Encounter with a snake"

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, clad in a black robe, stood motionless, hands clasped behind him. The robe was embroidered with ancient patterns in gold thread, and his expression was icy, his lips pressed tightly as he stood there, unnoticed for who knows how long.

No one was aware of his presence, even as they brushed past him, none spared him a glance. Had they seen him, they surely wouldn't have ignored the man who seemed like the grim reaper incarnate.

Yet, indeed, no one knew he was there.

As the night deepened, the elder Shen, weary in both body and spirit, longed to stay by his son's side. However, the harsh reality of his age and the cold night forced him to retire, albeit reluctantly, to the warm comfort of his chamber, leaving his son in the care of the butler and a few servants.

Hours passed, and Shen Qingxuan, who had been barely breathing, began to show signs of steady, stronger breaths. The figure in the shadows lifted his gaze slightly, a hint of surprise in his eyes, skeptical that any miraculous medicine could counteract his poison.

Indeed, after observing the weakened young man on the bed for a while, he realized it was merely a temporary rally, a fleeting resurgence of vitality before the end. The supposed antidotes could at best delay the inevitable for a brief time. To truly detoxify? A mere fantasy.

Shen Qingxuan tried to move his eyelids, which felt as heavy as if weighed down by thousands of pounds, struggling to open them.

The attendant by his side noticed the slight movement and exclaimed with joy, "Young Master, Young Master!"

Her voice, laden with rash happiness, stirred the quiet of the early night, awakening the villa and the surrounding woods.

Soon, the elder Shen, clad in his cloak and hurriedly shod, rushed over, calling out, "Xuan'er, Xuan'er... Are you awake, my son? Your father has been so worried..."

Perhaps spurred by his father's calls, Shen Qingxuan mustered the strength to flutter his heavy eyelids, managing to open them. His gaze was unfocused, slowly gaining clarity, the life returning to his eyes.

He tried to speak, but no sound came out. Yet, everyone understood his silent utterance: Father.

"Yes, father is here..." Overwhelmed with relief and tears, the elder Shen, abandoning all semblance of stoic dignity, clutched his son's hand, murmuring, "Qingxuan, are you feeling better? Your father will be at ease then..."

With great effort, Shen Qingxuan managed a faint smile, signaling some comfort despite his grim prognosis. He knew, however, that his time was near, the paralysis enveloping his body, the sweet, metallic taste in his mouth, and the alternating clarity and darkness in his vision signaling the approach of death.

The feeling of impending death was as he imagined – not frightening for him, who had lived as if on borrowed time. Death was less fearsome than the prospect of enduring existence in his condition. His only regret was leaving his family, especially his younger brother, behind.

His family had been his sole motivation, the joy in his constrained life. The thought of their sorrow after his passing was unbearable.

He had long reconciled with his mortality, not out of despair but acceptance of his gradually deteriorating health. Initially, he could still enjoy the sun, be wheeled around the estate. But recently, his condition worsened; a slight breeze could make him ill, each episode more severe than the last, eventually confining him to bed for months.

This winter, he stayed indoors, rarely opening the windows, the brief respite today leading to his fateful encounter with the snake, also basking in the rare sunlight.

Reflecting on this, Shen Qingxuan almost smiled; the irony was not lost on him – neither he nor the snake found the sunbathing pleasant.

He understood the snake had been merely coiled on the railing, enjoying the warmth. They could have coexisted peacefully, each enjoying the day until the unfortunate spill of tea, which he impulsively tossed without seeing the snake, scalding it and provoking its bite.

He bore the greater blame, understanding that any creature, not just a snake, would react defensively to being scalded.

It was a majestic snake. He caught only a glimpse before pain clouded his vision. He remembered its glossy black scales, the striking gold of its underbelly shining in the sunlight, wishing he had seen more before his sight blurred. He wondered if the tea had harmed the snake, though its scales should have shielded it.

His vision darkened again, sounds fading, the ringing in his ears drowning out his father's words. He strained to listen, but his waning strength made it impossible to comprehend.

Aware his end was near, Shen Qingxuan felt a mix of sorrow and resignation. He had always known death was inevitable, yet its arrival was startlingly abrupt.

His deep attachment to life made him yearn to gaze upon his world one last time. Despite his failing strength, he forced his eyes open, gathering the fading light in his gaze, looking upon his loved ones for as long as he could.

His father, aged by worry and care, the loyal butler, the weeping maid, and all those familiar faces who had tended to him with devotion over the years... His gaze lingered on each, his faint smile a silent farewell, a poignant blend of affection for life and acceptance of his fate.

Such a deep, desperate attachment, yet tinged with a peaceful acceptance of death.

Perhaps the poignancy of his smile, a stark contrast to his ghastly pallor, caught the attention of the enigmatic figure in the shadows. The observer, having watched the entire scene unfold, his deep, abyss-like eyes briefly rippled with emotion, touched by the young man's serene acceptance of his inevitable fate.Having glimpsed the world for one last time, Shen Qingxuan's spirit slackened, and darkness engulfed his vision as if a black cloth had been thoroughly draped over his eyes, obliterating all light. Simultaneously, a suppressed torrent of heat surged from within him, filling his mouth with a warm, blood-tinged taste, pungently metallic.

