An Xiao felt like he had a fever. His head was groggy, his whole body ached, and he swayed unsteadily as if adrift on ocean waves.
There were many voices around him, chattering away, indistinct—and crying…
Crying?
Was he dying?
An Xiao struggled and finally forced his heavy eyelids open.
The sky was clear as washed jade, with fluffy white clouds drifting by. On both sides were uneven shrubs and heads bobbing up and down—
Heads?
Oh, not heads—he was lying on a bamboo stretcher, carried or supported by a group of people walking along a bumpy mountain path.
A piece of colorful cloth covered half his body.
“**.” A calloused finger brushed across his cheek, pulling his gaze back.
A woman with braided hair, her eyes swollen and tearful, spoke to him “****…”
…I can’t understand you, miss. An Xiao looked at her dazedly. Who are you?
“***!” A shout came from up ahead.
The braided woman was immediately pulled away by a young man with puffy eyes, dragged back beyond the crowd.
Farther and farther from him.
Through the gaps between heads, An Xiao saw the braided woman collapse to the ground, covering her face as if all strength had left her, while the young man knelt and kowtowed in his direction.
…Brother, no need for that—I’m not dead yet. An Xiao, who couldn’t even lift his hand, thought wryly.
Another shout.
The murmuring stopped instantly, footsteps halted, and wariness and tension appeared on everyone’s faces.
The man who had shouted called out something.
Then the bamboo stretcher moved again.
This time, only the sturdy men carrying him walked forward. Everyone else stayed where they were, either wiping their tears or waving at him.
An Xiao was confused. What are these people doing?
His vision went dark—the blue sky and white clouds became jagged, strange rocks, the fresh scent of vegetation replaced by damp moisture, and he could faintly hear a rhythmic “thump, thump” sound.
The men carrying him walked slowly but steadily, continuing to bear him into the darkness.
A soft “pfft” sound, and a faint light flickered to life ahead.
The bamboo stretcher swayed, the firelight danced. An Xiao, overcome with discomfort, drifted back into a daze.
“BANG—THUD!”
A loud crash woke An Xiao again.
He was still lying on the bamboo stretcher. In the dim firelight, he could see the two men carrying the rear of the stretcher, their faces pale and covered in sweat—whether from carrying too long or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell.
Above his head were still jagged rocks. The air around him was cool, which felt pleasant against his burning, aching body, and even cleared his mind a bit.
He tried to look at the man by his right foot, opening his mouth to speak—
“!” The voice he’d heard several times before rang out again, rapid and panicked, “****.”
An Xiao: “?”
What language is this—
“BANG—”
An Xiao suddenly fell, his head hitting the bamboo frame. The pain knocked the breath out of him, and he nearly blacked out.
In his daze, he only saw several figures retreating in panic, kneeling to kowtow a few times, then turning and running off, taking the torches with them.
—?!!
Hey, brothers, I’m not dead yet, why are you abandoning me?!
“CRUNCH—”
A strange sound came from the darkness, like a steamroller crushing gravel, stones being flattened with a grinding noise, or something heavy slithering and scraping—
Light blazed suddenly.
An Xiao was forced to shut his eyes, waiting two seconds before opening them again—
?!
Two enormous, dark-gold glass orbs hovered right in front of him, each containing a long, narrow black slit.
Before An Xiao could get a clear look, the two massive orbs suddenly retreated, stopping more than half a meter away, revealing a ball of flame floating in midair.
The fire was still, without wind or sway.
The dark golden glass orbs reflected the firelight, narrow black lines slowly shifting, faintly tinged with red in the glow.
…What the hell is that big? An Xiao thought to himself. He was delirious from fever, starting to dream?
A crack split open beneath the dark golden orbs, and a long red strip thicker than his arm slithered out, wetly sliding across his face, smearing him with saliva, then moving downward, coiling around his entire body once, twice, even slipping under his clothes and winding back and forth.
…The coolness of the damp moisture brought some clarity to feverish An Xiao.
A massive dark shadow loomed over him, blocking even the firelight.
The next second, the huge shadow slowly rose, the firelight spreading out again, revealing a thick, coiled body piled up like a mountain.
“Hiss~~”
The red strip that had been winding around him arced through the air, bringing the massive shadow down over him once more.
An Xiao’s pupils contracted, and before reason could catch up, he blurted out: “Ahhhhhhh don’t come near me—”
The moment the forked tongue swept up, he passed out.
