Who Needs a Relationship When You Have a Cat?

Chapter 48

Chapter 48The best thing Xiao Yu had ever eaten in her life was dried fish.

Weak and sickly as a kitten, she hadn’t actually been given a name at first. Grandma Lang Xiangying feared the tiny stray wouldn’t survive and refused to name her, afraid that growing attached would only make the loss harder.

But slowly the kitten began to grow—still skinny, but alive.

The family brainstormed names until someone emptied a grocery bag onto the floor: milk, cola, bread, and of course a packet of dried fish.

Whatever Xiao Yu picked would become her name.

Too young to understand, she simply batted at the shiny packet.

And so “dried fish” it was.

Six-plus months later she finally tasted her namesake.

Dried fish was delicious—infinitely better than everyday cat food.

To her it was the finest delicacy on earth.

Of course, Little Kitty’s taste buds weren’t nearly as sharp as a human’s.

Now Xiao Yu sat beside Ai Qing, chopsticks clutched clumsily in her hand, unable to get the slippery fish anywhere near her mouth.

Letting a cat-girl tackle braised crucian carp on her first try was, admittedly, a sadistic level of difficulty.

Grinning, Ai Qing speared a flake of snow-white flesh and lifted it to her lips.

Xiao Yu blinked, sniffed—an aroma ten times richer than dried fish curled into her nose.

Curiosity won. She opened her rosebud mouth and let the morsil slide onto her tongue.

The flavor detonated.

A gentle salt-sweet wave, the flesh so tender it dissolved under the slightest pressure.

The skin, having soaked up the cooking juices, melted into the meat and sang backup with every chew.

One bite and Xiao Yu was lost.

So... this was what Ai Qing ate every single day?

She glanced at the ceramic bowl of kibble beside her—then back at the fish—eyes clouding with something she’d never felt before.

Even her beloved freeze-dried treats and cat-gravy sticks paled beside this miracle.

For the first time in her life, Xiao Yu knew envy.

“Not good?” Ai Qing misread her expression. “It’s cooled a bit. Right out of the wok it’s even better.”

Xiao Yu shook her head hard, then nodded just as vigorously. “Delicious!”

Ai Qing had meant to offer only a taste, but the single word—so earnest—filled him with chef’s pride.

He couldn’t resist; another glistening cube traveled toward her.

Eyes sparkling, Xiao Yu chomped down so eagerly the chopsticks jerked between his fingers.

Only then did Ai Qing remember: those were his personal chopsticks.

He watched them emerge from her mouth, tips polished clean, and fell into a brief, thoughtful silence.

“Yummy!” Xiao Yu swallowed, scooted closer until half her weight rested against his arm, and tilted her face up. “More?”

Snow-white hair swayed; cat ears twitched; heterochromatic eyes shimmered.

Resistance was impossible.

The braised carp was mostly gone, the tomato scrambled eggs nearly finished. Feeding her his leftovers felt almost indecent, yet her joy made refusal unthinkable.

After three more mouthfuls of fish, Xiao Yu’s eyes drifted shut in bliss.

When they opened again, a fluffy yellow cube waited where the carp had been.

She had no word for “egg”; she only knew Ai Qing had offered it.

She ate.

“Mmm!”

Silky, slippery, a different kind of softness—she chewed slowly, reluctant to let it go.

What Ai Qing could polish off in minutes while watching a video took twenty with Xiao Yu.

His chop-hand ached, but her rapturous face repaid every cramp.

Eating your own cooking is pleasure; watching someone else savor it is another pleasure entirely.

Ai Qing knew his skill was middling—edible, nothing more.

He wasn’t picky, but Grandma’s cooking still towered above his.

Looking at Xiao Yu’s wonder, he laughed softly.

“One day I’ll let you taste Grandma’s food. Don’t cry when you do.”

“Mm?” Xiao Yu’s chin glistened with sauce. Still adrift in flavor, she cocked her head, adorably lost.

“Hold still.” He dabbed her mouth with a tissue.

“If you transform around mealtime, I’ll cook extra. You’ve figured out the toilet, so human food shouldn’t hurt. Still—tell me if anything feels off. Promise?”

Xiao Yu shoved the warm flow of energy into her head until the words made sense, then nodded so hard her tail flicked beneath her skirt.

Knock knock.

The front door.

Xiao Yu leapt up to prove her usefulness, but Ai Qing—certain he’d ordered no takeout—caught her wrist.

“Probably someone I know. Go to the—”

The sentence died: Xiao Yu had already shrunk back into a white cat, energy spent.

“...Or just open it yourself.”

“Meow~”

She bounded down, sprang, and the latch clicked.

Green hair poked through the gap.

Kong Fugui grinned at Ai Qing.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything. Where’s my little sister-in-law?”