A Guide to Raising Snake Spirits - Chapter 9

Xudian replied almost instantly; clearly, he was the type of doctor who spent twenty-four hours a day surfing the StarNet.

Xudian: What’s up?

Guanyue Xi: Nothing much. Just wanted to ask how to reverse a Mental Fusion state. It won’t go back.

Xudian: If it won’t go back, just leave it as it is.

Guanyue Xi stared at the screen, speechless. If Shiraishi Hare “stayed as he was,” just getting him into a bedroom at night would be a logistical nightmare.

Guanyue Xi: ..

Guanyue Xi: Seriously. Be professional.

Xudian: Fine, being serious now. Mental Fusion usually happens during states of intense emotion. Once the emotions level out, it should revert on its own.

Guanyue Xi: And if the fusion was triggered by an Easy Period?

Xudian: Then you’ll just have to wait for the cycle to end.

The Guide facepalmed. He had no idea if Shiraishi’s snake tail followed the standard rules of biological logic. After a moment of thought, he typed another question.

Guanyue Xi: One more thing. Doctor, what’s the most extreme case of Mental Fusion you’ve ever seen?

Xudian: Let me think.

Xudian: The most extensive fusion I’ve seen personally was a Sentinel with an Owl Spirit Body. He grew feathered ear tufts.

Guanyue Xi: Have you ever heard of anyone specializing in research for this field?

Xudian: There’s not much research value in it, and it’s incredibly difficult to study. It’s borderline whimsical. However, I recall some papers on attaching Spirit Body traits to the host.

Xudian: For example, if the spirit is a feline, they research how the host can increase their agility and balance.

Xudian: If I remember correctly, I saw a relevant thesis back when I was a student, but it didn’t make much of a splash afterward.

Xudian: Why? Thinking of switching careers to become a Guide Physician?

Guanyue Xi: I’ve just got a few scales growing on my face lately, so I was curious. Do you remember the title of that thesis?

Xudian: I’ll look for it when I get back. If I find it, I’ll send it over.

Knock, knock.

A rapping sound came from the door, followed by the loud, booming voice of a department nurse.

“Doctor Xudian! The patient in Bed 23 is looking for you!”

“Coming! I’ll be right there!” the doctor in the white coat and black-rimmed glasses shouted back. He casually exited his chat, closed the main terminal screen, and stood up to leave.

On the screen, just before it faded to black, were the words: “Observation Report on Deep Mental Fusion.”

Guanyue Xi closed his chat window.

He didn’t plan on telling Xudian about Shiraishi Hare’s specific situation just yet. Once the rut was over, he’d take the Sentinel to the hospital for a proper check-up.

Instinct told Guanyue Xi that something was wrong here—this might involve a massive secret. He felt that in Shiraishi’s current state, broadcasting the fact that he could physically merge with his spirit body would bring no benefit. After the initial bond, he and Shiraishi were essentially in the same boat; if something happened to the Sentinel, Guanyue Xi wouldn’t likely have a happy ending either.

In the time it took Guanyue Xi to chat with Xudian, Shiraishi had already finished every scrap of his meal.

Guanyue Xi opened his own lunchbox, but before he could take a bite, he felt a powerful gaze boring into him. He looked up to find Shiraishi staring at him with burning intensity, radiating the clear aura of someone who was still starving.

The Guide let out a long sigh.

“If you’re still hungry, you can go to the kitchen and grab some nutrient solutions. They taste mediocre, but they’re filling.”

The Sentinel proceeded to scavenge three more portions of nutrient solution. He “slithered” out of the kitchen with the bags in his mouth—though “slithered” was a bit of an exaggeration; he basically just turned around. Because his tail was so long, more than half of it was still in the living room while his upper body was in the kitchen. Despite its length, the tail wasn’t clumsy at all; his movements were remarkably fluid.

Guanyue Xi had noticed yesterday that Shiraishi’s appetite was superhuman, but it was normal for a Sentinel to eat a lot when their body needed energy for repairs. However, his appetite today was even larger than yesterday. Was it because the snake-form had increased his physical mass several times over?

While Guanyue Xi was busy watching the “Human-Snake Contortion Act,” the doorbell rang.

He opened the door to find a small delivery bot. Detecting the door opening, the hatch on the bot’s head slid back to reveal its contents.

It appeared to be Shiraishi’s admission notice and a brand-new terminal, along with his own appointment letter for the teaching position.

Guanyue Xi didn’t know whether to be impressed by the Tower’s efficiency or to suspect that they had been planning this all along.

“How do I use this?” Shiraishi asked, holding the terminal.

“Here, let me show you.” Guanyue Xi helped him unbox it and fastened it to Shiraishi’s wrist.

Connecting to the StarNet, scanning irises, verifying ID, setting up basic configurations after a series of rapid operations, the terminal was ready. The Sentinel was now officially no longer an undocumented resident.

“There. You can explore the rest on your own.”

“Mm. Thank you.”

“You should register a StarNet account too. It makes a lot of things more convenient,” Guanyue Xi added.

