Chapter 36: Crayfish and Favoritism

Summary: A quiet evening at the base takes an unexpected turn when a simple food request shifts the entire dynamic, revealing far more than anyone intended. What begins with indecision ends in silent realization—and no one misses who holds the Captain's attention.

Author's Note: The Captain has his favorite and everyone knows who it is.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The sun dipped low over the ZGDX base, casting long golden shadows across the main room as the team slowly gathered—some stretched out on the couches, others sprawled on the floor, and a few scattered around with phones in hand arguing, half-heartedly and without resolution, over what to eat. Yue was making another valiant but wholly ineffective attempt to convince his older brother to agree to takeout, waving a food app in his hand and rattling off options like a man on a mission.

"Hotpot?"

"No."

"Barbecue?"

 "No."

"Fine, fine, sushi then—"

"Still no."

Yue groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch like a man betrayed by his own blood.

Just as the debate started to circle back around in a slow spiral of indecision, the soft padding of massive paws and the heavy-footed descent of a familiar feline menace echoed down the stairs. Da Bing rounded the corner first—fluffy, large, and unapologetically regal in that way only he could be—followed closely by Yao.

She was dressed in soft, comfortable house clothes, long platinum braid trailing over her shoulder, her sleeves tugged down over her hands. Her fingers fidgeted slightly with the hem of her top as she paused at the base of the stairs, looking around at the group with quiet, curious eyes. "…Um," she began, voice barely above the noise level. "I know everyone's been really good about healthy food lately but…"

Instant silence.

Even Da Bing sat, tail curling around his haunches like he knew she had the floor.

"…can we have crayfish tonight?" she asked, eyes flicking upward shyly. "Just for a treat? I haven't had any in a while…"

Sicheng, seated with his phone balanced loosely between two fingers, slowly turned his head toward her, one brow lifting. "You want crayfish?"

Her cheeks went pink, but she nodded. "Yes."

That was all it took. 

He stood, pulled out his phone, and started dialing before anyone could even comment. The room was still as they watched Lu Sicheng—legendary, unyielding, infamously blunt—rattle off a massive order: spicy, garlic, non-spicy, and lightly seasoned crayfish. Corn cobs, potatoes, lemon tea—he even asked for extra seasoning on the garlic ones, just the way she liked.

Wait—did you just—?" Yue stared like he was watching an alien invasion. "

Lao K blinked. "He didn't even hesitate."

Pang sat back, looking scandalized. "Bro. Captain didn't even ask for a group vote."

Ming, half-laughing, leaned over to Yue. "I think we've witnessed the purest form of favoritism."

Yao looked like she wanted to shrink back behind Da Bing, who blinked at the rest of them with the supreme disinterest of a creature that knew he was untouchable.

And Sicheng?

He hung up, sat down, and sipped his water like nothing happened. "She wanted crayfish."

No one had a damn thing to say after that. Because if the man who denied every food suggestion for the past two hours folded in less than five seconds for one soft-spoken request? Well, there really was no question who owned his attention.

The living room was filled with the crackling of shells being peeled, the occasional clink of chopsticks against plates, and the low hum of background conversation as the team dug into the mountain of crayfish that had arrived—steaming hot and fragrant in every variation imaginable. Between Pang gleefully devouring the garlic-spiced ones and Lao Mao guarding the spicy pile like a dragon with treasure, it was a full feast.

Yao, settled cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, had already accumulated a neat little mountain of peeled crayfish on her plate—her delicate fingers working with practiced ease, while Da Bing lay sprawled behind her, his fluffy tail swishing in contentment as if he too had claimed credit for the meal being secured.

Sicheng, however, sat just to her right, leaning lazily back against the arm of the couch with a glass of lemon tea and an untouched plate in front of him.

Yao blinked at him, glancing at his plate, then back up with a soft tilt of her head.

"You're not eating?" she asked quietly, nudging her plate aside to better look at him.

