Encountering a Snake - Chapter 1

v3c1

 

Upon returning to the palace, Shen Jue said to the emperor, “My father is gone.”

 

The emperor was silent for a moment and then said, “Your father was gone long ago.”

 

Shen Jue said nothing more.

 

Since receiving the military report of Ji Jiu’s death, the emperor seemed much more haggard. At this moment, he also had no interest in continuing the conversation and sat at the desk, his expression indifferent.

 

In the end, neither of them had anything else to say.

 

Shen Jue rose and said, “I’m leaving.”

 

The emperor responded with a hum and waved his hand, saying, “Go.”

 

Shen Jue paused slightly before completing his statement: “I won’t return.”

 

The emperor finally looked up at him directly, his expression like still water slightly disturbed, tinged with faint anger. “You mean to leave and never come back? Was this your father’s order?”

 

Shen Jue replied, “No, but I need to find my father. He’s gone to find my dad again.”

 

The anger on the emperor’s face subsided slightly. “Still looking? Where will you find him?”

 

Shen Jue said, “Father has entered the underworld. I need to help him.”

 

The emperor sneered, mocking, “You? With that bit of power you have, you couldn’t even save Ji Jiu. It’s good enough if you don’t add to the chaos!” His words were harsh. The emperor knew they were cutting, but so what? What he said was true. The truth of this world is often cruel.

 

Shen Jue lowered his head, but he said nothing. He stood for a moment and then turned to leave.

 

The emperor called out to him from behind, seemingly casual as he asked, “If I were to die, would you look for me?”

 

Shen Jue froze in place, standing at the threshold for a long while before asking, “Do you want me to look for you?”

 

The emperor did not answer.

 

Shen Jue turned around, standing a few feet away but not approaching. He knew the emperor’s temperament was harsh and that he never spoke kindly. After some thought, Shen Jue said, “If you want me to find you, I will, but only for one lifetime. If I find you and you don’t wish to see me, I won’t look for you again.”

 

Shen Jue continued, “I’m not like my father. I don’t enjoy suffering.”

 

The emperor said nothing, only looking at him for a long time before waving his sleeve to dismiss him.

 

Once Shen Jue left, the room felt even emptier. Alone in the chamber, the emperor looked at the memorial before him. It was Ji Jiu’s last report—still written in that annoyingly businesslike tone, without a single superfluous word. Although the emperor usually detested long-winded, overly formal memorials, at this moment, he found himself hating Ji Jiu’s efficiency.

 

“Ji Jiu, you just left like that.” The emperor covered his face, gritting his teeth as he cursed silently, Ungrateful!

 

“I treated you so well, protected you for so many years, gave you whatever you wanted, and in the end, you left me alone.”

 

Left him with this vast empire—and himself.

 

From now on, even if he wanted to soften his heart, there was no one to be soft to. Even if he wanted to protect someone, there was no one left to protect.

 

Truly, he was now alone, above all under heaven.

 

The emperor sat for a long time before abruptly rising and commanding someone to summon Shen Hai. He said, “You! Draft an edict for me right now. The Ji family is full of loyal and heroic figures. I want to reward them! Grant them ten thousand acres of land, gold and silver treasures, and posthumously confer the title of Loyal and Righteous Prince on Ji Jiu. Bury his remains in the imperial mausoleum!”

 

Shen Hai froze for a moment before quickly replying, “Your Majesty, this might not be proper.”

 

“Draft it!” the emperor said coldly, his tone exuding authority.

 

“Yes,” Shen Hai answered. He dipped his brush into ink and wrote two words but still tried to persuade him. “Our dynasty has never granted the title of Prince to a non-imperial family. General Ji has always been a man of great integrity… If he knew, he might not rest in peace even in death…”

 

Upon hearing this, the emperor’s anger receded, and he smiled with a trace of malice. “I want him to die with unrest!”

 

“How dare he die so easily? There’s no such easy way out!”

 

Shen Hai had no response to this and silently completed the edict. The next morning at court, the decree became reality. Ji Jiu’s coffin, already interred, was exhumed and reburied in the imperial mausoleum. The entire nation mourned; festivities and music ceased for seven days.

 

This was an honor no official had ever received since the founding of the dynasty.

 

Shen Jue quickly learned of this, but he had no time to argue with the emperor. He was in a rush to find Yi Mo.

 

By then, Yi Mo had already entered the underworld. After dealing with some minor spirits, he confronted the Judge.

 

Yi Mo said, “I’m here to find someone.”

 

The Judge replied, “There are no people here—only ghosts.”

 

Yi Mo nodded. “Then I’ll find a ghost.”

 

The Judge said, “You’re a serpent spirit on the verge of ascension. Since you already know they’re a ghost, why persist?”

 

Yi Mo ignored his question and simply said, “I need to know where they’ve reincarnated.”

