OHD Chapter 3: Black Snake

Chapter 3: Black Snake

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: Karai

When Zhou Kai pushed open the door, he immediately smelled the aroma of food, and then saw his father sitting on the living room sofa, brewing tea while looking at his phone.

“Dad, you’re back?” Zhou Kai froze for a moment before putting down his backpack, grabbing it in his hand, and changing into his slippers as he walked into the house. He couldn’t quite figure out whether he felt more happy or more unhappy. “Didn’t you say you were going on a business trip for a week? Why are you back early?”

Zhou Kai’s father put down his phone, looked at the expression on his son’s face, and asked in the same serious tone he always used, “Don’t want me back? Do you dislike me controlling you?”

“…No,” Zhou Kai replied. He sat down, scratched his face, and looked at the TV, telling a little lie.

His dad did love to control him, and Zhou Kai did dislike the constant supervision. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but protest, but it was useless. His father would just think he was undisciplined and would tighten his grip even more.

He had once impulsively thought about running away from home, but it always ended up going nowhere. After all, he had a mother who loved and protected him. Every time his father lectured him, his mother would step in to comfort him. The thought of running away was quickly smothered.

Just then, noticing the tension in the air between her husband and son, Zhou Kai’s mother hurried out, smiling as she took off her apron. “Dinner’s ready. Xiao Kai’s home from school. Let’s all sit down and eat.”

Zhou Kai thought his mother was the perfect wife and mother. If only he hadn’t fallen for that ‘stinky snake’… he thought to himself.

He glanced up secretly, watching his dad get up. Once his father went to the bathroom to wash his hands, Zhou Kai stood up, washed his hands at the kitchen sink, and sat down at the dining table.

When Zhou Kai’s father came out of the bathroom and saw his son at the table, he frowned. “Did you wash your hands?”

Zhou Kai’s mother quickly pulled him into a chair and waved her hand. “Yes, yes, he washed his hands. Don’t start scolding him as soon as you get back. Xiao Kai’s been very good.”

Zhou Kai’s father gave her a glare. “Good? That’s surface level.”

As soon as Zhou Kai heard his father say that, he instantly retracted his hand that was reaching for the food, feeling guilty and nervous.

But his father didn’t notice and continued, “Didn’t you see the reports on the news? These young people tell their parents they’re going to school, but they secretly run off to the internet and get involved with gangs, fighting and causing trouble. How is that okay?”

He glanced over his son, comparing the two, and was still somewhat satisfied. At least Zhou Kai was diligently going to school. His grades were good, and going to a top university was no problem. When he went to parent-teacher meetings or talked to colleagues, it made him proud. Just a few days ago, he had contacted Zhou Kai’s homeroom teacher, who had praised him.

Good grades, good relationships with others, respectful to teachers, and friendly with classmates… he just didn’t like being controlled. He picked up a piece of food with his chopsticks and placed it into Zhou Kai’s bowl. His serious expression softened slightly. “Is there anything you want to buy? As long as it doesn’t interfere with your studies, I’ll get it for you.”

Zhou Kai, a little distracted, looked down at the food in his bowl. He then looked up at his suddenly kind-hearted father, slightly confused. “Huh?”

Zhou Kai’s mother smiled and gently nudged him. “Your dad’s asking you if there’s anything you want as a gift.”

Zhou Kai froze for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I don’t want anything.”

Zhou Kai’s dad asked again, “What about your allowance? If you’ve used it up, your mom can give you some more.”

Zhou Kai scooped some rice into his bowl, still shaking his head. He was still puzzled by his father’s sudden change in attitude.

The Zhou family wasn’t exactly wealthy; they were just getting by, at the level of a modest, middle-class family. When Zhou Kai was in elementary school, his dad had set an allowance for him each week, and Zhou Kai had to manage it. If he spent it all before the week was over, there was no extra money. Gifts, too, were limited—anything over two thousand was only allowed if it contributed to his education; otherwise, it was a no-go.

Zhou Kai looked up at his father, trying to figure out what was going on. This wasn’t like him. After dinner, when he went into the kitchen to help his mom wash the dishes, he found out: his homeroom teacher had praised him to his dad.

No wonder.

