I Said It Was a Catfish Photo ABO Chapter 49.2

Part 2

Yu Shi decided that this secret would stay buried forever. No one could ever know.

He huffed coldly. “So all that talk about not being able to afford food, looking for work everywhere, and wanting to help in my lab—it was all a lie? Just to take advantage of me? You really have no limits.”

Xie Ren thought: I guess that’s one way to put it. I was taking advantage of you—just not the financial kind.

He said submissively, “I know I was wrong…”

“You were beyond wrong.” Yu Shi turned away, putting distance between himself and the vent.

Now that he had calmed down, he realized that Xie Ren’s story had been full of holes.

His ancestors were all military; he couldn’t have been that destitute unless he’d committed a major crime. He hung out with playboys like Zhao Yi, and his spending habits never screamed “impoverished.”

Yu Shi had simply never felt the need to be on guard against him, which was how the lie had worked.

Xie Ren called out to him. “Instructor Yu? Teacher Yu? Little Fish Teacher… Xiao Shi? Hey, would it make you feel better if you hit me? Don’t just stew in your anger. How about this: when we land, you can hit me as much as you want. I won’t fight back. Please, just talk to me.”

He had never used such a tone before, yet it felt natural—as if it were an instinct etched into his bones. When Yu Shi was angry, this was how he should be handled.

The man was like a little kitten or a squirrel; when his fur was ruffled, he needed to be soothed with a gentle voice.

Yu Shi let out a laugh—very faint, but Xie Ren caught it.

Xie Ren’s lips curled up. “It’s a deal then! When we land, you get a hundred free punches. Just don’t hit my face; I need it to make a living.”

Yu Shi mocked, “You? Making a living with your face?”

“What’s wrong with my face? Haven’t you heard what they call me? The Heartthrob of the Ninth Zone. This face isn’t just for show.” He began to boast.

“Is that so? And whose heart have you throbbed lately?” Yu Shi asked with a raised brow.

Xie Ren blurted out, “Well, obviously Xiao—”

He stopped just as the second word was about to escape, snapping his teeth together and accidentally biting his tongue. He let out a yelp of pain.

Yu Shi asked, sounding confused, “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. I just bumped my head.” Xie Ren’s mouth tasted like blood. He mentally cursed Song Zhaohui a thousand times.

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That bastard and his ‘Junior Xiao Shi’ jokes. He almost got me killed.

Yu Shi leaned back against the cabin wall.

Xie Ren’s eyes darted around. “Since I’m so popular, do you have any thoughts on the matter?”

“And what thoughts should I have?” Yu Shi countered. “Am I supposed to be jealous?”

Xie Ren’s heart hammered against his ribs, skipping a beat as if he were short on oxygen. Then the blood rushed to his head, leaving his mind a blank.

His heart was pounding wildly. He was about to speak when he heard Yu Shi continue.

“Tch. I’m well past the age of being jealous of my peers. Why should I care if you’re popular? I’m not doing too bad myself.”

Cough…” Xie Ren nearly choked on his own saliva.

Dammit. So that’s the ‘jealousy’ he meant.

Jealous of my ‘peers.’ For god’s sake.

How can there be such an infuriating Omega in this world? he thought irritably.

Xie Ren went into a sulk for five minutes.

Yu Shi, finding the silence unusual, tapped on the floor plating. “Hey. I forgot to ask—that safety pod wasn’t transparent. How were you so sure I was the one inside?”

Xie Ren rubbed his nose sheepishly. “I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“I saw the pods being ejected on the monitor and I was terrified you were in one. So I tethered myself and started checking them one by one. Better to check the wrong one than to miss the right one. I just hoped it was you.”

“So you… checked a lot of pods?”

“Yeah. I just followed them one after another.”

He gave a small smile. “I guess the heavens were kind to me. I didn’t miss you.”

The realization of what would have happened if he hadn’t gone out hit him a moment later. The smile vanished, replaced by a heavy weight in his chest.

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“You saved my life, Xie Ren,” Yu Shi said softly. “For the last few days, I kept thinking that I would either die with Qin Yin, or die on the journey, or die in the Seventh Zone. It wasn’t until I saw you that I truly felt a reason to keep living. Thank you.”

