Encountering a Snake - Chapter 18

V3C18

 

The sky was just beginning to brighten when Liu Yan woke up. He had sweated quite a bit last night, but Yi Mo had kept him wrapped up tightly, preventing him from catching a chill. As a result, when he woke up, Liu Yan didn’t feel heavy-headed. Other than some lingering soreness in his waist, he felt surprisingly refreshed. The lingering low fever that had troubled him for days was cured without any medicine.

 

Liu Yan touched his forehead and recalled that in his three lifetimes, aside from the first, where he had been frail and often sick, the remaining two were spent in good health. If he was ever unwell, it was always a sickness of the heart.

 

In his previous life as Ji Jiu, after meeting Yi Mo for the first time, he had fallen gravely ill. If it hadn’t been for the tender voice of his daughter calling him back to his senses as she lay on his chest, he might not have recovered at all.

 

Thinking of his daughter in the previous life, Liu Yan wondered where she was now—perhaps someone’s wife, or maybe she had already passed away. The only image of her that remained in his mind was that of a delicate little girl, with her tiny painted fingernails, pouting her small lips as she waited for the wet nurse to feed her. Naturally, this also brought to mind Ji Leping.

 

The estrangement and conflict between father and son had not been without regret. Blood ties run deep, and when they met, his heart would naturally soften. But because of this softness, the wounds cut even deeper when they came.

 

Liu Yan closed his eyes before opening them again. Yi Mo was already awake, silently gazing at him with clear eyes that seemed to see everything.

 

Yi Mo stroked Liu Yan’s back, a gesture of comfort tinged faintly with apology. It was hard to say exactly what he felt sorry for. Perhaps it was simply that he could feel Liu Yan’s pain but could do nothing to help. Only those who are closest would feel such helpless longing to shoulder their loved one’s burdens.

 

Liu Yan closed his eyes again and leaned his face closer, rubbing it gently against Yi Mo’s. Their breaths mingled, their thoughts completely transparent to one another. Together, they pushed away the chaotic worries and troubles, choosing instead to embrace this moment of peace and quiet.

 

Until the sky had fully brightened.

 

Outside the courtyard, there were sounds of movement—Shen Jue had gotten up to boil water and clean the yard. Once the courtyard was swept clean, Shen Jue carried hot water to the door and called them to get up. These everyday tasks, which should have been handled by servants, were done effortlessly by him. After all, having lived for over two hundred years and possessed of some magical power, these small chores were nothing to him. He even found joy in them, like experimenting with cooking in the kitchen during his free time. Early on, Liu Yan didn’t want Shen Jue to wear himself out and suggested hiring someone for the work, but Shen Jue firmly refused. Perhaps he knew that their time together was short, and only by doing these tasks himself could he feel at peace.

 

“Dad, are you up?” Shen Jue called once with no response and, persistent as always, called again from the door. He only called out; he didn’t dare push the door open. After all, who knew what scene awaited him inside?—Although his father was shy, Shen Jue was well aware of Yi Mo’s thick skin. That old snake demon still loved to tease the family.

 

The wooden door opened soundlessly. Inside, the two of them were tidying up their disheveled clothes. Shen Jue placed the wooden basin and towel he was carrying on the table, then approached to feel Liu Yan’s forehead, saying with delight, “Dad, you’re better.”

 

“I’m fine now,” Liu Yan replied as he put on his robe and started rinsing his mouth with salted water, nearly biting his own tongue in the process. He stopped talking until he had finished washing up, then said, “I want to go back to the mountain today.”

 

“Done playing?” Shen Jue asked.

 

“No, it’s just that the excitement of traveling doesn’t suit me. I prefer the quiet of the mountain.”

 

“I want to go back too,” Shen Jue said.

 

Yi Mo, preparing to rinse his mouth with salt, suddenly interjected, “Missing that little pine tree spirit?”

 

“Pine tree spirit?” Liu Yan paused, lowering the damp towel in his hand and looking back and forth between them before finally fixing his gaze on Shen Jue.

 

In truth, there were many spirits in the mountain. However, because Yi Mo was a half-immortal demon, the ordinary spirits avoided him, fearing that he might destroy the cultivation they had worked so hard to achieve. So, even though Liu Yan had lived with a demon for over two hundred years, he had never seen another spirit—let alone a demon or ghost. Still, there were spirits who couldn’t escape, such as the little pine tree spirit in the mountain. Being rooted in the earth, it hadn’t attained immortality and couldn’t leave its original form. It couldn’t run even if it wanted to, so although it was terribly frightened, it had no choice but to stay in the mountain.

 

Shen Jue had stumbled across this little spirit.

 

It truly was a spirit, its human form still faint and indistinct, like a wandering ghost. Time in the mountains passed slowly, and Shen Jue had gotten to know it, chatting occasionally without any ulterior motives. Unfortunately, once Yi Mo brought it up, his words twisted the situation into something else entirely.

