The Cold Queen is My Exclusive Little Snack - Chapter 5

Tuantuan was a highly organized and disciplined little cat.

Though she couldn’t understand human time, she had her own internal clock, strictly dividing her day into periods for eating, playing, and sleeping.

The daytime hours were always leisurely and carefree. Only after a good nap did her real activities begin.

After dinner, she would play hunting games with her Master. But her true mission only began after her Master went to bed.

First, she would patrol her territory, rubbing her scent on all new objects.

Tonight there were quite a few new things, but she completed the task perfectly. These scent markings served as a silent declaration to outsiders: This belongs to me. A wordless form of protection.

Next, she would attend to her physiological needs (elimination), carefully burying her waste to conceal her scent from predators.

Next, it would leap onto the balcony, hunt insects, or gaze at the scenery outside, lost in thoughts that no Two-Legged Beast could ever understand.

Finally, it would return to the bedroom, groom its fur at the foot of the bed, and curl up against its Master for a light nap. As dawn approached, it would be awakened by the punctual chirping of birds, prompting it to head back to the balcony for birdwatching.

Of course, if it happened to be locked outside during this routine, it would squat by the door, waiting for the foolish Two-Legged Beast to open it, then glare fiercely at her, holding a grudge worth at least two cans of food.

Tonight, however, it wasn’t locked out. Instead, the foolish Two-Legged Beast had brought back an even more foolish Two-Legged Beast who had taken its sleeping spot! And while grooming its fur, it had nearly been kicked off the bed!

Tuantuan leaped onto the headboard, glaring down at the two figures entwined below. When the sky outside was fully bright and the time felt right, it executed a perfect “Mount Tai Pressing Down” maneuver.

This time, it was holding a grudge worth four cans of food and eight cat treats!

Chu Shiyin nearly suffocated under the weight.

She closed her eyes, pried Tuantuan off her chest, and gasped for air, feeling as if she had narrowly escaped death.

Still indignant, Tuantuan stood beside her, meowing insistently. Chu Shiyin couldn’t understand what she was saying. She rubbed the cat’s head a couple of times, then lifted her up to weigh her. “Have you gained weight again? I guess I need to cut back on your treats.”

Setting Tuantuan down, Chu Shiyin finally turned to look at the person beside her. She sighed and cautiously tried to move Zuo Xingning’s arm, which was draped across her.

Success.

Chu Shiyin sat up and grabbed the small mirror from the bedside table, examining her neck.

Last night, Zuo Xingning had apparently wandered into the wrong room in a sleepy daze. In the middle of the night, Chu Shiyin suddenly felt a wet, itchy sensation on her neck. Half-asleep, she assumed it was the cat licking her. But when she reached out, she grabbed a head that was clearly the wrong size.

The shock jolted her awake, and she finally made out Zuo Xingning’s murmured words.

One moment it was “So fragrant… so hungry,” the next, “No, I can’t eat it.” Her fragmented words were filled with inner turmoil.

Chu Shiyin had tried to pull her away, but Zuo Xingning’s grip was like a python’s, coiling tightly around her. Despite her slender, almost bony arms, the strength she exerted was astonishing. Chu Shiyin feared that if she forced the issue, she might break Zuo Xingning’s arm.

Left with no choice, Chu Shiyin had to let Zuo Xingning cling to her. Desperate, she stuffed a corner of the blanket into Zuo Xingning’s mouth, at least freeing her neck.

Thankfully, the gnawing didn’t last long, leaving only a few mosquito bite-like red marks that could easily be concealed.

Setting down the mirror, Chu Shiyin glanced at the time: 6:50 AM.

Tuantuan was still squatting at the head of the bed, watching her with a displeased expression. Chu Shiyin unlocked her phone and remotely activated the automatic feeder, dispensing food for the cat. Tuantuan vanished like a gust of wind.

Despite all the commotion, Zuo Xingning hadn’t even twitched an eyelid, her cheeks flushed in sleep. Is that too red?

Having never cared for anyone before, Chu Shiyin belatedly realized something was wrong. She pressed the back of her hand against Zuo Xingning’s forehead, her expression darkening instantly.

Zuo Xingning had a fever, and it was impossible to tell how long it had been raging.

Without even changing out of her pajamas, Chu Shiyin frantically rummaged through the medicine cabinet, grabbing a thermometer, fever reducer, and a glass of warm water.

After two frantic trips, she finally sat down on the edge of the bed, thermometer in hand. But when she looked down, she saw two round eyes staring back at her, the lower half of Zuo Xingning’s face buried under the blanket, as if her presence here were perfectly normal.

From her expression, it was clear she wasn’t entirely unaware of what had happened last night.

Chu Shiyin asked irritably, “Awake?”

Zuo Xingning closed her eyes, shook her head in a transparent attempt to deny it, then nodded, finally squeezing out a hoarse “I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded like she’d been wronged.

This pitiful demeanor melted even Chu Shiyin’s anger.

Now that she was awake, Chu Shiyin switched to a more accurate mercury thermometer, shook it, and handed it over. “You know how to use this, right? Here, take your temperature first.”

“I do,” Zuo Xingning replied obediently, taking the thermometer. Five minutes later, she removed it and reported the reading: “38.4°C.”

