Encountering a Snake - Chapter 16

v2c16

 

Ji Jiu admitted that such things were not suitable for being transported in the caravan along with the goods—in fact, it wasn’t entirely impossible, but he didn’t want to drive a group of frightened camels on the road.

 

Even when locked in a box, the snake still caused a commotion in the team. The sensitivity of animals is sometimes beyond imagination. These seemingly docile camels became restless as Shen Jue approached with the box, retreating and frantically twitching their thick lips, spitting a lot of saliva at Shen Jue.

 

Fortunately, Shen Jue dodged quickly; otherwise, he wouldn’t have avoided being spat on all over his head and face.

 

All animals have instincts and will resist when facing danger. Ji Jiu had no choice but to go along with Shen Jue’s wishes, letting him carry the wooden box at the back of the caravan.

 

During the journey, Ji Jiu couldn’t help but look back occasionally, watching the young man walking with the large wooden box on his back. He never gasped for breath and walked steadily on even the most rugged roads. The wooden box on his back never wavered. When the wind and sand blew occasionally, he would reach out to shield the box—though it did nothing and wasn’t necessary, it was a protective instinctive gesture. Seeing this, Ji Jiu couldn’t help but feel a bit envious. He thought that even though the snake had lost its companion, it still had someone willing to stay by its side, carefully protecting it while it lay in deep slumber.

 

The feeling of being cared for was something Ji Jiu had never experienced. His mother passed away early, his father was often on the battlefield, and he had no siblings. As the only son of a great general in the court, how could he show vulnerability in front of others?

 

Therefore, he never thought someone should protect him. In his early education, he was sent to a school where he met friends like Chang Yin and enjoyed two years of happiness. But those years were cut short after two years. He entered the palace as a companion to the princes, essentially a hostage held in the court to deter the general at the border. Yet no one knew that from the moment he entered the palace, Ji Jiu’s childhood was entirely severed.

 

Those innocent and kind moments of childhood were ripped apart and thrown into a dark, sunless place, bleeding and raw.

 

The palace did not treat them kindly just because they were children. On the contrary, it oppressed them even more because they were powerless to resist. Especially when the prince, also a child, was born to a woman who had long fallen out of favor.

 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, Ji Jiu would dream of that place: the dim, desolate courtyard, smaller and worse than the firewood room at his home. He knelt on the ground covered with rubble, bowing to the boy in front of him. At that time, the prince—now the emperor—stood silently to the side, clenching his fists and not daring to shed a tear. Even then, they knew that tears were the most useless thing in that place.

 

Only when swords were at the city gates and one held the power over life and death could they force those who once looked down on them to kneel and admit defeat.

 

In truth, there were other choices. When the princes grew older, they realized the boy they had bullied as a child was the son of the great general and could be won over to their side.

 

But by the time they understood, it was too late. Their mothers’ reminders also came too late. The humiliation Ji Jiu endured had long pushed him to the opposing side—one of irreconcilable enmity.

 

This is life. The recklessness and arrogance of youth unknowingly plant a hidden trap in one’s destiny. One day, as they tread their paths, that trap will surface, trip them, and ultimately destroy their lives.

 

It also rewrote Ji Jiu’s life and that of the isolated prince, even altering the course of the entire dynasty.

 

Ji Jiu didn’t care how history books would describe that year’s coup or how they would describe him. He cared for none of it. He had done what he had done and felt no regret.

 

So, whatever happens, happens.

 

Even if burdened with infamy, at least the emperor who killed his mother and brothers would bear it with him. There was no one to protect anyone; they bore the sins of bloodshed together.

 

Being protected was something Ji Jiu had never considered. Perhaps the long journey gave him enough time to ponder these trivial thoughts.

 

When the heart is occupied, time flows quickly. Before he knew it, they had reached another town. Ji Jiu entered an inn. Along the way, they encountered other caravans, some large groups transporting goods and some lone travelers with bundles on their backs. Ji Jiu further reduced his numbers, leaving one group in the previous town and planning to leave another group here.

 

Too many people were an eyesore. Apart from dealing with the Xiongnu scouts, the caravan had to fend off bandits roaming the yellow earth. The more people there were, the more they became a target.

 

Ji Jiu never liked shielding others from knives.

 

That evening, after washing up, Ji Jiu sat at the table, quietly planning the next stage of the journey. There was still some distance before they truly entered the desert. He needed to reduce the team to around fifty people, which required some effort. Since the emperor had sent these people, he couldn’t dismiss them outright. It was best to scatter them and make full use of their abilities.

