Encountering a Snake - Chapter 20

V3C20

The mountains were surrounded by soil and wood, the earth damp and the foliage dense, so even in the sweltering summer, it was not unbearably hot in the mountains. Still, by evening, Liu Yan would have Shen Jue bring out a bamboo couch and lay it in the courtyard. He would lie on the cool bamboo, enjoying the refreshing air. During the day, walking through the forests, a light robe sufficed; under the tree shade, the sun was unseen, and even sweat was rare. But the night was another scene entirely—thin clothes on one’s body, the night wind brushing past, and a sudden chill would raise goosebumps all over. It must have been truly cold, for even the mosquitoes that thrived in the daytime grass seemed to have hidden away, leaving only the gentle evening breeze.

There were also fireflies dancing in the dark, leisurely and carefree. Occasionally, one would fly before Liu Yan’s eyes, circle a bit, and then drift away again. The faint, bluish light flickered in the dark, uncertain and ethereal, shimmering like flowing light.

Liu Yan lay on the bamboo couch, arms wrapped around the large snake in his embrace, quietly counting the stars above, thoroughly content.

He must have counted to the thousandth star when a commotion started outside the courtyard gate. To call it a “commotion” was not quite right—this solitary mountain and wilderness held few beings capable of speech, and among them, three often quarreled lightheartedly, for amusement rather than malice. If they were truly arguing, that would be an eerie sight indeed! Thus, the dispute outside the quiet courtyard could only be between the little pine sprite and Shen Jue.

Liu Yan knew exactly what kind of person Shen Jue was. Only at home was he lively and warm. Away from home, he maintained a calm, measured temperament, never raising his voice even in disagreements. If there was a dispute, others might shout while he listened quietly, occasionally saying a word or two, his voice steady and clear, neither sharp nor loud. So the so-called “commotion” outside was simply the little pine sprite alone, raising his voice.

During the day, the little sprite had been neglected, and when he returned in the evening, Shen Jue had noticed and coaxed him gently. Placated, he had joined them on the bamboo couch, cooling off together. It should have been a peaceful evening—tea, stories, and then parting for rest. But the little sprite insisted on imitating Liu Yan, lying on Shen Jue’s furry belly before he would be satisfied.

This was the root of the matter.

Shen Jue, though half-human, was also, without question, half-wolf—a beast. His belly was his softest spot, and by instinct, he rarely exposed this vulnerability. In this world, there were only three people he allowed to lie on his belly: his father, Liu Yan; his other father, Yi Mo; and a certain man who once wore the imperial yellow robe in that bygone palace.

Once, in the imperial palace, the emperor had whimsically asked him to turn into a wolf. Shen Jue complied, sprawling out on the dragon bed, letting the emperor—unclothed—nestle into his soft, warm fur. When the emperor grew tired from rolling about, he would rest his head on Shen Jue’s belly, playing with his ears and promising, “From now on, I will use no other wolf’s fur.” Shen Jue would reach out with his furry paw, claws retracted, and stroke the emperor’s back with the soft pads of his paw.

Such playful moments were rare for the emperor, especially in his final years, when his true nature had all but vanished. He became like tempered steel, sculpted into a form of imperial majesty, standing alone at the peak of the world, devoid of genuine joy or sorrow. Only with Shen Jue did that playful side still remain.

Shen Jue had always known he was different to the emperor, and that this slight difference was precious. Thus, the emperor of the mortal realm had always had a place in his heart. After his death, Shen Jue could not say he was grief-stricken. After all, even when they were together, there had been little tenderness or romance.

And yet the emperor had always existed—his words, gestures, and expressions were as vivid in Shen Jue’s mind as ever. When he thought of him, he appeared before him. When he didn’t think of him, the emperor was still there.

In his wolf form, Shen Jue had only ever embraced three people: Liu Yan, Yi Mo, and the emperor. The first two were his fathers, his closest kin and dearest loves. The last one—neither kin nor true love—was simply someone who existed in his heart. He occupied a small space there, barely a speck, but rooted deeply. That was why Shen Jue had been willing to reveal his true form, allowing the emperor to rest on his soft belly and sleep.

So when the little pine sprite made his request, Shen Jue refused without hesitation.

The little sprite, already feeling wronged during the day, thought that Shen Jue, knowing this, would indulge him and be a little kinder. He had merely been envious of the closeness between Liu Yan and Shen Jue, craving such intimacy himself, so he spoke without much thought. He hadn’t expected to be so bluntly rejected by Shen Jue, his beloved “Brother Shen.” His heart turned sour and bitter, and in front of Liu Yan and Yi Mo, he felt humiliated. His face flushed red, and tears welled up in his eyes.

Shen Jue said little, taking the sprite outside. Closing the courtyard gate, they walked a few steps before Shen Jue turned to him and said seriously, “I’m sorry.”

The little sprite sniffled, stopping his tears, and choked, “Why them, but not me?”

Shen Jue, always direct, replied plainly, “No one else can—only they can.”