…
A cool, rough metallic scraping against his skin, binding and entangling, pain seeping into his very bones.
An Xiao wasn’t dead, so he woke up in pain.
Before his eyes even opened, a scream had already escaped his throat.
The rough metallic scraping paused for a moment, the pressure on his body suddenly easing, the pain greatly reduced.
An Xiao gasped for air twice and opened his eyes.
Jagged rocks all around, warm firelight.
Cold all around him, black coils wrapped around his body.
Somewhere on his body, something hot and hard was still lodged.
…And he himself was even floating in midair.
An Xiao froze, his gaze slowly drifting downward, meeting a pair of dark golden eyes—vertical pupils, deep black, cold and piercing.
And a crimson forked tongue flickering across his face.
An Xiao: “!!”
He passed out again.
It seemed he hadn’t been out for long before he was woken by pain again, his body feeling wrapped in molten lava, burning so hot he struggled and convulsed.
But the black serpent held him tight, firmly suspending him in midair, until he passed out once more.
(Wait, is this really the place for that?)
Waking up again, the pain finally disappeared.
Rough scales coiled and scraped against him, the forked tongue roaming and licking across his face…
The massive serpent body wrapped around him.
He collapsed in shock and terror, losing consciousness.
Waking again, and…
Waking yet again, still…
Waking once more, and again…
Even when unconscious, his body remained out of his control.
…
This chaotic ordeal of shame, fury, and terror stretched on so long that An Xiao felt despair.
Just when he thought he would truly die in this cave, his body was finally released. He didn’t even have a second to think about escaping before he fell into a deep, sound sleep.
…
The chirping of birds woke An Xiao.
He groggily opened his eyes, only to see a stone wall—a flat, gray stone wall, not jagged, terrifying rocks!
It really was a dream!
He knew it. Why would he end up in some random cave?
And besides, how could there be a snake that big in the world?
Nor would there be flames floating in midair.
Relieved, An Xiao shifted his gaze and looked around.
This was a crude stone room, quite large, but with only one door and one window.
The window was a wooden frame with woven bamboo, an outward-opening casement. The door also had a bamboo-woven curtain hanging over it, letting in only a few slivers of light, obscuring the view outside. The room was somewhat dim.
The room contained only a wooden bed, a wooden table, and a wooden stool. On the table was a small stack of bamboo strips and wood shavings, with a dagger placed beside them.
Even the bed he was lying on had no mattress—only a woven grass mat with a thick piece of hemp cloth laid over it. Hemp cloth, right?
Everything was rough and crude, and combined with the vast space, it looked like a farmer’s storage shed. The bed seemed like something prepared for a temporary guest, thrown together with little care.
In contrast, the blanket covering him looked expensive—pure handwoven wool, though he couldn’t tell what kind of wool it was.
The moon-white fabric placed at the head of the bed also looked soft. It was probably clothes prepared for him—
Wait! Why was he…?!
…Why did that place feel sore and swollen?!
The image of that massive black serpent surfaced in his mind again.
An Xiao pressed his hand to his forehead.
Impossible.
That snake was at least three stories tall. If he’d really been taken by that snake… how could he still be alive?
Since the snake was just a nightmare… why would he have such a dream out of nowhere?
…Could it be that while he was unconscious…
He frowned and began retracing his memories.
His unit had organized an exchange study trip. He went with his colleagues. On the way back, rocks tumbled down the mountain. The driver swerved to dodge them and slammed into the cliff face. The driver—a middle-aged man—died on the spot.
He was in the passenger seat. His leg was crushed and broken by the frame—
His leg!!
An Xiao immediately threw off the blanket and froze:
His knee was pale and smooth—not only was there no wound, there wasn’t even a bruise. Even the sparse leg hair he’d had was gone.
A creak came from outside, like the sound of a wooden door sliding open.
Startled, An Xiao didn’t have time to think. He flipped over, sat up, grabbed the fabric by the bed, and shook it open—hanfu?
No time to worry about that.
Enduring the strange soreness in that place, he pulled on the garment without even putting on pants, scrambled to the table to grab the dagger, and darted to the door. He steadied his breathing and focused, on high alert.
It was quiet outside. Only the constant chirping of birds could be heard near and far—lively and full of life.
With this many birds, it had to be either the suburbs or a mountain village.
The place where their accident happened was indeed a winding mountain road in a remote area.
As the old saying goes: poor mountains and harsh waters breed unruly folk… In impoverished places, human nature is put to the test.