 

Shen Jue explained himself and looked at Liu Yan, whose gaze remained calm. Liu Yan said, “That’s even better. Let’s go back to the mountain, and you can see your friend.”

 

Yi Mo, having finished rinsing, said, “If you want to take it as a companion, that’s fine. You’ll have someone to keep you company in the future.”

 

Shen Jue was speechless for a long moment before replying, “If you want to take it, go ahead. If Dad agrees, I wouldn’t mind having another father.”

 

Liu Yan sighed softly, “I haven’t done a good job as your father. If you resent me, it’s understandable.” His tone was calm, but there was a fleeting hint of mischief in his eyes. He was clearly teasing his son and taking delight in it. Near ink, one becomes black.

 

Shen Jue cried out in a panic, “That’s not true!”

 

Yi Mo added gleefully from the side, “I just thought the little spirit cared for you. If you’re not willing, that’s fine. No need to take it out on your father.”

 

“I…”—I did no such thing!

 

While the family was teasing one another, there was a knock on the courtyard gate. The heavy copper ring struck the wooden door, producing a loud “bang bang.”

 

The banter stopped instantly. Shen Jue poured the water into the courtyard, set the basin down, and went to open the door. It was Ji Leping.

 

They hadn’t seen him for days, but he looked as though he had lost a significant amount of weight. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression haggard and dejected, as though he had been through a great deal of torment. He looked truly pitiful. Shen Jue hesitated for a moment before allowing him into the courtyard.

 

“Wait here,” Shen Jue said as he went to find Liu Yan.

 

Though Liu Yan hadn’t left the room, he had already learned from Yi Mo who the visitor was and was deciding whether to meet him. At that moment, Shen Jue opened the door and poked his head in. “Dad, it’s Ji Leping.” The winter sunlight wasn’t warm, but it was dazzling as it fell on the young man’s handsome face, his smile bright and carefree—or so it seemed. Yet Liu Yan could see the subtle unease and hesitation in him.

 

In an instant, Liu Yan understood Shen Jue’s feelings: seventy percent nervousness, thirty percent confusion. For the past six months, Shen Jue had kept everything buried inside. Yi Mo’s remaining half year of life—the impending dissolution of their family—was surely more unsettling for him than anyone else. Liu Yan knew his son was a boy who loved his family deeply; otherwise, he wouldn’t have spent a hundred years following Yi Mo in search of him.

 

In that brief moment, Liu Yan made up his mind. He smiled faintly and said, “Go tell him Ji Jiu’s body has long been laid to rest. Tell him to go home. There’s no one here for him to find.”

 

Shen Jue hesitated for a moment, then asked, “What if he refuses to leave?”

 

Liu Yan glared. “Have you forgotten how to chase someone away?”

 

Shen Jue ran off to see him out.

 

Once Shen Jue was gone, Liu Yan sat in his chair, idly fiddling with the tea cup on the table. His expression was calm, but his eyelashes occasionally fluttered, betraying the emotions beneath.

 

Life was like that, full of difficult decisions. Faced with countless crossroads, someone always had to choose where to begin, which path to take, and who to journey with.

 

Over three lifetimes, he had made many such decisions—some good, some bad, some right, and naturally, some wrong. Yet regardless of whether they were good or bad, right or wrong, the only ones who remained by his side were those two. No matter how much pain his choices brought them, their desire to stay with him had never changed. Such feelings were worth everything.

 

The bustling crowds outside were strangers to him two hundred years ago, and they were still strangers two hundred years later. Likewise, he was merely a passerby in their lives.

 

In the end, the ones who stayed, who leaned on one another and supported each other, were just the three of them.

 

The road they had walked was hard, a path stained with blood and tears, filled with mutual harm and reproach. But in the end, they had forgiven one another and were still together.

 

Together. Even for just one day, it was infinitely precious to them. It could not be questioned or denied.

 

Yi Mo walked over, stroking his head, and asked, “Are you sad?”

 

“A little,” Liu Yan replied. “Just a little. Because Ji Leping’s father is truly dead.”

 

Truly dead. Ji Jiu.

 

The bones had been buried in the earth for so many years, and the one who came back to life was Liu Yan, who re-entered the cycle of reincarnation. It was only because of Yi Mo’s sacrifice that he retained memories of three lifetimes. Without Yi Mo’s actions, the current Liu Yan would have still been nothing more than a passerby in Ji Leping’s life, perhaps not even that.

 

In his previous life, Ji Jiu encountered an insightful emperor, allowing him to fulfill his ambitions.

 

It was also due to the emperor’s paranoia and change of heart that Ji Jiu died to repay the emperor’s favor, ensuring peace for the Ji family. In that life, he owed no one, and no one owed him.

