fractured into a heavy, rhythmic downpour.
"Great," Muchen muttered, pulling his jacket over his head. "My car is three blocks away. I should have checked the radar."
"Stay put," Muchen commanded. It wasn't a suggestion. He didn't wait for Mingzhe to fish out an umbrella. He reached into his own satchel and pulled out a sturdy, professional-grade umbrella—large enough for two, but Muchen held it with a grip that suggested he wasn't planning on letting go.
He popped it open and stepped close, his height casting a shadow over Mingzhe. "Get in. I'm not having you catch a cold."
Mingzhe didn't argue. He tucked himself right into Muchen's side, his shoulder fitting perfectly under the crook of Muchen's arm. Instead of being the one to pull Muchen in, Mingzhe felt the man's heavy arm settle firmly around his shoulders, steering him through the puddles with a quiet, dominant confidence.
"You're surprisingly protective for a guy who spends his time with succulents," Mingzhe teased, glancing up.
Muchen's jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the path ahead, but there was a flicker of something dark and intense in his eyes.
"Plants are fragile and people are worse. And you?" He looked down at Mingzhe, his arm tightening just a fraction, pulling him flush against his side. "You have a habit of making yourself my responsibility."
"Do I?"
"You know you do."
Muchen stopped walking. They were under the glow of a flickering streetlamp, surrounded by a curtain of falling water. The umbrella created a tight, dry sanctuary.
Muchen reached out with his free hand. He didn't just brush a thumb over Mingzhe's lip; he cupped Mingzhe's jaw, his palm warm and slightly rough from lab work. His thumb traced the lower curve of Mingzhe's mouth, applying just enough pressure to make Mingzhe's breath hitch.
"You were very bold back there in the shop," Muchen murmured, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register that vibrated in Mingzhe's chest. "Wiping sauce off me like I wouldn't notice what you were doing."
Mingzhe tilted his head back, a challenge dancing in his eyes. "And what exactly was I doing?"
"Testing me," Muchen replied. He leaned down, his face inches from Mingzhe's. He didn't look shy anymore; he looked like a man who had spent three years gathering data and had finally reached a conclusion.
"Don't think that because I'm patient, I'm blind. You've been circling me for three years, Mingzhe. Did you think I wouldn't eventually close the gap?"
[HOST!] Yize's voice was a panicked, high-pitched frequency. [The energy readings! He's—he's taking charge! Affinity hit 22% and it's getting hot in here!]
Muchen's gaze was heavy, lingering on Mingzhe's lips before moving back up to lock onto his eyes. "I'm the one who decides when the 'observation' period is over. And I think I've seen enough."
He didn't kiss him - not yet. He just stood there, holding the umbrella over them like a king guarding a treasure, letting the tension simmer until it was almost unbearable. Then, with a faint, knowing smirk, he stepped back just an inch.
"Come on. My car is right there. I'm driving you back."
"Is that another order, Professor?" Mingzhe asked, his heart doing a slow, heavy roll in his chest.
"Yes," Muchen said, opening the passenger door for him and hovering close enough that Mingzhe had to brush past his chest to get in. "And you'd be wise to follow this one."
..........
For Muchen, the world had always been a series of systems. Photosynthesis was a system. Soil pH was a system. Even loneliness was a system—one he had optimized by surrounding himself with plants that didn't ask for his time or his heart.
Then came Mingzhe.
At first, Muchen thought he was just another student. But students were supposed to be frantic, or bored, or desperate for a grade. Mingzhe was none of those. He was still. He would sit in the corner of the greenhouse, and suddenly, the frantic hum of Muchen's own mind would just... settle.
It had been infuriating at first. Muchen would look up from a failed sample, ready to snap at whoever was breathing his oxygen, only to find Mingzhe watching him with an expression that felt like a cool cloth on a fever.
"Why are you still here?" Muchen had asked him a year ago, late on a Tuesday.
"The light hits the ferns better from this angle," Mingzhe had replied, not even looking up from his book. "And you look like you haven't blinked in twenty minutes, Professor. It's stressful to watch."
Muchen had realized then that he wasn't just observing a student. He was being managed. Carefully, quietly, and with a terrifying amount of grace, Mingzhe had dismantled the walls of his lab until the "Professor" was just a man who looked forward to a specific person's arrival.
He had spent three years pretending he didn't notice the way Mingzhe's eyes lingered on his hands. He'd spent three years pretending his heart didn't stutter when Mingzhe's sleeve brushed his arm. He told himself it was just the stress of the northern project.
