Morning light slipped through the gap in the curtains, slanting gently into the room and carrying a tender warmth with it.
Milton woke in Gu Qing’s arms, his breathing still heavy with sleep, his chest pressed against that familiar, steady heat.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Gu Qing’s profile—brows faintly knit even in rest, morning light resting in a soft halo over his dark hair. In that moment, something brushed lightly across Milton’s heart. All the fear and unease that had haunted him seemed, at least for now, to retreat.
He turned his head carefully and let his fingertips trace along the side of Gu Qing’s neck, the touch so cautious it was as though he feared waking a dream.
“…You’re still here,” he murmured, surprise and disbelief woven into his voice.
He blinked and drew in a slow breath, as if trying to carve this sense of peace into memory—afraid that one day he would wake to find only an empty pillow beside him.
The words from last night echoed in his mind: I won’t let you be alone.
A faint smile curved his lips.
In this moment, he was no longer the distant, untouchable general. He was simply a female insect who could feel what it meant to be protected.
He called softly, “Gu Qing… thank you.”
Gu Qing opened his eyes. Warmth surfaced in them at once. He tightened his arm around Milton and lowered his head, pressing a gentle yet resolute kiss to his lips.
The kiss was unhurried, but it felt like a renewal of last night’s promise.
Milton trembled faintly. He closed his eyes and sank into it, cheeks flushing, yet he did not pull away.
After a moment, Gu Qing stroked the back of his head and said in a husky voice, “Sleep a little longer. I’ll make breakfast.”
Milton reached out and caught his wrist instead. His voice was rough with sleep. “I want to go too… together.”
Gu Qing chuckled. “Hmm? Weren’t you exhausted?”
Milton shook his head, his tone low and soft. “I want… to be with you.”
Seeing the insistence in his eyes, Gu Qing did not argue. He took Milton’s hand and led him out of bed. One after the other, they walked into the kitchen, light on their feet, wrapped in quiet intimacy.
Gu Qing opened the refrigerator with practiced ease and began sorting fresh ingredients. Milton stood beside him, watching for a while before finally asking in a small voice, “…Can I help?”
Gu Qing turned, one brow lifting slightly. “So our general can cook?”
Milton looked faintly embarrassed, his fingers fidgeting with the ties of the apron. “I learned a little at the military academy. Female insects are taught to take care of male insects… but I was not very good at it.”
“A little good, or a little not good?”
Milton was silent for a few seconds before admitting, “…I tried frying an egg once. I nearly burned down the kitchen.”
Gu Qing: “…”
Inside his mental sea, the Heavenly Dao little orb was already rolling wildly. “I cannot breathe! The contrast is too cute! The general almost blew up a kitchen!”
Gu Qing suppressed his smile and nudged the cutting board aside. His voice softened, as though coaxing a child. “Then today you can… hand me the ingredients. That is important too.”
Milton visibly relaxed and nodded. “…All right.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder at the counter—one cooking, the other passing ingredients. Now and then, when Gu Qing reached for something, the back of his hand brushed against Milton’s wrist. Their eyes would meet briefly, then both would look away in quiet understanding.
The air was gentle and still.
At the edge of the mental sea, the little orb sprawled like an audience member watching a romantic variety show. “Maximum romance level! Morning lovers’ kitchen special! I am compiling this into a sweetness archive!”
Sunlight brightened outside, spilling through the curtains and stretching their shadows long across the kitchen floor. The soup bubbled softly in the pot. The air carried not only fragrance, but also something called companionship.
This happiness might be clumsy, might be ordinary, but like a beam of winter sunlight, it finally gave them a place to rest.
Gu Qing turned off the stove and plated the steaming dishes.
When the meal was set on the table, Milton stared at the three dishes and one soup in slight disbelief.
The golden egg rolls gleamed. Shredded emerald greens shone with fresh oil. The mushroom soup steamed warmly. There were two bowls of glowing rice porridge and a small dish of crisp slices on the side. Simple and homely—yet his chest grew warm.
He lowered his head and scooped a spoonful of porridge. The mild, energy-rich rice aroma spread slowly in his mouth, but it carried unfamiliar tenderness.
Memories surfaced.
As a child, only his male father had been permitted to sit at the table. The female consort stood beside him in attendance. As a young female insect, Milton had not even been allowed near the table, much less to serve himself. In insect society, food had always been functional. Nutrient solutions sustained most lives. Real cooking was rare and expensive—an indulgence reserved for the elite.
Even when he had tasted it before, never had it felt like this.
