Encountering a Snake C3

Chapter 3: The Promise

Young Master Shen’s snake venom had receded and his mind had cleared; Young Master Shen could feed himself and lean against the bed to read; Young Master Shen was sitting in the courtyard in the sun again…

Good news arrived one after another. To Shen Qingxuan it meant only a few more years of clinging to life, but that did not stop the old steward from burning the funeral goods to ash in a single fire, nor did it stop Shen-laoye, in his great joy, from sending a merchant caravan to the far southern wilderness to offer high profit in thanks to the traders who had once presented those two “holy antidote pills.”

A banquet was laid. Relatives and friends filled the seats.

The scent of wine drifted through the mountain woods. After days of holding their breath, the servants dared to speak in louder voices again.

Shen Qingxuan sat in his wooden wheelchair, wrapped in a fox-fur cloak. A soft silk quilt covered his legs completely. One hand held a thin booklet; he tilted his head and read in silence. Through the half-closed window came a little of the noise from the outer hall—laughter, drum and music, the clear clink of cups.

None of it seemed to have much to do with him.

After a while he felt thirsty, but the tea had gone cold. Holding the chilled porcelain in his hand, he remembered the palm that had rested on his forehead that day. The sensation was entirely different, yet the hand and this cup shared the same temperature. Ice-cold. Not a trace of human warmth.

His thoughts circled and came back to what was in front of him. He shook the brass bell, then closed his fingers around the object that had accompanied him for years and toyed with it out of habit.

The maid who heard the bell soon pushed the door open. Without waiting to be told, she poured out the cold tea, brewed fresh hot water, stirred the charcoal in the hand warmer, and set it back on his lap.

When everything was settled, she stood to one side and said softly, “Young Master is not drinking tonight. Rest early. Your body has only just improved a little. Reading will tire the mind. That would not be good.”

Shen Qingxuan gave a slight nod, drank a cup of tea, and picked up the booklet again.

Seeing this, the maid lit a few more oil lamps so the room would be brighter, then closed the door and withdrew.

A moment later the wooden door of the side room was pushed open again. Shen Qingxuan looked up. A young woman with her cloud-like hair piled high stood outside, peering in with a hesitant expression.

Their eyes met. Shen Qingxuan paused, then smiled faintly. Though he could make no sound, the shape of his mouth clearly formed the words: Second Mother.

“Xiao Xuan.” The young woman, though youthful, carried herself with composure. Her expression eased as she stepped over the threshold. “Better now?”

Shen Qingxuan nodded.

“Ever since you were bitten, the household has been frantic.” She sat in the chair beside him, her face gentle, and touched his cheek with real tenderness. “Your elder sister has been praying for you in the Buddha hall. When she heard you were well, she went to fulfill her vow. She could not come today, so I brought your younger brother.”

Shen Qingxuan only smiled. He took up brush and ink and wrote: Thank you for Second Mother’s trouble. Since my brother came as well, let him come and speak with me. How is Mother’s health?

The woman read it and answered carefully. “It is late, and your brother is restless by nature. I told him to come tomorrow. Elder Sister is very well. The other day she even went into the kitchen and made plain bamboo shoots for the family to taste. Only—some talkative servant told her you had been bitten by a snake. She cried for two days. Fortunately your fortune is great. Once she knew you were unharmed, she went to the temple again to give thanks.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingxuan felt a tightness in his chest. He sat dazed for a while before he took up the brush again and wrote a few more lines, making light conversation.

The woman said, “The fierce beasts and venomous creatures in these mountains are hard to guard against. Why not come home with me? It would spare the family worry. Your sister and I are only women. We cannot often leave the house to visit you.”

Shen Qingxuan wrote: There are many beasts, but they do not harm people lightly. The servants look after me well. This time was only an accident. The climate here is suitable, and the physician says my body needs quiet rest. Going home would be good, but it is not as peaceful as the mountains.

The woman sighed softly when she saw this. Then she remembered something and said quickly, “Before I left, Elder Sister told me to ask you—is there a young lady you favor?”

Shen Qingxuan froze for a moment, then wrote at once: I understand Mother’s meaning. But with a body like this, even if a good girl were willing to marry me, I fear I could not bear the responsibility. I would only fail her. Let my brother take on the duty of continuing the family line.

The woman looked at the still-wet ink and sighed again. “You need not say it. The family understands. Only—such a fine young man, to walk through this world once, suffer so much, and not even leave a descendant… I am not your birth mother, yet I still…” She could not finish. Her eyes had already turned red. She lowered her head; her voice caught.

