Chapter 44: Her Boyfriend Could Slap a Whiny Brat Dead with One Hand (7)

On the way to A-Dong’s house, Bai Yao was very quiet.

Even someone as insensitive as Xue Yan sensed something was wrong. He gently tugged at her sleeve, “Yao Yao, are you angry with me?”

He suspected it was because he hadn’t focused on work again today, idling away his shift while secretly thinking about her.

Bai Yao turned to look at him.

His gaze was innocent and uneasy. He depended on Bai Yao intensely; if she showed even a hint of displeasure toward him, he would react in extreme ways.

For example, when they had just started dating, Bai Yao had read an internet joke: say “I don’t love you anymore” three times to your boyfriend and see what happens. Driven by curiosity, she tried this after work. As she entered the apartment, the man came running from the shadowy bedroom to greet her. She put on a stern face and said, “Xue Yan, I don’t love you anymore.”

He stood stock still, dazed, staring at her.

What kind of reaction was this?

Bai Yao repeated herself, “I said, I don’t love you anymore.”

He still didn’t respond.

The third time, she said, “I don’t love you anymore.”

Xue Yan said nothing. He slowly walked back into that dark room, closed the door, and was silent.

Bai Yao thought his response was far too calm; such a little game seemed to have no effect on him at all.

She set down her bag and went to the kitchen to wash vegetables for dinner. Suddenly, a shadow appeared at the kitchen doorway.

Xue Yan rarely saw the sun, so his complexion was paler than most; now, it was white as paper. He cradled something in his hands and called her name softly, “Yao Yao.”

Bai Yao turned off the tap and looked back at him, “What is it?”

He carefully walked up to her and offered the silvery, shimmering objects in his hands. “I don’t know how much these are worth, but humans all want them, so they must be valuable. I have many more—I’ll give them all to you.”

Bai Yao stared at the pile of white scales pressed into her hands. The purity of their white gleamed beautifully under the warm kitchen lights, cold and hard to the touch. She couldn’t tell what creature they belonged to.

Each scale was stained with tiny traces of red, as if drops of blood had fallen on snow—gruesome yet strangely captivating.

Bai Yao lifted her eyes and stared at him in a daze.

Xue Yan, seeing her silence, pursed his lips and slowly retreated to his room, closing the door behind him.

When he reemerged, he carried a glass bottle filled with red liquid. His face was deathly pale as he pressed the bottle into her hands, seeking to please her. He whispered, “Yao Yao, this can cause human genes to mutate and improve their physical abilities. It must be worth a lot.”

The red liquid in the bottle seemed to radiate warmth, pure and bright—cleaner than any red she’d ever seen.

At last, Bai Yao spoke, “I don’t want these. Don’t give them to me.”

Xue Yan lowered his head in disappointment. He thought she disliked them, so he turned away, entered his room again, and closed the door.

Bai Yao frowned slightly. She carefully set the items down on the counter, then crossed the living room and opened the bedroom door directly. Immediately, she cried out, “What are you doing!”

With a sharp clatter, Xue Yan’s knife fell to the floor. He was curled behind the bed; when he saw Bai Yao stride toward him, he panicked, “Don’t come any closer!”

But Bai Yao had already reached him. She could see the tail he’d tried to hide, though he couldn’t conceal it no matter how tightly he curled.

She froze in place.

Xue Yan remained half-human, half-serpent. His tail was a bloody mess, riddled with small wounds that bled continuously. One especially deep gash exposed bone, and the blood seeping from it was the same vivid red as the liquid in the glass bottle.

It was a terrifying sight. Any ordinary person, seeing a man with a snake’s tail, would scream—and his current appearance was even more chilling.

A flush of red gathered at the corners of Xue Yan’s eyes; at some point, his pupils had become vertical, misty with unshed tears. He was on the verge of crying as he painfully crawled to her, reaching out with a blood-stained hand to clutch the hem of her dress. He raised his head, staring at her with trembling desperation, “Yao Yao, don’t hate me… please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you…”

He clearly wanted to touch her more, but dared only to grasp that small corner of her skirt with all his strength, terrified she might run away.

His eyes seemed ready to bleed, as if he wanted to lay his heart bare for her. “I have so many things to give you—my bones, my organs… Humans say these are precious. I’ll give them all to you, if you’ll keep loving me. Will you?”

Bai Yao, though self-assured, considered herself a normal person. She didn’t like snakes—actually, she disliked all soft, boneless creatures.

But as her gaze fell upon his wounded tail, an odd thought struck her: if it weren’t injured, his white tail would surely be beautiful.

A nameless emotion swept over her.

She knelt and reached toward him, only for him to impatiently pull her into his arms. He rubbed his face against hers, endlessly repeating the sticky word “love” to express how much he adored her, his injured tail tentatively brushing against her.

When she finally reached out and hugged his tail, she burst into tears, “I’m so sorry! Xue Yan! I’ll never joke with you again!”

She really was unforgivable.

Swamped by guilt, Bai Yao often woke in the middle of the night during those days, clutching the glass jar of scales and the bottle of red blood as she sobbed uncontrollably.

So Xue Yan, wounded as he was, had to crawl up each night to comfort her, holding her and gently patting her back. He whispered softly, “It’s alright, Yao Yao. I’ll be fine soon.”

He spoke the truth—his wounds healed quickly. In just two or three days, new scales grew over his tail, and the injuries disappeared without a trace.

But Bai Yao couldn’t control herself. She soaked his pajamas with her tears, “Your wounds heal so fast… but you must have been in so much pain then!”

Xue Yan felt as though his heart had been flooded with unfamiliar emotions, making his body heavy. For years, he’d become used to frequent new wounds; pain had become so ordinary that it didn’t trouble him.

But being cared for—having someone worry over his pain for the first time—swallowed him in a strange feeling. He didn’t know how to respond or what to say, so he could only shed tears alongside her.