His earliest memory of “eating” was one of silence and discipline—no speaking, no sitting, no preferences. Food was for survival, not enjoyment.
But now, Gu Qing sat across from him, ladling soup, placing dishes into his bowl, remembering what he liked.
For the first time, he understood—eating could also be an act of being cherished.
“…Do you always eat this well in the morning?” he asked quietly.
Gu Qing arched a brow and handed him the ladle. “You think I make three dishes and soup every day? It is special only when you are here.”
The tips of Milton’s ears reddened. When he took the ladle, his fingers brushed Gu Qing’s. He flinched slightly. Gu Qing pretended not to notice, though the corner of his mouth curved.
Deep in his mental sea, the little orb went into hysterics.
“Romance density overload! This is not breakfast—it is a love ritual! I am starting a wedding progress chart!”
It spun and shrieked, “I can smell love! The eggs are seasoned with heartbeats, the soup contains gallons of devotion, the porridge is destiny!”
Gu Qing bit into a braised egg and muttered inwardly, “Quiet. Keep it up and you are on dishwashing duty.”
The little orb shrank into a silver marble. “I said nothing. Love forever. I am observing silently…”
Ignoring the chaos in his mind, Gu Qing placed a portion of vegetables into Milton’s bowl. “You said you wanted this yesterday. Try it.”
Milton took a bite and paused.
The familiar taste bloomed across his tongue—warm, balanced, gently salted. Instantly he was pulled back to last night’s words: You said you liked it on the wasteland planet. I remember.
He lowered his gaze, a small smile touching his lips. “…It is very good.”
Gu Qing studied his expression. “Truly? You are not just humoring me?”
Milton shook his head. “No. I really like it.”
After a brief pause, he added softly, “I could never cook like this.”
“Then leave it to me,” Gu Qing replied quietly, placing another piece of egg roll into his bowl. “You just eat.”
The little orb resumed its wild tumbling.
“That line is illegal! Gu Qing, did you secretly study romance dramas? I am archiving this forever!”
Milton let out a quiet laugh—an unguarded, relaxed sound rarely heard from him. For once, he seemed to have laid down his armor, simply a partner enjoying breakfast.
Gu Qing felt warmth stir in his chest.
He remembered his own childhood—his parents killed in bandit uprisings, years of drifting. Later, though he entered a sect, survival and power struggles left no room for living an ordinary life.
To stand in a kitchen on a quiet morning and cook for someone, watching him eat bite by bite—this was a happiness he had never dared imagine.
Sunlight grew brighter, bathing them both in gold. The kitchen filled with scent and faint laughter.
A simple breakfast became a gentle balm, slowly filling the long-empty spaces within their hearts.
After they finished, neither hurried to stand. Gu Qing rose first and began clearing the dishes at an unhurried pace.
Milton held a cup of warm tea, yet his gaze kept drifting toward that familiar back.
Those hands had just been wielding a spatula. Now they stacked bowls with effortless care. Every movement carried an unspoken tenderness.
Morning light traced the shine of Gu Qing’s dark hair. Milton found himself unable to look away.
Gu Qing sensed it and turned his head slightly, a smile hidden in his eyes. “What? Finished eating and now you are secretly staring at me?”
Milton paused and quickly looked away. “…I am not.”
Gu Qing set down the cloth and stepped closer. “Then what are you looking at? Or are you planning to slip away while I am busy?”
Milton froze, then suddenly reached out and caught his wrist. His tone was firm. “…I will not run.”
Gu Qing blinked, then smiled softly. “I know.”
He turned his hand and clasped Milton’s, warm and steady.
“I want to help too,” Milton said quietly. “Let us wash the dishes together.”
Gu Qing raised a brow playfully. “The great general doing this?”
“My cooking is terrible, but I can wash dishes,” he muttered.
Gu Qing laughed and tapped his forehead lightly. “All right. Then I will trouble General Milton to dry them.”
They stood side by side at the sink—one washing, one drying.
Occasionally their fingers brushed. Neither spoke. They simply completed the small, ordinary tasks together.
Sunlight slanted in through the window. The scent of soap mingled with the soft clink of dishes.
Shoulder to shoulder, unhurried, at peace.
It was ordinary—and yet so precious it felt extravagant.
Two souls from different worlds, drawing closer, healing one another, learning how to love.
In the corner of the mental sea, the little orb curled into itself and murmured drowsily,
“So… this is love? It feels farther than the stars, harder to understand than the laws of heaven… but it seems… quite nice.”