Chapter 220: The Sleeping Snail

The sudden appearance of Ma Yan took me by surprise.

Of course, it was unexpected yet understandable that Zhe Huaqiang was released so quickly.

The village Party secretary smiled and said, “Since ancient times, it’s better to resolve enmities than to create them. I’m just here to mediate. Qinghe, come out for a moment.”

My father, an honest and straightforward man, didn’t put on airs when the village Party secretary arrived. He just told Zhe Huaqiang to leave the things behind and go. Not wanting to say much more, he simply wished for a peaceful New Year. Ma Yan looked at me and added, “I was possessed by evil thoughts. I’m sorry, Master Xiao. I’ll never dare to do it again.”

I said solemnly, “No matter what you two have done before, I can forgive you. But I’ve said before—three strikes and you’re out. If I let this go just like that, I’d be going back on my word.”

Upon hearing this, Zhe Huaqiang slapped Ma Yan twice across the face, cursing, “You damn whore!”

Ma Yan’s face bore the deep imprint of fingers, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, her eyes filled with fury.

I sighed inwardly. Ma Yan was already a mother—regardless of whose child she was carrying, I shouldn’t have laid a hand on her.

I said, “Forget it. You can go. Ma Yan, I’ll give you two words of advice: if you don’t start doing good and accumulating virtue now, your middle and old age will be very unfortunate.”

Ma Yan replied, “Thank you.”

Indeed, Ma Yan’s later life wasn’t easy. Many things in this world bring retribution—what goes around comes around. It’s not that justice isn’t served, it’s just that the time hasn’t come yet. When the time comes, there’s no escaping it.

Zhe Huaqiang set down the things and prepared to leave, but I stopped him to ask about Old Four, the insect master.

Zhe Huaqiang told me he had paid Old Four 30,000 yuan to come. I glanced at Ma Yan, who said, “I was the one who found him. I didn’t expect him to be so useless. I won’t dare to do it again.”

I patted Ma Yan’s back and told her, “If you still want to deal with me, you should remember Bai Xuan. Your fate will be the same as his. Go home and live a good life.”

Finally subdued, Ma Yan left with Zhe Huaqiang, boarding a car and leaving the village. The village Party secretary chatted with my father, clearly trying to curry favor, but my father wasn’t interested. After exchanging a few polite words, he went home to prepare for writing couplets—both for the courtyard and the main hall.

Just as I was thinking about Old Four, I suddenly remembered something important. I rushed inside to find the bamboo tube. The snail I had brought back hadn’t been tended to for days—I wondered if it was still alive.

I quickly fetched some cabbage leaves and prepared a little water.

The snail had been sleeping in the bamboo tube for days without eating. After more than ten minutes, it still hadn’t emerged from its shell. I thought, *Has this little snail died? Starved or suffocated to death inside?*

If it was really dead, there was nothing to be done. I’d have to bury it and wish it a peaceful afterlife. As for me, I could only apologize—I hadn’t meant to starve it, I’d just forgotten.

A while passed, then another.

The snail still hadn’t stuck its head out. Yi Miao came over and suggested warming it by the fire. Thinking it might be frozen, I hurried to the kitchen, lit a fire in the brazier, and placed the bamboo tube nearby. As the fire warmed up, the snail finally extended its head, its tiny antennae waving like little antennas, sniffing the cabbage before starting to eat. It wasn’t dead—just too cold and asleep.

Yi Miao saw me tending to the snail and laughed, “Is this the ‘insect’ you caught in the mountains?”

I nodded. “To be honest, this snail and I share a deep bond. I brought it back because it wasn’t afraid of the cold. Maybe we’ll become great friends. Who says a snail can’t be formidable?”

Yi Miao chuckled. “If this snail ever becomes a powerful insect, I’ll let you use my head as a chamber pot.”

Ignoring him, I fed the snail some cabbage after warming it up. It slowly retracted its head back into its shell—clearly a creature that knew how to enjoy life.

The 28th and 29th passed uneventfully. Aside from feeding the snail, I didn’t have much to do. I visited Ma Ruoxing twice, but the two “earth eggs” he’d brought back hadn’t hatched anything. They just looked like lumps of dirt. If anything were to emerge from them, it’d be like seeing a ghost in broad daylight.

On the way back, I thought about Gu Rechang’s alchemy furnace—he used it to refine ghosts and elixirs, so it must be valuable. Who would want to buy it from Zhen Yangzi?

It seemed the insect arts held many secrets.

Well, I’d better focus on raising my snail. Maybe one day, when fighting a master insect trainer, tossing out a snail would be quite the spectacle—at least enough to shock people into tears. Though, more likely, they’d just laugh themselves to death.

