A Few Days Later

  New York City, Residential District

  The living room lights flickered as Yan Qing stepped into the apartment.

  Another power fluctuation.

  He frowned but kept moving. His phone rang just as he crossed the threshold toward the bedroom, his attention drawn elsewhere—leaving him unaware of the extra shadow reflected in the decorative glass behind him.

  “Oh—okay. Yes, that works,” came the warm voice on the line. “I’ve taken care of the remaining arrangements for the wedding.”

  “I’m sorry,” Yan Qing replied gently. “I thought everything had already been settled. I didn’t realize you were so short on time—and your father—”

  Xiaowen’s voice cut in, soft and apologetic. Yan Qing smiled, his tone reassuring.

  “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. I promise.”

  A faint sound reached him.

  The creak of a door.

  Yan Qing turned—

  —and froze.

  Golden hair, braided into a long plait, fell past the visitor’s calves. Folded wings rested neatly against his back. Leaning casually against the bedroom doorway, arms crossed, was a figure Yan Qing recognized all too well.

  Golden eyes gleamed with faint amusement.

  “Yan Qing?” Xiaowen’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Is something wrong?”

  “N–no,” he said quickly. “I just remembered I still have a report to finish. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

  He ended the call before she could respond.

  The silence that followed was heavy.

  “You—what are you doing here?” Yan Qing demanded.

  The visitor’s lips curved upward.

  “I told you I would return,” he replied mildly. “What—are you not pleased to see me?”

  The intruder was Chen Xingchen—supreme commander of the Teleopeans, and the figure at the center of the global UFO incident.

  Yan Qing closed his eyes.

  An alien—inside his apartment.

  If this became public knowledge, the consequences would be catastrophic—for both of them.

  Human curiosity was not benign. It was lethal.

  And Chen was reckless enough not to grasp that danger.

  Sighing heavily, Yan Qing rubbed his forehead.

  “You’ve seen me,” he said. “Now what exactly are you planning to do?”

  “I intend to remain on this planet for a time,” Chen replied, seating himself uninvited on Yan Qing’s bed. His long tail swayed lazily across the mattress.

  Yan Qing stared at it.

  Then immediately looked away.

  “You left your people behind just like that?” he asked, moving to lean against his desk—careful to maintain distance.

  Chen noticed. He made no comment.

  “After departing, we established a settlement in a binary star system roughly four and a half light-years from your world,” Chen said calmly. “The environment was suitable. Once matters stabilized, I returned.”

  Yan Qing swallowed.

  Humanity had spent decades struggling just to observe distant exoplanets. Chen spoke of colonization as if it were routine.

  “And what do you want here?” Yan Qing asked.

  “To see you,” Chen replied simply. His gaze drifted around the room. “And to study Earth. It resembles my homeworld. Though I find your name for it—‘Earth’—inelegant.”

  “That’s all?” Yan Qing asked, unconvinced.

  Chen leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, chin propped in his hands. There was something almost childlike in his expression.

  “Yes.”

  Yan Qing felt the beginnings of a migraine.

  The old wall clock struck midnight.

  Before Yan Qing could react, the world tilted—his feet left the ground.

  “W–what are you doing?!” he protested.

  “There are six hours until sunrise,” Chen said matter-of-factly, carrying him with effortless ease. “You require rest. Tomorrow, I will begin my survey of Earth. You will accompany me.”

  “What?!”

  “You would prefer I be discovered?” Chen asked lightly.

  The certainty in his smile left no room for argument.

  “Chen Xingchen!!”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  ?

  New York — Central Square

  Yan Qing felt like he was going insane.

  If anyone asked him why, he would point without hesitation at the person walking behind him.

  Last night, that person had broken into his apartment in Midtown without permission. Worse still, the intruder had arrogantly declared that he would be staying for “a while”—how long that while was, he hadn’t bothered to say.

  This morning, the same individual had dropped down from the ceiling of Yan Qing’s bedroom and demanded that Yan Qing take him out to walk around the city.