Yue, sitting on the other side of the table and halfway through his third helping, didn't miss a beat.

"Our Princess doesn't like peeling his own," he muttered with a smirk, not even looking up. "Says even with gloves, it leaves a smell. Complains for hours. Has, like, a seafood grudge."

Sicheng gave his brother a cold glance that promised vengeance, but Yue only shrugged, tossing a peeled tail into his mouth.

Yao didn't respond at first. She just looked down at her own plate, thoughtfully. Then, quietly, she picked up her chopsticks, selected one of the largest, most perfectly peeled pieces from her plate, and turned toward him.

Without a word, she extended it.

Her eyes were calm. Steady. Still faintly pink from the warmth of the room, her braid brushing her shoulder as she tilted her head just enough to catch his gaze.

"I don't mind sharing," she said softly, almost shyly. "I don't like waste. And you need to eat."

There was no fluster. No drama. Just her quiet logic, like always—gentle, practical, but entirely hers.

Sicheng looked at the chopsticks, then at her. Something in his chest shifted. It wasn't just the gesture. It was her simplicity. Her instinct to give. And without a word, he leaned forward, took the bite she offered, and chewed slowly. Then, after swallowing, he muttered, "Tastes better when it's yours."

Yue groaned. "I'm gonna throw up."

Pang laughed. "That man didn't even blink."

And Yao?

Yao just reached for another tail to peel. Because she didn't need to say anything else. She just fed him again.

The room had grown dim as the horror film flickered across the wide screen, shadows dancing across the walls while the surround sound made every creak, every whisper, and every scream feel just a little too close. The boys were piled around the living room in various states of attention—some leaning forward, eyes wide, others pretending not to flinch, and a few, like Pang, chewing nervously while trying to act unaffected.

Da Bing, however, was entirely unimpressed.

The massive fluff of white Siberian fur had spent the first half of the movie lounging comfortably behind Yao, occasionally flicking his tail or rolling over with a sleepy grumble. But now, at the halfway mark, the fluffy beast had stirred—eyes narrowed, movements slow and deliberate as he rose to his full, regal height. He padded silently across the rug like a judgmental ghost, and came to a deliberate stop directly in front of Yue.

The substitute Midlaner blinked, halfway through shoveling popcorn into his mouth with one hand while holding the remote in the other, eyes still glued to the screen.

Da Bing didn't blink.

Didn't move.

Didn't even flick his tail.

He just stared.

Yue slowly became aware of the presence, eyes drifting downward with a visible chill crawling up his spine. "…Why do I feel like I'm being hunted?" he muttered, glancing at the feline now camped directly in front of him.

Da Bing's ears twitched once. His stare dropped pointedly to Yue's plate. To the pile of beautifully peeled crayfish that remained untouched.

Yue followed the look.

Then frowned. "Okay, rude."

Da Bing took a single, commanding step forward.

Yue looked around, flailing slightly. "Can someone tell His Royal Fluff that these are mine ?"

Pang, not looking away from the screen, snorted. "He doesn't care. You didn't finish them."

Lao Mao grinned. "You know the rules, bro. If you don't eat it fast enough, it's up for negotiation."

Yao, curled beside Sicheng on the couch with her legs tucked under her, peeked over with a faint smile. "He's very good at negotiations. Especially food-based ones."

Yue groaned dramatically. "Tiny Boss Bunny, control your cat."

Da Bing lifted one paw and tapped Yue's plate.

Once.

Firmly.

Everyone in the room stifled laughter.

Sicheng smirked, arm draped behind Yao as he leaned just enough to murmur in her ear, "You're lucky. Even your cat enforces justice."

Yao, still fighting a smile, just reached down and gave Da Bing a light pat on the head.

"Fine. Just—don't scratch me again, you furry menace." Yue sighed in defeat, holding the plate up.

Da Bing took the offering with all the dignity of a royal claiming tribute, sitting neatly beside Yue and finally, mercifully, letting the man finish watching the horror movie in peace.

