Chapter 4: Shedding Skins, Revealing Truths

Apparently, America was in the market for underdogs and awkward animal lovers. My DMs exploded.

Even Whitney, who never even looked at me before, came over to size me up with a frown.

She gave me the once-over, her expression somewhere between confusion and disdain. I tried not to take it personally.

“Ugh, such a nobody. I don’t get what everyone likes about you.”

She said it loud enough for half the crew to hear. I just smiled, pretending not to care, but it stung a little.

I looked at her Chanel outfit, then at my own plain, logo-free clothes.

Her shoes probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Whatever. At least I was comfortable.

Fine.

I shrugged. “Guess I’m just lucky.”

The colors are a bit dull.

I glanced down. Earth tones. Classic Maya—practical, not flashy.

But that’s how top designer clothes usually are.

I tried to convince myself I was just being minimalist, not cheap.

Online, my popularity stayed high, firmly beating Whitney.

Every time I checked the numbers, I half-expected them to drop. But nope—still holding strong.

Maybe feeling threatened, she also put on a sterile suit, trying to bond with the animals.

It was almost funny, watching her try to reinvent herself as an animal lover overnight. The internet wasn’t buying it.

But the animals didn’t seem to like her, refusing to let her get close—except for this one fluffy white rabbit that couldn’t escape being grabbed by the ears.

That poor bunny looked like it was planning an escape. I made a mental note to sneak it some extra treats later.

The show was filmed and aired simultaneously, and soon it was spring.

The air warmed up, flowers bloomed, and the zoo started buzzing with tourists. I swapped my winter coat for a denim jacket and tried to soak up every bit of sunshine.

When I went to see the python, it was just waking up from hibernation.

I was nervous, but excited. Honestly, I missed my scaly friend more than I’d ever admit.

As soon as it saw me, it crawled over and wrapped its strong tail around my waist.

It was a hug—well, as close as a python can manage. I froze, half terrified, half touched.

I heard pythons are very hungry after hibernation, so I didn’t dare move, afraid it might get upset and crush my waist.

My heart pounded in my chest. I tried to keep my breathing steady. "Easy, buddy. We’re friends, remember?"

After a while, I realized it was just loosely holding me, its head lazily resting on my shoulder, with no further action.

I relaxed, smiling. It remembered me. I stroked its head, whispering, “Good to see you, too.”

I was touched.

It’s not every day you get a snake hug. I felt like I’d passed some kind of animal lover’s rite of passage.

After a whole winter, I didn’t expect it to remember me.

I wondered if animals really did have long memories, or if I was just projecting. Either way, it felt special.

I stroked the scales on its head like before, coaxing it like a child:

“It feels like you’ve grown again. Are you hungry now? Eat more to make up for it.”

I even tried out a few silly voices, hoping to make it laugh. (Or at least not bite me.)

Excited, I bought a few sheep out of my own pocket for the python to eat.

My bank account cried, but my heart soared. Anything for my favorite noodle.

Although my month’s salary was gone, I was very happy.

I skipped lunch for a week, but it was worth it. You can’t put a price on friendship, right?

At the same time, I felt a bit guilty, and only after giving the peacock an extra meal did that secret sense of betrayal slowly fade.

I told myself it was only fair. Equal treats for everyone—animal diplomacy at its finest.

After being repeatedly rebuffed, Whitney set her sights on the python.

She must’ve figured if she couldn’t outshine me with the tiger, maybe the snake would do the trick. Good luck with that.

Snakes are naturally sensitive, suspicious, and very dangerous.

I’d spent weeks earning its trust. Whitney didn’t have a chance.

I had worked hard to build a good relationship with it and earned the chance to care for it up close. Of course, it wouldn’t easily accept a stranger like Whitney.

I watched from a distance as she tried to charm it, but the python just coiled tighter, clearly unimpressed.

Coincidentally, the peacock area and the python area aren’t far apart.

Actually, they’re very close.

You could practically see one from the other. Sometimes, I’d catch the peacock glaring at the python through the glass.

Especially after the python woke from hibernation, the director expanded the grassy area where they could bask in the sun.

Now they were practically neighbors. I half-expected them to start a turf war.

So if I stood on tiptoe, I could still catch my python’s eye through the glass.

It became our little secret—just a look, a wave, maybe a wink if I was feeling brave.

However, most of the time, this scene couldn’t happen.

The peacock stuck to me like glue, and whenever I tried to look at the python, he’d quickly fan out his tail to block my view.

I swear, if jealousy could kill, the python would’ve been in trouble. The peacock was relentless, acting like a feathery bodyguard.

Believe it or not, I swear I saw anger in the three trembling feathers on his head.

He looked like he was about to start a fight. I held up my hands, trying to play peacemaker.

“Buddy, don’t be difficult. That’s your python brother.”