 

The Judge sighed and asked, “What’s their name?”

 

“Shen Qingxuan. In his previous life, he was called Ji Jiu.”

 

The Judge said, “I will report to the King of the Underworld. If he agrees, I’ll help you find him.”

 

Yi Mo stood in the hall, looking around for the first time at this place of legendary dread. It was indeed gloomy but not necessarily terrifying. Everything followed an orderly process—ghosts and ghostly officials alike performed their duties. It was more methodical than the human world. Except for the occasional cries and murmurs, the grand hall was peaceful.

 

Yi Mo waited for a while. When the Judge did not return, he wandered outside and came upon a sea of flowers. Crimson blooms stretched endlessly, each petal shimmering like blood. Yi Mo was about to step forward when a ghost guard stopped him, saying, “This path is for the dead.”

 

Yi Mo halted and stared at the road winding through the flowers. He asked, “What lies ahead?”

 

The ghost guard smiled faintly, his expression sinister. “You’ll know once you’re dead.”

 

Yi Mo looked at him and replied earnestly, “I don’t plan on dying yet.”

 

The ghost guard said, “Then go back. If you walk this road, even as a spirit beast, your body and soul will separate, leaving you a wandering ghost.”

 

Yi Mo stood before the flower sea for a long time before turning back.

 

When he returned to the hall and waited for the time it takes to brew a pot of tea, the Judge finally appeared. However, his expression was unusually solemn. He stood to one side, as if waiting for someone.

 

Yi Mo stayed silent, waiting as well. After a while, a figure emerged from the shadows—a man with a stern face and sharp eyes filled with killing intent. Yi Mo and the man locked gazes, each feeling the other was somewhat familiar.

 

Yi Mo frowned. Over the years, he had so little interaction with humans and deities alike that he quickly recalled the memory. Over a hundred years ago, during the time Shen Qingxuan took a concubine, Yi Mo had joined an old Taoist priest to subdue a demon. Comparing the memory of the demon general with the man before him, Yi Mo confirmed it and, slightly surprised, said, “It’s you.”

 

The King of the Underworld clearly remembered him too. He chuckled and said, “It’s me.”

 

At that time, the demon general who even celestial immortals and old Daoists could not subdue had become the  King of Underworld here. The thought amused Yi Mo; such was the unpredictability of life. He recalled how he had painstakingly helped the old Daoist subdue the demon, only for the old Daoist to turn him into a ghost immortal.

 

Since they had met once before, neither Yi Mo nor the  King of Underworld stood on ceremony.

 

Yi Mo said, “I’ve come to find someone.”

 

The  King of Underworld replied, “I know.” Then he added, “He’s already gone to the Bridge of Forgetfulness.” Turning to the judge, he asked, “When will Ji Jiu reincarnate?”

 

The judge flipped through the registry and said, “It’ll take some time. There are others ahead of him; it’s not his turn yet.”

 

Yi Mo asked again, “Will he reincarnate as a human?”

 

The  King of Underworld’s expression turned peculiar. After hesitating for a moment, he said, “His sins of killing are too heavy. He shouldn’t reincarnate as a human…but…” He paused, then invited Yi Mo to sit down before carefully explaining.

 

It turned out that on the day Ji Jiu was killed by a stray arrow, his soul did not immediately return to the underworld. When the judge checked the Book of Life and Death, Ji Jiu’s name hadn’t been reported, so the Black and White Impermanence were sent to fetch his soul. When they found him, nothing seemed amiss at first, but upon returning to the underworld, Ji Jiu appeared dazed, devoid of joy or anger. It turned out that somewhere along the way, he had lost a part of his soul.

 

The Black and White Impermanence had searched thoroughly but failed to retrieve the missing parts. Left incomplete, Ji Jiu, who should have been punished by reincarnating in the animal realm, was exempted and allowed to return as a human.

 

The  King of Underworld said, “As a human, he’s mentally impaired. Do you still want to find him?”

 

Yi Mo was silent for a long time before finally saying, “Of course.”

 

The  King of Underworld, having seen countless such cases, was unsurprised by his response. He picked up the judge’s Book of Life and Death, flipped through it, and said, “Go back. Fifty-three years from now, find a Liu family at the foot of Mount Lin, and you’ll find him.”

 

Yi Mo still had questions but chose not to ask. Rising, he said, “Thank you,” and left.

 

The  King of Underworld stood there, pondering for a while before saying, “Back then, though you eliminated me, you also freed me from my torment. The person you’re looking for was destined for a life of suffering, to die at the age of twenty. To repay your kindness, I’ve granted him seventy years of life, so you may fulfill your wish. But…don’t get too obsessed.”

 

Yi Mo paused and turned back, only to repeat, “Thank you,” before leaving the underworld and returning to the mortal realm.

 

As soon as he returned, he saw Shen Jue in his wolf form, pacing anxiously. It seemed he had clashed with the underworld guards multiple times, failing miserably to break through.

