Encountering a Snake - Chapter 29

v2c29

 

The sun had risen high in the sky when Ji Jiu woke up groggily. He opened his eyes, his head splitting with pain. Closing them again, he lay still, his mind a complete blank. It was as though he were in the chaos of creation, when heaven and earth were still a giant egg, and he was the child sleeping within, ignorant and unknowing. He had no memory, no past, no history, and no future—a tranquil, blissful state of oblivion.

 

But he was no infant. Once the fog of drunkenness lifted, scenes of what had happened began to drift through his mind like fleeting fragments. Ji Jiu blinked, fully waking up.

 

Pulling the quilt around him, Ji Jiu sat up in bed, leaning against the headboard as he drew back the bed curtain.

 

What he expected to see—chaos and disarray—was nowhere in sight. The desk was neat, official documents stacked in order, ink and brushes properly arranged, and even the teacup was intact on the table, not the shattered remains he remembered.

 

Ji Jiu almost thought he was hallucinating, that it had all been nothing more than a vivid dream.

 

Then, he saw the jar of wine.

 

Unearthed from the ground, it still bore traces of dirt and had not been cleaned or opened. Like a fruit freshly dug from the soil, it exuded a natural fragrance, standing upright in the middle of the long table.

 

It was the spring wine he had asked for. Ji Jiu remembered now.

 

With that memory came the image of someone digging up the jar in the pre-dawn hours, furtively stealing into another’s courtyard. He wasn’t sure whether the scene was more comical or sorrowful.

 

Yet his face remained calm, as if none of it had anything to do with him.

 

After sitting for a while, he got up, tidied the bed, and carried the bedding outside to dry. He pulled down the soiled brocade drapes, fetched a wooden bucket, and went to the river to wash them.

 

While doing these chores, Ji Jiu’s face was composed as always. Only when he lowered his head to scrub the suspicious stains on the fabric did the back of his ears redden slightly. Even his shame was subtle and quiet.

 

After that, Ji Jiu never saw Yi Mo again.

 

The awaited imperial decree had yet to arrive, but Ji Jiu remained patient, spending his days drinking, painting, reading, and playing the zither. The sun rose and set over the small courtyard, and a year passed.

 

He was still attended to by the mute old man, who cleaned the courtyard daily and prepared Ji Jiu’s meals. The only noticeable change was that, come spring, Ji Jiu began receiving frequent correspondence. Nearly every few days, a rider on horseback would knock at the gate.

 

Although the mute old man was a rural villager, he understood that the resident of this courtyard was no ordinary person. If something was happening, it was likely military matters.

 

One day, the mute old man brought a boy about fourteen or fifteen years old, with twin braids hanging by his ears and a bashful expression, to see Ji Jiu.

 

Since the old man could not speak, the boy explained for himself. But he was so shy that his face turned red before he could utter a word. Ji Jiu, seeing the situation, already understood most of it and asked, “You’ve come to see me because you want to join the army?”

 

The mute old man nodded vigorously, gesturing at the boy and then at Ji Jiu, indicating that he wanted Ji Jiu to take the boy under his wing.

 

Ji Jiu asked if the boy had any siblings. The boy shook his head. He then asked if he had parents. The boy quickly nodded.

 

Ji Jiu said, “If you follow me to war and die on the battlefield, who will care for your elderly mother? Who will provide for your aged father? Who will carry on your family line? An only son must stay home; that is the rule. Say no more.”

 

With that, he refused the boy.

 

The boy’s eyes reddened, and he ran off without another word.

 

The mute old man gestured in defense, and Ji Jiu watched him for a while before understanding. It turned out the boy did have an elder brother who had joined the army five years ago and later died. The brothers had been close, and after his brother’s death, the younger boy had resolved to seek revenge. Lacking a way forward, he heard there was a general living in this courtyard and sought the mute old man’s help.

 

Ji Jiu said nothing, standing with his hands behind his back for a long time before finally stating, “His brother died for the peace of the townsfolk, not for a single person. If he joins the army out of personal vengeance, neglecting his parents, he is neither loyal nor filial. I will not take him.”

 

The mute old man opened his mouth, nodded, and left.

 

Such small incidents happened occasionally, but life went on as usual. The boy, however, became a persistent presence, showing up at Ji Jiu’s courtyard every few days to kneel outside, hoping Ji Jiu would relent.

