A row of rabbit lanterns sat on the bedside table, big and small rabbits clustered together. A small lamp hid inside their milky-white, plump bellies, emitting a dim yellow light. It was just enough to prevent the sleeping person from feeling fear in complete darkness, yet not so bright as to disturb their sleep.
Over these past few days, Qin Juanshu had pulled out every toy from the hotel meant to entertain children, and they worked wonders on Bai Ying. Perhaps like attracted like, but the little snake was easily drawn to soft, cute things. One moment he was silently crying, and the next, his dark eyes would fix on the row of little toys, forgetting his tears without realizing it. If he had shifted back to his original little snake form, he surely would have eagerly coiled around those rabbit lanterns and little yellow ducks.
That man took good care of him.
This thought surfaced in Liu Qingzhang’s mind.
His heart felt as if it had been soaked in acid, but Liu Qingzhang harbored little jealousy toward Qin Juanshu. Instead, he felt grateful that the little snake had someone reliable by his side. At the same time, he hated himself for his impulsiveness, which had earned the little snake’s aversion. The little snake had endured that much suffering for every day he forcibly held back from seeking him out.
Bai Ying was no stranger to hardship—his upbringing had been far more difficult than that of many raised under their parents’ protection—but he had rarely suffered physical pain. Liu Qingzhang could hardly imagine how he had endured the agony that felt like it would tear his skin and flesh apart.
Bai Ying didn’t know how to wield the power within him, and forcing its use had caused the demonic power dormant for over twenty years to rampage through his body. The imbalance of power prevented him from shifting back into a little snake or maintaining his human form. He could only exist in this half-human, half-snake state, which brought another problem: his original form’s snake tail was far smaller than the one adapted to match a human body now, so the demonic power within him found no peace.
Unless a stronger external force guided it for him.
Liu Qingzhang removed his outer robe and sat on the bed. The added weight caused the flat mattress to sink, tilting Bai Ying’s body slightly in his sleep. He still hadn’t woken until Liu Qingzhang pulled him into his arms. Bai Ying’s brows furrowed, on the verge of waking.
Liu Qingzhang lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Bai Ying’s. Bai Ying immediately sank into a deeper sleep.
Bai Ying probably didn’t want to see him, Liu Qingzhang thought.
He still remembered how helplessly Bai Ying had wrapped himself in the blanket, curling up inside until it bulged into a large, trembling mound—the subtle shivers of someone unable to suppress their trembling after being bullied. He had said he hated him, that he didn’t want to see him. Those words and tears were more potent than any aphrodisiac in the world.
Liu Qingzhang didn’t want Bai Ying to be sad anymore.
So he let Bai Ying sleep deeply, ensuring he wouldn’t wake, as if he had never come.
Liu Qingzhang positioned Bai Ying to sit in his lap, one arm holding him to prevent him from slumping powerlessly, while the other lifted his snake tail. The blanket was warm, and even the scales carried that warmth, like pieces of heated jade. Only the tip that had playfully slipped out from under the blanket was cool, but it quickly warmed in Liu Qingzhang’s palm.
As soon as the tip was released, it coiled around Liu Qingzhang’s wrist. In his deep sleep, Bai Ying unconsciously rubbed his head against Liu Qingzhang’s neck. He had said he hated him over and over, yet his body still clung to this intimacy. Liu Qingzhang’s heart ached, and he hated his loss of control that day even more.
He lowered his head and kissed Bai Ying’s hair, a light touch without further intrusion. This kiss stemmed not from desire but from an elder’s soothing. Afterward, Liu Qingzhang focused on sorting the chaotic demonic power within Bai Ying.
The process inevitably brought pain, so Liu Qingzhang slowed his pace to minimize it as much as possible. Because he had cast a spell on Bai Ying, he remained asleep, but the discomfort didn’t vanish. His brows furrowed, and he bit his lower lip. The little snake rarely cried out in pain, always shedding silent tears and enduring in silence. Liu Qingzhang’s heart ached unbearably.
He slipped his fingers into Bai Ying’s mouth, parting his teeth to stop him from biting himself. Liu Qingzhang didn’t mind if Bai Ying bit hard—even drawing blood was fine—and he took no precautions, fearing only that Bai Ying might chip his teeth. But once Bai Ying sensed in his sleep that he wasn’t biting his own lip, he stopped clenching and merely suckled on the fingers, making muffled sounds like a small animal whimpering.
How could there be such an obedient little snake in this world?
The demon who hurt him was utterly unforgivable.
Liu Qingzhang thought this, unsparingly condemning himself.
From eleven at night until dawn the next day, he combed through until Bai Ying’s demonic power finally stabilized, sinking back into dormancy as before. Because he hadn’t cultivated in the later years, the power in his body was only the scant amount from his initial transformation. If Liu Qingzhang’s demonic power was like a massive tree rooted deep in the earth and piercing the heavens, Bai Ying’s was a fragile blade of grass, swaying in the slightest breeze.
The great demon who once knew no mercy carefully guarded that blade of grass through the night.
Liu Qingzhang was born powerful. Unlike Bai Ying, who had stumbled into demonhood, Liu Qingzhang had emerged in harmony with the heavens. He was born on Spirit Mountain, where a great lake of flowing magma lay beneath the slopes—perhaps the reason for his blazing demonic power. After birth, he consumed spiritual herbs and beasts, endured heavenly tribulations, and even when heaven and earth spiritual energy depleted, he did not perish like so many great demons. He was overwhelmingly powerful, scorning all things, until a little snake appeared.
