Chapter 1: Dream

A snake’s tongue was licking the red mole on his left chest.

“Doctor, is my heart still beating?”

Shen Muyun heard himself mutter the question.

He seemed to be in a private clinic. Before him was a heavy sandalwood desk, and across from it sat a dark red velvet armchair. In the chair sat an adult male whose face he could not see clearly.

The man had a tall, lean build, his hands folded on the desk, fingers interlocked. He wore thin-framed gold-rimmed glasses, but his facial features were shrouded in dense fog—only a smiling pair of pale rose-colored lips was visible.

Shen Muyun was pressing hard against his left chest, his palm flat against his ribs, feeling no trace of a heartbeat.

He breathed rapidly, his fingernails digging into his skin, his words tumbling out faster and faster:

“I can’t feel it, Doctor. It’s gone—it’s empty in here! Doctor, Dr. Shen, my heart—!”

The man across the desk, addressed as “Doctor,” stood up.

His featureless face was still smiling. The “Doctor” walked over slowly, gently lifted Shen Muyun into his arms, and laid him on the examination bed nearby. His fingers hooked around a button, and his voice came through muffled and unreal: “How could it not be beating? Let me see—Yunyun, you’re scaring yourself again.”

With two fingers, he unhurriedly undid Shen Muyun’s buttons.

The shirt fell open. The light fell on the pallid skin, illuminating large patches of alarming livid spots, reminiscent of a corpse beginning to decompose.

The “Doctor’s” smile deepened. His gaze fixed unblinkingly on the small, vivid red mole on Shen Muyun’s left chest, and his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly.

After a moment, he brushed his thumb over the red mole, then bent down reverently, pressing an icy kiss onto that very spot—

The moment the kiss landed, the chest began to beat.

Scalding blood surged from the heart to his limbs, driving away the chill, erasing the livid patches, pulling the person on the bed back from the abyss of hell and into the world of the living.

Shen Muyun’s eyes flew wide open in disbelief. He stared hard at the “Doctor,” desperate to see his face.

But the more he tried to see clearly, the thicker the fog grew, and the more the figure blurred and twisted—until it even began to writhe in an inhuman posture…

“See? It’s beating,” the doctor’s throat continued speaking normally. “Beating so well, so strongly. It looks like it will keep beating forever and ever.”

Shen Muyun heard a faint rustling sound—something rubbing against the carpet. Soon, icy scales pressed against his skin, coiling around his body, carrying an indescribable, putrid, fishy fragrance.

…A snake’s tongue was licking the red mole on his left chest.

Shen Muyun gasped for air, struggling desperately to break free from the doctor’s control, but he couldn’t move even a finger. He could only let himself be breached layer by layer, from the outside in.

Despair was mixed with the pleasure of falling. His eyes were full of sweat and tears, and through the blur, he seemed to see six dark green eyes—

…

Buzz buzz buzz—

The alarm clock rang.

Shen Muyun shot up in bed, his bangs plastered wetly against his forehead. The fishy fragrance from the dream still lingered faintly at the tip of his nose.

He opened his palm and stared at the sticky traces there, lost for a long time, unable to tell reality from the dream.

…He had dreamed of the “Great Serpent” again.

For twenty consecutive years, the same “Great Serpent” had entered his dreams every night, lying intimately beside him.

But two months ago, when livid patches appeared on his body and he was diagnosed with a bizarre, unheard-of terminal illness, he had never dreamed of the “Great Serpent” again.

What happened last night…?

He stumbled out of bed, swaying, arms wrapped tightly around himself. The icy sensation of scales crawling over his skin still seemed to linger, sending goosebumps racing across his body.

Cold.

Shen Muyun walked into the bathroom, took a hot shower, then stood naked before the vanity, staring gloomily at the mirror.

The misty glass reflected the face of a young man.

Because of the condensation, his facial contours looked somewhat hazy.

Under the light, his fair skin had been steamed to a morbid blush. His slightly pursed lips were moist and vivid, and long, curling lashes held droplets of water that looked like tears.

I should be alive… Shen Muyun thought, looking at the mirror.

He reached out and wiped the fog off the glass.

The contours sharpened instantly.

It was a face of breathtaking beauty—as vividly alluring as an oil painting freshly brushed with turpentine—yet it carried an abnormal melancholy. His deep black pupils were trembling uncontrollably, and even the flesh on his cheek was twitching slightly.

Shen Muyun examined himself obsessively, up and down. First, he stared at the red mole on his chest, then carefully inspected the three livid patches that had appeared some time ago, confirming they hadn’t spread or multiplied.

After the inspection, he leaned close to the mirror and adjusted his expression with great effort, as if controlling a disobedient mask, until his demeanor looked no different from a normal person’s.

Shen Muyun pulled up a slightly stiff smile, pretending he had slept well the night before, changed his clothes, and went downstairs.

Because she was worried about his mental state, his mother, Shen Lingshan, had come over a few days ago and was currently sipping coffee while reviewing meeting documents.

Shen Muyun greeted her in a light tone: “Good morning, Mom.”

The woman at the table looked up, her gaze settling on her son.

She had short, sharp hair, handsome and refined features, and her eyes carried the commanding pressure of one long accustomed to being in a position of power.

Shen Muyun did not avoid her gaze. He held eye contact with her for a few seconds.