The little sprite didn’t understand. “Why?” Then, a thought flashed through his mind. Remembering the dead man Liu Yan had once mentioned, his voice grew sharper with indignation: “Is it because your father can, that dead man can, but I can’t?!”

As soon as he shouted, he realized his mistake. His face turned pale as he looked at Shen Jue, afraid he would be angry. But to his surprise, Shen Jue wasn’t angry. Instead, a moment of wistfulness passed across his face, his brows and eyes softening as if recalling something.

After a brief daze, Shen Jue looked at him again, still serious, and said in a low voice, “You’ve never left the mountain. You cultivated yourself into a sprite. That day, when you sat crying alone, I came to console you—that’s how we met. You don’t understand the world and are as pure as a child. I’ve always seen you as such, without any other thoughts. Since we’ve spoken so much already,” he paused briefly, sighing, “it will only get uglier if we continue. From now on… it’s best you come here less often. You have great potential—focus on your cultivation, and one day you will achieve greatness. By then, you will see me as nothing more than a minor sprite.”

With that, he turned and walked back to the courtyard. As the wooden gate closed behind him, Shen Jue caught one last glimpse of the boy standing in the moonlight, tears glimmering like crystal.

The wooden door closed soundlessly, its seams shut tight—an unbreachable wall.

Shen Jue’s expression was calm as he turned toward the bamboo couch. On the couch, one man and one snake were whispering quietly. He walked halfway before suddenly transforming into his wolf form and leaping onto the couch. With a loud thud, he pinned Liu Yan and the snake firmly beneath him.

The bamboo couch, crafted by Yi Mo, was wide and sturdy. With a small table, it served as a seating area; with bedding, it could be a bed. So Shen Jue’s leap caused no harm.

Pinned under the great wolf, Liu Yan said nothing, simply running his fingers through the fur at the back of the wolf’s neck, smoothing it out. Yi Mo, who had been in snake form coiled around Liu Yan, was also pinned down and had to return to human form, lying side by side with Liu Yan under their son. This time, he didn’t even complain about the wolf’s musky smell.

The black wolf, its ears drooping, twitched its nose and burrowed its snout into the two beneath him, no longer resembling a wolf but more like a foraging pig. And yet no one pushed him away, letting him throw his tantrum, roll about, and even playfully nip at Yi Mo’s neck. Liu Yan continued stroking his fur as though encouraging him to bite.

After gnawing at his father’s neck for a while and having his fur smoothed by his dad, the black wolf finally calmed down and lay still on the two of them.

The night breeze had been pleasantly cool, and lying on the bamboo couch had been comfortable for Liu Yan. But now, smothered by the thick black wolf fur, he felt stifled—he regretted bathing earlier; look, he was sweating all over again.

After enduring for a full half an hour, Yi Mo finally reached his limit and, unable to bear it any longer, kicked him off.

Shen Jue tumbled to the ground, rolled lazily, and then jumped back onto the bamboo couch. This time, he curled up at their feet, his wolfish eyes fixed on the tightly shut courtyard gate.

The wooden door had been bolted shut, firmly and securely, as if a wall of iron had sealed this small courtyard away from the mortal world.

Perhaps this little courtyard didn’t belong to the human realm, nor should it belong to the demon world. It had never belonged anywhere. From the very beginning, it was merely a sanctuary guarded by the three of them, a fortress of their own.

And now, they continued to guard it, waiting for time to trickle away like grains of sand in an hourglass, until the end of their days arrived.

At that time, the small courtyard would vanish completely.

The fireflies still hovered in and out of the courtyard, their luminous trails dancing through the air. The later the night grew, the brighter the small blue lights at their tails shone—ghostly, yet dazzling.

As the night deepened completely, Liu Yan bathed again before returning to the room to sleep. Shen Jue, reluctant to leave the cool air, remained sprawled on the bamboo couch. Yi Mo fetched a thin quilt and tossed it over him before heading back inside.

Liu Yan lay with his hair down, sighing softly with his eyes closed, “It seems I was wrong at first. I didn’t see that they were incompatible.”

“The good-for-nothing child you raised—how could he have the patience to coax someone?” Yi Mo didn’t even open his eyes, instead tightening his hold on Liu Yan as he added, “That little spirit is inexperienced and goes about things impulsively. It’s not really a fault, but falling for Shen Jue of all people—well, he might as well have been blind.”

Liu Yan naturally disliked hearing his son criticized and defended him, saying, “He’s been stuck here in the mountains with no experience. The first outsider he met was Shen Jue. He may not know what he really wants. In time, when his world expands and he gains more experience, he might even move on from Shen Jue.”

Yi Mo chuckled. “He is indeed immature. With time and distance from the deep mountains, his feelings might change. But if Shen Jue truly cared, he’d find a way to keep that little spirit focused solely on him. In the end, Shen Jue simply doesn’t care.”

