How to Raise a Crazy Beautiful Snake Demon - Chapter 22 Part 2

“What was it? I’ve already forgotten.”

 

 

Ji Qingwu let out a sigh of relief. It was good that she had forgotten! When snakes were clever, they were truly clever. Now, she too had to work hard to forget—she couldn’t let this incident affect her grand snake-raising ambitions…

 

 

Just thinking about how she had raised a snake only to end up bringing it into her bed made her feel utterly distraught, her Daoist heart wavering.

 

 

She went to the training room to meditate, hoping to calm her mind, but within five minutes, her gaze would inevitably drift to that bed, plunging her into intense shame.

 

 

There was no helping it. She carried her meditation cushion to the farthest room and decided to practice there from now on—she wouldn’t return to that room anymore.

 

 

Exhaling a warm breath, she tried to focus, but as she settled into meditation, fragments of last night’s events surfaced in her mind.

 

 

Under the curtain of rain, the little snake adorned with dragon horns had coiled around her finger, its forked tongue lightly flicking against her skin.

 

 

Beneath the resplendent sunset, the snake had gazed at her as if smiling, its eyes carefree and brimming with something akin to affection.

 

 

Late into the night, those deep crimson eyes had gleamed at her, as bright as the osmanthus wine in her cup.

 

 

And then—the bed curtains lifting, the moonlight vanishing, cool scales pressing against her entire body—she forcibly cut off the memory.

 

 

If she continued meditating like this, she’d risk qi deviation any minute. She left the room, deciding to tidy up the remnants of the Mid-Autumn Festival as a distraction.

 

 

The wreath hanging on the door was a custom from Zhu Jiuyin’s homeland—the first wreath Zhu Jiuyin had ever made herself. By now, the fireflies had long died, and the flowers had withered. Ji Qingwu took it down and stored it carefully in her wardrobe.

 

 

The lanterns she had painstakingly crafted were still intact, their candles not yet burned out. She blew them out and packed the lanterns away as well.

 

 

As for the leftover food, the mooncakes could be kept, but the rest had to be discarded. The stove also needed cleaning with a purification spell.

 

 

Then her eyes fell on the rabbit-ear headband, carelessly tossed on the floor by someone, right beside the small dragon-horn headband. The two lay together, their spiritual energy long gone, reverting to their original forms—crudely cut paper crafts.

 

 

She picked up both headbands and stared at them for a long while, her heart sinking.

 

 

If not for that final mishap… after the Mid-Autumn Festival, their relationship should have grown even closer. They might have become confidantes, sharing everything.

 

 

It would have been her first true friend in this world.

 

 

But now, she was left with nothing but awkwardness and regret, while Zhu Jiuyin was furious and disappointed. Neither of them was happy.

 

 

She lifted the nearly empty wine jar, poured out the remaining liquor, and cleaned it thoroughly, intending to return it to her junior sister. Wine was truly a treacherous thing—she swore never to drink again.

 

 

But what about that strange fragrance? That lingering aphrodisiac effect?

 

 

She hadn’t forgotten—Zhu Jiuyin would become aroused upon tasting her bl00d or sweat. Last night, the other party might have been trapped by the aftereffects of the aphrodisiac, unable to refuse her.

 

 

No, this issue had to be resolved as soon as possible. Otherwise, such accidents would be hard to prevent entirely. Sorting out her thoughts, Ji Qingwu decided that once her confinement ended, she would research the matter and request detoxification pills from the sect. She and Zhu Jiuyin would have to try taking them together.

 

 

Having made this decision, her mind settled somewhat. After finishing her tidying, she sat down to meditate.

 

 

By the time the moon reached its zenith—the fifteenth moon was fullest on the sixteenth night—tonight’s moon seemed even rounder and brighter than the last, casting Changming Mountain in daylight-like clarity.

 

 

Ji Qingwu absorbed the lunar essence as she cultivated, but suddenly, a ripple of awareness made her open her eyes. A vast shadow fell over her, enveloping her completely.

 

 

“Zhu Jiuyin?”

 

 

 

She looked up, meeting Zhu Jiuyin’s gaze.

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin’s scales, originally silver-white, appeared slightly bluish under the bright moonlight, and her eyes had taken on a dark reddish hue. She slowly lowered her head, drawing close to Ji Qiwu’s face, her forked tongue flickering as she hissed:

 

 

“Coming to bed?”

 

 

Ji Qiwu:

 

 

“…Thanks, but I’ll be cultivating tonight. No need for sleep.”

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin let out a cold snort, the breath from her nostrils gusting across Ji Qiwu’s face like a sudden wind.

 

 

“Suit yourself. You really don’t know how to enjoy things.”

