Chapter 142

Chapter 142: The Most Heartbreaking Confession

I should’ve kept my mouth shut.

The second the words slipped out, I felt the shift in the air. Like someone had pulled a thread too tight, and now everything was unraveling. Lu Ya’s gaze locked onto me, sharp and dangerous.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Abort mission.

I hesitated—fatal mistake.

“I-It’s not that I don’t like you,” I stammered, weakly, “I just… don’t always agree with you…”

Diplomatic, right? Respectfully disagree? Mutual understanding? No? Okay.

Lu Ya’s expression shattered. Just a flicker of disbelief, but it cut deep. He took a step back, and the space between us felt like a chasm. “You…”

“Wait, let me explain—”

Too late. He spun and vanished, a whirlwind of pride and heartbreak, leaving me standing there like a soggy dumpling.

I’d just come out of the closet. Wasn’t someone supposed to congratulate me or something?

…

I didn’t know where he ran off to, but for once, the garden was intact. That… probably counted as progress?

Still. I regretted blurting it out. Not because it wasn’t true—I mean, I do like him—but Lu Ya’s… complicated. All fireworks on the outside, but soft as soaked tofu inside. And I just stomped all over that tofu.

I debated telling one of the others to help look for him—but what if someone actually found him? Crying?

Nope. Lu Ya would kill me. Or himself. Or both.

So, I brought out the last resort: dogs.

I grabbed one of Lu Ya’s pillows and let the pups sniff it. They took one whiff, whined like they’d seen a ghost, and promptly backed away. Useless.

I circled the whole park. Even called out in his exhibition hall. Nothing.

Eventually I gave up, flopped into bed, and decided this might be the most tragic confession in history. I’d mustered all my courage, and Lu Ya responded by disappearing into the night like a spurned Cinderella.

I fell asleep imagining myself crying into a cup of instant noodles.

…

When I opened my eyes the next morning, the first thing I saw was Lu Ya.

I blinked. Scratched my hair. “When did you come back?”

No answer. Just his face, way too close, staring like he hadn’t slept a wink.

The moment we made eye contact, he spun around and turned his back to me.

“…Seriously?” I mumbled, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He flinched but didn’t shake me off. Encouraging?

I sat up, exasperated. “Are you still mad?”

Silence.

“I swear, I’m new to this too!” I exploded. “Zero experience! You think I go around confessing to celestial beings every day?”

Still nothing.

So I grabbed his shoulder, gently this time, and said, “Let’s talk, okay? Relationships take time. You’re not supposed to fall head over heels overnight.”

“I’m not human,” he muttered.

“…That’s exactly what I mean. Even Bai Jie and Xiaoqing used to fight when they first met, and now they’re practically attached at the hip.”

No reaction. Just a moody Lu Ya.

Fine. Drastic times.

I flipped him over. He let me, but his expression was grim, like I’d just stabbed him with a fork.

“There’s no need to explain,” he said softly. “You’ve always hated me…”

What?! I stared at him, floored. How did we go from “not always agree” to hate?

“No, no! I said I didn’t agree! With your… occasional violent tendencies! Not you as a person!”

Didn’t matter. His eyes said it all—he didn’t believe me.

I got up, put on my slippers, and muttered, “I’m getting water.”

Lu Ya lunged forward and clung to me from behind. “Where are you going? You liar!”

“…To get water.”

He waved a hand. A cup floated into his grip and filled itself with hot water, which he then handed to me.

I took a sip. “Okay. Let’s calm down. Can we please talk like adults now?”

Lu Ya looked torn, like he couldn’t decide whether to pout dramatically or let me sweet-talk him into forgiveness.

I set the cup down. “You know what? Enough.”

I reached out, grabbed his ear, yanked him close, and kissed him.

Yes. That happened.

He stiffened. Then his pupils shrank, and he pushed me down onto the bed—hard.

Next thing I knew, I was on my back, Lu Ya hovering over me, his lips devouring mine like vengeance and longing all rolled into one. Breath mingling. Tongues tangled. He kissed like he fought—intense, unrelenting, and slightly dangerous.

Eventually I shoved him off. “We done?”

Lu Ya blinked innocently. “…?”

I sat up against the headboard, panting. “Can we talk now?”

“No need to talk,” he murmured. Then pounced again.

…

Later, I was back in the aquarium, letting a sea star rub against my hand in greeting. An employee wandered over and said, “White Brother called. Said he’ll be a few days late.”

Bai Haibo, our part-time white dolphin with way too many connections.

Just as I was nodding, thunder rumbled outside.

Please not another flood.

I muttered, “I hope it doesn’t scare off the tourists…”

The staff traded uneasy glances. “Think it’s another cultivator undergoing tribulation?”

I snorted. “Please. In this age? With our spiritual Wi-Fi so weak?”

Tribulations were rare now. Only the heavy-hitters triggered thunder.

…Which is why I didn’t expect Jiang Wushui to call five minutes later, panicked, saying he was waiting outside with an emergency.

I rushed to meet him, and the second I saw the aquarium in his trunk, I froze.

Inside, curled and bleeding—Bai Haibo.

I recognized the tank. Sun Aiping’s. Decor gone, water low, blood clouding what was left.

“He was struck by lightning,” Jiang explained, wiping sweat from his brow. “Miss Sun found him and brought him to Baota Mountain. I couldn’t climb the hill, so I brought him here instead.”

Bai Haibo, mid-tribulation, dumped in an aquarium like a fish out of luck.

I carried him in, summoned Xiao Qing, and called for Lu Ya.

Soon, the entire zoo’s supernatural squad showed up, chewing snacks and reminiscing about their own brush-with-death ascensions.

Lu Ya yawned. “This little fish’s not gonna make it.”

“Can you block it?” I asked.

“Pfft. Easy.”

A moment later, lightning exploded overhead—and… nothing.

No tremor. No impact.

Lu Ya blinked. “I didn’t do that.”

I ran outside to investigate, umbrella in hand.

And that’s when I saw him.

Yuan Hong. Perched on the rooftop like some ancient war god, soaked to the bone, one leg folded, the other propped, his iron rod pointed skyward.

Lightning struck. Again and again.

And every time, it disappeared into his body, as if swallowed whole.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

Just stared into the storm with glowing eyes, defiant and untouchable.

And in that moment, I understood—this zoo wasn’t just magical.

It was home to legends.

And I was hopelessly, breathlessly, absurdly in love with every last one of them.