After the scene wrapped up, Min Fan wiped off his makeup and headed for the car to leave, only to be stopped by Qin Baiyan’s call.
“Where are you headed?”
Min Fan showed no trace of having cried at all. Freshly changed into casual clothes, he looked relaxed and carefree.
“To grab some food.”
“Let’s go somewhere else instead,” Qin Baiyan said. “We can talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Min Fan acted as if nothing had happened. “I’m heading out.”
He hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps before the man cut off his path, grabbed him by the wrist, and hauled him into the car.
Min Fan: ……?!
The others: ???
Manager Old Xu buried his face in his hands.
With all these colleagues around!! Damn it!!
Ayi crushed the sundae in his grip. “You’re seriously not stepping in?”
Old Xu’s face twisted in a grimace that was half cry, half laugh.
“Me? Manage Qin Baiyan?”
Min Fan found himself bundled into the car, utterly baffled. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quieter to talk,” Qin Baiyan replied. “The hotel restaurant’s too crowded—too many eyes.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Min Fan turned his head away. “I didn’t cry. The studio roof was leaking.”
Qin Baiyan met his gaze steadily. “Min Fan, I care about you. A lot.”
“I know you’re not in a great headspace right now. There’s a wool blanket right there—drape it over yourself.”
The young man froze, as if the words were in some foreign tongue.
They weren’t even in a proper owner-pet dynamic—just friends who lent a hand now and then.
Qin Baiyan laid it out so bluntly that Min Fan felt his cheeks warm, at a loss for words.
“If you’re starving, we can hit a restaurant first, then go for a drive.”
“Once you’re feeling steadier, we can dive into the rest.”
“Come on,” Min Fan muttered, “this feels an awful lot like a date.”
“It was just a few tears…” His voice trailed off softly. “Pretend you didn’t see.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Not right now.”
“Then let’s cruise around Song Mountain,” Qin Baiyan suggested. “Fire clouds tonight—the sunset’s going to be spectacular.”
Min Fan leaned against the car window, watching the world outside expand into open vistas. His expression grew distant, lost in thought.
The plush blanket wrapped around him like a gentle embrace, offering a profound sense of security.
Warm. Soothing. It even lulled him toward drowsiness.
It took the young man a long while to muster the courage to voice what weighed on his heart.
“Snakes… they shun the light.”
“Birds can soar toward the sun and moon, sing and dance freely. But snakes? They can’t do any of that.”
“They’re like earthworms—one stomp and they’re done for.”
Even a corn snake, with its charming colors and patterns, came across as fragile and insignificant.
The bloodline test results had conjured vivid images in Min Fan’s mind.
A haidongqing could tear a rabbit’s heart out with a single talon—practically unbeatable in the wild.
A flashscale snake, though?
Whimper, whimper. All it craved were some pinky rats.
Qin Baiyan got the point.
“That day I transformed out of nowhere—my mind was hazy, but I saw you step in front of me.”
OAC had planned to haul him off to the Reclamation Management Office, but Min Fan shut them down flat.
“We don’t get to pick our bloodlines,” he said carefully, easing off the accelerator. “But you’re important to me.”
Qin Baiyan wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore.
His eyes locked on the road ahead as the car wove swiftly through the riverside views, his hands tightening on the wheel.
The Feather Descendant’s markings—and the feelings he’d buried deep inside—were finally surfacing, bit by bit.
“I know our connection’s still new.”
“But you come across as someone utterly trustworthy.”
And… profoundly approachable.
Qin Baiyan had no taste for coy games, no practice baring his heart to anyone.
He just kept searching for the right words, desperate to make Min Fan understand.
I’m here. I’ll walk this road with you.
“If you can, I hope you’ll trust me too.”
It felt too forward, even to him.
Something primal in his bloodline tugged him daily toward Min Fan—closer, ideally as intimate as a white falcon nuzzling a cheek.
He fought it down, yet he’d catch himself smiling at the man’s little quirks, scanning instinctively for where Min Fan had wandered off to.
Nothing had happened between them yet.
But damn, he wanted a story with him.
Silence stretched from the back seat.
Qin Baiyan rounded a bend, lightening his tone. “Too forward?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror at last—and saw the seat empty.
He slammed on the brakes at the nearest spot, dread pooling in his gut.
No way…
The door swung open. The leather seat held only a slumped blanket… and Min Fan’s entire outfit.
Qin Baiyan sucked in a sharp breath, rummaging through the pile for any sign of the snake.
Jacket. Shirt. Pants. Blanket.
Each item he picked up felt limp and floppy. The little snake weighed next to nothing.
“Min Fan?” Qin Baiyan feared he had already slithered out through the half-open car window. He quickened his search, rummaging faster. “Are you there? Are you still awake?!”
His first pass turned up nothing. The car was empty, and he had flipped the blanket over twice, front and back.
Qin Baiyan forced himself to take a deep breath and start over from the beginning.
Today, even if it meant combing every inch of the highway for ten kilometers in either direction, he would find him.