…Until the next time he failed to finish his food.

As the final act of the horror movie played on, casting flashes of light and soft gasps around the living room, Yao remained perfectly still, curled into Sicheng's side. Her breathing was soft and even, lashes fanned against her cheeks, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. It had been quiet for a while now, her hand relaxed where it had once gripped the edge of his sleeve, and he knew before he looked that she had fallen asleep.

About thirty minutes before the credits were even close.

Sicheng shifted slightly, glancing down, and sure enough—she was out cold, the faintest wrinkle between her brows now smooth with sleep. Carefully, with the ease born from months of familiarity and something deeper he didn't dare name aloud, he slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her effortlessly from the couch.

The conversation around them softened for a moment, a few curious glances from the others, but no one said a word.

Not when it was her .

Da Bing, never far, stood from where he had settled at Sicheng's feet and immediately padded after them, his silent white paws following every step like a sentinel.

The hallway to her apartment was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of wall sconces, and Sicheng's footsteps were quiet as he moved through the door that was cracked open. In her room, he didn't pause. The familiar scent of her shampoo lingered faintly in the air, and he could feel the soft hum of heat coming through the vents as he crossed the room and knelt to ease her down gently onto the bed. Her eyes fluttered once—just once—before she settled back into sleep with a soft sigh, as if even her subconscious knew she was safe.

He reached for her slippers, tugging them off with the same quiet care he always used when it came to her, setting them by the bed before lifting the thick comforter up and over her. She looked so small like this, curled beneath the covers in one of his old team hoodies, her face half buried in the pillow.

Da Bing leapt up at the foot of the bed, circled once, and settled beside her legs like a sentry once more.

Sicheng leaned down, the space between them folding as he braced one hand lightly beside her head and pressed his lips softly to her forehead—warm, steady, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Then, with one last glance, he rose and without a word, left her to sleep in peace.

Late into the night, long after the others had retreated to their rooms and the base had fallen into that hushed, rare quiet that only came when the day had truly been put to rest, Sicheng sat alone in his office, the soft light of his desk lamp casting shadows across the sharp lines of his features. His fingers moved with practiced ease across the surface of his tablet until the familiar chime of a new email pulled his attention away from the screen.

The sender's name stopped him short.

Chengdu Lu Atelier – Private Commission.

He clicked it open, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his amber eyes as the contents loaded. And there it was.

The necklace.

A single photograph accompanied the message—a shot of the finished piece against a velvet-lined box, the lighting perfect enough to catch every subtle gleam of precious metal and the quiet fire of the rubies.

It was exactly as he'd envisioned it.

A delicate white gold chain, thin enough to be nearly invisible against skin, but strong—unbreakable in its craftsmanship. The pendant, a smooth medallion no larger than a coin, also white gold, bore the unmistakable crest of the Lu family etched into its surface in quiet, commanding elegance. The rubies—small, precise, strategically set into the ridged outer edge—added just enough weight, just enough gravity. They weren't for decoration. They were a mark of lineage, of recognition, of legacy.

And at the back, engraved in a script only the Lu family's private smiths were permitted to use, was the family's decree.

"What we claim, we protect. What we protect, we never relinquish."

This was no ordinary gift.

No whim.

No passing indulgence of affection.

This… was intention.

In the Lu family, such a piece was not given lightly. It was older than engagement rings, deeper than wedding bands. It was a declaration not just of love, but of permanence. A mark placed not around the finger, but above the heart, pressed directly against the collarbone where it would lie with every breath she took.

There were no divorces in the Lu line.

No second thoughts.

No giving back.

To give this medallion was to say you are mine, and you will be mine until breath no longer fills my lungs. It was ancient, iron-bound tradition, and yet, in the quiet of this moment, it felt deeply personal—because it had never been worn by anyone quite like her before.

Sicheng leaned back slowly in his chair, staring at the photo for a long time, his jaw tight, expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, his hand shifted to his phone, and he tapped out a single, precise message to the jeweler.

