Encountering a Snake - Chapter 33.1

Side Story: The Childish God②

The road stretched endlessly, seemingly without an end. Sometimes, Shen Jue would stop for a moment, looking around to confirm that he had been here before. Though his footprints had long vanished, the scenery and objects had changed very little. Yet at times, he felt as if centuries had passed—places that were once vast, desolate mountains now had roads, bustling markets, and people coming and going.

After a glance, he would lower his head again and continue walking. Dressed in plain green robes, carrying a dusty bundle, he looked like an ordinary traveler. Only the vendors crouched on the ground, seeking customers, would notice him.

He had an exceptionally handsome face.

Unlike Yi Mo’s ethereal beauty, his sharp features were cold and strong, giving him a rugged, resolute air. His tall, broad figure could have drawn attention if he lifted his head and revealed more lively eyes. But he never did. He walked as though walking was his sole purpose, his gaze downcast and his expression indifferent. His eyes, too, were dull—not the calm indifference of a confident man, but an emptiness, as though he were a puppet whose soul had been removed, moving only for the sake of movement.

The vendors would glance at him twice before losing interest. Some people were clearly not customers, and they needed to focus on earning a living. They didn’t spare a third glance, so they failed to notice that once their eyes moved away, this indifferent traveler’s figure flickered, and in the blink of an eye, he was already far away at the city gate, moving toward an unseen distance.

In his youth, with the love and care of his family, he always indulged in the beauties of the mortal world, loving to talk, laugh, and act willfully and mischievously. Even during those years when he only returned home once a year, he didn’t seem to grow up much. Once he was home, he would chatter incessantly, recounting strange stories and events from his travels. On New Year’s Eve, while keeping vigil by the fire, he would sit beside the stove and sing songs he had heard to entertain his elders. Sometimes he would deliberately sing off-key, the melody straying wildly, watching with glee as Liu Yan collapsed laughing into Yi Mo, clutching his stomach with one hand and wiping away tears of laughter with the other. Yi Mo would also laugh, scolding him for becoming more and more unruly.

“So noisy,” Yi Mo said. “You’ve scared my pet yellow bird to death.” — In truth, the bird had frozen to death because Yi Mo himself had carelessly forgotten to bring it inside on a winter night.

Because of that remark, he traveled far and wide, and when he returned the following winter, he brought back the most beautiful and melodious yellow bird he could find to make it up to Yi Mo. Yi Mo kept that yellow bird carefully, ensuring it never fell ill or faced harm. It lived peacefully until its natural death, after which it was buried in the sea of flowers.

He had once been so noisy.

Since the day a new grave appeared on Mount Luofu, his thin lips, sharp as if carved by a blade, had remained tightly pressed together. Aside from drinking water, he never opened his mouth again.

The longer he wandered, the deeper his cultivation grew. Eventually, he could draw the dew filled with spiritual energy before dawn, and he no longer needed to drink water from the mortal world. His lips remained pressed into a long, thin line.

And so, he continued walking, through bustling crowds, towering green mountains, silent walls, and barking villages. These scenes endlessly receded behind him, cycling again and again. With each cycle, there were subtle changes, yet nothing fell into his eyes. He was merely an endless traveler, passing through the green willows and peach blossoms, through the wasted lives of strangers on unfamiliar roads.

After crossing vast, silent wildernesses, another city gate loomed ahead. Shen Jue entered, eyes lowered, head bowed.

He passed through the main street and small alleys, heading toward the bustling market. He kept walking without pause until something caught his eye, and he suddenly stopped.

“Do you like this, sir?” Seeing a business opportunity, the peddler grinned broadly and eagerly presented his wares to the customer, his mouth running nonstop: “This is newly released from the Gengqing Kiln this year. Look at how thin and smooth the body is, look at this glaze, this color—each detail crafted to perfection. And see here, the lotus base…”

The peddler noticed that the customer’s lips moved slightly and immediately fell silent, waiting for him to speak.

Then, the man pointed and said, “I’ll take these three.”

His voice was startlingly hoarse, like one scorched by fire, a sound only such a ruined throat could produce. The vendor was taken aback, needing a moment to recover before quickly wrapping up the clay figurines and handing them over.

Shen Jue placed down silver shards, thanked him, and turned away, clutching the porcelain pieces. The vendor stood there dumbly, watching his departing figure, wondering what such a person with a frightful voice could have to do with toys meant for children. Despite the unpleasant voice, his appearance was extraordinary, and his manner generous. He must have bought them for his own children—a good person, surely.

The vendor pocketed the silver with a grin, thrilled to sell something worth ten coppers at such a price.

Shen Jue walked a while longer, leaving the city gate and entering a wild forest before stopping. Unlike before, he did not immediately meditate but sat cross-legged on the ground and unwrapped his purchase. Inside were three small porcelain figures: a sleeping doll, a porcelain fox, and a little porcelain dog.

He held the three figurines in his hands, turning them over and over, before opening his bundle again. From within, he took out another porcelain item. It was a small, stout dog, simple and rough in its craftsmanship—something no longer made these days.

Shen Jue held the clumsy little dog, comparing it with the newer, delicate one. He thought to himself, “There’s no going back.”

He had nowhere left to return to.

Sorrow came suddenly and uncontrollably. Staring at the chubby, lazy-looking clay doll, Shen Jue choked back a sob and whispered, “I miss you all.”

Years of silence had stripped his voice of its clear, original tone, leaving it coarse and unpleasant. With the hint of tears, his voice sounded like a wandering spirit crawling out of the night—each sound a mournful lament to the mortal world.

Tl – im done i cant 🥹🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