 

 

Raising her head, Zhu Jiuyin swayed into the room, coiling herself onto the large bed. She rested her head on her tail, her pupils idly shifting about.

 

 

Observing this scene through her spiritual senses, Ji Qiwu recalled how Zhu Jiuyin had mentioned the previous night that she’d personally crafted this bed using her spiritual power and materials from the back mountain—a labor of several days’ effort. And yet, she’d used such a thoughtful gift for… that purpose. Stop! Hadn’t she promised herself to forget about it? No more thinking!

 

 

Still, she should find an opportunity to sleep on that bed sometime soon, if only to show respect for Zhu Jiuyin’s efforts.

 

 

Why was this so troublesome?

 

 

Ah… Ji Qiwu slowly narrowed her eyes. Speaking of gifts, she’d just remembered something.

 

 

That little pendant she’d given Zhu Jiuyin didn’t have the ability to resize. There was no way Zhu Jiuyin could wear it now in her current form!

 

 

Had it already been discarded? Or perhaps crushed?

 

 

Ji Qiwu sighed at the thought. When it came to gifts, it was enough that the recipient was happy at the moment of giving. One shouldn’t expect such things to last—that was only natural.

 

 

Anyway, Zhu Jiuyin’s injuries seemed to be healing quickly. She’d probably… be leaving soon.

 

 

When the time came, she’d make something bigger as a farewell gift.

 

 

–

 

After the festival, the chill came swiftly. Leaves gradually turned gold and crimson, painting Changming Mountain in such vibrant colors that it almost seemed like spring’s floral splendor had returned.

 

 

With only about five days left of her confinement, and knowing she’d soon be buried under sect affairs once it ended, Ji Qiwu treasured these last moments of peace all the more, striving to accomplish as much as possible each day.

 

 

She prepared various pastries to store in her ring, stocked up on seasonings and preserved foods, and even found time to create numerous stone carvings, jade sculptures, and small handicrafts—not particularly practical, but at least they were quite beautiful.

 

 

The benefit of keeping herself constantly occupied was that she could legitimately avoid Zhu Jiuyin.

 

 

These days, Zhu Jiuyin spent every night coiled on that large bed—whether sleeping or cultivating, the bed and indeed the entire room had become her exclusive domain.

 

 

Ji Qiwu had hesitated about whether to go in and sleep there, but each time she approached the door and caught sight of the massive serpentine shadow within, her feet would honestly change direction.

 

 

She was still afraid of snakes—or rather… afraid of sharing a bed with a giant serpent and having another “incident.”

 

 

By day, by the time Zhu Jiuyin emerged from the room, Ji Qiwu would already be engrossed in her handicrafts or diligently cultivating in the courtyard—always conspicuously busy, never with time for even a greeting.

 

 

While Ji Qiwu focused on her tasks, Zhu Jiuyin seemed occupied with her own affairs, slithering back and forth near the courtyard gate, sometimes disappearing from view only to reappear startlingly close, her tail occasionally brushing against Ji Qiwu’s clothes.

 

 

Ji Qiwu would occasionally glance at Zhu Jiuyin, but neither spoke unless the other did.

 

 

The atmosphere between woman and serpent grew increasingly peculiar—their encounters limited to casual nods or at most brief exchanges:

 

 

“You’re awake.”

 

 

“Mhm. Busy today.”

 

 

 

“I have matters to attend to as well.”

 

 

“I’ll make something simple for dinner.”

 

 

“Or we could skip it.”

 

 

“Hmm.”

 

 

Their words carried unfamiliarity and distance, neither willing to say more, as if both were holding their breath.

 

 

Yet whenever Zhu Jiuyin’s slender serpentine form brushed past, Ji Qingwu’s fingers would unconsciously tighten, her breathing would slow, her chest rising slightly as she sat straighter, her throat bobbing.

 

 

Though she never once looked directly at the great serpent, whenever it approached her vicinity, she’d always pivot precisely halfway, clearing ample space in its path.

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin glided past her side, massive serpentine body moving with slow elegance, her head deliberately turned away, refusing to meet Ji Qingwu’s gaze—a clear display of petulance.

 

 

The mere act of passing by Ji Qingwu took her a full quarter-hour, and by the time she’d fully moved past, Ji Qingwu could barely breathe properly, forced to take quiet, measured inhales.

 

 

The serpent’s tail would always, whether intentionally or not, tease the hem of Ji Qingwu’s robes, making the fabric ripple like water, billowing high in the autumn breeze and refusing to settle.

 

 

Changming Mountain seemed to return to its original state—days and nights spent in cultivation, quiet and solitary. Though undercurrents stirred in their hearts, outwardly there was no sign, as if nothing were amiss.

