Infiltration

The deep-winter rain fell cold, hard, and fine, carrying the sting of ice crystals as it drummed against the windows, streaking down in rivulets.

The heating indoors was turned up generously. Lin Sangyu rubbed her round, well-fed belly with her little paws, then rolled contentedly across the two-meter-wide bed.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, it read 7:55—almost time. Lin Sangyu fluttered her wing membranes, zipped from the bed to the windowsill behind the curtains, then burrowed further in, hiding beneath the throw pillows on the bedroom balcony.

A sleek black business sedan rolled slowly through the rain, its paint gleaming coldly under the streetlights, tires hissing as they cut through the wet asphalt.

A distinguished man with a broad, well-proportioned frame, dressed in a tailored suit and overcoat, unfurled a black umbrella. He closed the car door with unhurried grace and strolled toward the villa.

A subtle lily-of-the-valley brooch on his left chest caught a stray beam of headlights and shimmered with layered brilliance.

The car drove off, leaving only the dim yellow glow of the streetlamp outside the villa shimmering in the rain.

The man merged with the darkness of the night.

At exactly eight o'clock, the bedroom door opened, followed by the soft patter of slippers against the floor.

The man entered, sharp and composed, with sharp brows and a keen expression. He casually unbuttoned his suit jacket and hung it on the coat rack, revealing a pristine white undershirt that traced the lines of his broad shoulders and lean waist.

Lin Sangyu poked her head out from beneath the pillows, clinging to the curtain, her round, unblinking eyes fixed on the man—the true owner of this villa.

She lurked in the shadows while he moved openly through the room, pacing unhurriedly under the stark white light, an unmistakable contrast of dark and light.

Lin Sangyu was a sugar glider. When she was out foraging, starving and near death, she had made a desperate gamble and barged into this grand-looking villa.

Once inside, it was like a mouse stumbling into a rice granary.

The villa had a special room where the walls were lined with neat rows of gridded shelves, each holding a transparent plastic container filled with all sorts of insects!

Silkworm pupae, mealworms, rhinoceros beetle larvae, elephant beetle larvae, hercules beetle larvae... you name it.

And the fruit basket in the living room was restocked with different fruits every day.

Talk about a balanced diet!

Lin Sangyu immediately decided to move in. She had a luxurious villa to live in and free food every day—what more could she ask for?

Through careful and meticulous observation, she had fully figured out the habits of the villa's owner.

Only one person lived here: that handsome man. He arrived home at eight sharp every night and left at eight sharp every morning, as regular as clockwork—like a machine calibrated to the second.

Using this schedule to her advantage, Lin Sangyu did as she pleased in the villa during the day. When hungry, she'd pry open the containers with her little paws and pick her favorite insects. When thirsty, she'd sneak into the study and drink from his water glass. When sleepy at noon, she'd fly to his bed and nap soundly.

She was careful and left few traces. And with her small appetite, she only ate the larvae, never the adults—unless someone was paying close attention, they'd never notice.

And so, the glider and the man coexisted peacefully through a month of "living together."

After a while, the man shuffled into the bathroom in his slippers. When he emerged, he had changed into a loose bathrobe, the sash tied loosely at his waist, revealing a sliver of honey-toned chest muscle.

Lin Sangyu's eyes widened even further.

The man reached up and turned the heating up a notch, and the room slowly grew warmer. Lin Sangyu felt a hint of restlessness stirring beneath her fur.

Why are his muscles so big?

Why, when I'm in human form, do I only have one slab of muscle on my belly?

Lin Sangyu sulked inwardly.

Under her watchful gaze, the man got into bed, propped the pillow upright against the headboard, and sat up half-reclined against it. He bent his legs and laid a paper book on his thigh.

The light softened to a warm tone, spilling golden shards. The man lowered his gaze, silent and absorbed, reading.

In the vast, quiet bedroom, the soft rustle of his fingers turning pages drifted through the air.

During the day, Lin Sangyu had secretly peeked at that book—*Thus Spoke Zarathustra*.

She had clawed open the pages, which stood taller than her, managed two flips, and her eyelids had promptly started drooping. In the end, she'd given up in frustration and shoved the book back into place.

After a long while, the rustling in the bedroom ceased.

Lin Sangyu glanced at the time again—10:30, just as expected.

Then the room plunged into darkness, silent as a pin drop. A moment later, she heard his slow, steady breathing.

Lin Sangyu twisted her waist and rubbed her slightly sore paws from clinging to the curtain for so long, then settled back beneath the throw pillows, curling her little tail around herself, ready for a good night's sleep.

Her sleep schedule had been all over the place at first. Living in the wild year-round, she could never manage a long, peaceful slumber—she'd only just doze off when some sudden noise would jolt her awake, heart racing, forever on edge.

Since coming to this home, at least she could guarantee sleep, and her routine gradually aligned with the man's—early to bed, early to rise.

*

Early the next morning, the man once again walked out the door at precisely eight o'clock.

Lin Sangyu was already itching with anticipation. The moment the front door clicked shut, she shot out like a bullet.

She'd already planned her breakfast before going to sleep the night before.

Breakfast should be hearty—fried silkworm pupae!

Lin Sangyu flung her limbs wide, the thin membrane stretching from her wrists to her flanks like a miniature paraglider. Her fluffy tail swayed gently, steering her course, as she glided effortlessly down the long corridor and landed squarely on the floor of the insect room.

Slowly, she climbed up to the silkworm pupae container and picked at the sturdy latch with her tiny pink paws.

With a soft click, the container opened.

On a thin layer of dry paper, a few light-brown silkworm pupae lay nestled in the center, like dormant bullet casings.

Lin Sangyu licked her lips and let out an excited squeak.

She bent her head, gave them a careful sniff, then clamped her pointed snout around one, stowing it securely between her cheeks. Her cheek puffed out into a round little pouch.

But she didn't rush to eat. Instead, with the pupa held snug, she climbed to the edge of the second-floor corridor and spread her wing membranes again, gliding straight down to the first-floor kitchen.

Ever since her stint as a human, she'd grown fonder of fried bugs. Fresh bugs just didn't compare to a nice, crispy fry.

Lin Sangyu dropped the pupa into the air fryer and pressed the button.

After a moment, a faint sizzle rose from the basket, along with waves of savory meat-scented aroma.

Once the food had cooled enough, Lin Sangyu hopped straight into the fryer and chomped her way through the fragrant, crunchy fried silkworm pupae.

Life as a glider was the good life!

After her meal, Lin Sangyu picked up the pupae shells and, moving lazily, crawled under the living room couch to add the remains to the dark, shadowy "mass grave" she kept there.

With the evidence disposed of, she unhurriedly climbed onto the living room coffee table.

Oh my glider! Today's fruit basket finally held her favorite: blueberries.

Lin Sangyu wiped away a nonexistent tear, then wiped away a very real bit of drool, and crawled reverently to the fruit basket, popping one blueberry after another into her mouth.

But just as she was in the middle of her feast, a sound came from the front door.

"!!!"

Lin Sangyu's radar went off instantly. She launched off the coffee table, rolled deftly beneath it, and squeezed back into her "mass grave," curling up and staring eye-to-eye with the discarded shells.

Judging by the sound of his footsteps, this return was out of the ordinary. He was moving with unusual urgency, his overcoat slicing through the air, kicking up small drafts—probably back to fetch something.

Jiang Wenzhe strode back into the villa, went straight to the study, grabbed a document folder, and was already turning to head back out.

But as he passed the kitchen, his steps paused.

Because he caught a scent that didn't belong to this house.

The smell of something slightly burnt, like roasted meat.