  And now here he was—actually agreeing to escort an extraterrestrial visitor through the shopping complexes of Central Square.

  Yan Qing glanced back at the blond man trailing him like a shadow. At least, he looked male. Aside from his strange clothes, he appeared no different from an ordinary human.

  Chen’s wings and tail were temporarily “gone” thanks to cloaking technology—gone only to the naked eye, not truly absent. If someone passed too close, they would still be knocked over by an invisible wing.

  From the outside, Chen seemed to stroll easily through the crowd. In reality, his unseen wings and tail were constantly adjusting, shifting with precision to avoid pedestrians who came too close. For a Teleopean with abnormally sharp reflexes, this required very little conscious effort.

  Golden eyes brimmed with curiosity as they swept over man-made buildings, storefronts, skyscrapers. Even roadside newspaper stands made him stop to stare.

  All intelligent beings were curious. Yan Qing acknowledged this inwardly, though he was deeply grateful that Chen didn’t point at everything and ask, What is this?

  At least, Chen wasn’t drawing too much attention.

  At least.

  Like a thief who had done something wrong, Yan Qing felt as though every passerby was staring at them.

  It didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t paranoia.

  People really were staring.

  More precisely, they were staring at the person behind him.

  Correction—at what he was wearing.

  Chen’s outfit was, well… distinctly Teleopean.

  During their time aboard the ship, Yan Qing had noticed that Teleopeans dressed in remarkably similar styles, differing only in color and minor details. Their clothing was actually quite conservative—everything covered from head to toe except the face—

  —and the back.

  The long robe was effectively backless, designed to accommodate wings. But with Chen’s wings currently invisible, he was essentially walking down a New York street in what looked like a backless outfit.

  Paired with his androgynous features, Chen looked less like an alien warlord and more like a nearly seven-foot-tall, broad-shouldered woman in elaborate cosplay.

  Each descriptor alone was harmless. Put together, however, it became… niche hashtags.

  Yan Qing lowered his head, grabbed the still-wandering alien by the arm, and dragged him into a large shopping mall at top speed.

  “What’s wrong?” Chen asked, puzzled. He hadn’t finished studying the street patterns outside yet. Did Yan Qing want him to begin with indoor spaces?

  Yan Qing hauled him into the men’s clothing section, stopped, and turned back.

  “What do you mean, what’s wrong?” he demanded. “Can’t you see how differently you’re dressed compared to me?”

  “Oh, this?” Chen replied casually. “I studied your clothing very carefully. I made this before coming. Don’t worry—one hundred percent Earth materials.”

  Yan Qing was speechless.

  “Then why didn’t you change the style too?” he finally managed. Was this the difference between humans and aliens—one cared about appearances, the other only about substance?

  Only now did Chen seem to notice the problem. He looked around, then down at his own clothes, then back up at Yan Qing.

  “You have so many styles,” he said thoughtfully. “I assumed mine would pass.”

  Another discovery: aliens also believed in luck.

  Rubbing his hair in frustration, Yan Qing sighed and took Chen by the wrist, leading him toward a casualwear section.

  Chen’s smile deepened as he looked at the hand gripping his right wrist.

  In Teleopean culture, physical contact was never neutral—it was either provocative or intimate.

  And he didn’t dislike it.

  When Chen had first arrived on Earth, he had genuinely considered using force to rebuild Teleopea’s home here. This blue planet reminded him too much of his destroyed world. But Yan Qing’s words—firm on the surface, pleading underneath—had changed his mind.

  Fortunately, his people hadn’t objected much. From a purely practical standpoint, invading Earth would have been a shortcut to resettlement, but wiping out six billion natives would have required immense resources. The proposal had passed almost unanimously.

  Chen refocused on the human in front of him.

  Yan Qing was selecting clothes.

  “How about this one?” Yan Qing asked, turning around.

  They were standing too close. When Yan Qing turned, his nose nearly brushed Chen’s lips.

  “Ah!” He jumped back. “Why are you standing so close?”