 

 

Yet everything was amiss.

 

 

On the final night of confinement, Zhu Jiuyin returned from the back mountains seemingly agitated. Her crimson serpent eyes darted about the courtyard upon entering, spotting Ji Qingwu in the far-right room. She stared for a long moment before looking away as usual, slowly slithering toward that room.

 

 

Ji Qingwu was doing needlework inside, eyes downcast as she channeled spiritual energy into embroidering a handkerchief.

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin arrived outside her window, her towering serpentine shadow cast upon the paper screen—elegant, fluid yet restrained lines like an intentional decorative pattern.

 

 

Separated by mere paper, Zhu Jiuyin’s body swayed slightly, her forked tongue flickering with soft hisses. She neither spoke nor left.

 

 

Ji Qingwu’s heart raced twice in quick succession, her chest tightening. She snipped her thread and stared at the serpentine silhouette on the paper screen, momentarily stunned.

 

 

That same window screen—when viewed from outside—must bear her own shadow too… Whose shadow was she looking at? The serpent’s, or the human’s?

 

 

Tonight’s autumn breeze was gentle, caressing both the great serpent outside and the pounding heart of the woman indoors, bringing faint coolness.

 

 

Finally, Ji Qingwu spoke:

 

 

“You… need something?”

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin snorted coldly, as if inclined to ignore her as usual, but answered immediately:

 

 

“Are you leaving tomorrow?”

 

 

Ji Qingwu sounded surprised:

 

 

“You actually remembered my confinement period.”

 

 

Another cold snort:

 

 

“I remember everything.”

 

 

They lapsed into strange silence again. Ji Qingwu twisted a red thread between her fingers while the serpent outside swayed her head, still refusing to leave.

 

 

It was Ji Qingwu who spoke again:

 

 

“I’ve found a way. Tomorrow or the day after, I can take you out to explore.”

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin turned her head fully toward her, voice regaining its usual sultry mockery:

 

 

“Oh? What way? Do tell.”

 

 

Ji Qingwu raised her voice slightly:

 

 

“Come inside… Never mind, I’ll come out.”

 

 

She put away her embroidery, straightened her robes, and stepped outside.

 

 

Beneath the moonlight stood a serpent reared to human height, waiting. Vermilion eyes gleaming with focused intensity fixed upon her.

 

 

 

Ji Qingwu felt extremely uneasy, as if an eternity had passed since she last walked toward Zhu Jiuyin like this. Each step felt painfully difficult.

 

 

Yet she finally stopped three feet away and asked softly,

 

 

“How small can you make yourself now?”

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin stared at her, then—in a flash of white light—her serpent head was suddenly mere inches away, the forked tip of her tongue brushing against Ji Qingwu’s nose with an icy touch.

 

 

Startled, Ji Qingwu stumbled backward. It was too sudden. Behind her was the threshold, and as her foot hit it, she lost her balance and nearly fell. She quickly summoned her spiritual energy to steady herself.

 

 

But the serpent was faster. Before Ji Qingwu could react, a long tail lashed out, coiling around her entire body.

 

 

She collapsed onto the snake’s cold, muscular lower half, disoriented, her hands slipping uselessly against the scales. The fine, icy texture pressed against the back of her neck, the powerful muscles beneath flexing subtly. Meanwhile, the slender tip of the tail instinctively curled around her throat.

 

 

Trapped in this serpentine prison, Ji Qingwu’s heart pounded wildly. Her fingers scrambled for purchase and accidentally seized a raised scale.

 

 

The snake let out a pained hiss, and Ji Qingwu realized she had grabbed an unhealed wound. She immediately released it.

 

 

The massive serpent lowered her head, looming over Ji Qingwu with a low, rasping voice:

 

 

“You stood so far away just now. Were you afraid I’d eat you?”

 

 

Half-reclining in the serpent’s coiled embrace, Ji Qingwu met those crimson eyes, her pulse still racing. Her voice was tight:

 

 

“If you want to eat me, just do it. Why scare me like that?”

 

 

“Oh? So you’re agreeing.”

 

 

The husky voice dripped with amusement, leaving Ji Qingwu momentarily confused. Agreeing to what?

 

 

Zhu Jiuyin abruptly dipped her head again, her long tongue flicking out to touch—then lick—Ji Qingwu’s nose before trailing up to her eyelid.

 

 

Ji Qingwu squeezed her eyes shut, a faint, fearful tear escaping.

 

 

A low, pleased hum vibrated from the serpent’s throat, her body trembling slightly, lost in rapture. It was as if she were savoring a long-lost delicacy, unwilling to waste even a drop. In this moment, she had fully reverted to her animal nature, driven by primal hunger…

 

 

She truly wanted to devour her.