After showering, Zhou Kai locked the door to his bedroom. Since he had a secret he couldn’t share, he’d always done this. His dad would definitely complain, but since his mom had spoken up for him, and his father seemed to remember his own teenage years, he had grown to accept it.

Zhou Kai draped his towel over the back of his chair, then grabbed his phone. After unlocking it and opening his WeChat app, his heart raced as he checked for new messages. When he saw that there were none, his heartbeat quickly settled down.

Holding the phone, Zhou Kai gritted his teeth and opened the chat history with his only contact. He quickly scrolled up and down, looking at the photos he had sent, and after a few rounds, he gave up and tossed his phone onto the bed.

Crouching down, Zhou Kai lifted the bedsheet, revealing a cardboard box hidden under the bed. He pulled it out, opened it, and took out two first-year practice books. After removing them, an acrylic-cage appeared beneath.

Inside the cage, in the corner, was a small, dark blob.

Zhou Kai opened the top of the cage, reached in, and grabbed the blob, revealing a small black snake. It had coiled around twice, its outer ring about the size of Zhou Kai’s palm, and its body about as thick as his index finger.

When the snake saw the light, its scales shimmered with a dark sheen. It moved slightly, slowly lifting its head and opening its round eyes, which had narrow, slit pupils. It stared at Zhou Kai, flicking its long, thin tongue.

Zhou Kai poked the snake’s head with his left finger and muttered, “Bastard, I sent you so many messages, not a single one gets a reply. What’s the deal?”

The black snake wiggled its body, oblivious to Zhou Kai’s words. As Zhou Kai stared into its eyes, he started to remember the cold, distant eyes from earlier in the day. He shivered. Still grumbling under his breath, he felt his face growing redder.

Zhou Kai sat on the floor, placing the little black snake on his lap. He tilted his head back against the bedframe and turned to look at the photo on his nightstand, his eyes moistening.

It was so contradictory. He wanted him to reply but didn’t want him to. Not replying meant he was keeping himself clean, not getting involved in these messy emotions. But he couldn’t help it—he couldn’t stop wondering why he wouldn’t reply. Was it because he wasn’t charming enough? Did he not like him like this?

“Dammit.” Zhou Kai turned his head sharply, the thought gnawing at him, and he felt a wave of frustration.

After leaving the store, He Ye looked at the empty street with no pedestrians and tiredly pinched the bridge of his nose. He walked over to his bicycle, and his phone buzzed in his pocket, a reminder that he had received 100 yuan ($13) via WeChat.

That was tonight’s salary. Every time his shift ended, the store manager would immediately pay him. He was the only one who received payment like this; the other part-timers were paid weekly. It was because he needed the money more than anyone else. Without receiving his salary immediately, he might pass out from hunger on the street the next day.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. If anything, the exaggeration was that he might die from hunger on the street. He took out his phone, confirmed the money, and then deleted the payment notification. He stared at the remaining line with the profile picture that didn’t have the red dot notification, staring at it for a while.

Someone came out of the store—it was the store manager. She held a packaged hamburger and a pair of chicken wings, pushing them toward He Ye, persuading him, “Take it, it’s leftover anyway. If you don’t take it, we’ll just throw it away. Everyone else takes some, you should too.”

He Ye immediately put his phone away, reached out to take the food hanging on the front of his bike, nodded at her, then hopped on the bike and pedaled away.

The manager stood there, still by the door, watching him leave, a little lost.

When He Ye got home, he didn’t eat the food he brought back. He put it in the fridge for breakfast the next day. He took a shower, pulled out the book Basic Knowledge of Animation Design from his backpack, and took out the sponsorship application form tucked inside.

He filled it out, writing according to the facts, no need for embellishment. When he put the pen down, he didn’t feel any particular emotional reaction. He put the completed application back in the book and tucked it back into his backpack. He turned off the lamp with a deep breath, climbed into bed, and lay down. He closed his eyes, but the next second, he opened them again.

He grabbed his phone and opened it. He Ye stared at the screen, at the still unchanged profile picture without the red dot. He couldn’t really identify the emotion he was feeling.

After a while of staring, he came back to his senses, frowned, and immediately turned off the phone. He placed it on the other side of the bed, turned over, and closed his eyes, facing away.