Have it delivered. Directly to me. Do not send it by courier. I will give it to her myself.

The afternoon had started out so simple. Grocery run with Jinyang, a handful of errands, a few whispered plans about Monday's upcoming dinner that had Yao's cheeks pink the entire drive—especially when she admitted Aunt Lan had personally sent her the recipe for Sicheng's favorite dish and dessert. Naturally, Jinyang had pouted for a full ten minutes, insisting her best friend was now lost to the Lu family forever, but that hadn't stopped her from spoiling Yao with stops into three different boutiques on the way out, claiming it was part of the "deal" for using her car.

Yao had just finished organizing her groceries neatly in the backseat—soup ingredients tucked beside a bag of fine flour and a carefully wrapped container of candied orange peels—when she heard it.

It was faint. Almost lost in the breeze.

A soft, strained mewl.

Her head lifted instantly.

Jinyang, laughing at some message Ai Jia had sent her, didn't notice until the car door slammed shut behind Yao.

"Yao?" she called, her voice a note higher. "What's wrong?"

But Yao didn't respond. She was already hurrying across the small strip of sidewalk, shoes tapping rapidly over the pavement as her gaze darted, scanning the alley between the market and an old flower stall just starting to close for the evening. And then she heard it again—this time louder. Broken. Frantic.

It was coming from a cardboard box wedged between two trash bins.

"Oh no!" Yao breathed.

By the time Jinyang caught up, the first light drops of rain were beginning to fall, dotting the concrete around them as the clouds overhead thickened. Her eyes widened the moment she saw her best friend crouched down in front of the soaked cardboard, her hands gently lifting a small, shivering mass of fur from the sagging edge of the box.

A tiny, gray-striped Maine Coon kitten. Its ears were flattened, body soaked, paws trembling as it let out another cry. Light gray eyes blinked up at her, wide and terrified.

"Someone just left him here." Yao whispered, her voice catching with emotion, her fingers already pulling the soft lining of her hoodie around the kitten's form to block out the wind.

"Okay. Well, you know what this means, right?" Jinyang exhaled slowly and crouched beside her.

Yao looked up, blinking.

"You just got adopted."

"I—what?"

Jinyang grinned. "Oh, don't act shocked. Look at you. You're already cuddling him like a protective mom. Da Bing is going to throw an actual fit."

Yao's cheeks turned red, but she didn't release the kitten. Instead, she rose to her feet slowly, cradling the small, damp body closer as it tucked its head under her chin with a tiny sigh. "I couldn't leave him," she murmured, voice gentle. "Not like this. Not alone."

Jinyang reached over and gently pulled up Yao's hood, shielding her from the now steadily falling rain. "I know, Bei-Bei. Come on. Let's get him home before he catches a chill—and before your overprotective man calls."

The front doors to ZGDX's base hadn't even fully closed behind them before Jinyang was barking orders like a woman on a mission, her arms full of bags with expensive boutique logos dangling from each wrist. The moment her heel clicked onto the tile, her sharp voice rang out, utterly unapologetic.

"Lao Mao! You overgrown wall of muscle—get down here and take these before I drop them!"

There was a crashing noise from the second floor, followed by Lao Mao's stunned voice from somewhere near the stairwell, "Why do I feel like I just got drafted without warning?!"

"Because you did!" Jinyang shouted, not bothering to hide her grin as she transferred the bags into his waiting arms the moment he appeared, catching his look of confusion with a wink. "New wardrobe pieces. For your Tiny Boss Bunny. Not you. Hands off."

But the moment her words hit the air, they registered—and so did the sound of hurried footsteps flying up the stairs.

Yao hadn't even paused to explain. One second she was clutching the bundled-up kitten against her chest, her hoodie soaked through and her hair damp with rain. The next she was bolting through the entryway, ignoring everyone—Rui, Ming, even Yue who had frozen mid-sip of his tea—her only focus on the stairs leading to her apartment.

Warm towels.

