He said he would give up everything for her — but what could she do for him?

She had been the one to abandon him first, for the sake of Hui Village. And now she was preparing to leave him again. For him, it was like driving a blade into a wound that had never healed.

He was right. She had told herself she was acting in his interest, but in truth she had simply been assuming she knew best.

Hui Village had been returned to Di Guo. She had no ties or obligations left here. If he was willing, then she would be willing too — to throw everything aside and face whatever came with him.

She had wounded his heart once. She could not wound it a second time. She would make up for everything she owed him, and then repay him doubly.

Ling’ai sat staring at the fire, her thoughts drifting in all directions, until the sound of footsteps drew her around.

In the dim light, a familiar silhouette approached. Watching him walk toward her with that faint smile on his face, she felt a strange, hazy feeling come over her.

The scene felt too much like something from a dream — yet she knew it was not a dream. Her Zheng Yun, the man she loved, was standing right here before her, real and solid.

From the time she was small, she had not asked for much in life. But the things she managed to get, she always treasured fiercely.

She had lost him — and now, against all odds, she had found him again. That kind of joy was beyond words.

Noticing Ling’ai staring at him in a daze, Zheng Yun tilted his head. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve never seen me before.”

Ling’ai felt a little embarrassed and looked away. Afraid he’d press her further, she quickly changed the subject. “Did you find something to eat?”

“Mm. Guess what I found.”

“At this time of year there shouldn’t be any wild fruit on the mountain. And with it this dark, there wouldn’t be any wild chickens or rabbits out either.” Ling’ai shook her head. “I can’t think.”

“Don’t be frightened when you see it.”

“What is it?” Ling’ai leaned over to look — and Zheng Yun kept one hand behind his back.

“A snake.” Zheng Yun brought his hand forward, and sure enough, dangling from it was a long, sinuous shape.

Ling’ai was a little afraid of snakes, but she didn’t want Zheng Yun to think her timid, so she put on a brave face. “How is there a snake here? Aren’t they hibernating this time of year?”

“This is a hibernating snake,” Zheng Yun said. “When I was little, my eldest brother taught me how to find snake dens — and then how to pull a hibernating snake out of one.”

“Why go looking for snakes?”

“Snake meat is a delicacy. Once you find one and skin it, you can roast it over a fire.”

Ling’ai’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “You were eating snakes as a child?”

“I’ve eaten all kinds of things — snakes, frogs, they’re all delicious. And in the summer, there are cicadas. Not much meat on them, but roasted, they’re incredibly fragrant.”

Ling’ai: “……”

She had grown up in a big city, so she had no way of knowing that in a small mountain village like this, these creatures were considered rare and prized delicacies.

“Don’t be afraid. It’s paralyzed right now — it won’t attack anyone.” Zheng Yun pulled out a folding knife, held the snake up, and went to the entrance of the cave. “I’ll clean it out here before bringing it in.”

After the snake was skinned, the flesh was white — looking much like chicken without the skin.

Zheng Yun skewered the pieces on some branches and held them over the fire to roast.

Ling’ai watched him do all of this with fascination. His movements were practiced and sure.

She had never eaten snake before, but she knew snake gallbladder could be used in medicine, and that in many places snake was considered a prized ingredient.

Perhaps because she was so hungry, the snake meat, as it roasted over the fire, began to release a distinctive fragrance. The thin layer of fat that seeped out turned the flesh a tempting golden color.

“It smells wonderful.” Ling’ai swallowed.

“No salt, so the taste will be a little plain — but it’s pure and natural.” Zheng Yun kept turning the skewer to keep the meat from burning.

Before long, he handed a skewer of roasted snake meat to Ling’ai. “Try it.”

For someone as hungry as she was, there was nothing left to be picky about. Ling’ai took the skewer, steeled herself with a brief internal struggle, and bit in.

To her surprise, the texture of the snake meat was very similar to eel — lean, firm, with no off-putting smell at all, and a fine, delicate taste that was genuinely delicious.

Ling’ai took one bite and her eyes lit up. This was nothing like what she had imagined.

“Good, isn’t it?” Zheng Yun watched her eat with a look of quiet contentment.

“It’s really quite good.” Ling’ai nodded repeatedly and couldn’t help taking another big bite.

Such a delicacy was a gift from nature — and humankind, ever the discoverers of fine food, had found a thousand ingenious ways to celebrate it.

“Have some more.” Zheng Yun handed her another skewer.

But Ling’ai turned and held it up to his lips instead. “You eat too.”

He had made his way all the way from Shun Cheng and then spent so long searching for her on the mountain. She didn’t need to ask to know his stomach was empty. He was different from her, though — he could endure cold and hunger without letting a hint of it show on his face.

“I’ll eat this piece.” He bypassed the skewer Ling’ai was offering and instead took a bite from the spot she had already bitten. “This piece is tastier.”

Ling’ai stared at him for a moment, and when it dawned on her what he’d done, she looked up at him with raised brows. “Zheng Shu Shi.”

Zheng Yun laughed and shifted back a little, as though bracing himself to be struck. “I’m eating, I’m eating.”

He took the skewer she was holding, laughing as he ate.

One snake, once skinned and gutted, didn’t amount to much — enough for the two of them to take the edge off their hunger, though not quite enough to feel truly full. But at least they were no longer going without.

“Once I get the firewood sorted out we can sleep,” Zheng Yun said, rising to add more fuel to the fire. The flames burned brightly, and the small cave grew warm and cozy.

The cave had only one corner with straw laid down for resting, and it was close to the fire. The other side had nothing but bare earth, piled with chunks of broken stone.

Ling’ai couldn’t let Zheng Yun sleep on the bare ground — it would be uncomfortable and he’d have no warmth from the fire.

So she shifted herself over to one side, making room.

“Here — you sleep on this side.” Ling’ai said it, and her face went a little pink. In the glow of the firelight, her complexion looked all the more delicate and lovely, a soft flush that was nothing short of beautiful.

Zheng Yun didn’t stand on ceremony. He sat down directly in the space she had made for him.

Although there was a gap between the two of them, in such a small cave even that distance felt charged with an undeniable sense of intimacy — all the more so given what they had just shared.