Sitting on the airport shuttle bus, Shang Xi absentmindedly rubbed his phone with his fingertip.
Something was wrong. It felt like he was sulking with Senior Brother.
He was always so carefree, hardly ever in a cold war with anyone.
His junior brothers and sisters couldn’t hide their excitement, still whispering about the novelty of flying for the first time.
Shang Xi gazed out the window when his phone suddenly vibrated.
[Endless Night]: Safe travels.
Shang Xi stared at it for two seconds and decided not to reply.
Senior Brother had deliberately skipped seeing him off. Busy, my ass.
Little Bird Trial Judge brought down the hammer of justice in his mind.
Punish the bad snake with three days of cold war!
Two rows of Nightingales rustled in agreement: “Clear Soup Old Master——”
Ten minutes later, his phone vibrated again.
[Endless Night]: It’s cold on the plane. Remember to ask the flight attendant for a blanket.
Shang Xi coldly switched it to silent.
He takes off without even seeing me off, and now he remembers to check in?
Hypocrite!
Back in the dorm, Fu Congxiao irritably twirled his pen a few times, unsure what else to say.
He waited half a minute with no reply and just called directly.
The WeChat call was answered after a sluggish delay.
“What.”
“Did you see the messages I sent?” Fu Congxiao asked.
“Oh.”
Fu Congxiao fell silent for a moment, then drawled, “Shang Xi.”
“Mm.”
“You’re sulking, aren’t you?”
Shang Xi immediately felt a pang of guilt. “Uh…”
In his mind, Little Bird Judge planted his hands on the table in a commanding stance. “Guilty about what? We’re totally sulking!”
“Shang Xi, you have to stay tough!”
The young man declared toughly, “Then coax me!”
Fu Congxiao paused, then couldn’t hold back a laugh. He laughed for a full half minute.
Once he finished, his tone shifted to something relaxed and warm.
“The weather in Beijing looks great for the next few days. If you get the chance, check out Jingshan Park.”
“When you get back, I’ll get Old Zhou to write you a leave slip so I can come pick you up.”
Shang Xi murmured softly, “Okay.”
“Then I’ll hang up first.”
“Mm.”
After the call ended, the young man stared into space for half a minute.
Wait—he hadn’t even coaxed him!
That scheming bad snake!!!
It was indeed cold on the plane.
Shang Xi wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, but the discomfort lingered.
He had spent the entire summer vacation at home, venturing out only occasionally to shop and eat.
Traveling with Master’s Group today gave him an unreal sensation of reentering normal society.
Most people looked utterly ordinary. With the heat, plenty of young men and women wore T-shirts or even tank tops, along with sandals.
Shang Xi found himself unconsciously glancing at their necks and ankles, a hard-to-describe melancholy settling over him.
If the secrets of Snake Descendants and Feather Descendants ever came to light, people would spot them instantly from their clothes—who was kin, who was the heretic.
And those always bundled in high-neck shirts and long pants would surely end up isolated.
He desperately wanted to remove the Ankle Ring and pretend none of it had ever happened.
When anxiety crept in, he still gently touched the Snake Fang.
Fu Congxiao had polished it smooth and round long before giving it to him as a gift, so it wouldn’t easily prick his finger.
Sometimes, it truly was a comforting talisman, as if Senior Brother were right there beside him.
As night fell, everything grew quiet.
Fu Congxiao still had two assignments left to finish. Sensing the stillness, he instinctively glanced sideways and saw the dark, empty dorm room.
He forced himself to scroll through videos for distraction or put on some music while tackling his work.
But restlessness gnawed at him relentlessly.
Moments later, Little Snake slithered out from under the blanket, flicking its tongue with a soft hiss.
It probed left and right, seemingly unsure of its destination, before climbing the ladder beside Shang Xi’s bed and approaching the rumpled bedding.
Little Snake hesitated for a moment, then burrowed into the soft covers. In an instant, it was enveloped by the most familiar pheromones.
It let its vomeronasal organ greedily soak up every trace of the scent, its anxiety plummeting to nothing.
He had endured too long.
A whole summer vacation without seeing him.
School had barely started, and now they were apart again.
He knew he couldn’t voice any of it.
His growing clinginess, dependence—perhaps even a morbid possessiveness—could never see the light of day.
Little Snake curled up deep within the quilt, waiting for the negative emotions to ebb away like the tide.
It endured the loneliness a while longer.
Beijing truly delivered several days of crisp, refreshing autumn weather.
Shang Xi had an absolute blast. He even got friended by a bunch of professors at the Central Music Academy and recorded several songs as experimental material.
He had no love for opera or vocal exercises, always picking pop songs he actually enjoyed for practice, but Professor Rong had zero complaints.
“Singing isn’t about racking up high scores or flaunting technique. It’s about expressing your rawest, truest emotions.”
“What if I sing a very sad song?”
“Sadness has always been something of great value. It might even have a calming and suppressive effect on the experimental subjects.” Professor Rong shrugged. “Just be yourself. No need to worry too much about other things.”
During the exchange period, he attended several lectures and was even smilingly asked by one professor if he wanted to do a combined bachelor’s and master’s program under him.
The little old lady marched right up and punched the man. “What are you thinking! This kid is already my student!”