 

While he was lost in thought, there was a knock at the door, followed by a vaguely familiar voice, “Young Master Ji?”

 

Ji Jiu snapped out of his thoughts and opened the door.

 

Standing outside was Shen Hai, looking as elegant as when they first met in his blue robes. As always, there was a hint of sharpness in his eyes—not directed at anyone in particular but seemingly innate. Ji Jiu didn’t believe it. Why would someone carry such a burden in their gaze without reason? Surely, this man had a story behind him—it was undeniable.

 

Ji Jiu was somewhat surprised. “Why are you here?” he asked.

 

Shen Hai smiled. “Won’t Young Master Ji invite me in?”

 

Ji Jiu let him in, closed the door, poured some tea, and asked, “You’ve traveled such a long way. Is it urgent?”

 

Shen Hai, evidently thirsty, drank two cups of tea before replying, “It’s not urgent. I just heard that the general has been dispersing his troops. I wanted to ask if such a risky decision is worth it. The general’s goal is to crush the Xiongnu, not to die in a foreign land.”

 

Ji Jiu asked, “Did the emperor send you to ask?”

 

Shen Hai replied, “No, I’m asking on my own.”

 

Ji Jiu said, “Master Shen worries too much. Ji Jiu has his reasons for arranging things this way.”

 

Shen Hai persisted, “I hope the general will think twice.”

 

Ji Jiu was momentarily stunned. He wasn’t a fool. The other man’s repeated emphasis clearly carried ulterior motives. His mind quickly connected it to the court’s situation, and his doubts dissipated. He sneered, “Very well.” Then he bowed to Shen Hai and said, “Thank you for the reminder, Master Shen.”

 

Shen Hai hurriedly returned the bow, finally relaxing. The solemn expression on his face eased as he took another sip of tea. As if casually, he asked, “I heard that the general recently reviewed the county annals of Yongcheng. Is that true?”

 

Ji Jiu thought of the reputation of the imperial spies—sharp and well-deserved. He had merely requested a county annal, yet they were already aware. Who knew how many speculations his actions had stirred? Ji Jiu replied, “I often hear stories in the army. They say the most famous one in recent years is in Yongcheng. Those people made it sound so vivid; perhaps it’s true. I had some free time, so I asked to see it.”

 

Shen Hai laughed. “The general certainly has leisure time.” Then, as if probing, he asked, “Which story caught the general’s interest?”

 

Ji Jiu pondered for a moment and smiled, “If Master Shen is interested, you must also enjoy odd tales. Why not share two stories to pass the time?”

 

Shen Hai laughed heartily. “If the general doesn’t wish to say, I won’t press. But I do know a few legends from Yongcheng—far more detailed than the county annals.”

 

“Oh?” Ji Jiu replied indifferently. “How so?”

 

Shen Hai stood, hands behind his back, and looked at Ji Jiu for a while. Then he walked to the window, stared outside for a moment, and slowly began, “That year, it was the beginning of spring…”

 

It was the season when the frozen earth began to thaw. Flowers and grasses sprouted, insects burrowed through the soil, and a young master who had been bedridden for years envied the sunlight outside his window. He had his servant wheel him out, wrapped in a fur cloak, with a soft wool blanket on his lap and a hand warmer in his sleeve, to bask in the courtyard sun.

 

The sunlight was gentle, and a breeze stirred, lifting dried leaves and dust from the ground, which landed in the young master’s tea.

 

Although the young master had been sickly and disabled for many years, he had never been sloppy and was naturally fond of cleanliness. Without thinking, he splashed the hot tea out, and it landed on a large snake basking in the early spring sunlight. The snake didn’t hesitate—it turned around and bit him hard. Its venomous fangs sank into the young master’s wrist, and the venom began to spread… This was how they met. And it was the beginning of it all.

 

Shen Hai turned around, returned to his seat at the table, and looked at the absent-minded Ji Jiu, smiling as he said, “What’s recorded in the county annals, though perhaps gleaned from hearsay, isn’t far from the truth. But the origins and details may not have been clearly explained in the annals. If you’re interested, Lord Ji, feel free to ask me. I’ll share all I know without reservation.”

 

Ji Jiu asked, “How do you know about it?”

 

Shen Hai replied, “I traveled extensively in my younger years and naturally heard a few things.”

 

Ji Jiu listened, though he didn’t entirely believe him. Still, he had no way to press further—it wasn’t as if he could force him to talk.

 

After a moment, Ji Jiu said indifferently, “It’s just a story. Why does it need to be known in such detail? No matter how strange or convoluted, it’s still just a story… and has nothing to do with me. Could it be that this old tale is somehow connected to Lord Shen?”

