Chapter Thirty-Seven: Choosing Cucumber Lanterns

The powdery, pale substances on Wang Hou’s shoulders made my skin crawl. The situation was extremely troublesome; Wang Hou himself couldn’t make any sudden moves either. If he startled those snakes and they attacked his vital points, that would be far from amusing.

Fortunately, there were no wounds on Wang Hou’s shoulders, and the snakes didn’t seem to have good eyesight. They hadn’t found a “breakthrough” yet. Instead, they all stretched their bodies straight, flicking out red tongues, incessantly sniffing Wang Hou’s scent, as if waiting for the right moment to strike.

I frowned at the scene, immediately adopting a ready stance—Swiss army knife in my right hand, phone flashlight in my left—as I made my way toward Wang Hou.

My approach was painstakingly slow. Wang Hou didn’t dare move a muscle, much less open his mouth. He could only gape, silently mouthing the same shape over and over.

After he repeated it several times, I understood: he was mouthing, “Pick cucumber flowers.”

This guy… he actually remembered that trick!

“Picking cucumber flowers” was a knife skill I had mastered during my army days—a specialty I owed to Wang Hou’s constant prodding. Back then, my physical fitness was lacking, and due to the cookhouse routine and other objective factors, I hardly excelled at anything beyond the most basic military drills. My overall military competence was nothing to boast about.

Things only began to change after I won that Swiss army knife from Wang Hou in a bet. He was none too pleased—young men are all about pride, and he was a reconnaissance squad’s acting sergeant, not about to lose face so easily. So, although he taught me the “dagger-fist”—a close-quarters, reverse-grip knife fighting technique—he also left me with a stinging remark:

“You’re just not cut out for this! Giving you a good knife is like feeding ginseng to an old mule—it’s a waste!”

How dare he say that to me back then—even going so far as to say a cook wasn’t meant for knives. That was outrageous!

Naturally, I wasn’t about to take that lying down. I secretly resolved to master this skill, to surpass Wang Hou and show him what I was made of.

So I threw myself wholeheartedly into practice, day and night, even rehearsing in my sleep. Yet, for all my sweat and effort, I still couldn’t quite get it! It was frustrating beyond words.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t learn the movements; compared to Wang Hou, I simply lacked both power and precision—worlds apart. What’s more, the Swiss army knife was small; unless you could deliver a swift, accurate, decisive strike, there was no difference between having learned the technique or not.

But I wasn’t professionally trained, nor did I have Wang Hou’s martial background, so I never truly grasped the essentials. I was too proud to ask him for advice, leaving myself in a state of perpetual frustration.

At a crucial moment, it was the old squad leader who gave me a tip that solved my dilemma.

After understanding my situation, he quickly pinpointed the problem. He told me my trouble stemmed from a lack of explosiveness and wrist flexibility, and that my training clashed with my work schedule. Mindless repetition wouldn’t help.

Finally, the squad leader suggested I organically combine my training with my kitchen duties—strengthening my arms while gradually using whatever was at hand to improve my knife precision. He reminded me, “You’re a cook. You handle knives more than the scouts do. As long as you master the right method, you’ll make a name for yourself at the chopping board.”

His words greatly encouraged me. I followed his advice, changing my training, blending it with my work. Using every opportunity—slicing vegetables, carving intricate shapes—I worked on my arm strength and precision, even using whatever produce I could lay hands on for extra practice.

Having found the right path, I made rapid progress. About half a year later, I could declare to Wang Hou, “My ‘divine skill’ is complete! And I’ve invented a new move—the ‘cucumber flower pick’!”

What exactly was “picking cucumber flowers”? Simply put: Take five or six cucumbers of different lengths, still with their yellow blooms attached, slice them in half crosswise, and stand them upright with the blooms on top. With a single glance and a single swing of the knife, I could slice off the little yellow flowers from at least five cucumber tips. The cucumbers remained standing; the flowers, without fail, fell.

After perfecting this knife technique, I enjoyed a brief period of fame in the squad, even the whole regiment. I was often invited to perform at various mess halls, the infirmary, even at the military family quarters. My record was slicing off seven cucumber flowers with one stroke, each time greeted by applause and cheers. Looking back now, it feels almost like I was some circus performer!

