Werebeast Gongs CH 081 The Misunderstanding Resolved
The solar eclipse came and went quickly, lasting only two or three minutes. By the time the sky brightened again, the sweat on Moya's forehead hadn't even dried.
Bathed in sunlight, a flash of dazzling gold appeared at the doorway. Lei Jin naturally knew who it was, but since the other didn’t step forward, he didn’t call out either.
Lei Jin looked up to find Moya still staring at him, the worry in his emerald-green eyes not yet fully dissipated. These three brothers were truly the trials fate had sent him. Back in his world, a fortune-teller had once told him he would face a major crisis at twenty-eight. He’d been cautious this year, never expecting the calamity to manifest in this way.
“I’m fine,” Lei Jin sighed inwardly, returning the grip of Moya’s hand. A solar eclipse was nothing unusual to him—just a natural phenomenon. But for the people here, it must have been unsettling, judging by the commotion in the streets earlier. Thankfully, things had quieted down now.
“Didn’t Roger tell you about this?” Lei Jin asked.
“He did, but we’ve never actually seen one before.” Even if they knew the science behind it, without Lei Jin by their side, they couldn’t help but worry.
“I’m fine now. You can go back,” Lei Jin said abruptly.
Moya didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved. After not seeing Lei Jin for over a month—only hearing his voice occasionally—being dismissed so soon was hard to accept.
Still, seeing Lei Jin’s improved complexion and the slight plumpness in his cheeks, Moya felt somewhat reassured. He had asked Chunji for daily updates, but now that he’d seen Lei Jin in person, he wanted to confirm his recovery firsthand. However, Lei Jin had already closed his eyes and settled back into the chair. Moya gently stroked his hair, his touch unconsciously tender.
“Once your arms are better, we’ll take you home. Whether or not we have a child, we’ll stay together,” Moya whispered, leaning close to Lei Jin’s ear.
Lei Jin didn’t respond, but the slight flutter of his eyelashes told Moya he’d heard.
Only after Moya left the courtyard did Lei Jin open his eyes again.
Chunji had kept his back turned the entire time. Lei Jin knew he wasn’t the type to tactfully give others privacy—he was probably still shaken by An Bu’s earlier visit.
Lei Jin had considered asking Moya if he knew about Roger and An Bu’s past, but at the last moment, he swallowed the question. No matter how tangled the situation was, whether Moya knew or not, Lei Jin didn’t want him caught in the middle and hurt.
“I’ll make lunch. Let’s see how good those sweet bean sauce dishes you mentioned really are,” Chunji muttered, his voice thick with unshed tears. He must have cried during the darkness earlier.
Compared to Chunji, Lei Jin considered himself lucky. At least he had people he could talk to. Regardless of their motives, those two had treated him well. Unlike Chunji, who had no one to turn to even when wronged.
Chunji poured lard into the pan, stir-fried shredded meat with sweet bean sauce as Lei Jin had instructed, and finished it with a sprinkle of chopped scallions. He tasted it first—slightly sweet, balanced by the scallions’ freshness. Not bad at all.
Truthfully, Chunji’s homemade sweet bean sauce wasn’t perfect. The wheat flour here was stone-ground and full of impurities, giving it a coarse texture. But it had a rich, nutty aroma, and Lei Jin couldn’t complain—he wouldn’t have done better himself.
Now in the second phase of treatment, Chunji brought a large yellow flower every morning, its petals still dewy. He mashed it into a paste, strained out the residue, and applied the thick yellow liquid to Lei Jin’s arms twice daily. The cool sensation wasn’t unpleasant, and most importantly, Lei Jin could feel himself improving day by day, which lifted his spirits and appetite.
But one thing puzzled him: Chunji always rose at the same time as him, so when did he gather these flowers? They weren’t from the yard, yet they were always fresh, as if just picked.
One morning, a villager fell seriously ill, and his family came begging for Chunji’s help before dawn. Though Chunji acted annoyed, he eventually went.
The disturbance left Lei Jin unable to sleep, so he sat by the window, waiting for Chunji’s return. The soft trickle of sand in the hourglass filled the quiet, though Lei Jin still couldn’t read it well enough to tell time. Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten.
A small white figure slipped into the yard, a yellow flower clamped in their mouth. Standing on their hind legs, they tried to place the flower on the stone table but was too short. After several failed attempts, they finally succeeded.
Seeming to think it was still early, the little creature crouched by the door, ears twitching, before reluctantly turning to leave.
“Mingya.” Lei Jin pushed the door open and called out. So it had been this little dummy all along.
Hearing Lei Jin’s voice, Mingya—who had already scampered to the gate—turned and bounded back joyfully, wagging his tail. He nuzzled and rubbed against Lei Jin’s legs, his affection unmistakable.
“Lei Jin, do your arms still hurt?” Mingya’s big blue eyes shone with happiness.
But when he spoke, Lei Jin noticed blood in his mouth.
Afraid he might be mistaken, Lei Jin said, “Mingya, open your mouth and let me see.”
Obedient as always, Mingya immediately obeyed—but then snapped his jaws shut and covered his mouth with his paws.
Still, Lei Jin had seen enough: fresh cuts on his tongue and the corners of his mouth, some still bleeding.
“Mingya, did someone in the tribe bully you?” Lei Jin’s expression darkened. He might bully the little guy himself, but no one else was allowed to.
Lei Jin was notoriously protective—a flaw he couldn’t correct.
Mingya shook his head vigorously, mumbling behind his paws, “No, no one bullied Mingya.”