Aware it was his own blood, Shen Qingxuan found the flavor repulsively foul, disgusted by the corruption of his body. Yet, he did not see that what he spat out was not ordinary blood but a mixture of black and red, the vile odor emanating from that potent, bone-corroding poison, mingled with a strong scent of blood, provoking nausea.

The revolting smell permeated the small chamber, causing even Elder Shen, who stood by his side, to feel a roiling nausea.

The butler quickly opened the doors and windows, urging the servants to clean the room and wipe the young master, while he silently summoned the old servants of the villa to solemnly prepare for the aftermath.

Shen Qingxuan, having fainted, exhibited faint breathing; experienced elders understood that this hurdle was insurmountable for their young master.

While the last breath lingered and warmth remained in his body, they dressed him in clean garments, tidying him up to send him off cleanly and peacefully.

After a day and night of turmoil, the serene villa, in the misty early dawn, plunged into another kind of quietude.

White banners and hemp cloth, paper money, and coffins—all funeral paraphernalia were quietly transported into the courtyard through the villa's back door in the dimly lit morning.

Shen Qingxuan alternated between boundless darkness and lucid awareness.

Though immobile, he listened intently to the hushed whispers and footsteps outside.

He didn’t know what awaited him; in his fleeting moments of clarity, he pondered whether the legendary Ox-Head and Horse-Face deities were coming with their soul-leading rope. However, his lucidity was brief, his mind soon plunging back into darkness.

In this confused state, time became indistinct, perhaps endlessly long or just a fleeting moment. Shen Qingxuan faintly sensed that the world beyond the bed curtains had fallen eerily silent, as if submerged in an eternal night, devoid of any human sound.

Not even the wind made a sound.

With unease in his heart and no strength to open his eyes, Shen Qingxuan lay there, desperately focusing his mind, listening for any signs of life.

Still, there was silence, no breath.

Though Shen Qingxuan couldn’t open his eyes to see, he was lucidly aware. His father would never leave him alone like this; the room should have been filled with servants to watch over him, but he couldn’t hear anything, nor feel the slightest presence of others.

It felt as though he was the only person left in the world, lying here, gasping for life.

Amidst his uncertainty, another mouthful of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, sliding behind his ear, initially warm and then chilling in the cold air, like a slender snake crawling around his neck. No one was there to wipe it away, nor were there any maids' cries of alarm, as if the world had gone mute.

The unsettling feeling of nowhere to turn was disturbing, and Shen Qingxuan was no exception. He held his already faint breathing, vaguely awaiting something.

It felt like a dream when Shen Qingxuan heard faint footsteps, indistinct, blurring the line between illusion and reality, making it hard to discern whether he was dreaming or awake. He even speculated whether the long-awaited Ox-Head and Horse-Face had finally appeared to take him down the path to the underworld.

But unbeknownst to him, his prolonged last breath was due to the man in the corner who had cast a spell.

In this haze, Shen Qingxuan distinctly felt something cold touch his forehead, soft yet firm, broad and chilly, covering his entire forehead.

He found the object eerily familiar but couldn't recall what it was.

As he strained to remember, a voice near his ear said, “You have a strong life force, destined for wealth and prosperity.”

In his muddled state, Shen Qingxuan thought the voice had a deep and resonant quality, but then he sharply realized that the cold object on his forehead was the man's hand.

How could it be so cold? Almost unrecognizable. Before he could ponder further, Shen Qingxuan wondered whom the life force comment was about.

“You,” the voice seemed to read his thoughts and responded promptly.

Shen Qingxuan’s mind stalled for a moment, then he thought dismissively that the man was spouting nonsense. If his life force was so strong, how had he ended up in such a dire situation?

“Too much prosperity attracts jealousy,” the man remarked nonchalantly.

Struck by the comment, Shen Qingxuan fell silent, not contesting further, settling into quiet reflection.

The man paused, scrutinizing Shen Qingxuan’s face again before continuing, “Shen Qingxuan, today I shall spare your life. Would that be agreeable?”

Despite hovering on the brink of death, Shen Qingxuan’s mind remained clear, filled with dozens of conjectures about the stranger’s mysterious appearance, not resembling a dream. He was startled by the offer. If he were to be saved now, it would require nothing short of a divine intervention.

Could this man be a deity?

The thought wasn’t so bizarre, just seemingly ludicrous.

“I am a demon,” the man’s deep, pleasant voice echoed again, this time directly in Shen Qingxuan’s mind.

A demon? What kind of demon?

Though resigned to his fate, Shen Qingxuan, still taken aback, instinctively questioned further.

“The snake that bit you today was me,” the man stated matter-of-factly, as if transforming from a snake into a demon and biting someone was the most natural thing, his nonchalant admission adding a layer of indifference.

This straightforwardness baffled Shen Qingxuan, leaving him unsure how to respond. Had he been able to move, he would have furrowed his brows in confusion.

After a moment, he recalled the previous conversation, realizing the snake indeed had the power to save his life.

Yet he couldn’t help thinking, so it was a snake demon, no wonder his hand was so cold.