Encountering a Snake - Chapter 18

v2c18

From October to November, time seemed to pass quickly while traveling on the road. A team of 500 had been sifted down to a caravan of fewer than 50. Sometimes Ji Jiu looked at this small group and wondered how many of these men, who were about to accompany him through the desert, would return home unscathed. These were all young men in their prime, full of vigor, who might end up buried in the sands or fall under enemy blades. What lay ahead, no one could say.

But even if they knew, what difference would it make? None of them would withdraw midway.

They were soldiers, and death was their duty. If they could taste the enemy’s blood before dying, they would have no regrets.

These 50 men were carefully selected by Ji Jiu through meticulous observation, chosen one in ten from a pool of 500 based on both skill and character. Once chosen, they entrusted their lives without hesitation or doubt.

From now on, whether they faced adversity or prosperity, they would fight side by side, support each other, and rescue one another.

So far, the journey had been relatively uneventful. They hadn’t encountered bandits, found no signs of enemy scouts, and even those in the court plotting his death had yet to act. It was so tranquil it felt illusory.

But in a life-and-death struggle, a hunter who indulges in false peace is doomed to die. Ji Jiu dared not let down his guard for even a day. He knew this journey would be fraught with obstacles and challenges, yet he remained calm and composed.

When there’s a mountain, climb it. When there’s water, cross it. When there’s an enemy, fight. This was his way.

The swirling wind blew yellow sand into their faces. Everyone held their breath and lowered their heads to avoid the storm. By November, the sandstorms grew fiercer, and when the sand lashed their faces, it stung so much they couldn’t open their eyes. When the storm subsided, they patted their clothes, shaking off layers of sand, stomped their boots, and led the caravan forward.

Ji Jiu walked in the middle, while Shen Jue, carrying a wooden box on his back, walked at the rear.

The 50-man caravan stretched into a long line, winding its way along the endless road. No one but them knew where the road led or how far they could go.

They could only keep walking until the path beneath their feet broke, dividing life from death.

As night fell, Ji Jiu ordered the team to stop and rest by a hill, where they set up tents.

Calling them tents was generous; they were simple cloth shelters that couldn’t block the wind or rain, barely enough to accommodate three or five people. At best, they offered a psychological comfort of having some semblance of cover.

The team divided tasks. Some gathered dry branches to light a bonfire, while others brought out dry rations to eat.

The night grew colder, and without the fire, the journey would have become even harsher. Inns became increasingly scarce as they ventured westward. The further they went, the fewer traces of human habitation remained. Soon, they would enter the desert, stepping into a true odyssey.

The warm glow of the fire danced across Ji Jiu’s face as he chewed on a flatbread, speaking softly: “Tomorrow, we’ll reach a town where we can restock our food and water and get a good night’s rest.”

The soldiers nodded in agreement. After filling their bellies, they wrapped themselves in wool blankets, resting their heads on rocks or leaning against crates, and closed their eyes to sleep.

They hadn’t been asleep long when the sound of camel bells echoed in the distance, growing closer and closer. Judging by the firelight they followed, it was clear someone was approaching. At this hour and in such a place, it could only be a merchant caravan.

Ji Jiu had just stirred when Shen Jue stood up and shouted into the darkness, “Who goes there?”

A voice answered back—it was indeed a merchant caravan.

Before long, a group of people arrived at their campfire, exchanging greetings with Ji Jiu and his men.

The group consisted of 15 people, led by someone surnamed Zhou, whom others called “Boss Zhou.” He appeared to be in his early forties, his face roughened by years of sand and wind, his voice gruff with a southeastern accent. Upon inquiry, it turned out he was just over 30 years old, but his travels had aged him prematurely. The dozen or so men weren’t all part of his caravan; some were lone traders he’d picked up along the way for safety in numbers.

This time, misjudging the timing, they happened upon Ji Jiu’s group. Or so he claimed.

After exchanging pleasantries, Boss Zhou asked, “Where are you brothers coming from, and where are you headed?”

Ji Jiu replied, “From the south, looking for opportunities.”

“The south is great,” Boss Zhou said, wiping his face. “Last year, I brought a shipment of silk there and sold it at a great price.”

Ji Jiu smiled. “The north has strong winds and sand; silk may look fine but isn’t practical. Did you bring silk again this year?”

“Haha, you’ve got sharp eyes, brother. Silk didn’t sell as well after that, so this year, I brought medicinal herbs and tea.” Boss Zhou then asked, “With so many people, you must be carrying valuable goods. I’ve traveled this route for over a decade and never seen you before. What kind of business are you in, and with whom do you trade?”

It was a bold question for someone who’d just met him—a mere chance encounter on the road. The soldiers sitting next to Ji Jiu frowned, displeased by Boss Zhou’s lack of tact.

Ji Jiu, however, found it amusing. This man appeared rough and spoke bluntly, but his directness was clearly purposeful. A man like this, who’d traveled for over a decade, wasn’t naive. Ji Jiu chuckled, his eyes narrowing slightly, then poked the fire with a stick before setting it aside, ready to spin a tale.