Possibly her hairdryer

Whatever she needed to make sure the tiny creature she'd found didn't slip into shock.

Sicheng, having looked up from his phone with a raised brow the second the door opened, had barely caught a flash of platinum hair before it vanished upstairs. But the way she'd run—her footsteps frantic, arms curled protectively around something small—it clicked instantly. Without a word, he was already on his feet. He shoved his phone into his pocket, muttering a quiet curse under his breath as he moved with sharp, urgent purpose, weaving past stunned teammates and bounding up the stairs after her. The others watched the sudden flurry of motion in silence, their heads turning toward the staircase where both their Captain and their Boss Bunny had disappeared.

"…Did something happen?" Yue finally asked, slowly lowering his tea with a blinking stare.

"She just ran like the apartment was on fire," Ming added, brow furrowed.

"Or like Da Bing bit someone again," Lao K muttered.

But it was Lao Mao—still holding a now awkward mountain of boutique bags—who grunted, "I don't think it was a fire or the cat biting someone." 

And downstairs, Jinyang—grinning like a cat with cream—hummed to herself as she stepped around the chaos, thoroughly pleased with herself. Because oh, they had no idea what kind of chaos a second fluff ball was about to unleash.

The moment Sicheng stepped into her apartment, he immediately registered two things at once—Da Bing's watchful, regal figure perched silently on his favorite cat tree near the window, and the soft, persistent mewling of something entirely new.

His brows furrowed.

Then his eyes dropped.

And there she was.

Yao, seated cross-legged on the plush rug near the coffee table, a towel draped across her lap as she gently dried off what looked to be a very damp, very vocal, very tiny gray-striped Maine Coon kitten. The creature's pale gray eyes blinked slowly, large ears twitching as it let out another indignant squeak of complaint at the toweling, its fur sticking out in fluffy clumps.

Yao didn't notice him at first. Her full focus was on the wriggling ball of fur in her hands, her fingers moving with careful precision as she patted the kitten's sides, checking its paws, brushing out its soaked tail with slow, deliberate strokes. "You're lucky we found you. That box was nearly tipped into the gutter." she murmured, her voice quiet, nearly drowned out by the kitten's soft mewls. 

Sicheng's eyes swept back toward Da Bing, whose tail was flicking slowly—watching, unmoving, the picture of majestic feline judgment as he gazed down at the scene with a level of disdain only a 35-pound Siberian cat could achieve.

But he didn't pounce. Didn't hiss.

Which told him everything.

This wasn't a turf war.

This was a situation Da Bing had already deemed non-threatening. Maybe not approved. But tolerated.

Sicheng stepped forward, his voice low and calm. "Xiǎo xiānnǚ… want to tell me where the second cat came from?"

Yao flinched, startled, then tilted her head up toward him—her eyes wide, her cheeks pink, her hands still cupped protectively around the meowing kitten. "I… I didn't mean to—he was in a box, Cheng-ge. In the rain. I couldn't leave him there."

Sicheng exhaled slowly and crouched down beside her, one hand reaching out to gently scratch behind the kitten's ears. It leaned forward immediately, mewing louder as it tried to press its small head into his palm. He grunted. "It's a he ?"

She nodded. "Yeah. No chip. No collar. I'll take him to the vet tomorrow afternoon to make sure he's okay."

Sicheng's gaze drifted back to Da Bing, whose eyes narrowed ever so slightly in response to the sudden shift of his attention.

The Captain looked back at the drenched fluffball, then back at his girlfriend.

And sighed.

"Fine," he said. "But I'm naming him."

Yao blinked in surprise. "You are?"

His eyes glinted, one brow rising in lazy challenge. "You already brought him home. The least I get is naming rights."

The kitten sneezed.

Yao blinked down at him, then smiled—small, relieved, soft in that way that always pulled something warm and stupidly protective in his chest. "…Okay," she agreed. "But nothing dumb."