For an adult, this temperature would typically warrant observation. But since no one knew how long Zuo Xingning had been feverish, Chu Shiyin handed her the medicine and watched her swallow it.

“Want to sleep a bit longer?”

Still huddled under the covers, Zuo Xingning shook her head, her eyes darting around nervously, yet avoiding direct eye contact with Chu Shiyin.

She knew exactly what she had done last night. There was no denying it, not with the “evidence” still visible on Chu Shiyin’s body.

However, aside from a few red marks, she couldn’t find any other traces. Was it the angle? Or was there truly nothing more?

In theory, if a vampire truly bit their Familiar, the irreversible consequences should have already manifested. But Zuo Xingning dared not gamble, fearing the side effects might be delayed, just as her bloodline awakening had been. Seeing Chu Shiyin about to rise and leave, Zuo Xingning grabbed her hand without thinking.

“Sister, don’t move.”

That was all she could manage to say. Fortunately, Chu Shiyin actually sat back down.

Unable to meet her gaze directly, Zuo Xingning adopted a solemn expression, as if she were defusing a bomb strapped to Chu Shiyin’s body.

She knelt beside Chu Shiyin, her eyes fixed on her neck, scrutinizing every inch of skin. After thoroughly examining every corner, Zuo Xingning finally exhaled in relief.

Thank goodness I really did suppress my feeding urges last night.

Her tense heart relaxed, and her breathing returned to normal. Suddenly, Chu Shiyin flinched, as if burned.

It was a subtle tremor, like a budding sprout being nipped in the bud, but it didn’t escape Zuo Xingning’s notice.

Only then did she realize how close she and Chu Shiyin were.

So close that everything she wanted to hide lay bare before her.

She could see the rise and fall of Chu Shiyin’s chest with each breath, the two delicate straps of her gray-blue silk nightgown still trembling with lingering aftershocks. The Master had turned her head away in a gesture of evasion, inadvertently exposing the veins in her neck.

Her skin wasn’t particularly fair, but it was thin. A healthy pink glow radiated from its surface, and because of its translucence, the intricate network of veins beneath was clearly visible.

Zuo Xingning forced her gaze away with difficulty, fearing that if she continued to stare, she might mistake this sight as an invitation from the Bl00d Clan.

“There’s a hair,” she blurted out, grasping at a flimsy excuse as she reached out to gently touch Chu Shiyin’s neck.

The movement was feather-light, as delicate as a butterfly’s wingbeat. Yet sometimes, the subtler the gesture, the more intensely its presence is felt.

Chu Shiyin closed her eyes briefly as Zuo Xingning retreated back under the covers.

She desperately wanted to add a “finally,” even though the entire encounter had lasted less than ten seconds.

The perception of time warped when they were close, stretching endlessly. Each second felt like an eternity, and all her senses seemed amplified.

Burning with fever, Zuo Xingning’s entire body radiated heat, like a living flame.

The faint embers of memory from the early morning hours, deliberately suppressed, were ignited by this heat, bursting into a roaring blaze. Even the sensations she had tried to bury resurfaced, illuminated by the fiery glow.

Chu Shiyin wondered if she might also be feverish. How else could her mind have momentarily slipped into such a haze?

Her hurried departure went unnoticed.

Chu Shiyin cracked two eggs into the pan, watching as the clear liquid gradually turned white and solidified.

Zuo Xingning had grown into someone completely different from the child she remembered.

Had she recognized her?

Chu Shiyin gently touched the red mark on her neck.

Regardless of whether she had recognized her or not, Zuo Xingning was truly…

audacious beyond belief.

After taking her medicine, Zuo Xingning’s fever finally subsided, and she regained a bit of energy. Still wary of approaching Chu Shiyin, she clung to Aunt Chen instead.

Aunt Chen arrived at eight o’clock. Her initial surprise at finding a stranger in the house quickly gave way to her efficient cleaning routine.

Zuo Xingning seized this opportunity to cozy up to Aunt Chen. With her sweet words and charming demeanor, she soon had the older woman spilling her life story.

Aunt Chen revealed that she had been working for Chu Shiyin for five years. In the past, Chu Shiyin’s demanding job had kept her constantly traveling, leaving Aunt Chen with plenty of free time. She had juggled two jobs until early this year, when she quit the other position to focus on caring for her daughter, who was about to enter her final year of high school.

The mention of her daughter opened the floodgates. Without further prompting from Zuo Xingning, Aunt Chen launched into a passionate monologue, recounting everything from her daughter’s “best eater” award in kindergarten to her improved class ranking in the second semester of her junior year. Every word dripped with maternal pride. Zuo Xingning listened attentively, offering enthusiastic responses, but her peripheral vision caught Chu Shiyin emerging from the study.

Chu Shiyin stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe, her chin tucked slightly. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, pooling at her feet—so close, yet just a step away from touching her.

It was as if their conversation, like that sunlight, consisted of ordinary words that had nothing to do with her.

At that moment, Zuo Xingning didn’t grasp the deeper implications. It wasn’t until much later, on a similar afternoon, that she unexpectedly recalled Chu Shiyin’s figure from that day and finally found the perfect words to describe her:

A solitary boat.

A solitary boat, adrift without a destination.