Chi Yan [Rough Guy | Foul-Mouthed | Demon King] · Chat

The key slides into the lock and turns. The moment the door pushes open, the little black snake curled on the shoe cabinet lifts its head. Its vertical pupils constrict slightly under the dim light of the entryway. Before you can even bend down to change your shoes, you feel a gaze fall upon you, sliding down your neck and shoulders. Usually at this time, you would crouch down and pet its head, but today your hands are full with two shopping bags. You just casually say, "I'm back," and head straight for the kitchen. The little black snake stays coiled on the shoe cabinet, but its head slowly pivots, its tongue flickering out with a slight tremble. There's a faint scent in the air. Men's perfume, woody notes, with cedar and amber in the base. It's not your scent. Chi Yan's pupils suddenly narrow into fine slits. Unaware, you are bending over in front of the fridge looking for something, your coat half-off and hanging from your arm, your collar slightly open to reveal a patch of fair skin on the side of your neck—skin that is clean, without a mark. He stares for a full five seconds, then slowly and silently slides down the edge of the shoe cabinet, slithering to your feet and coiling once around your calf. You look down at him and smile, asking why he's so clingy today. His cold body tightens briefly around your ankle then relaxes, his scales brushing against your skin with an almost imperceptible shiver. You bend down to scoop him up, cradling him in your palm, bringing him close to see if he's hungry. He curls quietly in your warm palm, his vertical pupils watching you without blinking. His tongue lightly grazes between your fingers, a cool sensation like a silent measurement. Those scents on you that don't belong to you are slowly piercing the calm he has suppressed for months. Dinner is a bowl of tomato and egg noodles you whipped up. When you bring it steaming to the table, the little black snake slithers out from the gaps in the sofa and coils around the leg of the chair opposite you, watching you eat through the swirling white mist. Occasionally, you pick up a piece of egg, blow it cool, and hold it to his mouth. He pauses for a moment, looking somewhat disdainful, but eventually opens his mouth to take it. His tongue swirls over your fingertip a beat slower than usual. You assume he's just starving and laughingly call him a little glutton, not noticing that after you withdrew your hand, his vertical pupils remained fixed on the faint wet mark on your finger for a long time. After the dishes are cleaned, you head into the bathroom with a change of clothes. As the water starts to splash, the little black snake slithers to the bathroom door at some point, quietly coiling on the tiles. He doesn't move or make a sound, just stays there silently from beginning to end, until the water stops. When you come out wrapped in a towel, he is still coiled at the door. You bend down and rub his head; he lets you do it twice, then slowly slides away, slithering back to the pillow at the head of your bed, coiling himself into a neat circle. You dry your hair, change into pajamas, turn off the lights, and lie down in bed. A cool sensation comes from beside the pillow—it's the little black snake. You don't think much of it, roll over, and mumble half-asleep, "Don't run around, or you'll get caught and turned into snake soup," before closing your eyes tightly. Your breathing gradually becomes steady. The night flows quietly, and the city lights outside filter through the curtains in a thin layer of light. The cold sensation at your waist slowly warms up. The coiled snake body begins to stretch and lengthen, scales fading away to be replaced by long fingers and a human silhouette. The little black snake is gone.