Chapter 64

Bai Ying stayed in the hotel for three full days.

Qin Juanshu directly canceled all his subsequent plans. Originally, he and Bai Ying still needed to travel to other places for business, but now Bai Ying’s situation took top priority. Bai Ying felt especially guilty about it, but his life was quite inconvenient in every aspect right now, and he couldn’t do without someone by his side. Three days passed, yet his tail still hadn’t returned to normal.

Every evening, Bai Ying would stare sadly at his tail in a daze. He had never imagined that one day his tail would cause him so much trouble. Qin Juanshu noticed his unusual mood and tried every way he could to cheer him up, but unfortunately, he wasn’t someone skilled with words. He could only buy all sorts of local delicacies for Bai Ying and play online and offline games with him. But Bai Ying soon didn’t want to bother him anymore. Although Qin Juanshu had silenced his phone, Bai Ying could still see the call interface lighting up from time to time.

“Go ahead and work,” Bai Ying said, hugging a fluffy pillow and peeking out with just his eyes at Qin Juanshu. “I can play by myself.”

Qin Juanshu felt apologetic in his heart, but he truly had a mountain of work piled up. He could only pat Bai Ying’s soft head. “I’ll work where you can see me. Just call if you need anything.”

He turned the table in front of the liquor cabinet into his desk. From there, he could see Bai Ying on the living room sofa at a glance, and Bai Ying could see him just by turning his head. The sound of rapid keyboard typing always came from behind him. Occasionally, Qin Juanshu would put on his earphones for an online meeting, while a little snake perched quietly on the back of the sofa, watching him stealthily.

Bai Ying really wanted to help, but he couldn’t even walk right now. For everything, Qin Juanshu had to carry him here and there.

Bai Ying felt this couldn’t go on.

There was a phone by his side, one Qin Juanshu had replaced for him. His old one had a screen shattered like a spiderweb, and since it was so old, replacing the screen wasn’t as cost-effective as getting a new phone. During these days when he couldn’t move, Bai Ying spent most of his time playing on the phone. He blasted through hundreds of levels in games like Match-3 that he hadn’t touched in ages. But even while playing, Bai Ying was always absent-minded. As soon as he exited the game interface, he could see a green app icon containing a snake he had blocked.

Should he contact Liu Qingzhang after all…?

Bai Ying knew Liu Qingzhang could definitely solve his current problem, but unless it was a dire emergency, he was utterly unwilling to ask for his help. Every time he thought of that detestable big snake, his thoughts turned into a tangled mess. He even felt he could go to Xie Jin or Lu Changjun, but he just couldn’t bring himself to go to Liu Qingzhang.

He couldn’t figure out why.

In the end, he didn’t unblock the big snake.

But he never imagined that Qin Juanshu would end up contacting Liu Qingzhang first.

It all stemmed from an incident that happened on the evening of the third day they checked into the hotel. Qin Juanshu was in the middle of an online meeting, staring intently at the screen, listening to reports while taking notes. Normally, he wouldn’t handle such things personally, but his assistant wasn’t available right now. Occasionally, Qin Juanshu’s mind wandered, thinking that once the meeting ended, he could have dinner with Bai Ying. He had arranged for some seafood to be airlifted in—sweet crab meat that Bai Ying would surely love.

However, before the meeting concluded, Qin Juanshu heard a muffled thud of something heavy hitting the floor, followed by Bai Ying’s suppressed grunt.

“Meeting paused. I have an emergency to handle,” Qin Juanshu said, immediately removing the earphone from one ear.

He hurried around the bar counter by the liquor cabinet and found Bai Ying collapsed on the floor in front of the sofa. His pupils contracted sharply. Hearing his footsteps, Bai Ying strained to tense the muscles in his tail, trying to stand himself up, but he lost strength and fell heavily again.

Qin Juanshu quickly half-knelt on the ground and pulled him into his arms.

“Were you trying to go to the bathroom?” Qin Juanshu tucked the hair that had fallen over Bai Ying’s temple behind his ear. “You could have just called me.”

Bai Ying shook his head.

Realizing something was wrong with Bai Ying’s condition, Qin Juanshu cupped his chin and, with some effort, turned his face toward himself. Bai Ying’s eyes brimmed with tears, and upon being seen by Qin Juanshu, they fell even harder. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to try walking on my own.”