"No promises," he muttered, eyes narrowing again as the kitten meowed and tried to crawl up her hoodie. "Still think he might be a tiny con artist."

From his perch, Da Bing let out a slow, warning yowl —just enough to remind them both that this was still his home first.

Sicheng merely muttered, "Great. One was already enough of a problem," but his hand slid behind her back anyway, resting there with the same quiet steadiness it always did—silent, certain, hers.

Sicheng watched her rise with practiced ease, retrieve her compact white hairdryer from one of the lower cabinets, and plug it into the nearest outlet with a quiet click . Without pause, she knelt again, carefully adjusting the setting to the lowest warmth and airflow before lifting the small machine with both hands, directing the stream toward the damp fluffball now nestled in the crook of her knees.

The moment the warm breeze hit the kitten's backside, a soft, indignant hiss escaped the tiny creature's mouth.

Sicheng's lips twitched.

But it was Da Bing who responded first. From his perch, the large white Siberian finally descended, landing with a soft, heavy thud on the floor and padding forward like a fluffy, judgmental god. He circled once, tail high, eyes narrowed, before planting himself beside Yao with the regal air of one surveying an unruly subject.

The kitten hissed again, twisting slightly at the drying sensation.

Da Bing did not approve. With a swift flick of his paw, he delivered a precise but gentle swat to the kitten's ear—not enough to hurt, but absolutely enough to scold. The kitten froze, startled, then let out a chirp of protest as if he hadn't meant it.

Sicheng choked on a low laugh, the sound barely suppressed behind a curled knuckle as he leaned his weight onto one arm. "Already asserting authority," he murmured. "Good."

"Did he just... scold him?" Yao looked up with wide eyes, startled by Da Bing's intervention.

Da Bing, thoroughly unbothered, lifted his paw and gave the kitten one last pointed glance before circling back to sit directly at Yao's side, almost like he was reminding the newcomer precisely who came first in this household.

"He has a name now." Sicheng reached over and scratched Da Bing's chin, nodding once. 

Yao blinked, surprised. "He does?"

The man's amber eyes gleamed with something wry and faintly smug. "Xiao Cong."

Yao's lips parted, a soft laugh escaping before she could stop it, affection blooming across her expression. "Little Intelligent One?"

"Fits," Sicheng said, shrugging one shoulder as the kitten looked up at him, wide-eyed, still slightly puffed but no longer hissing. "Needs some manners, but he's sharp. Brave enough to hiss at his own bath and dumb enough to do it in front of Da Bing. Classic little brother behavior."

Yao giggled, switching the hairdryer to the kitten's front paws. "Xiao Cong," she echoed softly, testing the name on her tongue. "Alright. Xiao Cong it is."

Da Bing let out a single approving mrrp , closing his eyes as he leaned against her side again, now apparently satisfied that proper discipline had been administered.

And Sicheng?

He leaned back fully, legs stretched out in front of him, gaze fixed on the two felines—one impossibly large, one impossibly small, both of them draped across the soft haze of his girlfriend's quiet, domestic warmth—and thought, not for the first time, that somehow, in all the chaos, he'd stumbled into something painfully close to perfect.

The last of the dampness had disappeared from the kitten's soft, gray-striped fur, the downy fluff now puffed out in every direction like a small storm cloud with paws. Yao had just reached for a towel to gently brush away any lingering moisture when Sicheng moved, rising fluidly from where he'd been crouched and reaching down with calm, sure hands.

"I'll take him."

Yao blinked, startled. "You—"

But she didn't get to finish.

Sicheng had already lifted the kitten into his arms with the ease of someone who'd spent more than enough time wrangling one oversized feline and was unimpressed by the antics of a miniature version. Xiao Cong blinked up at him, wide-eyed and suspicious, but didn't struggle. Not when that steady, firm grip settled him securely against Sicheng's forearm, and certainly not when a quiet command followed.

"Enough. No more hissing. You got a home. Act like it."

