In the small thatched hut nestled in the mountains, a crisp, loud cry rang out.
Ah Wan watched the human before her with indifference. The girl had her head tilted back, mouth wide open as she wailed, tears falling like pearls.
“Crying won’t change a thing. You’re still leaving.” Ah Wan gave the eviction order coldly.
Little Snake stopped crying, her eyes and the tip of her nose red from weeping. She looked at her, utterly baffled, and asked, “Why… ssss, I leave?”
Ah Wan understood. This little thing couldn’t pronounce words starting with an “S” sound; she would involuntarily hiss them out.
She offered no explanation, simply picking up a clump of now-sticky noodles and bringing them to Little Snake’s mouth.
There was no need to explain. She wasn’t anyone important.
Little Snake blinked her eyes as she looked at Ah Wan, tear tracks still fresh on her face. Seeing that the woman wasn’t telling her to leave anymore, she assumed she didn’t have to, so she opened her mouth and ate the noodles.
She was still sniffling a little from her earlier, more sorrowful crying.
Ah Wan watched coldly, offering no comfort.
After finishing the bowl of noodles, Ah Wan stood up and looked down at her, her face expressionless. “When dawn breaks, you leave.”
With that, she went back into her room.
Little Snake hadn’t reacted in time and eagerly followed behind, wanting to go in too, but was blocked outside the door.
Ah Wan turned her head to glance at her. Her tone was extremely harsh as she ordered: “Before you go, wash the clothes and the bowl for me.”
She then went inside and shut the door without a shred of reluctance.
Little Snake knocked from outside, but Ah Wan ignored her. She yawned, pulled back the covers, lay down on the bed, closed her eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.
The next day, sunlight was streaming brightly into the room.
Only then did Ah Wan slowly and leisurely get up.
The house was empty. She curled her lips in satisfaction. It seemed that little creature hadn’t snuck in last night; she must have left.
Ah Wan went to the bathroom to wash up and changed her clothes. As she walked out, she casually tied her hair up into a bun. Then she pulled open the door—
“Human!”
Little Snake, holding the bowl and chopsticks, excitedly crowded up to her, blinking big eyes, standing obediently in front of her.
Ah Wan looked down. The bowl and chopsticks had been washed spotlessly clean.
Was this… an attempt to curry favor?
Seeing that Ah Wan wasn’t driving her away again, Little Snake quickly placed the bowl on the table. Then she came over and tugged at the clothes on her own body, saying pitifully, “Change.”
She’d wanted to take them off and wash them too—they were all dirty. But the human didn’t like her not wearing anything, so she’d waited until now.
She needed a change of clothes before she could wash them. She’d been waiting obediently at the door for the human to get up and give her something else to wear.
Ah Wan was silent for a moment. The fingers gripping the door frame turned white from the force. She looked at the human before her, took a deep breath, and then opened her mouth, her voice ruthless: “Get out.”
“Huh?” Little Snake’s brow immediately drooped. Her whole demeanor wilted like a flower in the dead of winter—truly pitiful. She called out cautiously, “Human…”
Ah Wan turned her head away, pretending not to see. Instead, she opened the door wider, pointed outside, and urged stiffly, “Hurry up.”
Little Snake became anxious. She stepped forward, grabbing Ah Wan’s wrist with both hands, tears welling up in her eyes. She sobbed and managed to force out a single, clear word: “No.”
Perfectly pronounced, it struck Ah Wan right in the heart.
This was a snake with human understanding.
But no matter how much understanding it possessed, it was still a snake.
Snakes have no emotions. They are cold-blooded by nature. Liking you is because of pheromones, driven by the instinct to reproduce, drawing it close to you. Then, just as instinctively, it leaves you without a second thought.
Ah Wan clenched her fist, forcefully pulling back her hand. Then she pushed the girl, forcing her out, her heart hardening as she drove her away. “Go back to your own kind.”