 

As Ji Jiu spoke, Shen Hai’s expression subtly changed, as though Ji Jiu had hit a nerve. But he quickly regained his composure, smiling as he said, “The general is overthinking. I only thought the general might enjoy the story, so I shared it. Since the general isn’t interested, I’ll leave it at that.”

 

Ji Jiu smiled faintly, changed the subject, and they chatted for a while longer. However, the atmosphere remained cold, and Shen Hai, unable to sit comfortably, eventually excused himself.

 

Descending the inn’s steps, Shen Hai, perhaps due to the night, didn’t notice the young man emerging from the stables. The youth paused, staring intently at his retreating figure, deep in thought. Only after Shen Hai’s figure disappeared behind the door did the young man turn back, passing through the narrow, cramped corridor to find Ji Jiu.

 

Ji Jiu was making the bed. After spreading out the quilt and smoothing it, he pushed the wooden box further into the inner corner. Only then did he hear the knock at the door.

 

Shen Jue stood outside. Upon hearing Ji Jiu’s voice inviting him in, he pushed the door open and entered. The first thing he noticed were the two cups of tea still on the table, with wisps of steam curling up, the warmth not yet faded.

 

Shen Jue asked, “What business did that person have with you, Father?”

 

Ji Jiu said, “He came to remind me that this journey might not be peaceful.” After a brief pause, he added, “Do you know him?”

 

“An old acquaintance,” Shen Jue replied, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “If he comes asking for help and you can assist him, please do. He’s not a bad person.”

 

Having had Shen Jue by his side for so long, this was the first time Ji Jiu had ever heard him make a request. He was momentarily stunned but quickly regained his composure. Without asking further, he simply replied, “Alright.”

 

Ji Jiu agreed readily, and Shen Jue wasn’t surprised. He merely smiled, his round eyes narrowing as he laughed openly, revealing two tiger-like teeth, looking like a child.

 

Ji Jiu thought to himself, “I might not even survive this trip. How could I possibly help him?” Shen Hai might lack an official title or position, but he was an advisor deeply trusted by the emperor—a man with boundless prospects. Why would he need help from someone like him?

 

Though these thoughts crossed his mind, Ji Jiu kept silent. He didn’t ask what connection existed between that man and Shen Jue. Whatever their relationship, it had nothing to do with him.

 

Shen Jue walked over to help him make the bed, adjusting the pillows and lowering the canopy. Then he said, “Father, rest early. We have to set out again at dawn tomorrow.”

 

Ji Jiu responded with a simple “Hmm.” Through the rough and crude screen, he watched the figure leave and heard the door close before bolting the door himself. Returning to the bedside, he sat down by the edge and stared at the large wooden box inside for a while.

 

During the day, Shen Jue carried the box on his back. But at night, when they stayed at an inn, he couldn’t keep it by his side. Shen Jue shared a dormitory with the other soldiers, and the crowded room with its many hands was far from secure. If someone tampered with the box and opened it, it would undoubtedly cause trouble. Thus, at night, the box was placed in Ji Jiu’s room under his watch.

 

Ji Jiu knew this snake shouldn’t be here, yet he allowed it to stay, even sleeping near him. He opened the wooden box and looked at the large snake inside, sleeping peacefully. After observing it for a moment, he muttered, “You do look more pleasing like this.” As he spoke, he reached into the box, lifted the snake out, and placed it on the freshly made bed. Moving the empty box aside, he covered the snake with a blanket before climbing into another quilt himself.

 

The snake spent its days locked inside the box. Even though small holes had been drilled on the sides for ventilation, it was still stifling. Ji Jiu didn’t have a penchant for cruelty, and though they had a complicated history of entanglements and grudges, he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation—let alone the snake. Toward this snake-like person, Ji Jiu wasn’t particularly kind, but he wasn’t cruel either.

 

Taking the snake out of the box at night to let it breathe was something Ji Jiu was willing to do.

 

Tucking himself in, Ji Jiu closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep. The journey was exhausting, far from the leisurely pleasure of sightseeing, and he had long been weary. The faint aroma of fermented wine emanating from the snake enveloped the bed, making him feel as if he’d had a couple of light drinks, leaving him slightly tipsy and more inclined to rest. Ji Jiu drifted off quickly, falling into a deep sleep soon after closing his eyes.

 

In what felt like a half-dream, it seemed as though Yi Mo had regained human form, now sober and standing by the bedside, leaning over to watch him.

 

Ji Jiu opened his eyes, looked at him for a moment, and asked, “You’re better now?”

