Although his lower body had turned back into a snake tail and no longer hurt, Bai Ying still couldn’t stand on the ground for long using only his tail. He had to lean on something.
At that moment, he clung tightly to Tan Ming’s body. This position let him clearly feel how rigid Tan Ming’s body had become. The reactions people had when terrified were on full display—he stared at the snake tail and instinctively held his breath.
The slippery, cool sensation in his palm reminded him of the snake that had bitten him as a child. Madam Tan had grown up in the countryside, and because of her busy work, Tan Ming was always sent to their rural hometown in the Lingnan area during winter and summer breaks. There were plenty of insects and snakes around. One day, while competing with friends to climb trees, Tan Ming accidentally grabbed a venomous snake coiled on a branch, nearly blending into its surroundings. The snake didn’t hold back and twisted around to bite him immediately.
Fortunately, the snake’s venom was mild, and people in that area were experienced at treating snakebites. Tan Ming ended up without any lingering effects. But he would never forget the icy feel of the snake’s body, the pain of its fangs piercing his skin as it struck, or the dizzying spin when his arm went numb from the venom and he fell from the tree. From then on, Tan Ming feared snakes. He couldn’t even look at photos or videos of them. In real life, seeing something snake-like—such as the eels that many people in the Jiangnan area ate—would leave him frozen stiff, unable to move.
His fear transmitted clearly to Bai Ying through his physical reactions.
This was exactly the effect Bai Ying had wanted, yet he still felt sad. Another relationship had been severed by his own hand. He wanted to push Tan Ming away, return home in silence, and ensure they never saw each other again.
But as soon as he pulled away a little, Tan Ming wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed him back into his embrace. His breathing was rapid—he clearly couldn’t overcome his fear of snakes so quickly—but he gritted his teeth and said, “I’ll adapt in just a moment…”
Xu Xian could do it, so Tan Ming felt he could try a little harder too!
“…Huh?” Bai Ying was dumbfounded.
This wasn’t how he’d imagined things would go!
Shouldn’t Tan Ming, who was so afraid of snakes, eagerly shove him away? Why was he holding him so tightly, as if afraid he’d escape? The hand resting on his snake tail even began stroking his scales. Though his fingers trembled, they firmly followed the direction of the scales downward.
“Aren’t… aren’t you afraid of snakes?” The tip of his tail curled up anxiously.
“But I like you.” Tan Ming lowered his head to look at Bai Ying. He’d heard every word Bai Ying had said clearly. “No matter what you look like—even if you turn into my greatest fear—I still like you.”
Bai Ying realized he’d messed up again.
He’d thought that turning back into his half-snake form would make Tan Ming stop liking him. But in reality, it seemed to have only strengthened Tan Ming’s resolve.
Bai Ying was suddenly at a loss, like how people unconsciously clenched their fists when tense—his tail tip curled up uneasily.
“But,” Tan Ming gave a wry smile, “I think you probably don’t like me.”
The tail tip uncurled in confusion.
Bai Ying stared at him in a daze.
Tan Ming scooped up Bai Ying’s snake tail and lifted him with a heave, carrying him all the way to the soft bed. Then he went back to the door, picked up the clothes Bai Ying had thrown on the floor one by one, folded them neatly, and placed them beside Bai Ying.
He turned on the air conditioner and fetched an air-conditioned blanket, unfolding it over the exposed part of Bai Ying’s tail. Bai Ying clutched a section of his own tail helplessly. He’d been through too much shock that day—grievance, sadness, resentment… a jumble of emotions with no outlet. So he’d recklessly revealed his deepest secret to Tan Ming, never expecting to receive such gentle treatment in return.
He hadn’t succeeded in tearing open a vent for those negative emotions to flow out, but under Tan Ming’s soothing, they gradually settled down.
“You must have gone through something really upsetting today,” Tan Ming said, reaching out to wipe away a tear from the corner of his eye. “If you don’t mind, you can tell me about it.”
Bai Ying’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
“If you can’t say it to my face, you can talk through the door.” Tan Ming patted the top of Bai Ying’s head and left the room.
He didn’t go far, just leaned against the door and sat down. Soon, rustling sounds came from behind it. Bai Ying grabbed the blanket and sat against the door, hiding his tail completely under it. The blanket felt like a protective shield, giving him a sense of security.
He pressed his head against the soft blanket and didn’t mention the grievance from that day. Instead, he slowly told Tan Ming about the people and events related to emotions he’d encountered lately.
He mentioned how the 996 work schedule had worn him out, so he’d wanted to find an owner to live like a pet snake—lying in a thermostat, carefree after meals. At first, Tan Ming had been a top candidate, but he’d given up immediately upon hearing Tan Ming was afraid of snakes.
“So when you asked if I liked snakes back then, it was because you wanted me to be your owner?” Tan Ming was surprised. “If I’d said I liked them right away, would we have avoided all these detours?”
“No way!” Bai Ying muttered softly. “An owner is just an owner. An owner and a boyfriend are different.”