Little Snake shook her head frantically, clinging to the door frame, refusing to leave, her mouth constantly crying “no, no.”
Ah Wan pried her fingers loose and shoved her out, but then suddenly heard a loud cry: “Human!”
“Human…” Little Snake had fallen to the ground, crying her heart out. She reached a hand out towards Ah Wan. “No.”
Ah Wan glanced at her, then closed the door without hesitation.
The sound of crying continued from outside. Annoyed, Ah Wan shook her head and went into the kitchen to make herself something to eat.
Once the oil was hot, she dumped in a whole plate of bean sprouts. The sizzling sound from the wok seemed to drown out the cries outside, easing the irritation in Ah Wan’s heart considerably.
She turned off the heat and carried the food out. Outside, it seemed the sound really had stopped.
Ah Wan let out a breath, feeling quite relieved, and sat down to eat.
But after just a couple of bites, she found she had no appetite. The food probably just wasn’t very good today.
She sighed, put down her chopsticks, took the bowl and chopsticks back to the kitchen, washed them clean, then paced a circle around the room.
A restless feeling of having nothing to do.
Maybe she’d go up the mountain for a walk.
Ah Wan told herself.
Then, deliberately slowing all her movements, she changed into another set of clothes. She walked to the door, took a deep breath, and gently opened it.
Outside was completely empty. Her heart felt as if it had sunk to the very bottom of a valley.
There were two damp spots on the ground. Ah Wan froze for a second upon seeing them, then her face returned to its usual expressionless mask. She closed the door, stepped out, put her back basket on her shoulders, and headed into the mountains.
The morning forest carried a chill. Ah Wan’s journey up the mountain was completely calm—she didn’t even hear a cricket chirp.
Usually, she’d see little bugs crawling around on the ground, or looking up, catch a fleeting glimpse of a squirrel’s big bushy tail as it leaped from branch to branch.
And the cooing of birds.
Today, there was nothing. The silence was so profound, it was as if the entire mountain was dead.
Ah Wan paid no mind and continued deeper into the mountains. Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the bushes beside her.
When she walked, the sound followed.
When she stopped, the sound stopped.
Ah Wan turned her head and saw a faint flash of white amidst the thick green leaves. A barely perceptible smile touched her lips, but it vanished just as quickly.
She lingered in the forest for a while but only managed to gather a few ordinary medicinal herbs.
Ah Wan tossed her herb-digging hoe into her back basket, ready to head home. The thing in the bushes instinctively moved to follow, but halfway there, the sound suddenly stopped.
Ah Wan glanced back. After a moment’s thought, she ignored it and walked straight away.
The thing didn’t follow any further.
Returning home, Ah Wan processed the herbs, then went inside to cook a meal.
Learning from this morning’s lesson, she didn’t just throw something together this time. She made a serious effort, even chopping scallions, ginger, garlic, and dried chili peppers for a fiery stir-fry.
With these seasonings, even a fried shoe sole would taste good. But once the food was on the table, Ah Wan suddenly lost her appetite again.
She forced herself to pick up a piece. It tasted like chewing wax.
A nameless rage flared up inside Ah Wan. She slammed down her chopsticks, stood up, and headed to the bathroom. A warm shower helped considerably.
When she came out, the food on the table had already gone cold. She had no heart to eat it. She carried it to the backyard, lifted the wooden lid, and dumped everything into the vat.
The vat, which had been full of scorpions, was now only half full.
Ah Wan smiled with satisfaction, replaced the lid, and went back inside.
The next morning, sunlight fell on the windowsill. The sleepless Ah Wan finally woke, feeling utterly exhausted.
Listlessly, she went to wash up. The mirror was still covered. After brushing her teeth, she scooped up a handful of clear water to wash her face, then dried it with a towel. She didn’t apply anything to her skin, just walked out like that.
She’d eaten almost nothing the day before, and now Ah Wan didn’t even feel hungry. Instead, her only thought was to head up the mountain.