A soft crack sounded, like the snap of a twig underfoot.
An Xiao held his breath.
The bamboo curtain lifted, and light flooded in.
He swung the dagger: “Don’t move—”
Wind rushed past his ear.
Before An Xiao could even touch the person, the dagger hit the ground.
Wearing only that hanfu, he was scooped up by one arm—truly scooped, lifted thirty or forty centimeters off the ground.
The newcomer’s other hand was even holding a large bowl of something, without spilling a single drop.
An Xiao: “…”
He weighed over a hundred jin, no matter how you looked at it. Was he really that light?
But before he could dwell on it, he was set down on the bed.
An Xiao quickly pulled his clothes together to cover himself, staring warily at the newcomer while searching with the corner of his eye for the fallen dagger—how had it flown all the way to that far corner of the wall?!
The man set the bowl on the table and turned to walk over.
An Xiao quickly averted his gaze and studied the man.
He was tall—at least 1.9 meters by the look of it. Broad shoulders, long legs, and the coarse cloth clothes on him looked like armor.
He was also very handsome.
Not the pretty-boy kind of handsome, but a rugged, hard-edged handsomeness.
Sweeping sword-like brows, deep dark eyes, wheat-colored skin, a high nose bridge, thin lips, and a jawline sharp enough to cut someone—okay, that metaphor was a bit much.
However, why was this handsome guy also wearing something like Hanfu?
An Xiao was puzzled.
But the situation was unclear, and he seemed to have been… well, something.
So he glanced again at the dagger in the corner, his mind racing as he thought about how to extract information and how to get past the man to reach the dagger—
The handsome guy knelt down on one knee.
An Xiao was startled and instinctively recoiled—
His ankle was grabbed.
“!!” He broke out in goosebumps, swinging his fist, “What are you doing—”
The handsome guy caught his fist, lifted his eyes to look at him, a hint of dark gold seeming to flash through his pitch-black pupils.
An Xiao froze, wanting to look more closely, when he heard the handsome guy speak—
“*****.” The handsome guy spoke at a calm pace, his voice low and very pleasant to the ear.
But An Xiao couldn’t understand.
He said blankly, “What did you say?”
The handsome guy didn’t speak again, releasing his fist, patting the sole of his foot, and placing it on the bed.
An Xiao: “…”
He was actually patting the sole of his foot…
New era, new customs—all people are born equal. Even a caregiver wouldn’t be this servile, right?
In a daze, the other foot was also patted clean and placed on the bed.
The handsome guy even picked up the pants at the bedside—actually trying to help him put them on!!
An Xiao was alarmed and quickly snatched them over, saying dryly, “Um, I’ll do it myself, myself!”
He didn’t dare turn his back, relying on the length of his clothes, and just sat on the bed to pull on his pants.
After fumbling to tie the drawstring and fasten the sash, he finally felt a bit more secure.
While he was getting dressed, the handsome guy had already picked up the large bowl, casually hooked a stool over to the bedside, sat down, and stirred with the small spoon in the bowl.
The yellow paste, as it was stirred, gave off a mixed aroma resembling potatoes and millet.
An Xiao unconsciously swallowed—he was hungry.
The man noticed, glanced at him, scooped up a spoonful, and brought it to his lips.
An Xiao: “…?”
He pushed the man’s arm away, declining, “You’re too kind—let’s talk business first.”
After entering, this handsome guy’s gaze and expression had been proper and calm, with no unnecessary movements—well, the foot patting aside.
Anyway, he didn’t seem like a perverted bad guy… He’d take a gamble.
He looked at the handsome guy expectantly: “May I ask where this is? Have I been unconscious for a long time? Oh, right, where’s my phone?—Never mind, that’s not important. Can I borrow your phone? I want to contact my colleagues and family to ask what’s going on.”
Like, why was he here alone.
The handsome guy set down the small spoon, looked at him calmly, and uttered a string of notes: “*******.”
An Xiao: “?” Confused, “Is that a dialect you’re speaking? Do you speak Mandarin?”
The handsome guy looked at him: “***.”
Still couldn’t understand.
An Xiao scratched his cheek, trying hard to recall the mountain dialect he’d learned during exchanges, and said slowly, “Do you speak Mandarin?”
But the handsome guy didn’t respond, scooping up another spoonful of paste and bringing it to his lips.
An Xiao frowned too: “Sorry, I—”
He got a mouthful of paste.
“…”
This handsome guy not only couldn’t understand, but he was also a bit stubborn.