“Why apologize?” He cried in a way that broke Qin Juanshu’s heart. Qin Juanshu pulled out a tissue to wipe his tears, but they kept falling faster.

“Because I’m troubling you again…” Bai Ying rarely made noise when crying; he just shed tears silently. His speech slowed, interspersed with sobs. “I just stood up for a moment earlier. If I practice more, it’ll be fine. Then you can send me home, and I can take care of myself…”

His sensibility only made Qin Juanshu’s heart ache more, but he couldn’t say he wanted to take care of him forever. Bai Ying wasn’t the type to trouble others without guilt—if he said that, it would only burden Bai Ying’s mind even more.

“Practice tomorrow, okay?” Qin Juanshu brought over the entire tissue box and focused on wiping Bai Ying’s tears. “Tomorrow, I’ll have someone lay extra carpet in the living room. The floor’s too hard right now; you’ll hurt yourself.”

Qin Juanshu coaxed him for a long time before Bai Ying finally extended his arms. Qin Juanshu rolled up his sleeves and saw that from the fall, Bai Ying’s arms were red. Fortunately, there was carpet on the floor—though not very soft—Bai Ying hadn’t sustained serious injuries.

Even though it didn’t look serious no matter how he examined it, Qin Juanshu still fetched the first-aid kit and applied some ointment.

Bai Ying obediently lay in his arms, only his tail tip twitching restlessly. Because of the earlier incident, Qin Juanshu didn’t feel at ease leaving Bai Ying alone on the sofa again. After turning off his camera, he held Bai Ying and continued the meeting.

Bai Ying sat quietly in his lap, playing with the cuff of his sleeve when bored. Seeing him like this, Qin Juanshu’s heart melted into a puddle.

Once the meeting ended, the seafood feast arrived. The airlifted seafood went straight into the kitchen shortly after landing. As expected, Bai Ying loved the sweet emperor crab meat and nearly filled up on it alone. Crab meat was cooling in nature, so Qin Juanshu worried he’d feel unwell if he ate too much and coaxed him into finishing a bowl of seafood porridge.

After dinner, Bai Ying grew drowsy. He hadn’t slept well these past few days. His tail would flare up with tearing pain from time to time, which persisted even into the night, often waking him. Bai Ying hadn’t told Qin Juanshu, not wanting to worry him more, but Qin Juanshu had long noticed from his occasional changes in expression. Yet as an ordinary human, he could only watch anxiously, helpless to alleviate Bai Ying’s pain.

Qin Juanshu carried Bai Ying to the bathroom, filled the tub with hot water, and added plenty of milk-scented bubbles. He skillfully washed Bai Ying’s hair and tail. Bai Ying’s hair hadn’t been cut—it was mainly because neither he nor Qin Juanshu knew how to cut hair, and they couldn’t call a stylist. Compared to ending up with a dog-chewed mess, Bai Ying figured it was better to let it grow for now.

Halfway through the bath, Bai Ying fell asleep.

Qin Juanshu didn’t wake him. For the past three days, to care for Bai Ying conveniently, he had slept on a narrow sofa outside Bai Ying’s room with the door open, so he could hear any movement immediately. Knowing Bai Ying often woke from pain, and this was a rare peaceful moment, he wanted him to sleep well.

But he didn’t want Bai Ying to only find fleeting peace.

Qin Juanshu dried Bai Ying’s body, then set the hairdryer to its lowest setting and slowly dried his now-long hair. After all that, he carried Bai Ying back to the bedroom and placed him in the center of the soft king-sized bed.

He tucked Bai Ying in properly, even the tip of his tail. But Bai Ying’s tail seemed to have a mind of its own. Though its owner was asleep, the tip still swayed intermittently in his dreams or reacted to the outside world, lingeringly wrapping around Qin Juanshu’s wrist once.

Qin Juanshu sat by the bed for a while. A small lamp that wouldn’t disturb sleep glowed in the room. He looked down at his wrist, still able to recall the itchy, tingling sensation as the tail brushed over it.

Ten minutes or so later, he finally stood, walked to the balcony, gazed at the city’s nightscape, and dialed a number.

The phone rang a few times before it connected, but the person on the other end didn’t speak immediately. This was Qin Juanshu’s first time calling this number, but he believed the other knew who he was.