 

Yi Mo didn’t reply, simply gazing at him quietly. His thick lashes cast faint shadows under his eyelids, his expression tinged with a subtle sadness.

 

Perhaps moved by this, Ji Jiu lowered his gaze and said softly, “Why do you even bother?”

 

Yi Mo remained silent, only sitting down by his side, looking at him seriously.

 

Ji Jiu continued, “You cultivate your path. One day, you’ll become an immortal, free from worries. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Why entangle yourself with me… I can’t give you anything, and you know it.”

 

Yi Mo stayed silent but nodded slightly.

 

Ji Jiu said, “Since you understand, why haven’t you left?”

 

He asked, but Yi Mo lowered his head and pressed his lips to his, sealing his question.

 

Ji Jiu struggled briefly, but in the fleeting moment of their lips and tongues intertwining, his body softened. Yi Mo’s tongue invaded, exploring and licking wantonly, wrapping around his own and sucking deeply. Ji Jiu’s body trembled, all resistance and defiance crumbling, his ears flushing a bright red.

 

The intense kiss spread from his mouth downward. Yi Mo’s cool lips moved to the side of his neck, sucking along the curve downward. Pausing momentarily at his collarbone, he bit down, causing pain before soothing it with his tongue. Ji Jiu shivered lightly, breathing erratically as he lay there. Yi Mo’s lips left his collarbone and continued downward, his clothes loosening to reveal his chest, gleaming with a sheen of moisture and marked with red.

 

Yi Mo’s lips fell on his nipple, enveloping it. The small, decorative bud instantly stiffened in response, hardening into a tiny pebble in his mouth. Under Yi Mo’s licking, it softened again, plump and firm, pressing against his tongue.

 

Ji Jiu’s breathing grew erratic, panic and helplessness spreading through him at the tingling sensation coursing through his body. He reached out to push Yi Mo away, not allowing him to go any further.

 

His breaths were heavy, and his heart raced wildly.

 

But Yi Mo, resting against his chest, continued to focus on that spot, sweeping his tongue across it repeatedly and occasionally biting lightly or heavily.

 

Ji Jiu let out a soft “Mm,” a nasal sound escaping, carrying a sultry sweetness.

 

It was this sound that abruptly dispelled the atmosphere of intimacy. Ji Jiu’s eyes snapped open, his body drenched in sweat and his breaths uneven. It was a dream.

 

The simple wooden bed remained, surrounded by indistinct curtains. He lay there as he had before, the faint scent of wine lingering in the still air, without any signs of movement.

 

Ji Jiu sighed in relief, only to feel a sudden wet sensation on his chest. He quickly threw off the thin blanket.

 

A black snake with a golden belly was coiled around his waist and legs. Its head rested on his chest, just as in the dream, its tongue flicking out to lick his nipple incessantly.

 

His clothes had long come loose, and the candlelight revealed his swollen, glistening nipple, radiating a seductive allure.

 

Ji Jiu’s face turned bright red, burning up like a fiery sunset spreading to his neck. Perhaps due to the strange and shocking scene before him, he froze momentarily, unable to react.

 

He simply stared blankly as the snake continued licking him, its forked tongue sweeping over his nipple repeatedly, causing it to ache with a dull pain.

 

“Ah!” A short cry escaped him as Ji Jiu finally came to his senses. He grabbed the snake’s head, no longer caring if it might bite him, and tightly held on, frantically unwrapping its coils from his body. After much fumbling, he managed to peel the snake off and leaped off the bed.

 

Before he could fix his clothing, Shen Jue’s urgent voice called out, “Father!” The boy rushed into the room, sword in hand, and approached the bed.

 

The snake on the bed remained asleep, dreaming sweetly, its tongue flicking at the air.

 

The man standing on the floor had disheveled hair, his face flushed crimson. His disarrayed clothes exposed that unusually red and conspicuous spot.

 

Shen Jue immediately froze, turning away without a word and disappearing on the spot.

 

Ji Jiu felt as though he might burst into flames, his entire body burning hot, even his eyes turning red.

 

He grabbed his sword and raised it to strike the bed. But just as the blade was about to fall, it stopped abruptly, hovering mere inches from the snake.

 

His face alternated between pale and flushed before turning entirely red. After standing there for a long while, Ji Jiu threw the sword aside, too angry for words. He wanted to curse—curse the beast! Curse its shamelessness! Curse…

 

In the end, his mind was in complete disarray, and through clenched teeth, he managed to spit out two words, firm and resolute:

 

“Wretched snake!”