“Then how did you get hurt?” Lei Jin thought Mingya was afraid to tell the truth.
“No hurts,” Mingya insisted, backing away cautiously when he saw Lei Jin’s frown.
“Come here,” Lei Jin ordered. The little guy was blatantly lying. If he could lie this young, what would he be like later?
Lei Jin conveniently ignored his own history of far more elaborate lies.
“Don’t hit Mingya,” the little leopard bargained.
“Just come here first.” Since when had he learned to negotiate?
“Okay.” Mingya was used to obeying Lei Jin. His earlier defiance had taken all his courage and couldn’t last. Seeing no signs of anger, he inched forward tentatively.
Lei Jin almost laughed at his antics. He didn’t recall beating Mingya often—why was the little guy so scared?
Then his gaze fell on the flower on the table. He’d only seen the soft, fragrant petals before—never the stem. Thick as a finger, it was covered in coarse black thorns, and even the leaf edges were serrated like saw blades.
Lei Jin reached out to touch it, and a sharp edge sliced his fingertip open. Blood welled up instantly.
“Lei Jin, your hand is bleeding!” Mingya forgot all about avoiding punishment, rushing over to lick the wound.
“Enough.” Lei Jin pulled his finger back.
“Did you hurt your mouth picking these flowers?” He crouched to meet Mingya’s eyes.
“Mingya wants Lei Jin to get better faster,” the little leopard admitted, resting his head trustingly on Lei Jin’s shoulder.
“How did you know I needed these flowers?” Lei Jin didn’t push him away.
“Mingya couldn’t sleep and came to see you. Saw Chunji picking them. He told Mingya.”
Mingya’s fur was damp and cool against Lei Jin’s neck, a bit uncomfortable.
“Do you always go this early?” The sun still hadn’t risen.
“Mingya goes at midnight. Chunji says these flowers bloom after midnight and wilt by dawn.”
(He didn’t push Mingya away! So happy! Lei Jin’s scent was the best.)
Lei Jin finally understood why Mingya was drenched in dew.
Then, as if drawn in, Mingya cautiously licked Lei Jin’s neck.
“What are you doing, Mingya?” Lei Jin jerked back, sending the unsuspecting leopard tumbling onto his back.
Mingya lay there stunned, staring up at Lei Jin in confusion.
“Get up. What are you doing on the ground?” Lei Jin felt oddly guilty under that innocent gaze.
“You don’t want Mingya anymore. You only like Elder Brother and Second Brother. You don’t like Mingya at all.” The little leopard rolled over, presenting his rear to Lei Jin.
“What nonsense are you spouting?” Lei Jin frowned.
“You think Mingya is annoying. You treat Mingya like a kid. You won’t be Mingya’s mate. You hate Mingya more and more.” The grievances poured out.
Lei Jin’s head throbbed. He adored Mingya, no question—but taking things further? He wasn’t a pedophile.
(Though, to be fair, Mingya was a teenager, not a child.)
Seeing the blood still fresh on the flower’s stem, Lei Jin couldn’t bring himself to scold him. He softened his tone. “Mingya, I don’t hate you. Come inside, and we’ll find some medicine for your mouth.”
“You don’t hate Mingya?” The leopard perked up.
“No.”
“You won’t leave Mingya?”
“No.”
“You won’t only want Elder Brother and Second brother?”
“No.”
The Q&A session continued as they went inside. Lei Jin mustered extraordinary patience to reassure Mingya he wouldn’t be abandoned. But after searching the room, he found no hemostatic medicine. Chunji’s medicine room was off-limits, and even if he sneaked in, Lei Jin wouldn’t recognize the right bottles.
“Mingya doesn’t like medicine. Tastes bad. The blood will stop soon,” the little leopard offered, seeing Lei Jin’s worry.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Lei Jin wasn’t convinced.
“Papa has medicine.” Mingya nuzzled Lei Jin’s leg.
“Then go back and have Roger treat you.” Lei Jin looked down at him, helpless. This little thing had him wrapped around his paw. If Mingya ever learned to weaponize his cuteness, Lei Jin was doomed.
Mingya nodded obediently.
“By the way, where’s Berg lately?” The merfolk had visited often before, always bickering with Chunji yet returning for more. Compared to them, Lei Jin considered himself a model of good temper.
(The lack of self-awareness was tragic.)
“His belly keeps getting rounder. He stays inside all day.” Mingya paused, then whispered, “Papa says he’s going to have a baby soon.” He wasn’t supposed to tell outsiders, but Lei Jin wasn’t an outsider. Mingya knew the difference.
“That fast?” Lei Jin murmured. He remembered Berg saying merfolk pregnancies lasted six months. It had only been four.
Unaware of Lei Jin’s thoughts, Mingya suddenly remembered his brothers’ instructions.
“Oh! Elder Brother said they didn’t give you the jade mugwort. Jing Yue did.”
Throwing others under the bus to save oneself—Xiya might not know the phrase, but he’d mastered the art.
Lei Jin had already figured this out. After recalling his symptoms post-recovery at the Tiger Tribe, he’d asked Chunji about the effects of jade mugwort. The pieces fell into place.
What angered him was Xiya and Moya’s deliberate concealment—their attempt to trap him with a pregnancy. He loathed being forced.
And then there was the matter of feelings. In bed, he was confident. But emotions? He had no certainty. He wanted to know, if he truly couldn’t bear children, would their love remain? If they couldn’t let go of wanting offspring, it was better to part now. They could find another mate. He could focus on going home.