But tonight, at the noodle shop, when Mingzhe had licked that sauce off his thumb while looking Muchen dead in the eye?
The system crashed.
The "Professor" was done being managed.
The interior of Muchen's sedan was a confined, dark world. The rain drummed against the roof with a deafening roar, sealing them in. As Muchen turned the key, the dashboard glowed a soft, icy blue, illuminating the sharp lines of his face.
He didn't put the car in gear. He didn't even turn on the heat. He just sat there, his hands gripping the steering wheel at ten and two, his knuckles white.
"You're very quiet now," Muchen said, his voice dropping an octave. It wasn't the voice he used for lectures. It was the voice of a man who was tired of playing a part.
Mingzhe leaned his head back against the headrest, a lazy, feline smile tugging at his lips. "I figured I'd let you process. You looked like you were having a bit of a crisis back there, Muchen. Was it the sauce? Or was it the fact that you finally realized your star student has been flirting with you for a thousand days?"
Muchen let out a short, dark chuckle. He let go of the wheel and turned in his seat, his large frame making the car feel suddenly very, very small.
"You think you're so clever," Muchen murmured. He reached out, his hand sliding across the back of Mingzhe's headrest, fingers tangling slightly in the soft hair at the nape of Mingzhe's neck. "You think because I've been polite, I'm oblivious."
Mingzhe's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. He leaned into the touch, his eyes half-lidded. "Oh, I know you're not oblivious. I just think you're bossy. You like your systems. You like being the one in control of the data. Does it bother you that you can't predict what I'm going to do next?"
"It did," Muchen admitted, his gaze dropping to Mingzhe's throat, where a pulse was jumping visibly. "But I realized something while I was watching you eat those noodles."
"And what was that?"
Muchen leaned in closer, his scent—cedarwood and rain—filling Mingzhe's senses. "I realized that I don't need to predict you. I just need to decide what to do with you."
Mingzhe let out a soft, mocking huff. "Spoken like a true Professor. Always wanting to categorize the specimen. But I'm not one of your plants, Muchen. You can't just put me in a pot and wait for me to bloom when it's convenient for you."
Muchen's eyes flashed. Before Mingzhe could finish his next sentence, Muchen's hand moved from the headrest to the side of Mingzhe's neck, his thumb tilting Mingzhe's chin up with a firm, undeniable pressure.
"Is that right?" Muchen's voice was a low growl now. "You've spent three years poking at me, Mingzhe. Testing my patience. Seeing how far you could push before I'd snap. Well," he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of Mingzhe's ear, "consider the snap official."
[HOST!] Yize's voice was a frantic, muffled vibration in the back of Mingzhe's mind. [HIS HEART RATE IS OFF THE CHARTS! HE'S—HE'S NOT COMPLYING WITH THE SCRIPT!]
Shut up, Yize, Mingzhe thought, though his own heart was slamming against his ribs.
"So?" Mingzhe challenged, his voice slightly breathless now. "You've snapped. Now what? Are you going to give me a lecture on boundaries? Or are you finally going to do something about the fact that the windows are so fogged up we could disappear in here and no one would know?"
Muchen pulled back just enough to look Mingzhe in the eye. The mask of the calm, stoic scientist was gone. There was a raw, possessive hunger there that made Mingzhe's skin prickle with heat.
"I think," Muchen said, his hand sliding down to grip Mingzhe's waist through his shirt, pulling him as far across the center console as the car allowed, "that you talk way too much when you're nervous."
"I'm not nervous," Mingzhe lied, his voice cracking just a tiny bit.
"Liar," Muchen whispered.
He didn't wait for a rebuttal. Muchen leaned in, his mouth finally crashing against Mingzhe's—not with the tentative curiosity of a first kiss, but with the pent-up, starving intensity of a man who had been waiting three years for a single taste.
Muchen's kiss wasn't like his research—it wasn't methodical or cautious. It was an environmental collapse. It was the sound of three years of restraint snapping like dry wood in a wildfire.
Mingzhe's hands, which had spent the last hour being so calculated and teasing, suddenly found nowhere to go but Muchen's hair. He gasped into the kiss, a soft, broken sound that seemed to fuel Muchen's fire. The Professor's hand shifted from Mingzhe's waist to the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in the strands with a possessive grip that said, You started this. Now you deal with me.
For all his ancient wisdom and celestial poise, Mingzhe found himself completely overwhelmed. He had spent so long being the cat, poking at the sleeping dragon, that he'd forgotten what happens when the dragon actually wakes up and decides you're its prize.