Shen Qingxuan was silent as well. His gaze rested on her slightly trembling head. Something unreadable moved in the depths of his eyes, as if his thoughts had turned a thousand times.

In an instant he was himself again. He wrote once more: Second Mother need not grieve. My fate is what it is. Perhaps I did too much evil in a past life and am paying for it in this one. As the eldest son, I cannot offer even a little strength to country or family. I am deeply ashamed.

Then the brush turned. He changed the subject: My brother has only just come of age. He is clever but lacks experience. I heard recently that he wishes to enter official life. The seas of officialdom are deep and unpredictable. Second Mother will need to guide him more often.

The talk of her own son dried her tears. She said in a low voice, “What would a woman like me know? You have read so many books. If you could help your brother, nothing would be better.”

“Second Mother need not be modest. My brother is exceptionally bright. He only lacks smoothness when things arise. With Second Mother’s reminders and Father’s arrangements, rising smoothly should not be difficult.”

“You are only trying to set my mind at ease.” She set the paper down, a faint smile appearing.

Shen Qingxuan smiled with her and wrote again: Only, my brother is still young, and already he must take on an elder brother’s duties as well—filial piety to our parents, loyalty to the country. It is hard on him.

The woman shook her head. “You are brothers. This is what is proper. Do not speak as if you were strangers.”

They talked a little longer. When Shen Qingxuan began to look tired, she quickly told him to take care of his health and left.

After she was gone, Shen Qingxuan sat alone in the chair for a long time. His gaze rested on the sheets of paper covered with writing. Something occurred to him; a faint, ironic, helpless smile touched his mouth. After a moment he gathered the papers, rang the bell for the maid, took an iron basin, and burned the ink-scented pages to ash in a single flame.

By then the night was deep. The noise from the outer hall had also quieted. Shen Qingxuan had the window opened, wrapped the fox fur tighter, and leaned in the chair looking at the night outside. The stars and moon were both thin that evening. Now and then a mountain wind passed, lifting the stray hair on his forehead and letting it fall, again and again.

After another long while he suddenly moved. He drew his hand from the warmer, wheeled himself to the desk, spread paper and ink once more, and wrote: You have come.

He pushed the paper to the center of the desk for someone to see. The room stayed quiet.

Shen Qingxuan only smiled and said nothing, waiting in silence.

The room that held only him, after a moment of stillness, produced an uncommon sight.

The blank paper on the desk moved without wind. The brush resting on the inkstone stood up, dipped itself in ink, paused over the paper, and then dark characters formed, neat and upright, answering him: How did you know?

Shen Qingxuan still smiled. He blinked at the empty air as if keeping a secret.

As on that other day, a sudden scent of grass and trees filled the air. It was like a forest after rain—cold and fresh.

That scent had appeared beside him on the day he coughed up filthy blood and drifted in and out of consciousness, when he was wrapped in the stench of decay. It had been like a light arriving abruptly in the dark. It had burned itself into his heart.

He had never forgotten it.

Shen Qingxuan suddenly sniffed, then wrote with some surprise: You went to the hot spring on the mountain?

The man still did not appear. He took the brush from the rack again and, beside the question, answered: Yes.

The earlier puzzle resolved itself with that question. The sulfur smell peculiar to the spring was what Shen Qingxuan had noticed. The man now also understood how Shen Qingxuan had known so easily that he had arrived.

A sense of smell like a beast’s.

Neither of them pursued the subject. They turned to other light talk.

Though Shen Qingxuan owed him the grace of a spared life, he never forgot that the other was a snake demon, not of his kind. He did not fail to be on guard.

He had not expected this demon to be like a person—to have a name, to enjoy hot springs, and to sit here conversing with him by brush and paper for a full hour.

The words were brief and the tone indifferent, yet the patience was more than ordinary.

For a demon of such vast powers, there were simpler ways to speak. Shen Qingxuan had already experienced one of them. This snake chose not to use them.

Since losing his voice, Shen Qingxuan had often communicated with others, but no one had ever been willing to sit like this, patiently writing to him stroke by stroke. An hour is not long. In a human life it is a grain of sand. Yet it not only wore down the wariness in his heart; it also gave rise to a subtle sense of closeness.

He set the densely written sheets aside, smiled, dipped the brush, and continued on a fresh sheet: If I help you pass your tribulation smoothly, will there be a gift in return?

Beside his elegant characters a line of equally neat writing appeared at once, as concise as before: I will grant you recovery, the same as an ordinary man.

Shen Qingxuan’s wrist trembled. The ink-heavy tip of the brush dragged heavily across the snow-white paper.