A Aloof Beauty Becomes a Tiny Kitten / Transmigrated as the Disabled Tycoon’s Tiny Kitten - Chapter 1

The snow had been falling for a week. Today, it finally cleared, and the rare winter sun shone through the car window—bright, yet devoid of warmth.

Amidst the flickering light and shadows, the wheels rolled over the snow-covered road, slowly coming to a stop in front of a residential compound. The assistant looked at the phone mounted on the dashboard; the navigation showed that this was indeed the destination.

Located in the western suburbs of Xinghai City, this area was filled with detached villas surrounded by mountains and water, only a thirty-minute drive from the city center. It was the assistant’s first time here, so he couldn’t help but double-check.

“Mr. Lin, this should be the place?”

“Mm.”

A light, shallow voice drifted from the back seat—cool and crisp—before falling silent again. The assistant was used to Mr. Lin’s brevity. Having received confirmation, he stepped on the gas, passed the security check at the gate, and entered the compound.

They arrived at a small villa. After a successful card swipe, they drove into the garden. A thin layer of snow covered the grass; the tires left deep ruts in their wake. Just as the assistant was about to speak, his phone buzzed. “Mr. Lin, your phone is ringing.”

Behind him, the young man who had been resting with his eyes closed slowly opened them.

His pupils were a pale blue, like sapphires or a clear sea—rumored to be inherited from the late Matriarch of the Lin family. Seeing those eyes in the rearview mirror, the assistant couldn’t help but marvel at the Creator’s favoritism. The only pity was that the young man’s gaze was always indifferent, carrying a sense of alienation that kept people at a distance.

The phone rang twice. Lin Xingmo pulled it from his pocket, scanned the caller ID, and unhurriedly swiped to answer.

“Brother.”

“Xiao Mo, have you arrived?” The voice of his older brother, Lin Yueqian, came through.

Lin Xingmo: “Mm, just got here.”

Lin Yueqian went quiet for a moment before sighing. “Xiao Mo, I don’t want to pressure you, but you and Xu Yi are already married. Being this cold to each other isn’t a long-term solution… Even though it’s a business marriage, Xu Yi… he’s a good person. I hope you two can give it a try. If it really doesn’t work out, just endure for two more years. I’ll have everything settled by then.”

“Okay.” The young man lowered his lashes, his handsome face devoid of expression.

Lin Yueqian hesitated, then added: “I heard the cat Xu Yi raised since he was a kid died. He’s in a bad mood. You… try to comfort him?”

Lin Xingmo paused. “Oh. Okay.”

After hanging up, his phone chimed again. It was his sister-in-law sending a photo. Lin Xingmo opened it. A man in a suit sat in a wheelchair, possessing sharp brows and starry eyes. His deep, dark pupils held a piercing coldness—the unmistakable aura of someone in a high position of power.

[Sister-in-law]: Xiao Mo, this is Xu Yi. You remember him, right?

Lin Xingmo blinked and replied: Mm, I remember.

[Sister-in-law]: Haha, good. I was afraid you hadn’t seen him in so long that you’d forgotten what he looks like.

Lin Xingmo looked at the portrait again, his gaze wandering over the man’s aggressive features.

Actually… he didn’t really remember.

Storing his phone, his slender white fingers gripped the door handle. With a click, he opened the door and a gust of cold wind rushed in.

He instructed his assistant to wait and stepped out. His boots crunched in the snow. Using his fingerprint to unlock the door, Lin Xingmo entered the foyer. The house was heated, the warmth completely sealing out the frozen world outside.

He scanned the interior. This was the marital home he shared with Xu Yi. In the six months since their wedding, he had only been here once. This was the second time.

Compared to last time, the clean, fresh air felt somewhat comfortable. He hung his heavy coat on the rack and opened the shoe cabinet. On the top shelf sat two pairs of cotton slippers—one large, one small—matching in style and color. Below were the larger shoes belonging to a man, each pair pristine and dust-free.

Lin Xingmo took the small slippers and sat on the hallway chair to change. He neatly placed his leather boots in the corner, wiped his hands with a handkerchief, and then walked further into the house.

The decor hadn’t changed, except for one thing: a painting on the living room wall had been removed. Lin Xingmo recalled that the painting depicted Xu Yi’s cat.

A woman emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Mr. Lin, right? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Lin Xingmo nodded in silence.

The woman, a housekeeper named Mother Chen, stared at the young man’s overly beautiful face for a few seconds before hiding her admiration. “Mr. Xu is resting upstairs. He… might be in a bad mood. Do you want to see him?”

Because his cat died? Lin Xingmo recalled his brother’s words, gave a soft “mm,” and headed for the stairs.

Lin Xingmo stood at the top of the stairs, looking left and right. He wasn’t familiar with this place. Where was Xu Yi’s room?

Suddenly, a soft click sounded. A door to his right was slightly ajar. He walked over soundlessly and gave the wooden door a gentle push.

The curtains were drawn back. Sunlight hit the bay window and spilled across the floor near a wheelchair. A familiar figure sat in the light.

It was Xu Yi.

The man sat bathed in the winter sun, which cast a pale glow over his profile. He didn’t seem to notice Lin Xingmo; his gaze was fixed on a corner of the bay window. A lit cigarette was held between his fingers, resting on the armrest of the wheelchair.

