Encountering a Snake - Chapter 3

v2C3

Ji Jiu woke up, the curtains around the bed were still drawn. His wife’s face beside him remained unchanged, peacefully sleeping with her eyes closed. He blinked, thinking it was just a nightmare. Feeling a slight sense of relief, he prepared to get out of bed. But as soon as he moved, sharp pain radiated from his body, causing his face to turn pale and drain of all color.

Looking around the room, it felt as if everything had changed overnight. In a panic, he got up and hurried out of the room, escaping to his study. There, he called for hot water and soapwort, scrubbing himself frantically. His grip on the white towel tightened more and more, as though he wanted to peel away every inch that had been touched. No matter how much he scrubbed, even until his skin bled, the overwhelming humiliation wouldn’t fade—it was etched into his very bones.

He could still recall every movement, every posture of the other person, and at the peak of the act, he could hear that person’s low whisper in his ear: “I missed you.”

—”I missed you.” Ji Jiu, now both furious and horrified, had no way of understanding the hundred years of searching, the relentless struggle behind those four words. Knowing full well it wasn’t right to come, he still came. Knowing it was hopeless to search, he still searched. Knowing he would be disappointed, he still held onto hope.

In this life, he was Ji Jiu. He had drunk the soup of oblivion from Meng Po, crossed the Bridge of Forgetfulness, and returned to the cycle of reincarnation. There was no longer any trace of Shen Qingxuan.

Even though he understood it clearly, saw it all plainly, Yi Mo, standing before Ji Jiu who looked exactly the same as in their previous life, still felt bitter watching him entangle with another woman. Yi Mo had imagined many scenarios for their reunion, countless possibilities, but he never expected that he would be holding a sword, its point aimed straight at his own heart.

Though the sword never pierced, the pain was unbearable.

He knew he shouldn’t have searched for him, but he did. He knew he shouldn’t stain Shen Qingxuan’s new life with this encounter, but Yi Mo also knew—it was already too late.

The deed was done.

Hiding his form, Yi Mo stood by the screen, watching as Ji Jiu sat in the bath, gritting his teeth as he scrubbed his skin raw, blood flowing from the wounds. Yi Mo closed his eyes. He had missed him. After over a hundred years of separation, seeing that same familiar face again, he still longed for the one who had once warmed him in the depths of winter. But that person was no more.

The door creaked open, the door that a master craftsman had personally selected materials for, drawn designs for, and carefully polished, opened silently. Sunlight streamed in from outside. Ji Jiu, behind the screen, shouted sharply, “Who is it?!”

The woman outside was startled, her voice trembling with nervousness as she spoke cautiously, “Husband?”

There was no sound from Ji Jiu behind the screen, and the woman outside didn’t dare step in. In all their years of marriage, she had never encountered such a scene.

After a moment, Ji Jiu’s voice finally came, returning to the gentle tone he reserved only for her: “I’m a bit tired. Could you make me some soup?”

The woman, knowing he wanted to send her away and that he was likely upset, didn’t press him. She replied, “There’s some chicken soup from yesterday. I’ll add some herbs and bring it to you shortly.” With that, she closed the door and hurried off.

Ji Jiu remained in the bathtub, his body now a patchwork of purple and red bruises. Every part of him that could be scrubbed had been rubbed raw. The exposed skin stung in the hot water, every pore immersed in a fiery pain. Yet, he seemed oblivious, his eyes burning with rage as he continued to fiercely scrub himself.

If scrubbing could erase the humiliation of the previous night, he would gladly strip his skin and bones. But he knew it couldn’t be washed away. That person had entered his body, penetrated places he had never imagined, using the posture of mating like an animal, treating him like a woman.

The mere thought of it made his whole body tremble, his chest heaving violently. Hatred—a feeling he had never experienced in all his years—consumed him. Even on the battlefield, facing enemy generals, he had only felt hostility, never hatred.

But now, he had learned to hate.

Suddenly, Ji Jiu stood up, grabbed his clothes and dressed, staring at the pale face in the mirror. He carefully tied his hair, placing a high crown atop his head, securing it with a blood-red jade hairpin. Though he usually preferred simplicity, after enduring last night’s disaster, he was determined not to let anyone see his disheveled state. What he didn’t realize was that someone had been watching him all along—watching his fury in the bath, watching him force himself to hide any trace of defeat. This stubbornness was so much like Shen Qingxuan in his previous life. Never bowing his head, never bending his back—except for him.