Xie Ren hadn’t expected those words. It felt as if his throat were stuffed with cotton.

“You must always value your own life, Instructor Yu,” he said, his voice raspy.

When there was no reply, he continued. “On the battlefield, I’ve seen so many people who wanted to live. Some were horribly burned by white phosphorus, their bodies rotting. Some were disemboweled by shells, literally holding their intestines in as they crawled back to cover. Some were rescued but died of infection. No matter how hard it got, they never thought about giving up. Do you know why?”

“Was it to avenge their fallen comrades?” Yu Shi guessed.

Xie Ren nodded. “That was part of it. Hatred is a temporary crutch, but once the revenge is over, you need another reason.”

“Things like their family, their friends, their children. Or maybe a pet they left with a neighbor, a sapling in their garden they forgot to water, a book they only half-finished before the war, or a song they never got to finish listening to… There are so many things. All the unfinished business—those are the reasons to live. What about you? Do you have unfinished business?”

Yu Shi thought of Shao Yinghai.

He thought of Yu Songwei and Liu Yin. He thought of his mentor and his senior brother. Strangely enough, during his days in captivity, he had been so focused on survival that he hadn’t had time to dwell on these things.

He was right. He had so many reasons to live. How could he have been so willing to die with those villains?

Xie Ren tapped against the plating. “I’m sure you’ve thought of quite a few. Since there’s so much left to do, can you promise me one thing? No matter what happens, you will always put your own life first.”

Yu Shi teased him, “And if we both find ourselves in danger at the same time? You still want me to choose myself?”

Xie Ren said seriously, “Yes.”

Yu Shi froze. The man continued slowly, “If that day ever comes, I want to be the one to ensure your safety.”

The air went silent for a moment. Yu Shi let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “You’re making me feel like a bit of a failure as a teacher. Shouldn’t I be the one protecting you? You’re just a kid; stop talking so big.”

Xie Ren grumbled, “Who are you calling a kid? Are you really that much older than me? I’m only sixteen months younger than you. Rounding it up, we’re basically the same age. You just started school a bit earlier than I did, that’s all. Hmph.”

Yu Shi asked curiously, “How do you know my birthday?”

“…” Xie Ren realized his mistake. He scrambled for an excuse. “It’s on Tiangui Wikipedia! You’re practically a celebrity; you don’t have any secrets left!”

Yu Shi laughed. It seemed the boy really did admire his work—he even remembered the Wikipedia entry that clearly.

After a half-hour rest, Yu Shi went back to the command bridge to work on the comms. He found a crate of nutrient solution and dropped some through the floorboards to Xie Ren. They both used the supplements to regain some strength.

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Xie Ren had released too much pheromone during the battle. He leaned against the bulkhead and fell into a deep sleep.

He was woken some time later by a tapping sound from above. Yu Shi was calling his name. He answered with a groan.

Yu Shi sounded urgent. “We’ve drifted over the Ninth Zone. There’s an interceptor vessel approaching, but I can’t get any signal out. They’ve been waiting for a while, and now it looks like they’re preparing to fire.”

Xie Ren sat up immediately. “Can you identify the vessel?”

“The hull markings are obscured. Maybe…”

Before the sentence could be finished, the warship jolted. He ran to the hatch and saw an interception cable had attached itself to the hull.

They were being pulled in.

Deep within the deserts of the Ninth Zone stood an extremely well-hidden command center.

Amidst the swirling sands, the building’s exterior was weathered and worn, but its interior was filled with high-density instruments and equipment.

The commander stared at the screen. The interceptor had successfully docked.

He spoke into his radio. “Captain, the cable is attached. There’s still no response from the other side. Should I send another warning signal?”

A low, magnetic male voice responded. It held a chilling edge of composed authority. “No need. If they resist, shoot them down.”

“Understood. Oh, and Captain, we received an unidentified signal yesterday. I suspect it’s related to this ship. The people inside might have been trying to contact us…”

The voice cut him off. “Handle it as you see fit. I won’t be back at the camp for a while. Everything is in your hands.”

The commander froze. “Are you leaving the Ninth Zone, sir?”

The Alpha replied carelessly, “My old man is apparently dead. I have to go back and help carry the coffin.”

With that, the signal was cut.

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