“Shen Jue isn’t heartless either,” Liu Yan snorted, this time taking the little spirit’s side. “If he truly didn’t care, he wouldn’t have entangled himself in the first place, let alone brought him to meet us.” The more he spoke, the fairer his judgment became.

Since Liu Yan was making an effort to be fair and not take sides, Yi Mo adopted a serious tone as well. Sitting up straight, he said, “Shen Jue has never dealt with someone so pure before. He finds it amusing to interact with him. Over time, when the little spirit fell for him, Shen Jue naturally noticed. He probably even had thoughts of reciprocating, but he’s always been cautious…”

Cautious. That was the word Yi Mo used.

If there was one defining trait in Shen Jue’s character, it was caution. When faced with a situation, he needed to analyze every angle, to see all the players in the game clearly before making a decision. Back then, when he realized the emperor’s affections weren’t deep, he deliberately withheld his own feelings, carefully measuring out just enough to avoid loss or risk, ensuring fairness for both parties. But when it comes to matters of the heart, fairness is an illusion.

He treated the emperor this way, and the little spirit no differently. Half a year after meeting him, Shen Jue must have known the little spirit’s feelings. The relationship was still young, though. While Shen Jue found his innocence and purity charming, he chose to observe from the sidelines.

But he likely underestimated that when someone is too pure, it can border on ignorance. Demons are no exception. That little spirit, though pure, was somewhat naive—unable to handle situations on his own, always needing others to help resolve them. If it were anyone else, they might have laughed off tonight’s rejection, finding an excuse to save face, then calmly revisited the topic later. Not only would there have been no conflict, but it might even have come across as endearing.

Yet that little spirit didn’t know how to smooth things over. He acted impulsively, showing his hurt when he felt wronged and storming off in anger without compromise. To call it innocence was putting it kindly; to speak plainly, it was arrogance—a belief that the world should understand and accommodate him.

Yi Mo shook his head. “Shen Jue likes his simplicity, but not when it’s too simple. That affection, if it ever existed, has likely retreated.”

“In the end, there was once an emperor, skilled at advancing and retreating with perfect grace…” Liu Yan narrowed his eyes and said bitterly, “With such an example set before him, Shen Jue realized that being with the little spirit would require slowly teaching him, patiently indulging him, and even when angry, concealing that anger. Otherwise, the little spirit would only become angrier.” He paused before concluding, “Your son is just avoiding hardship!”

Yi Mo raised an eyebrow. “Now he’s my son again? He has nothing to do with you?”

Liu Yan sat up and glared at him for a moment, then imitated Shen Jue from earlier. He pounced on Yi Mo, gnawed at his collarbone for a moment, then let go and muttered, “It’s just a matter of one thing overcoming another.”

One thing overcoming another. And yet, the little spirit couldn’t overcome Shen Jue. If he had managed it, Shen Jue would have gladly endured the hardship and been happy for it.

“Like you and me?” Yi Mo said.

Liu Yan chuckled softly. “I don’t even know when I overcame you. I only remember that year in the mountain courtyard, when someone didn’t find it tedious to stay up every night, sharing ink and conversation with me… and somehow won me over.”

Yi Mo lowered his head and kissed his face. “One thing overcoming another isn’t enough. When it comes to matters of love, it must be mutual. Both must surrender to each other.”

Only by mutually yielding, mutually understanding, and mutually accommodating can a relationship thrive. Otherwise, it’s like drawing water with a sieve—nothing but emptiness in the end.

Liu Yan lay back down and closed his eyes, thinking of that little pine tree spirit. When Shen Jue felt troubled, he could at least come to them for comfort. But the little pine tree spirit had grown up alone, without siblings or friends. Now that his heart was broken, who could he turn to for solace? With no one to confide in, he truly was pitiful.

Love, it seemed, was a wretched thing.

Then another thought struck him: before long, Shen Jue would end up just like that. When sorrow came, he would have no one to talk to, no place to go. He would live alone, wandering aimlessly. And at the height of his misery, even if he cried, there would be no one to wipe away his tears.

Liu Yan’s heart ached, as if he could already see Shen Jue years from now—wandering the world, destitute, with nothing left but a pair of desolate, heartbroken eyes. That was his child.

There had never been blood ties, but for centuries, their hearts had been linked as father and son.

How could he bear it, watching the boy he had raised for three hundred years become an orphan abandoned by heaven and earth?

Liu Yan grabbed Yi Mo’s hand and suddenly lifted his head. His eyes were red as he said in a low voice, “You’re not allowed to die.”

“Hm?” Yi Mo froze for a moment, then understood what he meant. His face hesitated, and after a long pause, he said slowly, “I’m a snake.”

“Take Shen Jue with you. Even if you’re a snake, you must bring him back,” Liu Yan said, his resolve firm and his expression calm. “You were always a snake. As long as you live, I’ll take care of you.”

“As long as you’re by my side, nothing else matters.”

“I’ll care for you until your natural end, and then I’ll go with you.”

Finally, Liu Yan said:

“We are both fathers.”