Chapter Twenty-Three: Mother Snake and Father Snake

Chapter Twenty-Three

The eggshell slowly cracked in Mei’s hand, filling her with an inexplicable sense of frustration. She hadn’t done anything at all, had she? If only she’d minded her own business! Now that the last snake egg was ruined, there was no chance for reconciliation with the snakes—they were truly locked in a life-and-death struggle.

But protecting so many people from five snakes—was that really possible? Should she use the scroll? Yet, with so many eyes on her, it would be impossible to conceal it, and she worried that using it might only bring even more trouble.

Hesitating, Mei unconsciously kept her hands cupped beneath the egg. She watched as the cracks multiplied across its surface. On the other side, the enormous snake noticed the egg’s abnormality and grew restless, wanting to approach but wary of the arrow in Mei’s hand, slithering anxiously back and forth.

The egg’s shell fractured rapidly. Within a minute or two, it was veined with cracks. Only then did Mei realize the egg wasn’t damaged by force—it was hatching!

In her previous world, no animal was allowed to have outsiders present at its birth, for newborn creatures would imprint upon the first being they perceived as their mother. Even if they gained intelligence later and recognized the truth, they would remain attached to that individual. Because of this, humans seeking loyal pets always raised them from the egg. Many made a living stealing beast eggs and selling them to wealthy nobles. Having been a slave in her youth, Mei had seen too much of humanity’s exploitation of animals’ nature, treating them as both treasure and triviality, which she deeply despised. From then on, she vowed only to keep adult pets, never touching eggs on the verge of hatching.

Realizing what was happening, Mei grew visibly anxious. She didn’t know if animals in this world shared the same trait, but her principles would not change. She hurried toward the snakes.

“What are you doing?” Nightscape Xuan, the nearest to her, grabbed her arm as she moved forward.

“It’s too late! The egg is yours!” Mei, caught and desperate, shoved the egg into his hand without thinking.

But just as her hand brushed Nightscape Xuan’s, the egg broke between their palms! Yesterday, when she’d touched it, there’d been no sign it was about to hatch. How could this happen?

Devastated, Mei stared at the broken shell as a tiny snake, no thicker than a chopstick, poked its head out, peering curiously at the world.

“The egg hatched?” Nightscape Xuan looked at the small snake, finally realizing what had happened. Though he didn’t understand why Mei was so nervous, he was fascinated by the harmless-looking creature.

The little snake, pure white, flicked its crimson tongue in Mei’s palm, nibbling on its own eggshell. Even after it finished, it seemed unsatisfied, so Nightscape Xuan placed the fragments from his own hand nearby. The snake continued eating.

The little snake raised its head to look at him. Suddenly, a childish voice sounded in his mind: Are you my daddy? (Words spoken with mental energy were indicated by italics.)

Nightscape Xuan’s pupils shrank sharply as he stared in astonishment at the snake, then turned to Mei, surprised. “It can talk?”

“It can’t! You must be hearing things!” Mei replied firmly, then sent a thought to the snake: That’s not your father. Your parents are over there. I’ll take you to them now!

With that, she strode toward the giant snakes once more. This time, Nightscape Xuan guessed her intent and didn’t stop her. The others, still bewildered, watched with confusion.

Should they be preparing for a fight or not?

Mommy, don’t you want me? The little snake, sensing Mei’s intention, raised its head, stopped eating, and sent a plaintive, childish voice into her mind.

Its eyes were no bigger than mung beans, yet Mei could see something teary and pitiful in them.

I’m not your mother! I’m taking you to your real mother—she hasn’t abandoned you! Mei hardened her heart as she explained.

She hurried to within ten meters of the giant snake, signaling that she meant no harm, then set the little snake on the ground.

Your mother is right there. Go to her! she urged with her mind.

The little snake looked at the giant snake, then back at Mei, hesitated, and crawled forward. But after circling the giant snake, it quickly slithered back.

She’s not my mother—you are! The snake wrapped itself tightly around Mei’s ankle, clearly terrified of being abandoned.

Sighing, Mei pried it off and held it in her hand, trying to reason with it.

How can she not be your mother? You look just like her! I’m nothing like you at all.

The little snake looked from the giant snake to itself, then at Mei, and clung stubbornly to her finger.

Mommy, please don’t leave me! When I grow up, I’ll be just like you!

Mei was speechless.

I really am not your mother! I’m not even human, but I’m certainly not a snake—how could I possibly have a snake child? she insisted.

I don’t care! I recognize your mental energy—you’re my mother! The little snake, seeing that pleading didn’t work, began to sulk.