But just as she opened the door, she saw a freshly dead rabbit lying on the ground right in front of her. Its limbs were still twitching. The two bloody holes on its neck were clearly the fatal wound.
Ah Wan frowned. She didn’t pick up the rabbit, simply stepping over it to go outside.
The young girl just outside the courtyard had no time to hide and ran right into her.
Little Snake was wearing dirty pajamas, barefoot on the gravel path, looking at Ah Wan with a timid expression.
Ah Wan glanced at her with no reaction, turned around, and left.
“Human…”
Little Snake called out softly, chasing after her for two steps, then stopped, not daring to enter the courtyard.
Ah Wan picked up the rabbit, opened the door to a room, and tossed it into a writhing pile of toxic creatures. The rabbit was instantly devoured, torn apart and consumed.
Then she put on her back basket and continued up the mountain.
As she passed by Little Snake, Ah Wan didn’t give her a single glance, acting as if she were invisible.
Little Snake stood stunned for a moment, then went over and carefully closed the courtyard gate for her. She limped after Ah Wan at a jog.
A distance remained between the two of them the entire time. Ah Wan only looked straight ahead, never glancing back. This actually gave Little Snake a sense of ease, and she happily trotted along behind.
It was just that the gravel really hurt her feet.
By the third day, Ah Wan, as usual, threw the rabbit to her poisonous creatures and shouldered her basket to head up the mountain.
Little Snake closed the courtyard gate for her and followed, limping. But she walked slower and slower, eventually falling far behind Ah Wan.
Ah Wan heard the sound of footsteps disappear. A dull ache throbbed in her heart. She didn’t look back, just continued straight ahead.
On the fourth day, there was no rabbit at the door.
On the fifth day, the rustling sound that had been following her in the mountain forest was also gone.
On the sixth day, Ah Wan stood at the door and waited for a while, but no one appeared.
She hesitated, then turned around and went back inside. She grabbed a hoe, swung it over her shoulder, and headed up the mountain.
There was a small herbal medicine plot beside the forest. Ah Wan had neglected it for some days, and now it was overgrown with weeds.
She tested the weight of the hoe in her hands, raised it to start weeding, when suddenly she heard the sound of a snake slithering across the field ridge behind her.
Ah Wan’s lips began to curve into a smile, but the snake behind her suddenly let out a threatening “hissssss.” Her smile immediately dropped, her eyes turning ice-cold in an instant.
She spun around. A cobra, as thick as a hoe handle and just as long, had reared up, its hood flared, poised in an aggressive stance directly facing her.
Ah Wan slowly tightened her grip on the hoe handle, trying to gauge the distance between them. She took a slight step back.
The cobra lunged instantly.
Ah Wan lifted her hoe, ready to strike it down. But suddenly, a pure white little snake shot out from behind her and hurtled straight at the cobra.
The two snakes grappled and twisted together. The little white snake was much smaller than the cobra and was at a disadvantage. She was bitten several times in a row, and it looked like she was about to lose.
Ah Wan just stood there watching quietly, showing no intention of stepping in to help.
The little white snake’s body was constricted by the cobra, her upper half being crushed violently against the ground.
Ah Wan saw this and let out a soft “tsk.” Just as she was about to make a move, the little white snake suddenly fought back with a burst of strength from who-knows-where. She flipped the cobra over, pinned it down, opened her mouth, and bit down hard.
A continuous stream of venom flowed from the tips of her fangs, injecting into the cobra’s body. It slowly collapsed.
Ah Wan watched the little white snake, covered in blood, slowly crawl towards her. A hint of appreciation flickered in her eyes. She spoke her first words to her: “Not bad. Pretty impressive.”
Hearing this, the severely injured little white snake still managed to prop up the front of her body. Her head lifted high, she gently flicked her tongue out twice, then lowered her head and carefully nudged the tip of Ah Wan’s shoe.
Then, she collapsed beside it, motionless.