Ji Jiu left the house and sat in a soft sedan chair, the bearers carrying him northward, out of the city’s northern gate, heading straight for a forest road. Yi Mo knew that halfway along that road, there was a small path leading to a mountain trail. At the end of the trail was a renowned temple, Xian Guang Temple.

He was going to exorcise the demon.

Yi Mo didn’t follow. Instead, he returned to Ji Jiu’s study, sat in his usual chair, and looked at the desk. There were some official documents, a few blank sheets of paper, and some scrolls neatly gathered in the corner.

Yi Mo unrolled one and saw it was a painting by Ji Jiu, done in his idle moments. The brushstrokes were sharp, the style cold and aloof. Rugged mountains, dense bamboo—no trace of the delicate beauty of the lotus ponds and peach blossoms from his past life. The signature was a single character: “Jiu.” No more.

“Jiu”—like black jade. Yi Mo’s fingers gently traced the signature, as if caressing a lover’s face. The touch was still cold.

Yi Mo thought, you’ll eventually come to destroy me.

But this world isn’t yet yours to rule.

In his past life, a scholar; in this life, a military general. In the vastness of the world, he was just a tiny speck of dust. He could not be the one to destroy him. He was Yi Mo, not some vixen. If he were to die, it would be by his own choice, not beaten to death by another. That would not be his fate.

Yi Mo withdrew his hand, casting a spell to restore the scroll, then revealed himself, sitting quietly in the chair, waiting. Waiting to see how that person would experience disappointment and helplessness—just as he had.

Ji Jiu hurried off and returned just as quickly, now accompanied by a monk. His wife heard the news and rushed to the door. Seeing the monk, she was momentarily stunned and asked Ji Jiu, “Are we holding a ritual at home?”

Ji Jiu smiled slightly, already prepared with an explanation. “I’ve spent many years in battle, and a Taoist once told me that the killing aura around me is too strong, which makes me vulnerable to evil spirits. Since I rarely get to return home, it’s only appropriate to have a priest come and offer protection. There’s nothing wrong with that. You should go rest inside; I’ll call for you when the ritual is done.”

Hearing this, his wife found nothing unusual. After all, she had no idea why she had suddenly fallen asleep last night, nor why her husband had been so irritable upon waking, even bathing in the middle of the day—a sign that something was amiss. Now that a monk had been summoned, it seemed likely they were indeed dealing with some malevolent force. She quickly nodded and left, satisfied with his explanation.

As his family and servants withdrew, Ji Jiu stood in the courtyard, staring at the room where it had all happened the night before. The monk stood beside him, also gazing in that direction. After a moment, the monk sighed and said, “A monk does not lie, but I fear you’ve called me here for nothing.”

Ji Jiu turned his face towards the monk, his handsome features pale in the sunlight. Lowering his voice, still unconvinced, he asked, “You can’t subdue him?”

“The benefactor cannot see; that demonic aura is tinged with gold, indicating a demon on the verge of becoming an immortal. It seems he has been cultivating for a thousand years or more. Although this little monk possesses some magical power, how could he subdue such a being? Moreover, he is about to ascend to immortality, with a solid foundation of merit; it is impossible for him to bring harm to the mortal realm. How could a poor monk dare to subdue him?”

“Nonsense!” Ji Jiu refuted the monk’s claim that the demon would not bring harm to the mortal world, saying, “I am currently being coerced by him; how could that not be a disaster?”

The monk carefully scrutinized him, examining him from head to toe. Though he could not fathom how this demon was forcing him, he sensed that there must be a reason behind it. After a moment of thought, he said, “When the benefactor was born, did he carry any objects?”

“Objects?” Ji Jiu frowned and thought for a moment. “I had none.”

“How about any marks?” the monk asked again.

Ji Jiu’s mind flashed with the memory of the snake-kiss mark on his wrist, causing his heart to skip a beat. He lied, “There are none.”

“That makes it even more mysterious. If the benefactor had some entanglement with him in a past life, it is common for them to seek each other out in this life. Perhaps it would be better for this poor monk to inquire further. If there is indeed a cause behind this, I can mediate between you. What do you think?”

“But he is not here,” Ji Jiu said. “How can you ask him?”