 

Yi Mo flicked the black wolf’s forehead and said, “With tricks like this, you want to storm the underworld? Do you think it’s the imperial palace?”

 

The black wolf, still in wolf form, lay down, covering its head with its paws and whining as if throwing a tantrum.

 

Yi Mo said, “Go back.”

 

But the wolf tugged at his sleeve with its mouth, unwilling to leave.

 

“The emperor won’t let you go,” Yi Mo said flatly. “Even if he doesn’t demand your help outright, he won’t hesitate to use you. If you just leave like this, he’ll unite both Daoist and Buddhist factions to exterminate every last demon.”

 

Hearing this, the wolf hesitated, loosening its grip. Yi Mo gave it a kick on the tail, saying, “Still not leaving?!”

 

The kick wasn’t painful, but the black wolf finally slunk off reluctantly.

 

Yi Mo was right—after Ji Jiu left, the court was left without a capable general. The emperor, eager to cultivate power, had set his sights on the arrogant wolf demon, hoping to use him as a pawn. Though the emperor kept his intentions hidden, Shen Jue’s timely return ultimately averted a catastrophe for the demon world.

 

When the emperor saw him, he raised an eyebrow and said indifferently, “You’re back?”

 

Shen Jue simply replied, “Mm,” glanced at the memorial in the emperor’s hand, found it uninteresting, and went to lie down on the imperial bed, fully clothed, without offering an explanation. His arrogance and disregard only made the emperor snap the red brush in his hand in frustration.

 

Hiding the broken brush in his sleeve, the emperor said, “Shen Jue, your father is dead. How about taking his place?”

 

Shen Jue sat up, thought for a moment, and said, “Alright.”

 

“Really?” The straightforward reply left the emperor doubtful. By nature suspicious, he hesitated to entrust military power to a demon.

 

Seeing through his thoughts, Shen Jue said bluntly, “My father has gone searching for your father and might not return for a long time. Since I’ve decided to stay with you, I’ll stick around until you die. Then I’ll leave.”

 

The emperor, initially offended, found the statement amusing upon reflection. No one dared speak to him this way—not even the bold Ji Jiu in his youth. And what did Shen Jue mean by “decided to stay with you”? The emperor smirked inwardly—if mere intimacy counted as staying together, then how many people had he “stayed with”?

 

Naturally, he didn’t say this aloud. Instead, he said, “Before I die, return the Tiger Talisman.”

 

Shen Jue agreed.

 

The emperor, gazing at him, suddenly found this straightforward demon endearing. Though uncertain of Shen Jue’s loyalty once in power, he found himself drawn to him. An emperor did as he pleased; leaning closer to observe Shen Jue’s features, he bent down and bit his face, pressing his lips against the demon’s.

 

Shen Jue didn’t resist. Wrapping his arms around the emperor, he pulled him onto the bed. The two tumbled together into its depths. The hanging curtains swayed, and discarded clothes began to pile on the floor. From the folds of a yellow dragon robe, the broken red brush rolled out.

 

True to his word, Shen Jue stayed by the emperor’s side. Rising from a minor officer to a general, he eventually claimed the Tiger Talisman twenty years later during a political coup, inheriting the mantle Ji Jiu once bore.

 

The mortal realm’s storms were confined to the imperial court’s upper echelons, while ordinary people lived in peace, working by day and resting by night.

 

At the foot of Mount Lin in Luofu Town, a Liu family had recently settled. A couple with a young child quickly drew the attention of the villagers, who noted their refinement. The man spoke and carried himself with an air of distinction, while the woman rarely ventured out. At night, when most homes were dark to save oil, their window remained lit.

 

Curiosity led to inquiry, and within a month, it was revealed that the man was once a county clerk implicated in his superior’s corruption scandal. Having sold their family property to survive, they had fled to the village with their six-month-old son.

 

Four years passed, and the family seemed cursed. The man fell ill, followed by the woman. Their only healthy child, though delicate in appearance, was mentally impaired.

 

At four years old, while other children played boisterously, little Liu Yan had only just learned to walk. He neither cried nor laughed, sat expressionless, and wouldn’t eat unless fed. His parents, weighed down by illness, were further distressed by his condition.

 

Neglected, the boy grew wilder. One afternoon, he squatted on a dirt slope, playing with a small stick in the soil. A dung beetle was rolling a dung ball uphill, only for Liu Yan to poke and scatter it with his stick, sending it tumbling back. The beetle would climb back down and start over, only for the cycle to repeat.

 

Other children might play such games briefly, but Liu Yan, knowing no other games, could spend the entire day at it. Labeled a fool, the village children avoided him.

 

When Yi Mo emerged from the forest, he saw the frail boy on the slope tormenting the beetle. Thin and ragged, the child looked pitiful. Too far to see clearly