Encountering a Snake - Chapter 13

v2c13

The two words had barely left his mouth, their echo still lingering, when the curtain was suddenly lifted. Yi Mo loomed over him, forcing Ji Jiu to open his eyes. The two stared at each other in the darkness, like two beasts hiding deep in the jungle, each nursing their own wounds.

Ji Jiu said, “You deliberately made me lose face.”

Yi Mo didn’t refute this. In fact, he had noticed the woman approaching the moment she began walking over. At the time, he was holding Ji Jiu and had no intention of letting go. Later, as the woman came closer and closer, stopping by the courtyard wall to take in their embrace at a glance… Even though he knew it would cause Ji Jiu distress, he still refused to let go. This person—though he didn’t fully understand how important he was to himself—was someone he wouldn’t let go of, not if he didn’t have to.

Yi Mo reached out, his cold fingers brushing against Ji Jiu’s face, stroking it for a moment before asking, “Why didn’t you explain?”

Ji Jiu froze for a moment, quickly turning his face away to shake off Yi Mo’s hand. “Explain what?” he asked.

“She said you’re a cut sleeve,” Yi Mo replied. He withdrew his hand, sat at the edge of the bed, lifted the blanket, and slipped under it. Pressing his body against the warm one beside him, he tucked the blanket back in place, wrapped an arm around the other’s waist, and continued, “Why didn’t you explain?”

Ji Jiu let out a cold laugh, resisting the hand that was now intimately wrapped around his waist. “Would it have made any difference?” he countered.

“I didn’t do anything inappropriate. I was only holding you. By the time I kissed you, she had already left,” Yi Mo said. Under the blanket, he grabbed Ji Jiu’s wrist, holding it in his palm. He released his waist, but firmly held onto his hand, leaving it at that. He continued, “She was only speculating, suspicious. She came to interrogate you, trying to find out the truth. If you had explained yourself, she would have been reassured. But you didn’t. Why?”

“No reason!” Ji Jiu retorted. Under the blanket, he struggled to free his hand, using his other unrestrained hand to come to its rescue. Both hands were promptly seized by Yi Mo and locked in his embrace. Frustrated, Ji Jiu lifted a leg to kick him, shouting angrily, “Let go!”

Yi Mo tightened his hold on him before letting out a soft laugh, his voice low and pleasant. Moving closer, he whispered in Ji Jiu’s ear, “You didn’t explain, so does that mean you admit it?”

“Admit what?!” Ji Jiu asked, his patience fraying as he continued to evade Yi Mo, not even paying attention to the implications of his words.

Yi Mo said, “Admit to the title of ‘cut sleeve.'”

Ji Jiu froze, forgetting to resist. He turned his face to look at Yi Mo, and after a long moment, he finally lowered his voice, his tone full of anger as he said, “How was I supposed to explain it to her? Should I tell her that for more than half a year, I’ve been pinned beneath a man?! Should I tell her I’m not inclined toward men but was forced to submit?! Should I tell my wife that her husband is nothing but a plaything for a monster?! How could I possibly say that?!”

His voice was lowered to its limit, but it quivered with suppressed fury, like a beast growling from the depths.

He said, “How could I possibly explain it to her?!”

Within this angry roar, Ji Jiu buried his faint unease and shame.

Just as Yi Mo had said, during that confrontation, Ji Jiu hadn’t even considered explaining that he wasn’t what she thought. He hadn’t even thought of clearing his name from such an unflattering title.

Instead, he had admitted it.

Just as Yi Mo had said, he had admitted it.

—Admitted to being inclined toward men, to being a “cut sleeve.”

Ji Jiu’s voice suddenly grew hoarse, as if a fire had ignited within him, burning away all his blood and sweat, leaving only a husk behind.

Ji Jiu began to struggle violently, as though possessed.

Yi Mo was momentarily stunned by his shouting and, caught off guard, allowed him to break free. He quickly reached out to grab him again, refusing to let him go. Ji Jiu was pulled back, but he twisted his body and fought against Yi Mo. Using the martial arts he had learned, he unleashed his full strength. When Yi Mo refrained from using his magic, Ji Jiu struck with his knee, jabbed with his elbow, and used his entire body and every sharp bone capable of inflicting harm to fight back, as though locked in a life-and-death battle.

Yi Mo didn’t use magic. He could have subdued Ji Jiu with just a simple spell, rendering this seemingly crazed person motionless and unable to resist. But he didn’t. He knew that even if Ji Jiu couldn’t move, his heart would remain defiant, perhaps even more resentful.