He’d wanted a pure owner-pet relationship, not one destined to get impure like a couple’s!
But things hadn’t gone as planned. He’d tried with Xiao Lu, but Xiao Lu’s thoughts weren’t pure. He’d tried with Xie Jin, and Xie Jin’s weren’t either.
When Bai Ying put it that way, Tan Ming immediately corrected him. “No, no—that’s not right. They liked you first and couldn’t help being good to you. That’s why you thought they could be suitable owners.”
Were they all really such good-tempered, gentle, and patient people?
Not quite.
Tan Ming had met, to some extent, all the people entangled with Bai Ying. They lavished all their care and gentleness on him but showed their true selves to outsiders. Xie Jin was famously warm on the outside but cold within—a fact his fans knew well. He didn’t hide his inner distance from others; he just never embarrassed anyone outright. Lu Changjun sometimes acted like a silly big dog around Bai Ying, but how could the Lu Family’s carefully groomed heir lack cunning? He was just lovesick, losing his head around the person he liked. Yun Ze had the biggest contrast—Tan Ming had heard that the Yunxin Group’s crown prince had a rough childhood and showed no kindness to others, yet with Bai Ying, he was the perfect caring big brother. Qin Juanshu’s attitude was more consistent; older and tempered by the world, he still couldn’t hide his special tenderness toward Bai Ying.
Even Tan Ming himself hadn’t had much interest in caretaking before. As a nocturnal artist who worked nights, taking care of himself was challenge enough. It was only meeting Bai Ying that had unearthed his domestic side.
People couldn’t help but be good to those they liked.
And Bai Ying kept seeking people who were good to him as potential owners.
The two desires simply didn’t align. Bai Ying said dejectedly, “So I never could have found an owner from the start.”
“Then why not consider not looking for an owner at all, and instead find a partner?” Tan Ming suggested. “Someone to take good care of you, stay by your side forever, always be good to you—these are things an owner can do, but a partner can do them too, even better.”
“You said it yourself—they do it better, so an owner and a partner are different.” Bai Ying buried half his face in the blanket, his voice muffled. “I can play with an owner, act cute for them, quietly stay by their side when they’re in a bad mood. That’s all a pet needs to do. But a partner is different. They need more than companionship—they need love. You’re all so good to me. If love is measured by what we give, I feel like I can’t repay it…”
“Bai Ying, you’re putting way too much psychological pressure on yourself. You always blame yourself, always fear owing others, so every time you reject someone, you hurt yourself too.” Tan Ming sighed. “But love isn’t like owing a dollar less or more—something you can easily calculate. It’s an unstable scale where loss and gain happen simultaneously. When you give everything, you might gain everything too. Seeing the person you like smile—that joy outweighs everything spent.”
“I’m happy every time I cook for you. Waiting for you outside the door at home, the moment I see you, my heart fills with satisfaction.” Tan Ming said earnestly. “In those moments, I’ve already gotten the return I want. I think the others feel the same. So Bai Ying, don’t put this pressure on yourself anymore.”
Bai Ying said softly, “So you weren’t just getting back or leaving—you were squatting at my door the whole time!”
Tan Ming coughed lightly. “Sorry, that does sound a bit creepy.”
Bai Ying’s ability to change the subject on purpose showed his earlier words hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. Bai Ying’s mood had improved a lot.
But he was still a bit lost. “I don’t know what to do next. I quit my job, don’t want to work right now, can’t find an owner… but, but…”
Bai Ying said softly, “But being alone is lonely.”
He’d wanted an owner not just because work was exhausting, but because he’d always been alone growing up. The long loneliness had left a void in his heart. He craved an intimate relationship closer than friendship. In the past, he’d only thought of an owner for that.
“I might… take your advice,” Bai Ying said. “No more looking for an owner. Instead, find a partner…”
“Then from now on, think more about yourself,” Tan Ming said. “You’re always dealing with others’ feelings but never stop to check your own. Don’t focus on who likes you—think about who you like.”
“Got it!” Bai Ying clenched his fist.
“I probably won’t be your first choice, huh?” Tan Ming said self-mockingly. “But when you’re considering backups, could you bump me up a spot?”
“Sorry, Tan Ming.” Bai Ying felt guilty again.
“No need to apologize.” Tan Ming rested his head against the door, turning his face as if speaking face-to-face. “Like I said, I’ve gained a lot just from liking you.”
Bai Ying ate dinner at Tan Ming’s before heading home.
On the way out, Tan Ming gave him two boiled eggs to peel and place on his eyes. He’d cried too much that day. He looked fine now, but without treatment, his eyes might swell shut by morning.
Bai Ying followed the “doctor’s orders” and started applying them as soon as he got home. Lying on the bed, he rolled the warm, peeled eggs over his eyelids. Closing one’s eyes often led to wandering thoughts, and Bai Ying couldn’t help recalling what Tan Ming had said that afternoon.