Shen Lingshan said, “Morning. Did you sleep well last night? Have your hallucinations improved?”

Shen Muyun smiled as he sat down: “I slept very well. The medication the doctor prescribed this time is working wonderfully.”

“That’s good,” Shen Lingshan put away her documents and showed a slight smile as well. “That new psychiatrist you found—what’s his name again…”

“Shen Jia. Jia as in ‘A, B, C, D.'”

“Strange name,” Shen Lingshan remarked. “I heard from Assistant Lin that this doctor only graduated three years ago, and his specialty isn’t even psychology. I was thinking of finding you a different doctor, but since he’s effective, we’ll keep you with him for now.”

Compared to growing cadaveric spots, his many years of delusional disorder seemed almost trivial. But for the sake of Shen Lingshan’s mental well-being, Shen Muyun had not told her about his terminal diagnosis.

So Shen Lingshan had no idea that his new doctor actually specialized in rare blood disorders.

Shen Muyun nodded obediently with an air of nonchalance. He picked up his cup and saw it was filled with a thick, eerie, crimson liquid—like some creature’s blood.

Without changing expression, he twitched his nostrils and caught the warm scent of milk.

…Just some harmless hallucinations, he thought.

Every time he dreamed of the “Great Serpent,” his hallucinations would worsen. The world would twist, and even the people he encountered would morph into monsters.

But it was fine. As a medically certified psychiatric patient, this fit his symptoms perfectly.

Shen Muyun calmly took a sip of the “blood”—and tasted perfectly delicious milk.

Shen Lingshan didn’t notice anything amiss. She added, “I heard you also recently hired a new assistant. Also surnamed Shen, I believe?”

“Yes, Mom,” Shen Muyun said, looking at his reflection in the crimson liquid. “His name is Shen Yi. Yi as in ‘A, B, C, D.’ Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

Shen Lingshan: “…”

She rubbed her brow, feeling a twitch there, an inexplicable unease. “Find a time to bring him to my office. I need to make sure there aren’t any questionable people around you.”

Shen Muyun reminded her in time: “You have an important summit to attend this week.”

Shen Lingshan paused.

She opened her calendar and stared at the densely packed schedule for thirty seconds, hesitating.

“I’ll find a way to make time,” she coughed lightly.

Shen Muyun said, “You don’t need to spend time on such trivial matters. I’m very satisfied with my new assistant. Occasionally, you can trust my judgment—I am twenty-six, after all.”

Shen Lingshan fell silent.

She seemed moved by those words, a complex expression crossing her face.

After a long moment, she couldn’t help but glance at the framed photograph on the television cabinet.

In the photo, she still had long hair and wore a smile. A handsome young man was affectionately draping his arm over her shoulder, and she had her arm around his waist, her expression triumphant and spirited, like a newly crowned princess holding her favorite courtier.

An eight-year-old Shen Muyun stood between them. In both features and expression, he was almost a replica of the man, already bearing a melancholic air even at such a young age.

Shen Lingshan quickly looked away and dropped the matter of the assistant, her voice turning noticeably deeper: “Fine. As long as you’re satisfied.”

Shen Muyun cut half an apple for his mother and saw her off to the car after breakfast.

Soon, he was alone.

All traces of human expression vanished from Shen Muyun’s face. He took a long, deep breath, collapsed into the sofa, his pupils dilating again, his expression dazed. His lips moved soundlessly.

…The hallucinations were back.

He looked up at the luxurious crystal chandelier overhead and saw it transform into thousands of eyes, blinking lids in all colors, rolling greedy pupils, all staring straight at him in unison.

Gasping, he averted his gaze—and saw the staircase turn into a writhing giant worm, covered in gaudy, nauseating scales, crawling slowly toward him… Next to that, all the pots, pans, and dishes in the kitchen floated midair, twisting into all kinds of fleshy chunks, dripping blood incessantly… The blood fell onto the flowers and greenery, causing the pitiful things to grow wildly, thrashing their tentacle-like branches and charging at the person on the sofa…

…

Ding-ling-ling—

Someone rang the doorbell.

Shen Muyun sprang up from the sofa, hands over his eyes, feeling sweat trickling down between his fingers.

Ding-ling-ling! Ding-ling-ling! Ding-ling-ling—!

The visitor pressed the bell urgently and persistently, as if even a second’s delay was unacceptable.

Shen Muyun carefully parted his fingers and, through the gap, cautiously looked again at the chandelier.

—A miracle occurred.

The frenzied hallucinations from moments ago seemed to have never existed. The chandelier hung properly from the ceiling, the stairs showed no sinister writhing, the utensils sparkled cleanly, and the plants on the balcony were happily basking in the sun.

He let out a long sigh of relief, lowered his hands, drank the cold water from his cup, and walked toward the entrance.

The person at the door was surely his lucky charm.

With that thought, Shen Muyun reached out and pulled the door open, meeting a pair of deep, dark green eyes.

“Good morning,” said the man before him, his voice slightly husky with a strange lilt at the end. “Did you sleep well last night? My dear… boss.”

Shen Muyun inexplicably got goosebumps again—but not from fear or cold.

He looked up at the man before him, who was exceptionally tall.

—It was the assistant he had hired two days ago.

Shen Yi.