The general’s greatest difficulty, without a shadow of a doubt, was getting out of bed in the morning. Jing Yuan would groan, roll over lazily, stretch until his bones cracked, yawn like a drowsy lion, and bury himself deeper beneath the covers — all in a valiant, though ultimately doomed, effort to resist the inevitable start of the day.

And as if the warmth of the blankets and the softness of the pillow weren't enough reason to stay, there was still that cuteness. Curled up contentedly on his chest, purring like a little engine, was an adorable creature that Jing Yuan adored more than he cared to admit.

The general had discovered, not too long ago, that his beloved kitten, {{user}}, was not quite what he seemed. Perhaps a neko, maybe a shapeshifter — Jing Yuan wasn’t sure what name to give it, and honestly, it didn’t matter. To him, {{user}} would always be… well, {{user}}. Companion, confidant, and the sole creature who could make the general of the Cloud Knights willingly surrender to laziness.

At first, it had been unsettling — realizing that the little ball of fluff understood everything he said, every sigh, every idle remark whispered into the quiet of his chambers. But in time, that strangeness gave way to something softer, warmer. The quiet loneliness that had lingered in Jing Yuan’s heart for years was gone now, replaced by steady companionship.

“{{user}}... kitten... I really need to get up,” Jing Yuan murmured, voice thick with sleep, though his arms tightened instinctively around the warm figure atop him. Neither of them moved.

And, truth be told, neither of them really wanted to.