Don’t always focus on who likes you… think more about who you like…
Tan Ming was right. He’d always been confessed to first, then scrambled for a response. He knew others liked him but couldn’t figure out if he liked them back. His mind was a mess, so his responses to their feelings were muddled too.
He needed to think it over properly. But what kind of person did he like?
Ordinary teens fell in love in their early teens, but perhaps because demons had long lifespans, Bai Ying—after over twenty years among humans—had been oblivious to romance until recently. Only now did he ponder it.
He liked people who were good to him…
Admitting he liked to act spoiled and depended on others, the little snake thought shyly.
But so many people were good to him—a list would stretch endlessly. Bai Ying kept thinking.
He seemed to like people a bit older than him… Sorry, Xiao Lu—maybe because of a lack of love in childhood, he really preferred mature, older types…
But plenty of older people were good to him too. Bai Ying added more criteria.
He seemed to prefer men—maybe because all his confessors were guys, bending his orientation unconsciously. Or maybe he’d always been gay; after all, a snake’s body was curvy, and he often coiled like an incense stick! He liked handsome looks—the little snake was a tiny bit looks-obsessed! Good figures gave a sense of security! Money wasn’t a big deal; the little snake worked too—they could support each other…
He added condition after condition, but candidates still abounded.
Bai Ying tossed the cold egg aside, annoyed. He flipped over and buried his face in the pillow.
Actually, there was one more condition.
But once he added that condition, only one candidate remained.
He seemed to, if given a choice, prefer a snake like himself…
The tips of Bai Ying’s ears, peeking out from the pillow, quietly turned red.
At that moment, in Willow Mansion.
Liu Qingzhang wouldn’t normally go out of his way to investigate Bai Ying’s affairs. If Bai Ying found out he’d invaded his privacy, the little snake would blacklist him for life. But after that time when Bai Ying had turned half-human, half-snake and suffered greatly, Liu Qingzhang couldn’t hold back. He dispatched some people—not to tail Bai Ying specifically, but just to confirm he was safe and sound. Nothing else mattered.
The cafeteria incident at noon clearly threatened Bai Ying’s reputation, so for the first time in over half a month, a report about Bai Ying appeared on Liu Qingzhang’s desk.
Every word Qin Chi had said was printed on the page.
Zhong Qian, standing nearby, read a few lines and thought to himself that the man was done for. Sure enough, though Liu Qingzhang’s expression didn’t change, the atmosphere in the study grew increasingly oppressive. Suddenly, the report burst into flames conjured from thin air and burned to ashes.
“Deal with this person,” Liu Qingzhang said coldly. “I recall there’s a Qin family member in the Capital as well?”
“Yes, her name is Qin Xian. She’s the most capable of her generation in the Qin family, but because she’s a girl, she lost the power struggle and was driven out of Shen City by her father and eldest brother—Qin Chi.” Zhong Qian paused before continuing, “Qin Juanshu has been secretly meeting with her lately. They’re plotting together to take down Qin Chi.”
This matter should have only been known to Qin Juanshu, Qin Xian, and a few of their confidants, but now it came from Zhong Qian’s mouth. It wasn’t that their secrecy was poor; the Zhong family had eyes and ears everywhere—they could practically count as a private intelligence agency.
“Give them a push. Make them act sooner,” Liu Qingzhang instructed.
“Yes.” Zhong Qian acknowledged the order and left.
But Liu Qingzhang’s anger lingered. How dare that man insult Bai Ying like that… He rose from his chair and pushed open the window. A chill night wind flooded the room as Liu Qingzhang stood expressionless, pondering what kind of death to give Qin Chi.
Then he worried that if the little snake found out, he might think it too cruel. He banished his initial ideas and instead considered how to reduce Qin Chi to destitution before exiling him to some remote backwater.
As he mulled it over, the phone on his desk chimed with a special ringtone… Liu Qingzhang froze for a moment, then immediately turned and picked it up.
He saw an avatar that hadn’t appeared in ages.
Someone he suspected would never speak to him again had, on this night, sent him three messages in a row.
Little Snake: [You’re not as annoying today, so I unblocked you.]
Little Snake: [Don’t get too happy. I’ll block you again before bed!]
Little Snake: [You get to say one sentence to the little snake.]
On the other end of the phone, Bai Ying propped up his chin, thinking: Apologize, apologize. Sincerely apologize again, and the little snake might magnanimously forgive you a tiny bit more.
But Liu Qingzhang replied almost instantly: [Little snake, I like you so much.]
Bai Ying froze. His ears, which had just cooled to a pale shade, flushed red again.
A few minutes later, Liu Qingzhang received Bai Ying’s response: [Snake’s going to sleep.]
Any further messages showed the familiar red exclamation mark. A smile broke across Liu Qingzhang’s face, impossible to suppress. He knew the little snake wasn’t asleep—he was just embarrassed.
And most importantly, the little snake was finally willing to talk to him. The little snake had begun to forgive him.
[
