Chapter 23: Sweet Song ·5·6·7 Part 2

No one liked being treated like hazardous waste.

[7 PM Sunrise (19)]

[Zhou Baofu]: I’ll be back this afternoon. Let’s meet at three.

[Zhou Baofu]: Who changed the group name!

[Endless Night]: 1

[Hedwig0v0]: Teacher, I want some donkey rolls—

[Bear on the Loose]: Out for a competition, can’t make it

[Xi]: Got it, safe travels, Teacher!

Shang Xi was a good kid. When his teacher said to meet at three, he showed up in the Small Conference Room at two-thirty.

Before heading out, though, he felt a twinge of unease.

“Senior Brother, why don’t you come with me,” the young man said earnestly. “I’m afraid you’ll get lost and not show up until eight o’clock tonight.”

Fu Congxiao was left speechless but accompanied him anyway.

The conference room’s air conditioning was frigid. Shang Xi fiddled with his phone for a while until boredom set in, then he laid his head on the table and started to doze off.

Fu Congxiao, who had been grading papers at his side, cut in. “Sit up straight. Don’t sleep.”

Shang Xi had already buried his face in the crook of his arm and murmured, “Just a quick nap… ten minutes.”

His hoodie slipped down, the hood enveloping the boy’s head.

In an instant, the clothes hung empty as a little yellow bird staggered into flight.

Fu Congxiao snatched the bird into his palm with a swift motion, quick as hitting pause.

“Shang Xi,” he enunciated carefully. “You know transforming at a time like this will dock your daily scores, right?”

“Not sleeping in class but dozing off now? Wake up.”

The little bird was too lazy to escape and drowsily nestled into his hands.

Its fine, soft down tickled his palm with a faint itch.

Fu Congxiao was accustomed to cold body temperatures, but sensing his own warmth rising on account of the bird stirred an awkward irritation.

Yelling a person’s name at a bird might look ridiculous, but he had no choice.

“Shang Xi, change. Back.”

Fu Congxiao had never uttered anyone’s name so many times in his life.

“Shang—Xi! You’ll flunk!”

The little bird jolted alert, darted back into the hoodie, and transformed.

Fu Congxiao averted his gaze and switched off the air conditioning.

“Don’t suddenly turn into a bird in front of any teacher from now on. It’ll tank your behavioral evaluation score—no matter how close you are.”

“My fault,” the young man said rapidly as he pulled his clothes back on. “I was reading a novel last night and lost track of time. Didn’t get enough sleep.”

“And the clothes,” Fu Congxiao said, his back turned. “Don’t wear hoodies. If you’re partially exposed during normal times—like an arm or your head, at minimum.”

Shang Xi murmured a soft agreement, head bowed. “It’s so not free.”

When Fu Congxiao turned around, he subconsciously ruffled the boy’s hair.

So soft.

The group meeting dragged on tediously.

Professor Zhou was quite the talker, so he covered new policy directions, research progress, university admissions—and even whose little snake had laid a bird egg.

Shang Xi jotted notes for a bit, then quietly scrolled through his phone during the gossip portion.

[Secret Tree Hole] I like this senior so much, but I don’t dare go after him

OP: Just a quick face-con tree-hole vent.

My crush started because the way he furrows his brow while reading his speech script is lethally handsome.

He seems like such a cool guy—aloof as hell, always late to class for some reason, doesn’t appear to have many friends…

2L: Feels like I’ve cracked the code. Just simping for his looks, idol-chasing vibes. Guy’s only average-looking anyway, and everyone knows he’s got a rotten temper and zero friends.

3L: Advice: don’t chase. You dare kiss him? Dare share a drinking cup with him?

4L: He’s been reprimanded multiple times for getting into group fights before. Not a good sort #disdain

5L: OP, dating a guy like that will just get you isolated by everyone else. Be careful.

…

Shang Xi refreshed the page again and found that the post had been deleted by the moderators for inciting arguments.

He pocketed his phone and glanced at Fu Congxiao, who was asleep beside him. Something seemed different.

Perhaps he’d rubbed against his sleeve in his sleep; there was a faint trace at the corner of the boy’s eye.

Shang Xi quickly glanced at Professor Zhou, who was holding forth eloquently, then looked back at that eye corner.

A bit of concealer had smudged onto the school uniform sleeve.

And at Fu Congxiao’s eye corner were ink-green snake scales, shaped like tiny fans.

Shang Xi’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t tell if he was drawn to them or startled.

The meeting dragged on for a long time.

By the time they returned to the dorm, Fu Congxiao went to take his usual shower and change clothes.

He emerged in his pajamas to find Shang Xi waiting nearby.

“Something up?”

“Yeah,” Shang Xi said. “Are you putting on makeup every day?”

Fu Congxiao gave a small smile.

“So what? Does it gross you out?”

“No,” Shang Xi said. “Don’t you think it’s totally unnecessary?”

Fu Congxiao had already applied the cover-up, but at those words, he grabbed a wet wipe instead and cleaned both sides of his eyes.

“You mean, even like this, it’s still unnecessary?”

It was the first time Shang Xi had seen his true appearance up close.

The boy’s looks were even more striking than before, almost radiating a demonic allure.

There was one snake scale at the corner of one eye and three at the other.

The ink-green scales resembled dark jade, shimmering with deep, flowing light.

Set against his eyes like that, they made his gaze all the more captivating.

Shang Xi scooted his stool forward a bit, awe in his eyes as he asked, “Can I touch them?”