He began by describing the southern jungle, a vast and dense forest teeming with strange birds and beasts. After laying the groundwork, he fixed his gaze on Boss Zhou and continued slowly, “Boss Zhou, have you ever heard of a village deep in the south called the ‘Witch Village,’ known for its mastery of witchcraft and, in particular, gu poison?”

Boss Zhou was taken aback but quickly replied, “I’ve heard of it but never seen it myself. Could it be…”

“Let me finish,” Ji Jiu gestured for silence, then resumed. “In that village, every man, woman, and child raises gu insects—centipedes, black spiders, and other venomous creatures from the forest. They capture these poisonous creatures, train them, and pit them against each other until only one remains—the gu. Raising a single gu can take three to five years or, under stricter conditions, decades. And me… I come from there.”

The night was pitch black, with only the moon in the sky. Beside the desolate, sandy hill, Ji Jiu sat by the fire. The flickering yellow flames cast shadows on his face, distorting his features with an eerie touch that sent shivers down spines.

Ji Jiu poked at the fire again, speaking unhurriedly, “Boss Zhou, the goods I trade are nothing more than these. This team of mine will only make one such trip in a lifetime. The goods I sell, you could never get your hands on. And the goods you sell, I have no interest in. So, we’re like wells and rivers—no need to cross paths or compete.”

He smiled faintly and added, “Who knows? Someday, if Boss Zhou finds himself in trouble, I might be the one to send you home.” His final words were spoken so softly they seemed almost deafening.

Boss Zhou hadn’t fully processed his words when someone nearby suddenly cried out in alarm, “Could they be corpse herders?!”

In the dead of night in the wilderness, just that one sentence had already terrified the group of ten or so people, leaving their faces pale.

Ji Jiu neither admitted nor denied it. He got up, clasped his hands, and saluted them, then led his men to retreat to another spot, where they rekindled a campfire and set up tents, staying far away from the group.

Once everything was set up again, the camels lay down, and the fifty men sat around the fire next to Ji Jiu. Someone chuckled softly, saying, “General, your words are quite persuasive.”

Ji Jiu sighed and said, “During the journey, we’ve come across quite a few caravans. Haven’t you ever listened carefully to their conversations?”

Someone asked, “What conversations?”

Ji Jiu replied, “A few days ago, I overheard that this trade route is controlled by someone with the surname Zhou. Merchants traveling through here must pay him thirty percent of their profits, or else the journey would not be peaceful. You were all present back then—how come none of you remembered?”

He continued, “That man speaks bluntly and straightforwardly. Do you think he’s ignorant? He’s merely fearless. The stories those merchants told, nine out of ten, refer to this very man. Instead of entangling with such a person, it’s better to intimidate them early on and avoid unnecessary trouble.”

Shen Jue asked, “Do you think they’ll really be intimidated?”

Ji Jiu said, “It doesn’t matter if they are or not. We’ve been traveling non-stop for days, and everyone’s tired. For now, we’ll just scare him a bit. Once we reach the town tomorrow and have a good rest, we’ll deal with him then.”

It turned out he was simply too lazy to take action immediately and preferred to play with words first. Realizing this, the group exchanged glances with Ji Jiu but said nothing.

Ji Jiu yawned, stretched, and lazily returned to his tent. Barring any accidents, the night should remain peaceful. Any drama would have to wait until tomorrow.

The next morning, they continued their journey, reaching the town at sunset. This was the last town on their route. Beyond it lay the sea of sand—a vast expanse of yellow with only mirages to break the monotony.

Ji Jiu and his men entered an inn, ate a hearty meal, and had hot water brought up for washing. After cleaning off the dust and sand, Shen Jue said, “That man has arrived.”

That Zhou fellow had brought his people to the inn as well, causing a commotion in the backyard with their noisy chatter. Closing the window, Ji Jiu said, “No matter. He’s unsure of our strength and wouldn’t dare act rashly. Rest for the night. If he still follows us into the desert tomorrow, we’ll kill him.”

His tone was calm, but his words carried a chilling cruelty.

Shen Jue responded with a simple “hmm,” removed the wooden chest from his back, placed it on Ji Jiu’s bed, and then left the room.

After shutting the door, Ji Jiu leaned against the headboard, reading a book in hand. Before long, he grew sleepy, put the book away, and was about to lie down when he noticed a glint of white light flashing through the gap in the window frame. It seemed like someone was holding a weapon. Ji Jiu froze for a moment, then came to his senses. After some thought, he lifted the bedding and retrieved the large snake that had been drunk for over a month, cradling it in his arms.

Holding the thick and lengthy serpent, its body coiled around his waist, Ji Jiu walked to the table to drink some water.

With damp hair draped over his shoulders, he raised his eyes after drinking and cast a half-smiling glance out the window. The pitch-black serpent coiled around his snowy white inner garment, its scales reflecting brilliant hues under the candlelight. The shimmering light fell on his face, instantly giving his smile a strange, sinister allure, like a venomous, otherworldly creature.

In just that moment, silence fell outside the window.

Ji Jiu stroked the cold, scaly surface, standing still for a while. Once he was sure the intended audience had seen enough, he withdrew to his bed, drew the curtain shut, and disappeared behind the drapery along with the snake.