Blurred vision gradually sharpened, revealing the warm sunlight streaming through the hospital window.
He wanted to tear off the oxygen mask and the uncomfortable tubes covering his face, but his body was too weak to lift an arm.
Slowly, his gaze focused on the room filled with family—his hunched, white-haired parents, their faces streaked with tears, their lips trembling as they looked at him. His younger sister crouched by the bed, desperately wiping her tears, just like when she was a child and couldn’t stop crying after a fall, no matter how much anyone comforted her.
The heart monitor’s line grew weaker. Childhood memories flashed through his mind like slides. Was this… the end?
In his daze, he wanted to go home—back to that poor, rundown house filled with warmth. But his throat refused to form words.
His breathing grew labored, his lungs like broken bellows. Summoning a final burst of strength, he trembled as he raised a hand to wipe the tears from his sister’s face, forcing a smile.
“Don’t… cry…”
Her tears were warm against his palm. She was still as much of a crybaby as ever.
The doctor turned and whispered four words to his parents. The old couple could no longer hold back their grief.
Their hair was white as frost. Parents should never have to bury their child. He had failed them, unable to repay their love and care. Childhood memories flooded his mind, deepening his guilt.
After enduring the torment of his illness for so long, his body suddenly felt stronger, his face warm.
His family wept around him. He had heard the doctor’s words: This is the final rally before death.
Life was a cycle of joy and sorrow, yet he still couldn’t believe his time was up.
Fear, reluctance, attachment, regret—all these emotions flickered through his heart. But in the end, he let go. The weight lifted, leaving him light, no longer exhausted. He thought of his past life, the endless toil, the suffocating pressure. If there’s a next life, I don’t want to be human again.
“My child… don’t worry about us… go in peace…”
His father’s voice trembled as he cried out, the words draining the last of his spirit, leaving only sorrow.
A tear slipped from the corner of his eye. His strength faded. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry, his voice too hoarse. If he didn’t say it now, he never would.
“I’m… sorry…”
With his last breath, his hand slid from his sister’s face.
Finally… he was free.
The sky was blue, the breeze gentle. The trees were lush, the flowers vibrant. Birds sang sweetly.
The heart monitor flatlined, its alarm piercing the air. His once-rebellious little sister threw herself onto the bed, refusing to let anyone pull her away. Relatives supported his parents, their legs giving out beneath them. Doctors and nurses stepped forward. His sister screamed, fighting as they removed the IV and turned off the monitor. A nurse sighed, then reached to take off the oxygen mask and draw the white sheet over him…
Autumn leaves fell, returning to silence. In that final moment, life vanished like fleeting clouds.
Death was an end, but also a new beginning. Flowers bloomed and withered in an endless cycle. All living beings could do was let go and follow nature’s course.
Time flowed like a river. Twenty years passed in the blink of an eye.
Deep in the Hundred Thousand Mountains
Mist drifted through the valleys, painting the landscape like ink on parchment.
The clouds darken, promising rain; the waters shimmer, breathing mist.
The sky was clear and the mountains unveiled; the clouds linger, cloaking the stones.
Towering peaks layered upon peaks, their verdant slopes piercing the heavens, veiled in swirling fog. Streams meandered, waterfalls cascaded. Monkeys called, fish leaped, egrets soared into the blue—a scene like a painting, a land of immortals.
By the stream, a four-meter-long white serpent slithered through the grass. Its scales were smooth as jade, its body supple and sinuous.
Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air for the faint scent of prey. It circled a boulder, then lifted its head, using heat-sensing pits to search.
Suddenly, it accelerated, darting into the underbrush and startling birds into flight. Its jaws unhinged, swallowing five bird eggs the size of goose eggs in one gulp. Without a backward glance, it left the nest, continuing its hunt.
Survival in the wild was everything. Hunt, eat, sustain the body.
Once sated, the serpent coiled among the rocks to digest its meal, its reptilian eyes staring blankly at the sky beyond the cave. In truth, snakes had terrible eyesight—almost legally blind—and no external ears. They relied on scent, heat, and vibrations sensed through their bellies.
Sky-gazing was just a habit from its past life. Perhaps its dying wish—never to be human again—had led to this reincarnation as a serpent.
The discomfort of its rebirth had faded with time. Twenty years of primal existence had worn away its humanity, its memories slowly buried beneath instinct. Only in rare moments of stillness did it recall the grief-stricken faces of its family by the hospital bed. Each day, it made a point to dredge up those fading memories, afraid that one day, it might forget everything and become nothing more than a beast driven by survival.
The first thing it deliberately forgot was its name from its past life. A snake had no need for such things.
It wasn’t that it wanted to abandon its humanity. But twenty years of blood and struggle, of fighting tooth and nail against predators, left little room for sentiment. The picturesque landscape was a facade—the forest was a merciless place.
The white serpent had distilled its survival into four rules:
Patience. Wait for the perfect moment.
Prey on the weak, flee from the strong.
Fight ruthlessly, no matter the enemy.
When in danger, run like hell.
These rules had carried it from hatching to its current four-meter length. Predators were always lurking—like the two-meter-wingspan eagle circling overhead. Once, carelessness had nearly cost it its life to those talons. Then there was the wildcat prowling nearby, and the most fearless creature of all: the honey badger.
Countless battles had honed the serpent into a cold-blooded killer. Even bloodied and battered, it fought with savage desperation, sinking its venomous fangs into any foe at the slightest chance.
Its venom wasn’t strong—it wasn’t a true viper, with their triangular heads and slender necks. Instead, it relied on constriction, using its coils to suffocate prey. The venom was just a supplement.
Mountain weather was as fickle as a child’s mood. In an instant, dark clouds gathered, lightning splitting the sky.
Thunder roared, sending beasts scrambling for cover. Rain poured down in sheets. The white serpent shifted deeper into its den, avoiding the downpour. Wet scales meant lost body heat—snakes were cold-blooded, unable to regulate temperature like mammals. Once the storm passed, it would need to bask in the sun to regain agility.
Coiled motionless, it stared blankly at the rain.
Its poor eyesight and lack of external ears had caused it to miss something extraordinary. Other animals had seen it clearly:
The storm clouds churned like ink, lightning lashing relentlessly at a distant peak. There, atop the mountain, stood a massive tiger—black and gold stripes, piercing eyes, a proud roar defying the heavens.
The lightning struck again and again, but the tiger refused to kneel, even as its flesh burned and blood spilled. Finally, a bolt as thick as a barrel crashed down. The great beast collapsed, its defiant voice silenced.
That unyielding figure burned itself into the minds of every watching creature. The animals didn’t understand—why had the lightning targeted the tiger? But instinct told them to fear the sky above. That was natural. Wild things knew to avoid danger.
Only a few beasts fixed their eyes on the distant, rain-shrouded peak, their growls rising in unison…