Xiao Cong let out a soft mew , perhaps in protest or confusion—it was hard to tell—but he didn't claw, didn't wriggle. Just blinked up with what Yao swore might have been reluctant acceptance.

Then Sicheng turned that look on her. The kind that brokered no argument. The kind that made her toes curl a little in her slippers.

"Go take a hot shower. Now."

Yao blinked again. "I'm fine—"

"You've been out in the rain. Your hair's damp. Your hands are cold," he said, voice calm but edged with that quiet, commanding finality she was slowly learning meant he was worried. "Shower. Then tea. Then couch."

She opened her mouth, then shut it again as Da Bing—traitorous and all-knowing—hopped back up on the couch, blinked at her with solemn feline wisdom, and gave a single, pointed flick of his tail like he agreed with the Captain.

Yao sighed softly and stood, brushing her hands off on her leggings as she murmured, "Bossy," under her breath.

Sicheng didn't bother hiding the smirk as she padded off toward the bathroom. "Tell me something I don't know," he called after her, settling onto the couch with a kitten now curled against his chest and a smug white Siberian eyeing him like he'd better not play favorites .

The household had officially grown by one. And it hadn't taken more than five minutes for everyone involved to know who was already in charge.

An hour later, with her hair dry and her skin warm again, Yao wandered out of the bathroom wrapped in the cozy softness of her favorite oversized sweater, her bare feet padding quietly across the floor as she came to a stop at the edge of the living room. Her eyes flicked toward the couch where the new addition to the household was curled up contentedly beside Da Bing—who, for all his usual possessiveness, was doing little more than flicking his tail in casual warning anytime the kitten wriggled too close. That, in Da Bing's language, meant acceptance.

Sicheng was stretched out beside them, his phone in one hand, his other arm resting lazily along the back of the couch, fingers brushing occasionally across the kitten's fluffy back like he had been doing it for years rather than minutes. He glanced up when she approached, eyes lifting from the screen and locking onto her face as she stood uncertainly.

Yao shifted from foot to foot, then finally asked, voice soft and laced with nerves, "Are you… really sure you don't mind me keeping him?"

Sicheng stared at her, deadpan for all of two seconds, before the corner of his mouth lifted in a dry, unimpressed curve. "You do realize I was the one who joked about getting another cat, right?"

Yao blinked.

"And that I got sassed by your spoiled thirty-five-pound menace for it?"

Da Bing, as if on cue, turned his head just enough to blink regally at him—then swatted gently at Xiao Cong's tail when it brushed too close to his side.

Sicheng gestured toward the scene with a lazy tilt of his chin. "That one hissed at his own ass during a bath and still got a pass. If Da Bing's not declaring war, it means the decision's already made."

Yao let out a small, breathy laugh, her hands pressing lightly against the fabric of her sleeves as she watched the scene play out—Da Bing now half-curled around the kitten like some reluctant, begrudging protector. "But he's so small," she murmured, "and loud. And still kind of twitchy."

"He's a cat. Not a ZGDX rookie," Sicheng said dryly, setting his phone down and shifting to look at her fully. "He'll learn the rules. And if he doesn't, Da Bing'll teach him."

She hesitated again, then padded closer, her eyes warming as she dropped gently to sit beside them.

Sicheng leaned slightly toward her, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. "Unless you're asking because you want me to say no... in which case I can—"

"No," she cut in quickly, flushing. "I want to keep him. I do. I just…" She bit her lip, then met his gaze with an honesty that always unraveled him a little. "I just didn't want to assume. This is your base."

Sicheng's smirk faded into something softer. He reached out, curling his fingers gently around her wrist and tugging her hand toward his. "Yao," he said simply, "anything you love already belongs here." Then, after a pause, he added dryly, "Even if it hisses at the couch and bites my hoodie string."

Yao smiled, cheeks pink again, her fingers twining with his.

And on the couch, nestled between territorial king and tiny newcomer, the newest resident of ZGDX's unofficial cat kingdom let out a very loud, very smug mew .