But he missed this. He missed his other half a lot he feels like dying. This yearning, this longing. This is the reason he started visiting worlds. He wanted to he with his lover just like how they did in the past.
His teasing, playful mask didn't just slip—it shattered. Under the weight of Muchen's kiss and the sheer, physical presence of the man pressing him back against the passenger door, Mingzhe's eyes fluttered shut. His body went from a tense wire to liquid, yielding entirely to the man who was currently claiming his mouth with a frantic, starving hunger.
"Muchen," Mingzhe managed to breathe against his lips, the name sounding more like a plea than a word.
Muchen didn't answer with words. He pulled back for a fraction of a second, his forehead resting against Mingzhe's, both of them panting, their breath forming thick clouds of steam in the cramped, dark cabin. Muchen's eyes were dark, almost black in the low light, scanning Mingzhe's flushed face with a look that was equal parts adoration and predatory intent.
"Not so talkative now, are you?" Muchen rasped. His thumb brushed over Mingzhe's swollen lower lip—no more sauce, just the raw heat of their contact. "What happened to the 'patient teacher'?"
Mingzhe could only shake his head, his hands clutching Muchen's forearms like they were the only thing keeping him from drifting away. He was completely at Muchen's mercy, and the terrifying part was how much he loved it.
Muchen let out a low, guttural sound, a mix of a groan and a laugh. He looked at the fogged-up windows, then back at Mingzhe, whose shirt was now beautifully disheveled, collar pulled wide by Muchen's searching hands.
"This car is too small," Muchen growled, his voice vibrating with a frustration that made Mingzhe's toes curl. "And the seat adjustment is a nightmare."
He leaned in, nipping at the sensitive skin just below Mingzhe's ear, making the younger man shiver violently. "Tell me right now. Your place or mine? Because if I start driving, I'm not stopping until we're behind a locked door."
Mingzhe swallowed hard, his mind racing. His apartment was closer, but Muchen's place... Muchen's place was a mystery he'd wanted to solve for years.
"Yours," Mingzhe whispered, his voice trembling. "I want to see where the dragon sleeps."
Muchen's grip on his waist tightened for a final, bruising second before he pulled back, his eyes burning. "Fine. Hold on."
Muchen's hand flew to the gear shift, his movements sharp and decisive. He was about to reverse out of the spot when a sharp, rhythmic chirping cut through the sound of the rain.
It wasn't a phone call. It was a high-priority, piercing alarm from the tablet mounted on the dashboard—the one synced directly to the greenhouse's internal climate systems.
Muchen froze. He stared at the screen. A bright red notification was flashing: [CRITICAL FAILURE: SECTION 4 HUMIDITY SENSORS. SYSTEM OVERRIDE INITIATED.]
"No," Muchen breathed, his jaw tightening so hard it looked like stone. "Not now. Not tonight."
"Muchen?" Mingzhe asked, trying to straighten his clothes, his heart still drumming a frantic rhythm.
"The Duchess," Muchen said, his voice flat with a mix of professional panic and personal fury. "The sensors in the rare species wing are failing. If the misting system doesn't shut off, it'll flood the roots. Two years of growth... gone in twenty minutes."
He looked at Mingzhe, and for a second, the conflict in his eyes was agonizing. He wanted to drive. He wanted to take Mingzhe home and finish what they'd started. But the soul of the man who had spent three years trying to save a dying planet couldn't let a life—even a plant's—flicker out because he was distracted.
[HOST!] Yize's voice popped back in, sounding surprisingly somber. [The World Consciousness... it's a provocation. It's trying to pull him away from the 'deviant' emotion and back to his 'axis'—the work.]
Mingzhe reached out, his fingers covering Muchen's hand on the gear shift. The heat from their kiss was still there, but the air had changed.
"Go," Mingzhe said softly, his eyes steady. "The plants can't save themselves, Muchen. I'm not going anywhere."
Muchen looked at him, a look of profound, silent gratitude crossing his face. He leaned over, giving Mingzhe one last, searing kiss—short, hard, and full of promise.
"I'm going to fix it," Muchen promised, his voice dark. "And then I'm coming for you. Don't you dare go to sleep."
The car roared to life, and as they sped back toward the campus through the blinding rain, Mingzhe looked out at the dark silhouette of the Botany building. He could feel it—the invisible tension of the world trying to keep them apart.
But the world had no idea who it was dealing with.