“Zhong Qian, I need to speak to Mr. Liu from your Zhong Family,” Qin Juanshu got straight to the point. “It’s about Bai Ying.”

“I understand. One moment,” Zhong Qian replied succinctly.

Contacting Liu Qingzhang was notoriously difficult, but Zhong Qian was much easier to reach.

Qin Juanshu chose to go through Zhong Qian for one reason only.

He suspected the Zhong Family’s Mr. Liu was a demon, just like Bai Ying.

***

The fact that Liu Qingzhang was a demon wasn’t hard to guess.

Most people in this era grew up with materialist education, making it hard for them to believe in demons and ghosts. Even when faced with inexplicable events, most would chalk it up to unknown science or coincidences. But after Qin Juanshu personally witnessed Bai Ying turn half-human, half-snake, it was easy to associate Liu Qingzhang with being a demon too.

Qin Juanshu had always found it odd that Bai Ying suddenly had an elder in the Capital City, but if Liu Qingzhang was a demon, it all made sense.

Not long after the call, Zhong Qian informed him that Liu Qingzhang was already on his way.

He hadn’t even asked where Qin Juanshu and Bai Ying were. Liu Qingzhang had eyes and ears everywhere. He refrained from tracking Bai Ying’s whereabouts only because he didn’t want to make him hate him more. But when needed, he could have a full report of Bai Ying’s past month’s activities—what he ate, did, and whom he met—on his desk in half an hour.

Three hours later, the hotel manager informed him a helicopter would land on the hotel’s rooftop helipad.

Such short notice implied Liu Qingzhang had first taken a private plane to a nearby airport, then a chopper across the city to the hotel. Domestic flight paths were hard to approve on short notice, but rules clearly didn’t apply to Liu Qingzhang.

This hotel belonged to Minghong Group, yet Liu Qingzhang landed anyway. The manager’s voice held a hint of helplessness; this wasn’t a request for permission but a notification.

A few minutes later, Qin Juanshu finally saw the legendary Mr. Liu. He had never seen Liu Qingzhang’s face, but he recognized him at once—not just because Zhong Qian followed like an attendant, but due to his extraordinary aura, unmatchable by ordinary humans.

Like a silent boulder, a treacherous peak, a towering ancient tree. His appearance was still young, yet even a centenarian would instinctively dare not treat him as a junior.

This was definitely a demon.

Qin Juanshu confirmed his suspicion.

“Bai Ying is inside,” Qin Juanshu explained the situation directly. “His lower body turned into a snake tail. He can’t change back on his own, and it causes him severe pain he can’t relieve.”

“I know,” Liu Qingzhang’s response caught him off guard. “Zhong Qian has handled the surveillance footage along the way.”

Qin Juanshu’s heart skipped a beat.

He must have overlooked something. He could disable the hotel’s internal cameras, but not the government’s ones on highways and streets. Liu Qingzhang had clearly learned of Bai Ying’s condition through some footage and cleaned up the traces for them.

Without further ado, Liu Qingzhang entered the room. Zhong Qian stayed outside guarding the door. Qin Juanshu followed. Liu Qingzhang moved swiftly, his shoe heels silent on the soft carpet. Entering the master bedroom, there lay the little snake he had longed for day and night, sleeping soundly in the center of the bed.

The tail tip Qin Juanshu had tucked in earlier had slipped out again.

His sleeping face was serene, cheeks slightly flushed from sleep. But a wave of intense pain was about to disturb his rest. Liu Qingzhang acted first. Sensing the chaotic demon energy stirring in the little snake, he reached out and gently placed his hand on Bai Ying’s tail over the blanket.

The pain never surfaced; it was forcibly suppressed.

Only then did Liu Qingzhang shift his gaze to the doorway, casting a cold glance.

[You can leave.] The indifferent voice appeared directly in Qin Juanshu’s mind.

He instinctively stepped back, and the door closed in front of him without anyone touching it. Liu Qingzhang, now seated by the bed, returned his gaze to the sleeping Bai Ying, ignoring all outsiders. His expression was so tender—not like looking at a junior, but like gazing at a lover.

This terrifying conjecture stirred a storm in Qin Juanshu’s heart.

He seemed to suddenly understand why Bai Ying had previously been unwilling to contact Liu Qingzhang.

This person, whom he had originally thought was just an elder to Bai Ying, actually…