As he lifted the sleeve, a brilliant flash like a gem caught his eye.
Qin Baiyan’s heart pounded wildly. He prayed it wasn’t some bracelet but Min Fan himself.
The sleeve fell away, and the drowsy little snake slid into his palm, lazily coiling into a loop.
In the glow of the setting sun, every inch of its scales shimmered with jewel-like radiance.
At first glance, they were a deep, inky black. But as the light shifted, electric blue, pigeon-blood red, deep purple, and emerald green danced across them in a dazzling array of colors.
His scales were an iridescent black, multifaceted and breathtakingly beautiful.
Qin Baiyan sat on the edge of the car seat, cradling the coiled snake in his palm as he immediately called OAC.
“It’s me. Min Fan has transformed.”
“Yes, you were here a few days ago. The Transformation Period came much earlier than expected.”
“I’m on the road by Song Mountain. Sending my location now.”
The staff wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes. Qin Baiyan switched to cupping the little snake in both hands, scarcely daring to breathe.
It slept peacefully, utterly relaxed and oblivious to any danger.
Worried about the wind chilling it, he first draped his jacket over it. Then he fretted that his palms might be too warm for its comfort.
He had never kept any pets, but he had witnessed Min Fan’s meticulous care toward him and didn’t dare make a single misstep.
The more he focused, the more every subtle sense zeroed in on the little snake in his palm.
Its fine scales felt cool to the touch, so delicate they seemed liable to shatter at a breath.
It was soft, defenseless.
OAC’s team arrived in just eight minutes. They parked the helicopter at a distance, careful not to startle the animal in its vulnerable Transformation Period.
“Hello. If you wouldn’t mind, please let us examine Mr. Min.”
They followed the standard procedure.
Blood draw. Lineage registration. Information logging. Retrieval of the appropriately sized neck ring to fit around it.
As Qin Baiyan watched it all unfold, it felt like reliving every scene he had endured before.
“Wait a second,” he said suddenly, blocking the neck ring with his hand. “Is there any way we can skip putting this thing on Mr. Min?”
He wore an ankle ring for life now, one that could never come off.
It was like being monitored and scrutinized every moment of every day. No one would want that.
“Sir,” O523 replied, “have you considered the risk of your friend wandering off and being mistakenly captured?”
“Without any protection, if he ends up in the pet trade or a wild game restaurant, his chances of survival are virtually zero.”
Qin Baiyan replied firmly, “You told us that after the Transformation Period, things stabilize. He’d be able to control it freely.”
“That’s only if his emotions, hormones, stress levels, and other metrics are all stable.”
O523 reminded him calmly and professionally, “As you know, humans are animals too. They can experience stress responses.”
Ordinary humans under major stress might suffer irregular periods, restless sleep filled with nightmares, or cold hands and feet.
But for Snake Descendants and Feather Descendants after their bloodlines awakened, a sudden shock could easily trigger an uncontrollable transformation.
Qin Baiyan said nothing more. He watched in silence as the silver-white neck ring was fastened around the little snake.
Now they were both marked for life, like prey bound by fate.
The prodding and handling left the little snake uncomfortable. During the blood draw, it flicked the staff member’s wrist with the tip of its tail.
The man carried the scent it knew and trusted most, so the moment it was handed back to Qin Baiyan, it darted straight into his sleeve and hid away in a flash.
The cool little snake wriggled through his shirt, seeking out a comfortable spot to coil.
Qin Baiyan endured the strange sensation and continued listening to the staff’s instructions.
“Put my name down. I’m his temporary guardian,” he said. “Once he wakes up, he can decide for himself whether to cancel it.”
The staff member ran through the basics of snake care according to protocol.
The Flashscale Snake flicked its tongue, sniffing at the man’s scent as it continued to roam.
Its slender tail brushed over his shoulder and neck, lingering idly now and then.
Qin Baiyan did his best to bear it.
It was gradually warming up. From its scales to its flesh, its temperature was syncing with his own.
“With this late spring chill, snakes’ hibernation instincts will linger for a while longer…”
The staff member’s explanation dragged on a bit too long.
The serpentine body wound around his neck, circled once, and tried to constrict ever so gently, securing itself more firmly in place.
His trench coat hid every trace of it. No one could see.
Qin Baiyan coughed dryly, his throat a little hoarse.
“Anything else?”
“That covers the diet as well,” the staff member said. “I’ve sent you two texts with the details. Feel free to contact OAC if any issues come up.”
“Oh, right—one more thing.”
Little Snake didn’t find it very comfortable sleeping draped around his neck.
Its tail tip couldn’t quite reach its favorite spot, so it decided to shift positions.
It swam back languidly, like a warm, lingering kiss.
Only after the lengthy conversation finally wrapped up—after watching OAC’s car drive away—did Little Snake settle on the perfect spot for slumber.
Qin Baiyan’s wrist.
The previous perch had felt too hot, so it poked its head out for a moment, letting its body cool down before coiling comfortably around his wrist.
It wrapped lightly around him, understated and subtle, like a cool teardrop.
