Encountering a Snake - Chapter 33.2

Side Story: The Childish God③

It was Qingming once again, and Shen Jue returned to Mount Luofu. The birds and beasts of the mountain had a certain spirituality. Though they had not yet taken human form, they recognized him. They watched this person who came year after year. In their living memories, whenever he returned, he would tend to the small courtyard—replacing rotted table legs, tightening loose joints, repairing rain-damaged walls, scrubbing moss-covered water tanks until they shone, and refilling them with spring water. Despite his efforts, the courtyard continued its irreversible decay. Yet he busied himself regardless, a faint light in his eyes.

In the afternoon, smoke would curl up from the chimney of the small courtyard, carrying the smell of cooked dishes. Warm wine would be poured into an exquisite jug. In the end, everything would be laid before a grave.

Pairs of animal eyes watched him kneel, kowtow, and rest silently against the tombstone.

Though the person was long gone, this place remained his home.

Every Qingming, he returned for a brief rest and a quiet memorial before shouldering his bundle and leaving again. Year after year, the cycle repeated.

His life had been reduced to two points: one was the grave on Mount Luofu, the other stretched into an endless line. Only during the annual Qingming did that winding line suddenly double back, returning straight to the first point before stretching back into infinity.

This process repeated endlessly. He neither spoke of suffering nor cried out in fatigue. He simply felt weary.

When the exhaustion became unbearable, he would quicken his pace, the rushing wind in his ears bringing forth the image of a face.

That was an emperor, one who inherited his beauty from his concubine mother. Yet his face defied simple words like “beautiful” or “ugly.”

Because he was the emperor, his appearance was the least significant thing. Who cared? To his officials, he was the ruler—unreachable and unassailable. To his subjects, “emperor” was merely a title, a distant figure to respect but never imagine. To everyone, he was only a shadow that controlled the world from behind the word “emperor.”

But Shen Jue knew he looked very good. Even if he was somber and ruthless, his features were clear and vibrant. His face came to Shen Jue’s eyes first, and only then did the identity of “emperor” follow.

At the time, one was the master of the world—arrogant beyond measure—and the other a proud creature who could crush mortals at will. Both were proud and unyielding.

So when they were together, their battles of will were frequent, always arguing, often sulking.

Shen Jue would feign illness and skip court—ten days, half a month, or once, an entire six months. The emperor would, in turn, refuse to summon him, leaving him kneeling outside the imperial study for an entire day under the watchful eyes of others, never speaking a word to let him rise.

Rumors spread in the court, likening Shen Jue to the courtesans of brothels. Upright officials even hurled insults to his face. This meant little to Shen Jue, who cared not for slander or ridicule. But someone still paid a bloody price.

They had been sulking for two months, not meeting once. Shen Jue practiced his sword in the general’s residence when a servant burst in with news—the emperor had sentenced the offending official to prison that morning for “slanderous speech.”

Though Shen Jue knew the man was already a thorn in the emperor’s side, he hadn’t expected such a move. Rumors were of no concern to Shen Jue, who, as the son of Shen Qingxuan, had always been unafraid of defamation.

What did it matter? The cruelest words were mere whispers on the wind; in the end, the people who cursed him would all die, while he would still live. As a demon, he could not be bothered with mortals.

But the emperor—cold and merciless—had intervened, shedding blood without explanation. Even Shen Jue couldn’t understand why, and naturally, no answer came from the emperor.

It wasn’t the last time. When Shen Jue became a general and wielded military power, no one dared openly criticize him. Over time, everyone grew accustomed to him, and even his “sleeping on the emperor’s bed” became a non-issue.

Their days should have been calm. But the passing years revealed the truth—officials who entered the court after him turned gray and aged, while General Shen remained unchanging. Soon, rumors of his “demonic nature” surged again.

When whispers grew too loud, someone finally declared in court, “General Shen Jue is a demon who beguiles His Majesty.”

The emperor, sitting on the throne, asked his general indifferently, “Are you a demon?”

The general stepped forward, bowed, and replied, “Your servant does not know. Nor does your servant understand what ‘demon’ means.”

Shen Jue didn’t expect bloodshed. If the emperor chose to ignore it, no one would dare speak further.

But that day, the emperor erupted in fury, like a storm breaking over the court. The man’s death became inevitable.

There was no reason, no explanation, no answer.