  “My wings,” Chen said softly, gesturing behind him.

  A customer passed between them, forcing a bit of distance.

  Yan Qing glared at the innocent-looking alien, sighed, and tried again. “How about this one?”

  “Yan Qing.”

  “Hm?”

  “I can’t wear your clothes.”

  Unless he cut holes for wings and tail. Chen left that part unsaid.

  I’m an idiot, Yan Qing scolded himself.

  But letting Chen wander around half-backless wasn’t an option either.

  “That’s too conspicuous,” he muttered. “Then… can you at least look like us?”

  Chen considered the clothes, then took them—along with a pair of jeans—into a fitting room.

  A staff member glanced at him, handed over a tag, then hurried off, whispering excitedly to another employee. The two started toward Chen’s fitting room.

  What was going on?

  Yan Qing rushed over. “Chen, are you done?”

  “Not yet.”

  From the corner of his eye, Yan Qing saw the staff retreat.

  Seriously? Even mall employees were voyeurs now?

  As he turned around—

  —Chen’s face suddenly filled his vision.

  “Don’t just appear in front of me like that!” Yan Qing yelped as Chen shifted back.

  “Sorry,” Chen said. “But—does this work?”

  Now Chen looked like an ordinary young man in a T-shirt and jeans. No suspicious holes.

  Yan Qing stared. “How did you do that?”

  Chen raised his left arm, pointing to a bracer-like device. “Invisibility plus solid-light projection. Running both consumes more energy.”

  Yan Qing checked the clothes Chen had brought in.

  “You didn’t actually wear them?!”

  “No. I scanned them. The projector simulates every fold in real time.”

  “…Amazing.”

  Chen smiled faintly. “Problem solved. Where next, Yan Qing?”

  Yan Qing hesitated. “I… could I…”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you explain how that device works?”

  His face was burning.

  Chen burst out laughing. “That’s what you were agonizing over? I thought it was something serious.”

  “Never mind.” Yan Qing brushed past him.

  Chen followed, still amused. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Yan Qing kept walking. “No.”

  Then why was he storming off? Chen wondered.

  “I was thinking,” Yan Qing finally said, “that if your holographic technology could be adapted, maybe we could invent human teleportation—like in Star Trek.”

  So that was it. Science.

  Chen laughed even harder.

  “You’re laughing too loudly,” Yan Qing muttered. “People are staring.”

  “Sorry,” Chen said, eventually calming down. “But you really are interesting.”

  “You’re laughing at me,” Yan Qing said quietly. “Go on. I’m used to it. Even my parents thought I was crazy back then.”

  “I’m not,” Chen replied.

  Yan Qing shook his head and sighed. “Why am I telling you this?”

  “Because you’re not afraid of me anymore,” Chen said lightly, twirling his braid.

  Yan Qing stopped.

  “Fear is instinct,” Chen continued gently. “There’s nothing shameful about it.”

  “…You’d make a good therapist.”

  “Should I apply for a visa, then?”

  Yan Qing finally laughed.

  As they left the mall, crowds thinning toward lunchtime, Yan Qing said, “I used to wonder what aliens would look like.”

  “Probably fascinating,” Chen said.

  “Some imagined monsters. Others, saints.”

  “And us?”

  “I don’t know,” Yan Qing said. “You’re cruel—but principled. Like a gun. Safe until the trigger’s pulled.”

  “A fair assessment,” Chen said. “We evolved as predators. Humans did too. You just call it the darker side of human nature.”

  They walked in silence until dusk.

  “I think today’s Earth survey is over,” Chen said suddenly.

  “Why?”

  “I can hear your stomach.”

  “I skipped lunch!” Yan Qing protested.

  “Then let’s go back.”

  Chen extended a hand beneath the golden sunset.

  “Left turn. It’s faster,” Yan Qing said, passing him. “Can you eat human food?”

  “We’re semi-organic,” Chen replied. “But I’m willing to try.”

  “Then you’ll try my cooking.”