 

What he did not understand was that, for Ji Jiu, to show him mercy would be an act of cruelty toward his parents. So Ji Jiu ignored him and stayed inside the courtyard. He did not mind being seen as the villain, especially when he felt justified.

 

One summer day, swallows flew low in the sky, occasionally pausing under Ji Jiu’s eaves to feed their chicks before swiftly flying off again.

 

Ji Jiu leaned out the window, watching the small nest under the eaves. He wondered whether the fledglings would repay their parents when they grew. He gazed at the nest for a long time before turning back to his work.

 

The mute old man was sprinkling water and sweeping the courtyard. From time to time, he glanced toward the open window, where he could see a large sheet of white paper on the desk, dotted with patches of red. The old man’s failing eyesight and the distance prevented him from discerning what Ji Jiu was painting. Whenever he delivered meals, Ji Jiu had already covered the paper with a white cloth, clearly not wanting anyone to see.

 

Curiosity, however, is not exclusive to youth. Despite his age, the mute old man’s curiosity remained as strong as ever.

 

He would often sneak a peek, but Ji Jiu was too engrossed in his work to notice, his expression focused and tinged with sadness as he painted.

 

The old man wondered what Ji Jiu was painting. He grew frustrated with his own failing eyesight.

 

At that moment, a knock came at the courtyard gate. Assuming it was another messenger, the old man hurried to answer, broom still in hand. But when he opened the gate, two men with swords rushed in. Though their swords were sheathed, the old man was startled into dropping his broom.

 

Four more men followed, all dressed in black, their expressions cold and disciplined. They pushed the old man aside and formed two neat rows, standing at attention.

 

Even the mute old man, unversed in worldly affairs, understood that these were important figures. He quickly crouched down to pick up his broom and retreated to the side, cautious and deferential.

 

Inside, Ji Jiu calmly rolled up his painting. By the time he had finished, the person he was expecting had already entered through the gate.

 

The emperor, dressed as a scholar, swept his gaze around the courtyard before calling out irritably toward the closed door, “Ji Jiu!”

 

Only then did the door open. Ji Jiu knelt just inside the threshold and replied coolly, “Your Majesty.”

 

The poor mute old man hiding behind the courtyard gate nearly bit through his broom handle upon hearing the words “Your Majesty.”

 

The emperor entered the house, and Ji Jiu stood to close the door. Just before the door shut entirely, Ji Jiu caught a glimpse of Shen Jue standing at the courtyard gate, staring directly at him.

 

His throat tightened instantly. Ji Jiu lowered his eyes and closed the door.

 

After over a year apart, father and son faced each other with mutual unease and apprehension.

 

Some people, the closer you hold them to your heart, the less you know how to interact with them.

 

The emperor sat in Ji Jiu’s usual chair, flipping through the documents on the desk before discarding them carelessly. He stared at Ji Jiu for a long moment before finally speaking.

 

“Have you been well these past two years?”

 

“Yes,” Ji Jiu replied.

 

“Two years without returning home. Don’t you miss it?”

 

“I do,” Ji Jiu said.

 

“I came to see you today,” the emperor said.

 

“Mm.”

 

The emperor grew somewhat annoyed, pulling a long face and saying, “Are you planning to respond to me with just one word at a time?”

 

Ji Jiu replied, “I wouldn’t dare.”

 

The emperor sneered, “That was two words.”

 

Ji Jiu couldn’t be bothered to argue, turning his face to look out the window. The scent of flowers drifted through the air, and the emperor suddenly said, “It’s been many years since I’ve had locust flower rice.”

 

He thought Ji Jiu would respond, but Ji Jiu simply raised an eyebrow and earnestly asked, “What’s that?”

 

The emperor was thoroughly stumped.

 

After a while, he laughed in exasperation and said, “Forget it. You know why I came today. You must have heard some military news. The Xiongnu army has mobilized. By my calculations, they’ll reach the city gates in two months.”

 

Ji Jiu asked, “You want me to go?”

 

“Should I go myself?” the emperor retorted.

 

“I thought Your Majesty intended for me to live out my days in peace,” Ji Jiu said.

 

The emperor paused for a moment before replying slowly, “I wouldn’t say I haven’t thought of that.”

 

Ji Jiu hadn’t expected this response and was momentarily stunned.