White was the opposite of black; everything about Bai Ying differed starkly from him. He was uncontrollably drawn to him, protecting him like a tender leaf or delicate flower. His immense power became a shackle in this moment, making him fear he might harm him with the slightest carelessness. Unfortunately, he had lost control once, hurting the little snake’s heart.
The curtains were drawn tight, but Liu Qingzhang knew the sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows had brightened. Bai Ying’s condition was fully stabilized. Reluctantly, he held him close, cherishing this hard-won, fleeting moment. Because of his past mistake, unless Bai Ying forgave him, he could not appear before him.
The sleep spell had lifted, but Bai Ying would still sleep for a while longer before waking. The process of soothing his demonic power had exhausted both of them—Liu Qingzhang had poured in all his effort, and Bai Ying’s body was particularly fatigued, even without awareness. Liu Qingzhang held him a little longer before planning to lay him back down for a proper rest in the blankets.
Yet Bai Ying clutched his clothes, his snake tail wrapping around his leg as he nuzzled against his neck, murmuring drowsily, “Big snake…”
Liu Qingzhang’s heart trembled. He quickly looked at Bai Ying, only to realize it was sleep-talk.
He didn’t know if Bai Ying had dreamed of him or sensed his presence.
Liu Qingzhang remembered every word Bai Ying had said to him, and before this, the last ones had been, “I don’t want to see you again,” “I hate you,” and the “bad snake” sent via chat. It had been so long since he heard Bai Ying call him “big snake” with such dependence and coquetry.
After murmuring that, Bai Ying shifted back into a little snake. He rarely reverted to his original form away from home, but in his sleep, he sensed Liu Qingzhang’s aura and subconsciously felt safe to do so in the big snake’s presence. With his demonic power stabilized, he could switch between forms again, and instinctively chose his preferred one.
The little white snake nestled in Liu Qingzhang’s arms, unconsciously nuzzling closer, wrinkling his already disheveled clothes from the all-night embrace even more.
Leaving such a little snake felt to Liu Qingzhang like tearing a chunk of flesh from his own body. He closed his eyes and gently placed the little snake back in the blankets, pulling them up carefully. A snake’s respiratory system differed from a human’s, and Bai Ying liked sleeping this way in snake form—no risk of suffocation.
Liu Qingzhang slipped off the bed soundlessly, donned his coat—he had removed it earlier, worried its stiff fabric might discomfort the little snake—and left the room. The moment the door opened, Qin Juanshu, who had leaned against the wall guarding all night without a drop to drink, looked up. His voice was hoarse as he asked, “Is he okay?”
Liu Qingzhang, who rarely acknowledged mortals, remembered that this man had cared for the little snake these days and would likely continue to do so. Uncharacteristically, he replied, “He’s fine now. He’s shifted back into a little snake and is sleeping. He’ll probably wake in the afternoon, and he’ll be hungry then—prepare plenty of food…”
Qin Juanshu said in surprise, “You’re not staying?”
Liu Qingzhang paused, then said, “He doesn’t want to see me.”
Without further explanation, Liu Qingzhang continued his instructions. “Prepare easily digestible food—avoid raw or cold items, and spicy ones. His body is still fragile and more prone to illness than usual. If he craves sweets, indulge him but remind him to brush his teeth afterward. He’s obedient and will remember. You’re human, and he worries you’ll fear demons, so he’ll stick to human form around you. Encourage him to shift back to snake form—it’ll help his body recover faster and lift his spirits…”
He went on at length, covering every detail.
Though his heart brimmed with reluctance and worry, he chose to let go. Qin Juanshu initially puzzled over why this great demon wouldn’t stay, but gradually understood: love demands restraint. No matter how powerful Liu Qingzhang was or what authority he held in the human world, love made him willingly submit, placing Bai Ying’s feelings above his own desires.
In this, humans and demons were no different.
Qin Juanshu nodded. “Got it.”
“If he feels unwell again, contact me directly.” Liu Qingzhang gave him a number. “And don’t tell him I was here.”
His eyes were full of forbearance, and this request surprised Qin Juanshu again. After a moment, he nodded slowly.
Liu Qingzhang continued onward. As he left, Qin Juanshu entered Bai Ying’s room. Liu Qingzhang paused but didn’t stop him.
Qin Juanshu found the little white snake Bai Ying had become in the blankets. His sleeping posture was proper, not twisted like other little snakes—he always coiled neatly. Not wanting to disturb him, Qin Juanshu quickly covered him back up, though he couldn’t help thinking how small and adorable Bai Ying’s true form was.
He kept watch by the bed until Bai Ying woke.
Exhausted from a day and night without sleep, Qin Juanshu dozed off occasionally. One time, as his head dipped, he heard rustling nearby. Turning, he saw Bai Ying had shifted back to human form, wrapped in the blanket covering his naked body, only his head and rounded shoulders exposed. Silky black hair cascaded from his shoulders.
Qin Juanshu smiled. “You’re awake. Hungry? I’ll have some food sent up.”
Bai Ying stared blankly, as if he hadn’t heard.
After a moment, he asked, “…Did Liu Qingzhang come?”