Fu Congxiao’s eyebrow arched, and he reluctantly leaned his face closer.

Shang Xi’s fingertip brushed the side of his face.

He tentatively touched near the eyebrow first, then the edge of a scale.

“They’re really beautiful,” Shang Xi said sincerely. “I’m so envious…”

The touch made the boy’s chest itch again.

Fu Congxiao sat back, saying flatly, “Going out looking like this would just get me shunned by everyone else.”

“They love making a fuss over nothing anyway, always stirring up trouble,” Shang Xi said. “Do you really care what those people think?”

Fu Congxiao paused before replying, “I don’t want to be stared at.”

Shang Xi couldn’t help laughing.

“If I were six foot four with emeralds studded on my face, I’d be insufferably cocky. I’d probably go out every day just to flirt with people for fun.”

Fu Congxiao looked at him for a long moment, his voice soft.

“You really don’t find it disgusting?”

They were snake scales. Superfluous marks growing right out of his skin.

“Not even a little,” Shang Xi said. “You should consider becoming a beauty vlogger. You might go viral.”

Fu Congxiao laughed and swore lightly, as if some weight had finally lifted from his shoulders.

“Actually, I’ve got a theory,” Shang Xi said. “Have you ever thought that those students whose true forms are spotted doves, mallards, or roosters—some can accept their lives, but others never will?”

“They pick fights with you, even spread rumors that you’re a cheating player or a thief, just to make themselves feel better. To prove they’re not that ordinary, that they can measure up to you.”

“For some people, it’s not about hating you. It’s about forgetting how much they hate themselves.”

Fu Congxiao fell silent for a moment, then said, “Thanks.”

Shang Xi grinned. “I’m off to bed. Talk later.”

Back on his bunk, Shang Xi pulled the covers tight around himself, delaying his transformation.

He wrapped himself up snugly, as if drawing warmth and comfort from the blanket’s embrace.

He’d almost blurted out his own secret just now.

What difference was there, really, between a nightingale and all those ordinary birds?

During the meeting today, Professor Zhou had been talking about the national talent recruitment program.

Shang Xi had been at the school long enough to know it was full of hidden talents—impressive birds, impressive snakes.

He’d heard about a senior albatross who’d scored S-rank right at enrollment. Top universities had chased her with early admission offers, competing to throw scholarships at her.

In a few years, she might appear in the news boarding a spacecraft as an astronaut, or maybe as a sharp-featured fighter pilot.

Shang Xi buried his face in his pillow, feeling a pang of dejection.

He didn’t hate himself. He just knew he was ordinary.

What was a nightingale’s claim to shine? A nice singing voice?

There were too many great singers across the country. He probably couldn’t even take first in a national karaoke app contest.

Without this change, his future would’ve been straightforward: an ordinary high school, maybe a decent college, then settling into life as a happy little white-collar worker.

Cursing out the boss by day, slacking off, going home to parents’ home cooking—a safe, contented, happy life.

Arriving at Dawn Star to study, he could see so many of his peers shining brightly.

How wonderful.

The boy drifted off to sleep without realizing it, his consciousness slowly fading until he transformed once more into a tiny little nightingale.

The nightingale flapped its way out from under the covers and immediately spotted the cobra waiting at the door to the Ecology Room.

It let out a joyful chirp, and Little Snake wagged his tail in welcome.

The little fluffball zoomed over in a flash, landing right on Little Snake’s head. Together they swayed into the depths of the undergrowth.

Fu Congxiao had prepared a plate of cut fruit ahead of time, setting the dish down deep within the Ecology Room.

The nightingale soon spotted it and flapped over, pecking here and snatching there, utterly delighted with the feast.

Slices of peach, chunks of apple, a scattering of grapes and apricots—it was a treasure trove of abundance to him.

Little Snake stood guard nearby, occasionally giving it a sniff but showing little interest.

He was a carnivore, after all. Luring the little bird over was just his way of cheering him up.

Having eaten and played to his heart’s content, Little Nightingale hopped onto a branch and, as usual, began to sing.

He was a night song robin by nature, fond of filling the midnight hours with his long, trilling melodies.

The dark green Little Snake slithered to the other side and gazed up at him, motionless for a long while.

Fu Congxiao had never disliked these midnight songs.

When he lived alone, his nights stretched on in endless darkness, so quiet that the only sound in the world was his own breathing.

From the very first day Shang Xi moved in, the nights had filled with the little bird’s chirping tunes.

If the day had been pleasant and relaxing, the song danced like a lively mountain spring, bubbling freely through the wild winds over hill and dale.

If classes had been too tough or something unpleasant had happened, the melody turned glum, laced with melancholy and isolation.

The nightingale’s audience was sometimes the silent boy, sometimes the quiet serpent.

Snakes couldn’t vocalize, and their hisses were faint and raspy.

He simply listened, night after endless, serene night.

Now and then, he would lose himself in the music, a faint smile touching his lips.

~~~

The next time class rolled around, Fu Congxiao couldn’t be bothered to hide anymore.

His snake scales glimmered with a subtle sheen, drawing immediate attention from the others.

Some poked their seatmates to look his way; others whispered among themselves.

Shang Xi sat beside him, twirling his pen.

“Chemistry is so boring.”

“Do you need something?” Fu Congxiao scribbled notes, his tone cool. “I seem to recall dozens of empty seats in here. Why insist on sitting right next to me?”