“Hey, look at you! Even after retirement, your temper’s still so fiery! Ouch, and your punch packs a wallop!”
It was the kids’ first time in Beijing, so the professor specially arranged for a PhD senior brother to act as their guide, taking them to sights like the Forbidden City and the Great Wall.
When they reached Qianmen, Shang Xi bought several local specialties, unsure what Fu Congxiao liked to eat.
He bought a ton of little souvenirs from the cultural creative store—mostly beautiful cloisonné fridge magnets.
After several days of anxious waiting, the day to return to Hangzhou finally arrived.
The moment he arrived at baggage claim, Shang Xi spotted the tall, slender figure.
“Senior Brother!” He rushed over pushing his luggage cart. “I’m over here!”
Professor Rong trailed behind, sighing, “Young people are so full of energy. This flight nearly broke my back.”
Little Nightingale came flying over, thrusting a big bag of gifts at his senior brother first thing.
“All for you! What do you think!”
Fu Congxiao took his luggage cart and stole a glance at the gifts.
Half fridge magnets and fancy bookmarks, half high-carb, high-sugar snack bombs.
“No need to buy so much.”
“It’s necessary,” Shang Xi said stubbornly. “You’re starting freshman year next year. In another year, we won’t see each other anymore.”
Fu Congxiao froze mid-motion, his breathing growing heavier.
Shang Xi clung tightly to him, unaware that he too was drawing long-lost comfort from it.
The two boys walked forward together, still pressed close even while loading luggage by the bus. They never strayed more than a meter apart until they were back at school.
They had grown accustomed to an unnoticed symbiosis.
As they dragged their luggage back, two teachers stood at the dorm entrance—one looked like Professor Zhou.
“Professor!” Shang Xi said excitedly. “I brought you Daoxiang Village snacks—they’re super tasty!”
Zhou Baofu nodded reluctantly.
Fu Congxiao stopped in front of them, already sensing what was coming.
“Congxiao, we couldn’t get through to your phone earlier,” the Dorm Supervisor Teacher said softly. “I’m very sorry, but your father…”
Shang Xi froze in place, instinctively grabbing Fu Congxiao’s sleeve.
“Your father suffered an accidental electrocution after getting drunk an hour ago. Resuscitation efforts failed, and he has passed away.”
A desolate amusement flickered in Fu Congxiao’s eyes.
He stood there quietly, speechless.
The Dorm Supervisor Teacher understood his mood perfectly.
“This is all so sudden, but life is full of accidents. If you have any needs right now—or even a psychologist in the future—just tell us.”
Fu Congxiao said calmly, “I’ll go handle the funeral.”
Zhou Baofu said gravely, “Do you need me to go with you? Facing something like this takes real courage.”
Shang Xi spoke up suddenly. “I want to go with him too.”
Fu Congxiao blinked in surprise.
He’d mentally prepared for this countless times, though he still wasn’t sure if Zhang Hong had truly orchestrated the death.
He’d planned for how to face it all, how to endure the funeral alone—yet he’d never imagined being accompanied.
Only now did he show the bewildered look of an eighteen-year-old.
“You… can come with me?”
“Of course,” Zhou Baofu said without hesitation. “I know your family situation—you have few elders around. With teachers by your side, if anything comes up that you don’t know how to handle, just ask me anytime.”
“As for…” Zhou Baofu glanced uncertainly at Shang Xi. “Shang Xi’s studies are stable now. I can help him get another three days’ leave, but he’ll need to return for classes after that.”
For a student in a special situation like this, having a close friend along during such a major event was a small comfort.
Fu Congxiao stood there a long time, then took Shang Xi’s hand.
The other boy gripped back instantly, harder, trying to lend him strength.
Fu Congxiao said softly, “So, my dad really passed away?”
The Dorm Supervisor Teacher’s eyes reddened. “We’re all so sorry, kid.”
“Okay. Got it.”
Everything after that felt like a movie sped up to eight times fast—blurry and rushed.
Kowtowing, burning paper money, staring dazedly at the figure in the coffin, then facing everyone’s tears and consolations.
Fu Congxiao knew full well that this father’s existence had been an empty, ironic joke.
But he also knew that from now on, he had neither a mother nor a father.
The bonds tying him to the world had dwindled to almost nothing.
Zhang Hong wore a black veil, tears streaming down her face as she thanked Zhou and Shang for their companionship. Before the gathered crowd, she carried herself like a loving mother.
In the face of such immense grief, she struggled to hold herself together. Sobbing uncontrollably, she explained the origins of this tragedy from beginning to end, fully cooperating with the police through every step of their investigation.
The Fu Family Old Madam, by contrast, seemed as though she had long anticipated this day. Tears barely fell from her eyes; she looked only weak and exhausted, spending most of her time resting alone.
During the three nights of the wake, Shang Xi slept in Fu Congxiao’s bed.
He gently cradled the coiled little snake, warming every inch of its scales through his sleepwear with his body heat, cupping its icy tail in his palm.
The little snake slept with scarcely any rise and fall to its breathing, merely twitching faintly every so often to confirm that Shang Xi was still there.
The youth warmed it with his palm and fingertips, stroking it tenderly again and again.
He knew that its soul had never harbored deadly poison.
It was merely a fragile, anxious little snake that needed to be held tight.