So Yi Mo could only grapple with him, refusing to let him escape, pinning him down on the bed and locking him in his embrace, unwilling to let go. His heart always ached for him, and every time he exerted force, he was careful to measure it, reluctant to cause him pain. But trying to restrain Ji Jiu, who was fighting with all his might, left him in a rather disheveled state.

Yi Mo, a demon accustomed to living freely and doing as he pleased, had always acted with reckless abandon. Whether killing or saving someone, it was always a spur-of-the-moment decision. Yet, he had never been in such a state, thrown into chaos by the assault of a mere mortal. He had reservations, attachments, reluctance, and compassion, which gave rise to fear.

He was afraid of hurting him, so he cautiously dodged Ji Jiu’s attacks. Even when restraining him, he held back, but Ji Jiu had no such concerns.

Ji Jiu wasn’t afraid of hurting him.

Because he felt no compassion.

So this struggle was decided from the start.

Ji Jiu broke free, standing barefoot on the ground. He pulled a long sword from the rack. With a sharp “clang,” the blade was unsheathed. The sword’s tip pointed directly at Yi Mo’s brow.

“Don’t get on my bed again,” Ji Jiu said.

Ji Jiu said, “Or I’ll cut you down.”

Ji Jiu said, “I am not Shen Qingxuan. I am Ji Jiu. Don’t treat me as Shen Qingxuan.”

Yi Mo said, “To me, there’s no difference.” After a slight pause, he added, “You can’t kill me.”

“One strike might not kill you, but a thousand strikes, a hundred strikes, will eventually do it,” Ji Jiu said quietly. “Otherwise, I’ll cut myself down.”

Hearing this, Yi Mo laughed, as if he found the scene before him amusing, yet also full of mockery. His laughter carried three parts absurdity and seven parts derision. Ji Jiu stood there, his sword unwaveringly pointed at Yi Mo, unmoving even in the face of that laughter.

After a moment of standoff, Yi Mo’s laughter faded, and his expression turned cold. When he spoke again, his tone was sharp and piercing, as though he could see through everything: “You’re afraid.”

Ji Jiu didn’t respond, but the sword trembled ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible movement. Yi Mo saw it clearly.

In an instant, Yi Mo reached out and grasped the blade. The sharp edge immediately embedded itself into his palm, and blood dripped steadily to the floor.

The hand gripping the sword hilt—Ji Jiu’s hand—trembled again.

Silent, Yi Mo applied force to seize the sword. No matter how deep the wounds ran, even down to the bone, he wrenched it from Ji Jiu’s grasp.

With the blade in his blood-soaked hand, the sword now hung inverted. Yi Mo took a step forward, and Ji Jiu took a step back before steadying himself, refusing to retreat further. Yi Mo’s bloody hand reached for Ji Jiu’s throat and tightened. Ji Jiu closed his eyes, feeling the suffocating pressure and the scent of blood wash over him. Yet his heart remained calm. He thought that dying at Yi Mo’s hands would at least bring closure. With this thought, Ji Jiu faced it all without resistance, letting the grip on his neck grow tighter and tighter.

Yi Mo watched as Ji Jiu’s face gradually turned red, the color spreading rapidly like a crimson celebration. Tilting his ear closer, Yi Mo listened intently to the hissing sounds emanating from Ji Jiu’s constricted throat, as if it were a strange creature sending out distress signals. Yi Mo leaned in closer, speaking in a cold, emotionless voice near Ji Jiu’s ear, as if narrating to someone slipping into unconsciousness:

—”Ji Jiu, in your heart, you’ve already accepted this fondness for men.”

—”Starting from the second time, you began to enjoy what I did to you.”

—”That’s why you jumped into the river—you think you’re dirty.”

—”This fondness was meant to be a secret, known only to you, but now I’ve discovered it.”

—”That’s why you’re afraid.”

Yi Mo spoke quietly, then slowly released his grip. Amid the violent coughing that followed, his voice became devoid of all emotion, chillingly distant:

“Ji Jiu, I can tolerate your pretense, and I can allow you to do whatever you want. Even if you make mistakes, I won’t be angry with you.”

“Because you’re Ji Jiu, and you need to be Ji Jiu. I won’t stop you.”

“You know I don’t mind killing you. So don’t use your small, insignificant life to threaten me.”

“Ji Jiu, remember this.”

Ji Jiu calmed down from his coughing, listening to the voice that rose and fell, paused, and then fell silent again.

When he straightened up and looked around, Yi Mo was gone. Only the scent of blood lingered in the room, refusing to dissipate.