After graduation, I landed a job as a lecturer at K University. I taught Business Administration, and my single best living case study was none other than Feng Yan. Whenever my students started dozing off, all I had to do was drop a story about one of CEO Feng’s business strategies, and the entire lecture hall snapped to full attention.

Feng Yan didn’t just hand me resources; he taught me how to survive. He was the one who completely shattered the guilt-ridden “independent woman” complex society had forced upon me.

“Tri Du, having privileges and choosing not to use them isn’t noble—it’s stupid,” he had told me once. “Men leverage every ounce of family capital and connection they can get to push themselves forward, yet they use the concept of ‘independence’ to make women feel guilty for accepting help. Don’t fall for the trap.”

It was mind-boggling that such razor-sharp, pragmatic wisdom came from the mouth of a mythical beast. He had even dismantled my parents’ deeply rooted son-preference with a single cold declaration: “I only respect people who treasure my wife. If you don’t treat her like a precious jewel, I have no obligation to be polite to you.”

While waiting at a red light, my third uncle, Su Jing’an, texted me a series of ancient paintings depicting a shocking historical case. As I zoomed in on the images, a cold tremor ran through my entire body.

The woman in the artwork was emaciated, her wrists and neck covered in deep bite marks—identical to the wounds scattered across my own skin right now.

But the real horror was in the second painting. The woman’s long hair was brushed aside, revealing her features with terrifying clarity.

It was my face.

Another message popped up from Uncle Su: [Back then, the demon was a massive black serpent. It lost control and bit her to death to boost its spiritual power. Since you’re her reincarnation, you likely inherited that same ‘living medicine’ physique. You must be extremely careful!]

When I got home, Feng Yan was standing under the hallway light waiting for me, gently draping a warm jacket over my shoulders. I stared at him, thinking bitterly: Well, it’s not like I can escape anyway.

That night, I obediently drank the glass of milk spiked with a sleeping aid. I understood his cycle by now—if he didn’t feed on a regular schedule, his true form would slip out. As his sharp fangs pierced my skin, a deep, satisfied whisper echoed beside my ear:

“My love… you smell so good… so sweet… I really just want to devour you whole.”

I felt the familiar blend of sharp pain and heady haze. I loved this man—the man who had taught me to be strong, who had taught me how to see the world clearly. But at the same time, I knew I was resting in the arms of an apex predator who could swallow me whole whenever he pleased. Love was important, sure, but I wasn’t ready to die for it.

The next morning, Feng Yan was unusually clingy. He secretly tailed me to campus, pulling a baseball cap low over his eyes and taking a seat in the fourth row just to “supervise” my lecture.

Because I co-taught the class with Jiang Guibai, the students kept whispering about how good the two of us looked together, turning Feng Yan’s face darker than a thundercloud. On the drive home, he crawled into the back seat and lay flat like a dead fish, pouting in stony silence.

Needing to check an address, I casually picked up his phone. But as soon as I opened the browser, the search history left me completely speechless:

I quietly locked the screen.

Turns out, this thousand-year-old black snake was panicking out of his mind, convinced he was about to get cheated on, and was actively weighing whether he should become my “side piece” just to win me back. Yet the moment we stepped through the front door, he instantly put on his cold, noble facade, sulking off to his study under the pretense of doing work.

All that aloofness was nothing more than a fragile shield hiding a demon’s broken heart… all because he missed out on a goodbye kiss.

Sometimes, I really couldn’t reconcile this clingy, pathetic act with a cold-blooded killer. But then I’d remember those icy black scales, a tail as thick as a tree trunk, and teeth sharp enough to cut through bone… and whatever love I had in me immediately tucked its tail and ran for cover.

For the next entire week, every evening after work, I spent my free time obsessively researching snake behavior. The more I learned, the more I realized that surviving this long was a genuine medical miracle.

One night, while a sweet romance drama played on TV, the lead couple leaned in for a kiss. Suddenly, a wave of heat radiated behind my back. Feng Yan was clinging to me again. Seeing that I was ignoring him, he quietly squeezed onto the couch and pressed himself right against my side.

Having just finished a folk tale about demons, my survival instincts kicked in, and I instinctively shifted an inch away.

Tonight, Feng Yan was wearing an oversized black t-shirt, his hair damp from the shower. Without warning, he reached out, grabbed my hand, and pressed it against his stomach.

It was scorching hot. His abs were so rock-solid I almost thought I was touching a slab of heated steel. I yanked my hand back immediately.

Feng Yan looked at me with a aggrieved gaze. “You posted on WeChat this morning saying you were going to lie on my abs tonight to study Marx.”

I choked on my own breath. I had lost a bet with my colleagues that morning and was forced to post that status—who knew this snake was secretly stalking my social media?

I tried to save face. “I’m not prepping for grad school anymore, why would I study Marx?”

“The wisdom of great thinkers requires lifelong study,” Feng Yan replied with deadly seriousness.

Then he paused for a few seconds, his eyes growing cold. “I get it. You just don’t want to use my abs.”

He stared off into the distance like a tragic second lead who had just been betrayed. “Which man is it…?”

Fearing he was about to launch into another full-blown dramatic performance, I obediently dropped my head onto his chest. “Fine, fine! I’ll study! I’m studying!”

After all these years, the only Marxist theory I could still recall was: “Mechanical materialism is also known as metaphysical materialism…” I mumbled under my breath, “This is way too metaphysical… can I drop the class?”

Feng Yan wasn’t listening to a word I said; he was busy playing with my hand. First, he compared the size of our palms, then he laid my arm against his. Finally, he shaped his hands into a wide V and measured the width of my face.

A cold chill instantly shot straight down my spine.

I glared at him in full battle alert.

Feng Yan, entirely oblivious to my inner panic, offered a soft, tender smile. “My love is so soft.”

With that, he leaned down and took a gentle nip at my finger.

I flinched back violently. “Are you hungry?!”

He paused, blinking. “A little… but not that kind of hungry.”

I bolted off the couch like a rocket. “I’ll go cook noodles!”

I couldn’t cook to save my life; the only thing I could make without burning down the kitchen was instant beef noodles. But tonight, I was determined to stuff this snake so full he wouldn’t have an ounce of room left to entertain the idea of “eating” me.

Bowl number one: Feng Yan ate it happily. “It’s been a while since you cooked for me.”

Bowl number two: he was still smiling softly.

By bowl number three, the corners of his lips began to stiffen.

When I placed the fourth bowl down in front of him, he finally cracked. “I’m… a bit full. My stomach hurts.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re full?”

“Mmh…” He winced, rubbing his stomach.

My heart softened a fraction. “Let me rub it for you.”

I gently moved my hand in circles over his abdomen. Feng Yan instantly let out a low, muffled groan, his face flushing deep red.

I didn’t overthink it at all—my mind was completely consumed by the graphic image of a giant black serpent swallowing me whole, getting me stuck halfway down its gut, and spending the next six months painfully digesting me. Hell itself couldn’t be worse than that.

Feng Yan leaned down, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over me. As his lips brushed against my earlobe, my whole body went rigid.

I desperately tried to appeal to his remaining conscience: “Feng Yan. Stop moving. Otherwise… go eat another bowl of noodles.”

He instantly sat up straight and behaved himself. Apparently, “eating noodles” was vastly more terrifying than any fierce warning I could ever give.