At last, Mei understood the problem. The snake had probably absorbed her mental energy and hatched early because of it!

Wasn’t this precisely the definition of ‘hoisted by one’s own petard’?

Mei looked up at the giant snake, considering whether to toss the little snake over and make a quick escape. But the great serpent lowered its massive head, lying flat before her in a posture of submission.

Its mental energy wasn’t strong enough for direct communication, but Mei could sense its emotions—it wanted to entrust the little snake to her.

“You want me to take care of it?” Mei asked uncertainly.

The giant snake nodded its enormous head.

“You want me to look after it until it grows up?”

The snake nodded again.

Mei pondered the situation. This was indeed all her fault. After a moment’s hesitation, she agreed.

“I will care for it until it’s grown,” she promised the giant snake.

The serpent flicked its tongue, seeming to trust her, gazed affectionately at the little snake, then turned and led the other four away.

All right, I’ll look after you until you’re grown, but stop wrapping around my finger!

Though newly hatched, the little creature was surprisingly strong. Already, Mei’s index finger was numb from its grip.

You really won’t abandon me? You won’t leave me? the snake asked, lifting its head uncertainly.

I won’t, I promise. But you can’t call me ‘mother.’ If you do, I really will leave you! Mei threatened.

In her mind, “mother” was a title not everyone could bear, and she certainly wasn’t willing to take on that responsibility, so she firmly refused to let the snake call her that.

Then what should I call you? the snake asked, hurt.

Call me Mei. That’s my name.

All right, Mei!

The little snake finally relented. Mei stroked its head as a reward for its obedience.

“So that’s it?” As Mei and the snake discussed names, the others watched the departing serpents, exchanging bewildered glances.

“I guess... it’s over?” Yang Hao ventured, not entirely convinced they were safe.

When Mei returned, Yang Hao hurried over. “Those big snakes won’t come after us again, will they?”

“No,” Mei shook her head, then turned to Mo Chen. “Chen, are you staying with them or leaving with me?”

Before Mo Chen could answer, Yang Hao exclaimed, “You’re leaving?”

“Of course! I only came to find Chen. Now that I have, I’m leaving. Whatever you do next is up to you—I’m not responsible for you all, and I’m certainly no savior,” Mei said, hands spread in a gesture of indifference.

More than half their group was dead or injured—what was the point of continuing the mission? Besides, if they didn’t return soon, the base might fall into other hands, and who knew what the Huang clan would do to his men.

But how were they to leave? Returning the way they came was impossible—some unknown plant guarded that route. Going forward was risky; who knew what other dangers awaited? If the Huang family had set this trap, it was surely because there was a threat no ordinary people could handle. The exit at the canyon’s mouth was probably sealed.

Frustrated, Yang Hao scratched his head and made a decision. “Let’s go! Everyone, move out!”

“Then let’s go. But how do you plan to get out?” Mei asked indifferently.

Yang Hao scanned the valley, then pointed at the cliffs. “We’ll climb out!”

“Climbing up is easy, but who knows what dangers await above? Besides, once you’re up there, it’s a long journey back to base,” Mo Chen said, consulting his tablet and the map.

“There’s no other way. Unless you have a better idea?” Yang Hao replied helplessly.

“Why not try moving forward? Maybe we can handle whatever’s ahead,” suggested one of Yang Hao’s lieutenants.

Driving from here to base took half a day. On foot, it would take them a day and a night. The best option was still to find a way out through the canyon mouth. As long as the Huang family pretended to help, they wouldn’t withdraw all the vehicles.

That idea seemed feasible. At worst, they could turn back.

“Will you come with us?” Yang Hao asked Mei.

“I—” Mei started to refuse, but stopped as she heard a faint buzzing. Reaching out with her mental energy, she saw swarms of bees, darkening the sky, circling in the direction they intended to go.

“What is it?” Yang Hao’s unease grew.

“Send someone to check it out. But be careful—once disturbed, it won’t be just one or two. Trust me, when they go wild, they’re far scarier than those giant pythons,” Mei advised sincerely.

Explanations wouldn’t have the same impact as witnessing it firsthand, and even if she told them, they might not believe her. Better to let them see for themselves.

Yang Hao’s anxiety deepened, but he dispatched a cautious, speed-type mutant to scout ahead. The scout soon returned, looking ashen.

“Bees! There are so many bees up ahead! Swarms of them, thick as clouds, blocking out the sun! And they’re huge—almost as big as eggs! If they sting us, we’re done for!” the scout reported, sweating in terror.

Bees ahead, devil’s vines behind—it seemed they truly had no way out.