But that’s all in the past. At the time, I felt pretty proud—I’d developed a “finishing move,” and every time I used it, it was as satisfying as pulling off a reversal in a video game.

I believed wholeheartedly that it wasn’t just for show—it was a real-life trump card for the battlefield. I even dreamed of making a name for myself with it.

But what I never expected was that, despite years of honing this skill in the military, I never once used it in real combat. Only years after I’d left the service did I finally have a real need to put it to use.

Now, Wang Hou was counting on me to save him with this very skill.

Collecting myself, I shone my phone’s light on Wang Hou’s shoulder first, taking in the situation. I felt a twinge of unease.

At that moment, the snakes on his shoulders—two on the left, three on the right—all straightened up, swaying slightly, poised to strike at any second.

The scene was uncannily similar to the cucumbers in my old performances—except Wang Hou’s head was in the middle.

Even so, I didn’t act rashly. It wasn’t that I doubted my skill; after all, “though the body perish, the spirit remains.” My technique was born and refined at the chopping board—I was still a cook. Slicing off five or six cucumber flowers in one stroke was well within my ability.

But the key problem was that the snakes’ heads were moving, swaying from side to side. What was that about—dancing the twist?

This was a novel challenge. My cucumbers had always been stationary; moving targets were a first, and I couldn’t help but feel nervous.

So, gripping my knife, I hesitated, constantly calculating and considering the angle and path of my strike, afraid of even the slightest error.

But the snakes didn’t give me much time.

Whether I moved or not, I was forced to act!

At that moment, the disgusting “tongues” on Wang Hou’s shoulders seemed to lock onto their prey. As if on cue, with a sudden hiss, they lunged straight for Wang Hou’s head!

The two nearest snake heads darted toward his ears, quick as arrows from a bow. My reaction was just as swift, lightning-fast!

It was pure instinct; my taut nerves snapped into action. Without thinking, I slashed the knife diagonally with all my strength!

As the blade traced its arc through the air, it struck precisely, slicing off half the head of each snake.

The five snakes barely made a sound, and only a little blood dripped out. Their bodies writhed and curled as they slid slowly off Wang Hou’s shoulder.

“Damn—!” Wang Hou and I simultaneously gasped, collapsing to the ground, weak-kneed.

Wang Hou half-jokingly said, “Bu’er, you haven’t lost your touch! Did you know, when your knife passed my throat, my heart nearly leapt out? I was terrified you’d mess up and take us both out!”

At that moment, I felt no pride; quite the opposite. Thinking back to that strike, a wave of aftershock swept through me, making me tremble.

I managed a wan smile, secretly willing myself to suppress the trembling.

I hadn’t planned to say anything, but then I realized this was a rare opportunity. After all, when else would I get to show off? I couldn’t let Wang Hou’s old jibes go unanswered.

So, once I’d steadied myself, I turned to Wang Hou and boasted, “See? It’s cooks who really know how to handle knives. That fine blade you gave me all those years ago—looks like it finally came in handy, eh? From now on, you—hey, behind you!”

Halfway through my sentence, my gaze locked on something behind Wang Hou. I stammered, “...Behind you—look, what’s that?”

Behind him, I saw a blurry, shadowy silhouette.

My mind raced with unease. This “private kitchen” of Xiao Jiu’s was nothing but a den of horrors. One strange thing after another kept crawling out—would it ever end?

Or had she, Xiao Jiu, set up every one of these traps, just waiting for us to walk right in?

Vicious woman.

But I didn’t have time to dwell on it. With my previous experiences, I was much calmer this time.

If you can’t avoid it, face it; if you can avoid it, it won’t happen.

As soon as Wang Hou turned, I grabbed my flashlight and shone it on the black shape.

I resolved, whatever it was, to hit it with my knife first and ask questions later.

But when we finally saw what it was, both Wang Hou and I were taken aback.

For a moment, my brain stalled, and I forgot all about stabbing.

Because the figure standing behind Wang Hou… was none other than Boss Bai, whose neck had been twisted by the gluttonous parasite.

We hadn’t expected that the supposedly dead Boss Bai would suddenly come back to life.

…His head dangled, barely attached, as he gave us a bizarre smile.

Was he not content to rest, even in death? What on earth did he want now?