Despite being in the bright light, he exuded a heavy, melancholic aura, as if he were about to be swallowed by shadows. He looked different from the sharp, spirited man in the photograph.

Is he grieving? Lin Xingmo observed him.

Lin Xingmo was someone who couldn’t feel emotions. However, after studying art, he had mastered the skill of identifying human emotions. The man before me should be in a state of grief, his learned knowledge told him.

Lin Xingmo tilted his head. Then, without hesitation, he turned to leave. He planned to return once Xu Yi’s emotions had stabilized; he was truly bad at dealing with people in this state.

“Lin Xingmo?”

A raspy voice broke the silence. Lin Xingmo froze, resigned to his fate, and turned back.

The man in the wheelchair looked at him. His dark eyes were deep and quiet, like a starless night sky—gloomy and oppressive. Lin Xingmo pressed his lips together. Since he’d been caught, leaving would be a breach of basic social etiquette. He met Xu Yi’s gaze and gave a soft “mm.”

The sadness on the man’s face faded, replaced by a complexity Lin Xingmo couldn’t interpret. Xu Yi beckoned him over.

Lin Xingmo walked over and stood by his side. As he approached, the man stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray already filled with a dozen butts.

“You’re back?” the man asked suddenly.

“Ah, mm.” Lin Xingmo nodded.

After a long silence, Xu Yi reached out and took Lin Xingmo’s right hand, cradling it in his palms. Lin Xingmo’s hand was very white, his fingers slender but calloused from years of holding a paintbrush.

“Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” Xu Yi whispered, his warmth transferring to Lin Xingmo’s skin.

In the past six months, they had met fewer than five times. This level of intimacy was unusual. Lin Xingmo thought about it—considering they were married, it probably wasn’t inappropriate. Though he wasn’t used to being touched, he didn’t pull away.

“I forgot,” he answered obediently.

Xu Yi warmed one hand and then reached for the other. Lin Xingmo watched him and asked, “Will you raise another cat in the future?”

His brother wanted him to move back in, but Lin Xingmo was allergic to cat hair. If Xu Yi planned to get another cat, Lin Xingmo would have to keep living in his art studio.

Mentioning the cat reminded Lin Xingmo that he was supposed to comfort Xu Yi. But how? He frowned in thought.

Before he could find the words, the man’s grip stiffened. He slowly let go. Xu Yi looked up, his dark eyes slightly wide and bloodshot. It was a dark, fierce expression. Lin Xingmo couldn’t understand the sudden change or the emotion behind it.

Xu Yi stared at the young man’s habitually cold, calm face. Even with a frown, there was no emotional fluctuation. He knew Lin Xingmo didn’t like his cat. He always knew.

“What exactly did you come here for?” Xu Yi’s voice grew even raspier.

“My brother told me to come see you,” Lin Xingmo replied softly.

Upon hearing the answer, Xu Yi stared at him for a long time before lowering his head and slowly curling his lips. It was a self-deprecating smile, like a wounded, stubborn lone wolf.

Suddenly, Xu Yi reached out, grabbed the young man’s slender waist, and pulled him forcefully into his lap. Despite his disability, his strength was immense. Caught off guard, Lin Xingmo lost his balance and tumbled into his arms, his right knee hitting the floor with a thud.

“Does it hurt?” The man leaned in close, the scent of tobacco enveloping Lin Xingmo.

As Lin Xingmo tried to pull back, Xu Yi pressed a hand against the back of his neck, forcing him forward. The man’s warm lips pressed against his in a kiss.

Lin Xingmo blinked. The man’s lashes brushed against his own, feeling slightly ticklish. The kiss was shallow. He didn’t hate it, but he didn’t particularly like it either.

Xu Yi pulled back slightly, looking into those beautiful, clear blue eyes. There was no shyness, no anger—only that same tranquil, cold detachment.

Xu Yi let go. He watched the young man leaning against his legs. Lin Xingmo was truly beautiful, the kind of person one wanted to hold in the palm of their hand. And yet…

Xu Yi’s lips curled into a self-mocking smirk. “You should leave,” he said softly. He backed his wheelchair away and lit another cigarette.

Lin Xingmo felt baffled. He could tell Xu Yi was in a foul mood, and he knew that communicating with people in such a state was inefficient.

“Then I’m going,” Lin Xingmo said. He stood up and rubbed his bruised knee. He turned to leave without a hint of lingering.

Xu Yi took a deep drag of his cigarette. Through the haze of smoke, the young man’s decisive back seemed to blur. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the pain and embarrassment were gone.

“Let’s get a divorce,” he said.

Lin Xingmo stopped and looked back. The man didn’t look at him, his gaze returning to the bay window. “The lawyer will send you the papers. Just sign them.”

Lin Xingmo crouched under the car, recalling this final scene with Xu Yi. His indifferent blue eyes narrowed slightly as he silently took a step back.

In front of him, the little boy—the miniature version of Xu Yi—was lying on the dirt, reaching out towards him with great effort. He had almost succeeded. But because of Lin Xingmo’s small step back, even though Little Xu Yi’s face was red with exertion, he remained exactly one centimeter away from touching the cat.