 

Toward his children, he felt longing and melancholy, but he was not deeply grieved. Perhaps it was because, long, long ago, he had known that he would leave.

 

“Did Ji Jiu truly die?” Yi Mo squatted down, placing a hand on Liu Yan’s knee, looking up into his eyes, and softly asked, “Did he?”

 

Liu Yan averted his gaze, then slowly turned back to meet it, saying, “Didn’t you crawl into that coffin yourself? Was there not a dead man inside?”

 

“Yes,” Yi Mo replied.

 

Liu Yan pressed his lips together and suddenly said, “Where is that painting you hid? Show it to me.”

 

He was referring to the painting retrieved from the fire basin. Yi Mo took it out, and the two of them unrolled it. After nearly seventy years, the paper had yellowed slightly, but the scenery in the painting remained vibrant—the fluttering peach blossoms, the intertwined figures. The state of mind that accompanied the painting’s creation seemed to resurface, and Liu Yan blinked, his eyes moist, tinged with red.

 

“Bring me some ink and brushes,” Liu Yan said.

 

Paint, ink, and brushes of various thicknesses were laid out on the table.

 

Liu Yan walked to the table, spread the painting across it, and ground the ink himself. When the ink was ready, he picked up a brush and smiled, “I’ll add a little more.”

 

Yi Mo stood beside him, quietly watching the painting.

 

The voices in the courtyard gradually faded. Shen Jue, having seen the guests off, closed the doors and hurried to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the family. He grabbed a handful of rice, sprinkled it into a pot, added water, and simmered it gently over low heat. He washed some greens, sliced them thinly, and added them to the porridge once it was ready. A bit of sesame oil was drizzled in, and two small side dishes were prepared. Shen Jue carried the tray and called for the two of them to eat.

 

The room remained silent, with no response.

 

Puzzled, Shen Jue pushed the door open and walked in. Liu Yan was hunched over the table, focused on either writing or drawing, and did not turn his head even when he entered. Yi Mo stood beside him, hands behind his back, gazing down at the work. Both of them were clearly absorbed, paying him no attention.

 

Shen Jue set the food down, tiptoed over, and leaned in behind them, staring to see what had so completely captivated them.

 

What met his eyes was a vast expanse of red, as if dyed into his vision.

 

Blossoms fell in profusion, layers of crimson piling upon each other. Ten miles of peach blossoms bloomed furiously, filling heaven and earth. Amidst the sea of flowers were two figures intertwined, unrestrained and serene.

 

Shen Jue took one look, and upon realizing what the painting depicted, he instinctively withdrew his wandering gaze, refraining from looking further at the figures and instead focusing on Liu Yan’s brushwork.

 

Not far from the pair in the painting, a green stone emerged under Liu Yan’s brush. With a few strokes, the rugged stone took form, and atop it gradually appeared a piece of folded clothing.

 

Both Yi Mo and Shen Jue recognized that garment—the jet-black iron plates stitched together to form a general’s armor. The dark armor glimmered faintly on the stone, radiating an ominous presence. Liu Yan paused for a moment, then switched to another brush. After a slight hesitation, he added a long sword beside the stone, its blade sheathed, lying amidst the scattered flower petals.

 

Liu Yan put down the brush, lifted the painting, and walked over to the two of them, holding it up for them to see.

 

The general’s discarded armor lay upon the green stone, not far from the two figures embracing amidst the sea of flowers. As the ink dried, Yi Mo reached out and ran his hand over the painted armor. The petals in the painting seemed to come alive, stirred by an invisible breeze, rising and swirling into a magnificent shower of blossoms. Heaven and earth as one.

 

When the wind ceased, a few peach blossoms settled quietly upon the black armor, as if the armor had always been there, and the petals had always been there. Nothing had changed.

 

It had always been—home.

 

No matter how time passed or how far he strayed, whether scholar, general, or fool, he had never changed. This was his home.

 

Home is where the wandering soul, after countless detours and stumbles, finally returns.

 

It was his home as well. Liu Yan looked at the painted armor, his expression calm, and whispered softly, “Ji Jiu has done all he needed to do. He’s come to find you.”

 

—Come to find you.

 

What he owed, he would repay. What he hurt, he would mend.

 

The scars of two lifetimes, intertwined and crisscrossing, would be smoothed over in this one.

 

This lifetime, even if brief, would be lived well, earnestly, together.

 

Yi Mo took his hand, interlocking their fingers, palm against palm.

 

There was no need for many words. A single look was enough to know that the other’s thoughts were their own, that the other’s desires were their own.

 

They were a family. Family is not merely living together; it is being companions, embracing one another, loving and cherishing one another.

 

In the end, they shared the same voice, the same breath.