 

“… Over the years,” the emperor looked at him earnestly, “you’re the only one left by my side.” For this reason, he couldn’t bear to let the last person who truly understood him disappear from this world.

 

He had always protected and kept Ji Jiu close. At its core, it was nothing more than an emperor’s small selfish desire.

 

But with the enemy at the gates, this selfish desire had to be set aside as he watched the companion who had walked alongside him for so many years head to the battlefield.

 

Today, dressed plainly, the emperor was both emperor and not. It was as if he were still that prince of years past, able to share his thoughts with a trusted companion.

 

But ultimately, he was the emperor now—the sovereign of all under heaven.

 

The emperor placed the tiger tally on the table, his voice once again filled with the lofty composure of one who ruled: “Return to the barracks tomorrow. From today on, you are my grand general.”

 

Ji Jiu remained silent for a long moment before finally saying, “I will not fail.”

 

“This time, the Xiongnu have deployed a massive army. If you can drive them back, the matters that follow…” The emperor’s gaze sharpened slightly. “The military in the field need not await every decree from the court.” After a brief pause, he added, “There will be no concerns about provisions.”

 

Ji Jiu kept his head bowed, a faint curve forming at the corner of his mouth. “Understood.”

 

As he left, the emperor suddenly turned back and tossed out, “That adopted son of yours, the guard who shirked his duties—I caught him. I’ll leave him to you. Punish him as you see fit.”

 

Then he left.

 

Left behind was the “neglectful” guard Shen Jue and Ji Jiu, whom he had abandoned long ago. And, in the corner of the courtyard, the speechless mute uncle, stunned for a long time.

 

Shen Jue stepped forward and saluted, testing the waters as he called out, “Father…”

 

Before the word was fully spoken, Ji Jiu interrupted, “Call me General.”

 

Shen Jue lowered his head and said, “General.”

 

“Prepare some dry rations. We depart tomorrow,” Ji Jiu said, issuing neither punishment nor reprimand, as if nothing had happened, before heading back to his room.

 

Late that night, Ji Jiu unfurled a painting. On the paper was a sea of peach blossoms in full bloom, their vibrant hues captivating. Yet, it was not the painting by Yi Mo.

 

Amidst the brilliant blossoms were two intertwined figures. The person below was adorned with peach petals, head tilted back with half-closed eyes. Though clearly a man, his features bore a faint trace of allure. His legs were lifted, wrapped around the waist of the figure above him. The person above had long, loose hair obscuring their face, leaving only the curve of their body visible as they pressed into the space between the other’s legs.

 

They were making love.

 

Amid the fluttering petals and the blossoming sea of flowers, the scene lacked any hint of vulgarity, radiating only an indescribable warmth and intimacy.

 

Ji Jiu lifted his brush, adding eyes, a nose, and lips to the figure’s face.

 

It was a face identical to his own.

 

And yet, it clearly wasn’t him.

 

The petals scattered everywhere, covering the ground and stretching to the heavens in a boundless sea of vivid red. Dazzling and piercing to the eye, yet serene and peaceful as they fell upon the two figures.

 

The painting was titled Homeland.

 

Ji Jiu stared at the painting for a long time. Finally, he unfurled another sheet of paper and, after a moment’s contemplation, began a new sketch. This time, it was a simple depiction: a grave with a tombstone and wild grass growing over it.

 

It was a general’s tomb.

 

Also titled Homeland.

 

After carefully rolling up the paintings, Ji Jiu fetched a brazier. A year’s worth of painstaking effort was reduced to ashes.

 

The next day, everything was prepared. Shen Jue stood at the gate with the horses, waiting.

 

Inside, Ji Jiu stood by the bed, lost in thought. His expression was tinged with unmistakable sorrow.

 

At last, he bent down, resting his face against the pillow beside him. He inhaled deeply, catching the lingering scent of the one who had once lain there.

 

It was the same tenderness—overflowing with affection—as what he had painted.

 

Yi Mo was there, hidden in the shadows, watching from afar. With his personality, he should have stepped forward to mock him.

 

But he didn’t. He just stood there quietly, watching as Ji Jiu closed his eyes and breathed in the scent from the pillow.

 

Watching the unspoken, profound love etched into his expression.

 

A moment later, Ji Jiu straightened, his face calm and indifferent as always. He picked up his sword and walked out.

 

With a single lock, he sealed away everything that had happened—and everything that had yet to happen—within the courtyard.