Encountering a Snake - Chapter 3

v3c3

After Shen Jue left, the courtyard grew even quieter. Yi Mo had always been taciturn, and Liu Yan spoke little, if at all. At home, only Shen Jue was talkative, chattering away all day. Now that Shen Jue was gone, even Yi Mo found the silent courtyard somewhat unfamiliar. Perhaps sensing this change, Liu Yan, who never spoke, began to talk. Like a toddler learning to speak, mimicking words, he started with single syllables: good, no, go, eat, sleep, carry.

Usually, when he stretched out his hands for Yi Mo to carry him, Yi Mo would pick him up, walk a short distance, and then put him down.

But now he was clingier. Even after being set down, he wouldn’t move but stood right in front of Yi Mo, saying, “Yi Mo, carry.”

When he was sleepy, he would say, “Yi Mo, sleep.” When he was hungry, he would say, “Yi Mo, hungry.”

Over time, Yi Mo noticed that before Liu Yan spoke, he always preceded it with Yi Mo’s name. It seemed as though it carried a kind of stubbornness. Anything he said had to include Yi Mo’s name, even if it had nothing to do with Yi Mo. For instance, if he saw a bird on the mountain, even if Yi Mo wasn’t around, he would say, “Yi Mo, fly.”

One day, Liu Yan squatted by the stream watching tadpoles and muttered to himself, “Yi Mo, hide.” He meant the tadpoles had darted under the water plants and disappeared from view. Yi Mo, standing behind him, couldn’t help but grab Liu Yan by the shoulder, pulling him up and turning him around to face him.

Liu Yan, being simple-minded, didn’t know what to do when suddenly pulled up. He kept his head lowered as though still watching the tadpoles, unaware that he should lift his face.

Yi Mo clasped his chin, forcing him to raise his face. Looking into those innocent eyes, he asked, “Why do you always call my name?”

Liu Yan stared blankly at him, seemingly understanding the question, yet not understanding. He simply gazed at Yi Mo’s handsome face, his lips moving as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out. After a long pause, he finally uttered two words: “Yi Mo.”

“Yi Mo,” Liu Yan said, lifting his arms to wrap them around Yi Mo’s neck. His thin frame pressed against Yi Mo’s chest as he repeated, “Yi Mo.”

No matter how Yi Mo questioned or pressed him, Liu Yan would only look at him with those dull, guileless eyes and call out repeatedly, “Yi Mo.”

He pronounced the name with particular clarity, his tongue pressing against his lower teeth, his lips flattening, slowly articulating Yi Mo’s surname, then pursing and parting his lips to say his given name.

“Yi Mo,” he called, his voice soft and full of reliance, like a whispered endearment.

Yi Mo closed his eyes, unsure if Liu Yan was truly foolish or pretending to be. When he finally opened his eyes, he said nothing further, holding the young man close and murmuring, “You silly boy.”

Upon hearing this, Liu Yan buried his head against Yi Mo’s chest. After a long time, he spoke in halting words, saying something he had never said before.

Liu Yan said, “You, don’t, like, me, because, I’m, stupid?”

It was the first time he had spoken such a long sentence, stammering as he did. Yi Mo paused, caught off guard. Over the years, he had never said he disliked Liu Yan, but he had also never said he liked him.

This simple-minded child—Yi Mo could not bring himself to overlap him with Shen Qingxuan in his mind. Shen Qingxuan was so intelligent that even in his reincarnation as Ji Jiu, his brilliance had not dimmed but rather shone even brighter. How could someone like him compare to the simple-minded Liu Yan before him? If not for their increasingly similar features and the cinnabar mole on his chest, Yi Mo wouldn’t know how to convince himself that this simple boy was the person he was searching for.

All he could do was take care of him, be kind to him. Beyond that, he could do no more. Yi Mo admitted he felt resistance and aversion toward this foolish Liu Yan.

Especially when faced with those no-longer-lively eyes, this aversion grew even stronger.

What he didn’t know was when it began that the seemingly simple-minded Liu Yan had started to sense Yi Mo’s aversion. In his simplistic mind, this aversion translated directly into “dislike.”

Seeing Yi Mo remain silent, Liu Yan lowered his head and stopped speaking as well. Missing part of his soul, he was already slower than most people, both in thinking and action. Thus, even in sadness, he couldn’t express it. He simply lowered his head like a young animal that had lost its shelter, helpless in the face of reality.

In the end, Yi Mo hugged him, lowering his head to kiss the top of his hair and softly said, “I don’t dislike you.”

Liu Yan didn’t respond for a long time. Yi Mo knew he was slow in everything he did, so he waited quietly. The stream gurgled as it flowed, and the forest wind rustled the treetops. Amidst the lush greenery, the black-robed man held the young boy before him, neither of them moving. Liu Yan clung to his neck, nestled in his chest. The clear day felt heartbreakingly sorrowful.