As he spoke, he tapped his terminal against Shiraishi’s. With a light flick of his finger on the holographic display, a small pop-up appeared before the Sentinel.

Shiraishi clicked “Accept,” and his empty contact list immediately gained a single entry.

Guanyue Xi’s profile picture was a photo of himself, likely taken during his student years. He looked younger than he did now, grinning and flashing a peace sign at the camera.

Shiraishi stared at the Guide’s photo for a long moment before saving the contact. Then, he asked as if in passing:

“Where was your profile picture taken?”

“It was at one of the Tower’s annual competitions. I took it when I won an award…”

Mid-sentence, a magpie’s head carrying a letter popped up on Guanyue Xi’s screen. The Guide stopped talking and began checking his messages.

It was from Bian Mengmeng. In the days since Shiraishi’s collapse—including the travel time and the hospital stay—the first batch of candidates had mostly finished their exams and returned to the Special Star.

“Do you remember that female Guide from the desolate planet?”

Shiraishi nodded. “Vaguely.”

“She finished her exam. She wants to grab dinner and asked how you’re doing.” The Guide swiped his chat window over to Shiraishi; Bian Mengmeng’s profile picture was her black-and-white magpie. “But since you’re in rut, you can’t go out. It wouldn’t be right to leave you here alone, so I turned her down. We’ll do it another time.”

“I’m fine. If you want to go, go.”

“Forget it. There’s no rush.”

Someone had lost control and bitten him on the very first day of the rut, Guanyue Xi thought silently. He was terrified that if he left the house for ten minutes, his apartment would be dismantled.

Even though the Sentinel looked emotionally stable right now, Guanyue Xi’s soothing pheromones had been circulating through the room without pause.

Guanyue Xi hadn’t spent much time on the StarNet since his return. He curled up in a beanbag chair in the living room, scrolling through the news.

The headlines were dominated by a speech from the Special Star’s Legion Commander. Due to a recent surge in terrorist activities, citizens were being reminded to take personal precautions, minimize time spent outdoors, and avoid crowded areas unless absolutely necessary.

The Counter-Terrorism Committee was holding a special meeting in the Central District regarding the crackdown on the use of emerging technologies for terrorist purposes.

As the Guide was reading, he felt the light above him being blocked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a long tail brushing against his feet.

“Guanyue Xi… Teacher.”

Guanyue Xi looked up instinctively. “What is it?”

Truthfully, he still wasn’t used to hearing “Teacher” added to his name. His head had looked up faster than his brain could process the title. Shiraishi’s voice was a reminder: classes were starting soon, and he still had to prepare his lesson plans.

“I have some questions. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Just call me by my name, no need for the ‘Teacher’ stuff.”

He had grown used to the Sentinel’s slitted pupils by now. As Shiraishi stood with the light at his back, his normally emerald eyes deepened into a pool of dark green, looking even more profound.

The Guide recalled a fact: slitted pupils evolved to better lock onto prey.

Shiraishi swiped his own screen over to Guanyue Xi.

Guanyue Xi glanced at it. Shiraishi was reading An Introductory Guide to Special Species—usually meant for newly awakened young Sentinels and Guides. It was all-ages, written in simple, easy-to-understand language.

The chapter he was on discussed Sentinel/Guide bonding and compatibility. The section on bonding was similar to what Guanyue Xi had already explained. Given that the average awakening age was 11–13, the part about permanent bonding was glossed over briefly.

The book explained that compatibility—also known as synchronicity was a comprehensive measure of how well a Sentinel and Guide matched. It was the deciding factor in their combat power after bonding. The Tower took this very seriously, dedicating a large portion of the book to it.

Compatibility was divided into four levels. At Level 0, a link was impossible; the Guide couldn’t sense the Sentinel or probe their mental realm. While the Sentinel couldn’t receive mental soothing, they were also immune to that Guide’s mental attacks.

Level 1 allowed for shallow mental links and soothing. An initial bond was possible, but the Guide couldn’t enter the deep layers of the Sentinel’s mind, making a permanent bond impossible. Most Guide Physicians had a broad Level 1 compatibility range to facilitate treating many patients.

Level 2 was the threshold for a permanent bond. 95% of bonded pairs fell into this range; it was rare for a Sentinel or Guide not to find a Level 2 partner.

At Level 3, Bond Heat would be triggered between the pair. This was rare, and there were no definitive statistics on how many Level 3 pairs existed. Compatibility levels beyond that were not formally categorized.

Guanyue Xi: “What did you want to ask?”

“Guanyue Xi… are we at Level 3 compatibility?”

Guanyue Xi choked for a moment. The question sounded suspiciously like he was asking about the nature of their relationship, but seeing the clarity in Shiraishi’s eyes, he realized it was likely just curiosity.

Guanyue Xi swiped the screen back to Shiraishi. “Yes.”

“Do you have other compatible Sentinels?”

Right. It wasn’t my imagination, Guanyue Xi thought. Classic irrational possessiveness of a Sentinel in rut.

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