They say serving an emperor is like serving a tiger. Yet Shen Jue stayed by his side for decades, safe and sound. He was the emperor’s general for over forty years, holding command over the empire’s armies and its fate. But their battles never involved the throne or power.

Shen Jue thought quietly to himself, amid the whistling wind: In all these years, it was never about gain or loss.

Not power, not riches, not reputation.

Perhaps it was because he was a demon. Or perhaps simply because he was Shen Jue.

His pace slowed until he finally stopped, as if overcome by weariness, and sat down. Then he leaned back onto the earth, gazing at the clouds drifting across the sky, silently thinking of the one he had been searching for.

His longing stirred no waves, like a cup of clear water—colorless, tasteless, yet essential.

After lying there for a long while, Shen Jue sat up, looking around. The scenery was vaguely familiar. He had traveled so much of the world, passing through the same places over and over again. Yet this spot didn’t spark immediate recognition.

Doubtful, he surveyed the area and headed southwest based on faint memory. After some walking, he saw a mountain peak rising into the clouds—half covered in green trees, half draped in snow. He suddenly remembered: this was where the old immortal buried his wine.

After standing still for a moment, he walked towards the mountain. Though the person was an immortal, they had met a few times. To call him an ‘old acquaintance’ wouldn’t be inaccurate. Shen Jue wanted to see the only person in this world who was still familiar to him.

In this entire world, the only familiar face left, the only one who could call him by name, was this Old Immortal. It had been many, many years since Shen Jue had seen a familiar face.

The mountain was extraordinarily lofty and remote. From its base to its waist, the land was filled with green grass, lush trees, and the melodies of birds and flowers. The moment Shen Jue stepped into the area, he felt an unusually abundant flow of spiritual energy. Then he faintly heard voices. Curiosity rising in his heart, he followed the sound, searching for it. After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the voice seemed to be right at his ear, yet he couldn’t see anyone. Shen Jue wondered if he had come across someone like himself.

At that moment, he suddenly stepped aside. The spot he had just been standing on was struck, leaving a small pit where a pinecone lay motionless. Shen Jue looked up at the squirrel on the tree and unwillingly accepted the truth—it was the squirrel that had thrown it down.

“Were you looking for me?” the squirrel asked.

Shen Jue’s eyelid twitched slightly, but his expression remained calm as he said, “While passing by, I suddenly heard voices and came to investigate.” With that, he cupped his hands politely and said, “Sorry to disturb you.”

“Your voice is really unpleasant to hear,” the squirrel said. After speaking, it suddenly disappeared, only to reappear as a gray-clothed girl who leapt over and asked, “Are you heading to the mountaintop?”

Shen Jue nodded. The squirrel girl said, “I’ll take you there.”

She truly took the lead and walked ahead, bouncing and skipping all the way. She greeted everyone she met, whether it was butterflies, wild bees, or even frogs in puddles when wading through water, as if all of them were spirits who had gained sentience. In truth, after Shen Jue’s inspection, they were undoubtedly just wild creatures, which left him speechless.

When they reached the mountainside, where the snow began, the squirrel girl stopped and said, “It’s very cold up there. I just changed my coat of fur, so you can go up on your own.”

Shen Jue had intended to thank her, but before he could, the girl had already jumped away in a few bounds. He could only turn back and pretend not to see the squirrel—now in its original form—rolling itself into a ball and tumbling down the mountainside.

Stepping onto the snow, Shen Jue wasn’t in a hurry to climb up. Such a steep and peculiar mountainside was something he had never seen before. It was also rare to witness such a scene where half the mountain was lush and green while the other half was covered in ice and snow. Feeling a rare spark of interest, he climbed up step by step, slowly, guessing which path Xu Mingshi had taken when he was on this mountain years ago. Had there also been a squirrel girl guiding him? Probably not—otherwise, Xu Mingshi would have mentioned it. That old man’s most prominent trait was his inability to keep his mouth shut. Then Shen Jue thought of how the mountain’s spiritual energy was so abundant. Truly, it was an excellent place for cultivation. No wonder the Old Immortal chose to bury and brew his wine here. With such peaceful thoughts, he unconsciously reached the mountaintop.

There were voices at the mountaintop as well, sometimes near and sometimes far, sounding very familiar. Shen Jue paused, then realized that the Old Immortal had guests. Perhaps he had invited someone to drink. From Yi Mo, Shen Jue understood just how much this immortal loved wine, as well as how much he enjoyed showing off the wine he brewed himself. Unable to help himself, Shen Jue quickened his pace, arriving soon at the mountain’s highest point.