After a long while, Liu Yan said, “I’m, stupid, so, no one, likes, me.”

Yi Mo frowned and asked, “No one likes you?”

After another long pause, Liu Yan replied, “Father, Mother, Yi Mo.”

Yi Mo froze, momentarily incredulous. When he had carried Liu Yan up the mountain at the age of four, he thought a child so young shouldn’t remember much. How could this simple boy recall things so clearly?

Yi Mo asked again, “Do you still remember the past? Your mother, your father?”

Liu Yan tried hard to work his sluggish mind to answer him: “Father, Mother, bad. Yi Mo, good.” Then, clutching Yi Mo’s robe, he clumsily added, “Don’t like, stupid boy, Yi Mo still, good.”

Hearing this sentence, Yi Mo suddenly felt a pang of sorrow. He asked, “Am I good?”

Liu Yan answered affirmatively, “Good.”

Yi Mo asked again, “Do you like me?”

Liu Yan said, “Like.”

It was hard to tell what exactly he was feeling when Yi Mo lowered his head and said, “I don’t like fools.”

This was the first time he had seen Liu Yan cry. From birth until now, Liu Yan had never cried, but today he did. He withdrew the arms hooked around Yi Mo’s neck, letting them fall to his sides, and looked into Yi Mo’s eyes. His round eyes were misty with tears that formed into droplets, falling one by one. His mouth was open, but no sound came out. Silent and still, even his crying was like that of a complete fool.

Yi Mo quietly watched his tears, not knowing why he had said such a thing, nor why seeing him cry strangely eased the irritation in his heart.

Using his finger, Yi Mo touched a teardrop, brought it to his mouth, and tasted it—salty and bitter.

The fool kept shedding tears, a silent flood pouring from his eyes. The tears carved trails down his fair face, gathering at his chin and dripping continuously to the ground.

After a long while of crying, Yi Mo carried him back home, holding him all the way without offering any words of comfort.

Exhausted from crying, Liu Yan curled up on the bed and fell asleep. Yi Mo sat beside him, looking at his tear-streaked face, still weeping even in sleep. He stared for a long time before murmuring softly to himself, “This is the third time you’ve cried for me.”

The next morning, the fool sat on the bed, hugging his knees. His eyes, red and swollen, were still brimming with tears, which flowed incessantly as if years of pent-up sadness had finally found an outlet and were spilling out without end. Yi Mo helped him get dressed—he cried. Yi Mo tied his hair—he cried. During washing, the water couldn’t wipe away the tears. At breakfast, Liu Yan’s eyes were so swollen he could barely open them.

Finally, Yi Mo said, “You look awful.”

Liu Yan looked at him, crying.

Yi Mo said, “I was lying.” He reached out to touch those swollen eyes and sighed softly, “Even a fool, I still want.”

Liu Yan didn’t understand the meaning behind his words and continued crying silently. Yi Mo rubbed his head, pulled him into his arms, and held him tightly for a moment before lowering his voice to issue a threat: “If you cry again, I won’t want you anymore.”

Before long, Liu Yan’s tears stopped.

Yi Mo said, “No more crying in the future.”

Liu Yan nestled against his chest, clutching his robe tightly as if terrified that Yi Mo would abandon him, nodding repeatedly.

Seeing this, Yi Mo patted his back, carefully comforting him, though he still couldn’t figure out how foolish he really was. He seemed so simple-minded, yet he remembered things from such a young age. If he wasn’t entirely foolish, he was thoroughly silly—able to cry all day over a single remark.

Silly Shen Qingxuan, Yi Mo thought, didn’t seem so bad after all.

Yi Mo said, “Fool.”

Liu Yan lifted his head, not understanding why Yi Mo was calling him.

Yi Mo said, “Your eyes are swollen, ugly, very ugly.”

Liu Yan slowly realized he was being teased. Feeling wronged, he tugged on Yi Mo’s robe, leaned his face closer, and said, “Yi Mo, kiss, hurts.”

Yi Mo laughed, kissed his eyelid, then kissed the right one he offered, and asked, “Where else hurts?”

Liu Yan stared blankly for a long time before he could answer, stammering, “Yi Mo, doesn’t, like, fool, me, here, hurts.” Saying this, he grabbed Yi Mo’s hand and placed it over his heart, earnestly and honestly telling him:

“Here, hurts.”

Under his hand, the skin was warm, no longer gaunt but soft and smooth. Yi Mo paused, his fingers tracing the cinnabar mark on his chest as he murmured, “Then let it hurt more…”

He leaned in to whisper by Liu Yan’s ear, speaking slowly and deliberately, “Hurt more for me. The more you hurt, the better I’ll feel.”

Liu Yan gazed at him blankly, then lowered his head to look at the long fingers teasing his chest. After a moment, though he didn’t understand, he still agreed:

“All right.”

Because he agreed so sincerely, Yi Mo looked at him for a long time and finally said again, “Fool.”