Ji Ruyue and Gu Xiulian both kept centipedes—one called the Rainbow Centipede, the other the Little Ghost Centipede.

Old Five, the insect master, had unleashed a green snake that turned Wu Zhen’s head into a watermelon.

What skills could a snail have? I’d have to research and develop them.

Back home, I poured the snail out of the bamboo tube into the sunlight. It extended its head while my mother looked over with a smile. “Xiao Qi, didn’t you already have a dog and a cat? Now you’ve added a snail?”

Xie Xiaoyu, lounging under the eaves, stretched her legs and watched the little snail, seemingly amused.

I sighed. “Little snail, what skills do you have? Maybe I should feed you some rat poison or pesticide to boost your resistance, then find you a rabbit wife. Let’s see if you can produce a legendary insect.”

Lian Xiaoyao laughed. “Master Xiao, that’s a *snail*. A rabbit’s way too big—how would they even…? Are you joking?”

I shrugged. “You don’t know? A snail’s lifelong dream is to catch up to a rabbit.”

Yi Miao chimed in, “Isn’t that the turtle’s dream? The turtle wants to catch the rabbit—since when did snails get involved? A snail’s dream is to climb to the roof, right? ‘I want to climb step by step…’”

He started singing Jay Chou’s song, horribly off-key, making everyone burst into laughter. I took out the jade ruler and placed it on the snail’s shell. Under the sunlight, a faint glow appeared.

The jade ruler was a spiritual object—seeing the glow, I felt a surge of joy. This snail wasn’t ordinary. Otherwise, the jade ruler wouldn’t react. I tried communicating with the snail, and it responded, extending its head and moving a little. I calculated that if it started walking to Beijing now, it’d take a *very* long time.

I smacked my forehead. *Duh. Why bother calculating?*

The snail, humoring me, stuck its head out before retreating again.

I put it away, letting it sleep. Maybe a long road lay ahead for it.

Finally, New Year’s Eve arrived.

Early in the morning, after breakfast, preparations for the New Year’s feast began.

Mother set out candies and apples on the table, ready for the village children who’d come in the afternoon to exchange New Year’s greetings. Each would receive some sweets.

Father took charge of slaughtering the chicken and duck—both bought for the occasion—and prepared a carp as an offering to the ancestors. In previous years, it had just been the three of us, but now there were more mouths to feed. Mother and Father busied themselves with cooking vegetables, meat, fish, and a braised pork knuckle. Fine liquor was also a must.

By 3 p.m., Father had packed bamboo baskets with the carp, two cuts of meat, two bowls of rice, and prepared incense and candles—symbolizing the continuation of family traditions. Carrying these, I followed with a large firework as we headed to the village ancestral hall. Many had already started their offerings, the sound of firecrackers unending. I set off the firework outside—*bang, bang*—as colorful paper fluttered down from the sky.

After lighting the incense and candles, I placed them in the censer.

Looking at the ancestral tablets on the shrine—some centuries old—I recalled our family history. According to the clan records, we were descendants of Xiao He, the chancellor who helped Emperor Gaozu of Han overthrow the tyrannical Qin dynasty.

On the shrine, the ancestors seemed to be bickering noisily—debating whether to arrange entertainment for the night or visit someone’s house to watch the Spring Festival Gala. One ancestor complained, “If Zhao Benshan isn’t performing a skit, there’s nothing worth watching.”

Another disagreed, “I heard Jay Chou’s performing. I love his slurred singing—no one understands it! His appearance this year must be something special.”

Eventually, they agreed to focus on the feast first, then decide on entertainment later. “We’re too old to act like kids,” one muttered.

Afraid they’d notice me, I quickly bowed, silently praying, *Bless me to win the lottery, surround me with beautiful women, and keep my family healthy, safe, and happy.*

During this time, many uncles and cousins arrived. Father exchanged New Year’s greetings with them, wishing them success and prosperity. The firecrackers roared again as fireworks rose over the ancestral hall’s square—though in daylight, their colors were invisible, vanishing into the sky.

Once, I’d read a literary young woman’s lament: “I’m lonelier than fireworks.” Honestly, I couldn’t understand—where’s the loneliness in fireworks?

They’re dazzling when they burst—how is that lonely? *Sigh*, who knows what goes on in the minds of literary young women?

As I left the ancestral hall, I glanced back at the shrine. An old man’s eyes met mine, lingering for two seconds.

His gaze seemed to shift mischievously.

My heart skipped a beat—*oh no, he knows I saw him.*