Chapter 162

Chapter 162: The Unsolved Mystery of the Peacock

Every zoo’s got peacocks. Most of them? Blue. The classic Indian kind—adaptable, prolific, and, well… edible, apparently. Which is bleak, but that’s reality. They’re practically the street pigeons of the peacock world.

But green peacocks? Oh no. Those are rare. Like national treasure, rarer-than-a-panda kind of rare. Endangered. Protected. The real deal.

Then there are hybrids—sad, confused middle children born from careless crossbreeding in underfunded zoos. Beautiful, sure, but another reason pure green peacocks are on the decline.

Lingyuan Zoo, my little miracle of a park, currently houses mostly blue peacocks—some golden-tailed, some emerald-feathered. A couple Congo peacocks too, though honestly, you’d mistake them for plump hens if you weren’t paying attention.

Most visitors? Don’t know the difference. Don’t care, either. As long as the feathers shine and the birds strut, they’re happy. But lately… we’ve had a new star.

A green peacock.

And wow. Even before it spread its tail, it looked like royalty reborn.

He was huge. Muscular. Regal. His tail didn’t drag behind—it floated up and out, a proud thirty-degree angle like he was posing for a war memorial statue.

The shimmer on his feathers wasn’t a trick of light. It was a whole damn art installation. Five colors at least—and that’s just the ones you could name. Purple alone had gradients. His body gleamed with turquoise and coppery hues, his feathers softer than velvet, even before fanning out.

People gawked. Stared. Crowded around his enclosure like it was a red carpet. I half-expected someone to yell, “I love you!” and throw their phone number.

It wasn’t just the looks. It was the presence. He radiated arrogance like it was a natural perfume. He didn’t court attention—he commanded it.

Tourists whispered eagerly, waiting for his tail to bloom in full glory.

But he didn’t.

Neither did the others.

Not the golden-tailed. Not the emerald-feathered. None of the peacocks in the park had fanned their tails in weeks. At first, no one noticed. Then murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Are they sick?”

“Did something happen?”

“Why does he get a private room?”

Our guide tried his best. Explained how green peacocks are rare and aggressive, which was true. But even he started to look worried when the crowd wouldn’t quiet down.

The keeper got called. He sprinted over mid-snack, scallion roll still in hand.

And then—with the solemnity of a prophet—he announced: “They’re not sick. They’re just too ashamed to show off in front of that one.”

Silence. Then uproarious laughter.

Ashamed. That green peacock was so stunning, he’d crushed their self-esteem. The blue peacocks had collectively decided: why bother trying?

Jinwei and Cui Cui, our top tail-display influencers, had been trembling in a corner since morning. I’d tried comforting them. Didn’t work. Even my best treats couldn’t get their tails to twitch.

To them, Kong Xuan wasn’t just a fellow bird. He was the peacock. The first of his kind. Son of the freaking Phoenix Empress. Standing next to him was like attending a party with your ex and discovering he became a K-pop star.

Tourists, of course, doubled down. Waving umbrellas. Playing videos of lady peacocks. Desperate for a performance.

Kong Xuan stared coldly, like they were insects.

Meanwhile, the spirit enclosure wasn’t much quieter.

I’d brought Kong Xuan in, introduced him to the others. Should’ve had You Su go first and warm up the crowd—give them some beauty shock immunity. But no. One look at Kong Xuan, and half my employees forgot how to breathe.

He was so good-looking it hurt.

I tossed him into his room. Tiny. Cramped. Not exactly befitting the Prince of Plumage. He gave me a murderous glare.

“Want a hotel room? Go on display daily. Smile for the crowd,” I said, knowing full well he wouldn’t go for it.

He glared harder and sat down like a drama queen. Probably thinking I was a tyrant worse than Lu Ya. And I kind of am. But fair is fair—Lu Ya did try to report him the other day.

Yeah. That Lu Ya.

He saw me talking too fondly about Kong Xuan and nearly filed a divine complaint out of pure jealousy. The others panicked. Hard. If Lu Ya went rogue, half the staff would lose their jobs. They only just survived the last reporting scare.

In the chaos, You Su came to the rescue. She’d painted her face like a rainforest warrior. Said she had to protect her identity. “Life’s too dangerous,” she muttered.

Lu Ya sat quietly, sulking. I sat beside him.

“Let’s not talk about Kong Xuan anymore,” I said. “Let’s talk about Xiao Jiu. He’s lost eight of his heads. One left. If anything else happens, I’m suing.”

Poor nine-headed worm was half-dead. It wasn’t a good time to tease him, but Yuan Hong was grinning like a shark nearby, and I had a feeling he was about to finish the job.

Lu Ya nodded, serious for once. “No one touches the worm.”

Everyone nodded. No arguments there. Even Zhu Feng, who usually acts above it all, kept his mouth shut.

And then… it came up again.

“Didn’t you say You Su was better looking than Kong Xuan?” Lu Ya suddenly asked, eyes narrowed.

My soul left my body.

I started backpedaling. “She had face paint! You can’t compare—”

“You didn’t deny it.”

“I—Lu Ya! I think you’re the best-looking one here.”

That got him.

He blinked. Looked away. Muttered, “…Hmm.”

Just “hmm”? That was it?

I expected a full argument. Maybe a threat. But nope. Apparently, calling him pretty short-circuited his brain.

Later that night, I caught him in the mirror flicking his long red hair like a shampoo commercial.

Somehow, that was even more embarrassing.

As I boiled water for tea, a thought hit me.

“How did you come down here?” I asked casually.

I’d asked before. Got nowhere. But this time, Lu Ya hesitated. Then… he actually told me.

He’d gotten drunk at a heavenly banquet. Some nosy elder joked about his tragic love life. The Matchmaker God, of all people, said he’d either end up loveless or dating the worst possible person.

Lu Ya punched him. Chaos followed.

As punishment, he was sent to “learn from Lei Feng.” You know, be a model citizen.

System glitched. He ended up here.

He even stole the Matchmaker’s red thread out of spite. “Why should I have a miserable love life?”

“…Wait,” I said slowly, “what if the tragic part referred to me?”

Lu Ya squinted. Then pushed my head down in mock fury.

Later, he curled an arm around me, smug. “If I hadn’t punched him, I wouldn’t have come down here. This is destiny.”

“Destiny sounds oddly violent,” I muttered.

He grinned. “And once we go back, we’re beating him up again. Secretly, this time.”

I wanted to die.

—

Next morning, I got a call from the Xunzhou City Zoo. Their director was nearly begging me.

They had a lonely female green peacock, and they’d heard we had a prime male.

I almost laughed.

They were desperate for a long-distance date. Wanted to borrow our bird.

I made excuses. “He’s not ready for mating. Maybe next season.”

Kong Xuan, overhearing, was furious. “ME? Court a zoo bird?!”

Lu Ya, bored, added, “Why not? I’ve bred dozens of birds myself.”

Kong Xuan: “…”

He stared. “What did you say?”

“I’ve got over fifty offspring with Duan Jiazhe,” Lu Ya added, proudly wrapping an arm around me.

…What?

Kong Xuan looked at me like I was some kind of demonic seducer.

I couldn’t blame him.

Honestly?

I kind of wanted to believe it too.