From afar, the mountaintop had seemed infinitely lofty, but the peak turned out to be a flat platform, as if sliced by a blade. Naturally, snow had gathered there, forming a thick layer. Stepping onto it, one could sink waist-deep. On top of this thick snow, two people sat face to face. One was, of course, the Old Immortal; the other showed only their back. Between them was a game of chess, the pieces carved from some unknown material that glowed faintly against the white snow. Beside the board was a small low table, at which sat a figure dressed like a young child, tending to hot wine and tea.

All three were aware that a guest had arrived from afar, yet none of them looked up at him.

After waiting for a moment, Shen Jue could only walk over on his own. Before he could approach, the child tending the tea and wine turned around, offering a cup of hot tea.

“You’ve traveled far—quench your thirst.”

Both the voice and the appearance were unmistakable—wasn’t this the little pine spirit from Mount Luofu?

Shen Jue froze for a moment, not expecting to meet him here. For a time, he felt disoriented, as if he were still on Mount Luofu, meeting him back then, when his family was still alive, and he was not yet so alone.

Still dazed, Shen Jue watched as the pine spirit continued holding the tea, waiting until Shen Jue finally came to his senses and took the cup. The pine spirit smiled faintly and said, “I left in a hurry and didn’t get to say goodbye to you. Later, I heard that many things happened to you. I didn’t want to trouble you, so I didn’t seek you out. That’s why I never got the chance to say ‘thank you.’ Now that you’re here… I can say it face to face.”

The little pine spirit bowed solemnly and gave a proper salute. “In my ignorant youth, I was fortunate to have your care and tolerance, and later, you gave me the opportunity that helped me achieve immortality. Now I have achieved something small, and I owe it all to you.”

Shen Jue looked at him and found him unfamiliar. Since when had the little pine spirit from his memory become so polite, so distant? But he showed no change in expression, because he knew the gratitude was genuine, and the distance was also genuine. A tree has no heart, making it the hardest to cultivate. Yet once successful, it becomes truly transcendent. He finished the tea, handed the empty cup back, and said calmly, “No need to thank me. You were born with extraordinary talent, and this was as it should be.”

With the tea offered and the tea drunk, there was no longer any connection between them.

The little pine spirit took the cup back and said to the Old Immortal, “I have been well taken care of, and now that the last matter is settled, I will return.”

The Old Immortal, engrossed in the chess game, only nodded. The pine spirit’s figure vanished.

The chessboard remained calm and quiet. No one moved the pieces, yet it seemed as though an invisible hand was advancing the game, with each move taking a long time to play out, as though the two players were silently struggling against each other.

Finally, another piece was moved, and White’s position worsened. The Old Immortal opened his eyes and said discontentedly, “Your mind is unsettled, Emperor. What’s the point of playing? Even if I win, it won’t be much fun. Enough, I won’t play anymore.”

The person facing away from Shen Jue said nothing.

“Your Majesty, a guest has come to visit. You should at least greet him,” said the Old Immortal, with a wave of his sleeve as he put away the chessboard. He poured a cup of hot wine, slowly and unhurriedly, and said, “We immortals treat all beings equally. Even if someone is just a little demon, it’s only proper to observe the rules of courtesy.”

Hearing this, Shen Jue paused, his gaze lingering briefly on the jade cup in the Old Immortal’s hand before moving slowly to the back of the other figure. He had already found the figure’s back somewhat unusual earlier but hadn’t thought much of it. After all, those who could drink with the Old Immortal here could only be other immortals. He hadn’t thought beyond that, but things always took unexpected turns.

“You kept bringing me here to drink wine—so this was the reason,” the person finally said, standing up slowly. At first glance, his plain moon-white robe seemed simple, but as it shifted with his movements, faint patterns of dragons and flowers appeared, dignified and subtly luxurious. He turned around, and as Shen Jue was still startled by the familiar voice, half-believing and half-doubting, he was truly stunned when he saw the man’s face.

“Shen Jue.”

It was the Old Immortal who called his name. “I was caught up in the chess game earlier and couldn’t break away. You’ve been here so long, and I haven’t even invited you to sit. I’ve been a poor host.”

As he spoke, the Old Immortal poured a cup of wine and handed it to him personally, saying:

“I invite you to drink.”