“He is here,” the monk extended his hand, pointing with his index finger toward the study in the west of the bedroom. “He is there; the demonic aura is quite strong. Otherwise, this little monk wouldn’t have been able to detect it.”

Ji Jiu knew full well that he shouldn’t show any signs, yet he couldn’t help but take a step back, fear evident on his face.

Under normal circumstances, he feared nothing.

Whether it was demons or monsters, death was simply death! He had experienced battles in the army, trained under his father since childhood, and had faced countless enemies, having seen enough corpses and severed limbs to stack into a mountain.

He had long known that death was his destiny. Dying for the country, wrapped in a horse’s skin to return home, was an honor for a young man; what was there to fear?

But what he faced was not death. Instead, it was a humiliation far more terrifying than death. He had no power to resist, no chance for a turnaround, simply because the other party was not human.

What he feared was not the demon but his own helplessness in the face of it. He resented this helplessness, this struggle of knowing he could not resist yet was unable to submit. It was the most soul-crushing ordeal.

Ji Jiu stood his ground and, after a long silence, said softly, “Master, you must be tired from your journey. Let me arrange for a guest room for you to rest in; we can discuss matters further.”

The monk, puzzled, asked, “Do you not want me to inquire further?”

“Since he is in the study, he must be waiting for me,” Ji Jiu bit his lip and said, “I will ask him personally, and once I have an answer, I will discuss it with you. But please do not mention this matter to anyone else; my wife and child are soft-hearted and cannot handle any shock.”

The monk agreed, and Ji Jiu called for a servant to lead him away.

As Ji Jiu stood outside in the sunlight, he gazed at the tightly closed study door for a long time, filled with the thought of setting it ablaze. Burn it! Destroy it! Let everything from last night be consumed by fire, never to be remembered again.

Yet, inside that room was a demon. No matter how many means he had, he couldn’t deal with such a profoundly powerful being. The clash of force from last night was clear in its outcome.

He didn’t even have the qualifications to confront him.

Even if Ji Jiu wanted to crush him to ashes, he could not do it.

But he truly wanted to turn the person inside into ashes to vent his hatred!

Ji Jiu stood outside the house until that tightly closed door, seeming impatient from waiting, opened by itself. The implication was clear without needing words. Ji Jiu clenched his fist; though he moved slowly, he did not hesitate as he walked over, gradually approaching the dark doorway.

Ji Jiu thought, even if I fall into the abyss, I must seek clarity.

However, this thought was quickly shattered. The person inside was not in the hall but leaning against a wooden couch behind a screen, propping his head up and looking at him with eyes both deep and cold, like a bottomless abyss, filled with a desire to consume him.

Seeing those eyes, the scene of despair from the previous night flashed in Ji Jiu’s mind. Remembering the monk’s words, his heart sank significantly.

Ji Jiu said, “I cannot subdue you.”

Ji Jiu said, “Regardless of whether there is a connection between our past lives, I have not provoked you in this life; let me go, how about that?”

Ji Jiu lowered his head and forced a bitter smile, saying, “I beg you, how can I?”

With his head bowed, he did not see the sadness that surfaced in the man’s eyes.

After a brief silence, Ji Jiu heard the man’s voice ask, “How do you wish to beg?”

Ji Jiu’s heart sank. After hesitating for a moment, he finally steeled himself, bending his knees and kneeling awkwardly.

Ji Jiu said, “I beg you, let me go.”

Ji Jiu said, “I will remember your kindness in my heart, and in the future, I will set up a tablet for you, burning incense day and night in your honor.”

Ji Jiu said, “I beg you to let me go.”

He said this while bowing his head repeatedly.

His forehead struck the cold ground with muffled thuds. Ji Jiu listened, counting—one, two, three, four… The numbers grew more numerous and heavier until he eventually became dazed, mechanically bowing and knocking his head, one after another. He compressed all his dignity and humiliation into a small piece, leaving his heart entirely blank.

Yi Mo listened and watched as the dull sound of Ji Jiu’s bows struck his heart like heavy blows, as if he felt he was not hurting enough. The muffled sounds gradually became accompanied by splattering blood, and Ji Jiu’s face was already covered in blood.

Just like the heart in his chest, bleeding profusely.

Yi Mo stood up and walked to Ji Jiu’s side. Ji Jiu remained kneeling but had stopped bowing.

Yi Mo said nothing, brushing against his tense body before leaving.