Yun’er stood on tiptoe, anxiously waiting, when the white serpent returned dragging a hundred-pound boar it had constricted to death.
Releasing the boar, the serpent glanced at Yun’er and nodded toward the carcass—this was for her family. Catching a young boar of this size had been effortless.
“Is this… for me?”
The white serpent nodded.
Yun’er’s eyes curved into delighted crescents as she skipped home, shouting with joy. The serpent slipped back into the forest.
News spread quickly through the starving village—Yun’er’s family had “found” a wild boar in the mountains. Her father, now with food to spare, shared meat with other struggling families. Country folk stuck together; survival on the edge of the Hundred Thousand Mountains required unity. Otherwise, the wilderness would overrun them.
The boar could last days if rationed carefully. Even the organs were saved—while city dwellers might scorn them, nothing edible went to waste here.
When the boar was gone, Yun’er “found” two pheasants on the hillside. Then, impossibly, a prime-aged wolf.
Her parents’ attitude toward her began to change.
One or two incidents could be luck. But a fierce wolf? That defied explanation…
The hillside.
Dozens of villagers gathered around the wolf carcass, with Yun’er standing small in their midst, head bowed.
Though the food had helped them through hard times, this was too strange. If mishandled, they might brand her a witch and burn her at the stake—such things happened.
“Yun’er”
her father pressed
“how did this wolf get here?”
“……” She twisted her fingers silently.
“Was it a wandering hero?” He referred to the martial artists who roamed the land.
Yun’er switched from fidgeting with her fingers to her apron hem. Still, she shook her head.
The man paled. “Then… a deity? Did some immortal take pity on us?”
Another shake.
Desperate, her father resorted to threats.
Neighbors stirred uncomfortably, but he waved them off, glaring at his child. If she didn’t speak soon, the broom would come out.
To a seven-year-old, these words were a death sentence. Yun’er remembered how her parents doted on her brother, how her mother called her “worthless baggage.” With a wail, she burst into tears.
The villagers shifted awkwardly—grown adults bullying a child.
And like any terrified child, Yun’er confessed everything.
Nearby woods.
The serpent sighed. After a moment’s thought, it decided to reveal itself briefly before retreating to observe. If the villagers threatened Yun’er, it would carve a bloody path to take her into the mountains.
Then—a shout shattered the tension.
“Look! The white serpent!”
All eyes turned to see a massive, eerily beautiful white snake…
Yun’er sprinted over, hugging the serpent as tears streamed down her face. Had the situation been less clear, the serpent might have taught these humans a lesson. Instead, it lowered its head to nuzzle her back gently.
After this brief appearance, it withdrew into the forest, circling around to watch from a distance. Only when satisfied the villagers meant Yun’er no harm did it relax.
After that day, tales of the “Serpent Immortal” spread anew. Villagers burned yellow paper and candles where the serpent had appeared—thanking it for food, praying for rain, for husbands, for sons (because daughters brought shame). The hillside became a stage for human hopes and fears.
Every few days, the serpent brought more food—boars, mostly wolves. The wolf packs had grown too bold in the mountains anyway.
Wolf meat fed them; wolf pelts bought grain. Though still hungry, the village survived the bitter year’s end.
But good fortune never lasts long.
One fateful day.
Yun’er sprinted uphill, scraping her palms in a fall but not caring.
“Big Snake, run! Men from town are coming to catch you! Hunters, horses—so many!”
The serpent had already sensed the newcomers—horses, hounds, armed men. Greed had finally taken notice. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“Papa told me to warn you! Go, please!”
The serpent nodded and turned toward the deep mountains.
Behind it, grimy-faced Yun’er exhaled in relief, waving at its retreating form.
The village.
Armed hunters and sword-bearing guards swarmed in, led by the township’s clan chief. Upon hearing of the white serpent, he had mobilized men to capture it—such a rare, intelligent creature would fetch a fortune.
Villagers knelt, begging for mercy.
“Chief… please spare the Serpent Immortal…”
“It saved us! Fed us when we starved! It’s kind—!”
Whips cracked across their backs. The chief sneered.
Bribed villagers revealed the serpent’s habits, and the hunting party marched uphill with nets and bows—only to find nothing. Yet the hounds howled frantically toward the mountains.
The next morning, the hunt resumed.
They didn’t realize they were walking to their deaths. The Hundred Thousand Mountains’ infamy wasn’t just legend.
Deep in the valley.
The party advanced slowly.
From a distance, the serpent’s cold eyes observed them. Deliberately, it left a strong scent trail—not toward its home valley, but into unfamiliar woods.
Snakes are cold-blooded. The words “cruel,” “ruthless,” and “deadly” aren’t metaphors.
The hunters’ hounds grew increasingly frenzied.
“Push on, men! The serpent’s near! Riches await!”
Gold spurs courage. The exhausted team hurried forward, unaware the dogs were leading them astray—away from the serpent’s true territory…