Chapter Three: The Timid Serpent Spirit Seeks the Way

Night had fallen...

The new moon hung like a slender silver boat moored among the branches, while fireflies flitted in the grass, resembling scattered fragments of moonlight. The forest buzzed with the endless chorus of cicadas, occasionally pierced by the harsh cries of birds and beasts. Then, a mournful wolf’s howl echoed from afar, jolting Xu Boqing—caked in mud and looking every bit a beggar—awake with a start.

Damn it!

Only then did he remember: this world was nothing like his former one, where grave-digging might be called brave, an act of materialism with no fear of ghosts or monsters. Here, the wild beasts of the woods cared nothing for philosophy; they only wondered if they could fill their bellies, and to them, a bold man was merely a larger meal.

He had only intended to give his family’s remains a proper burial, sparing them the indignity of being unearthed and ravaged by beasts. But now…

Xu Boqing surveyed the pit he had dug: nearly ten feet wide and deep enough to bury a man standing upright up to his chest. That should suffice.

He hurried to drag the corpses into the pit, muttering prayers as he shoveled dirt to cover them. Before long, a fresh mound stood where there had been none.

“In my hometown, we say the dead find peace in the earth. May you rest quietly here as well. If ever I have the chance, I will see your murderers’ ashes scattered to avenge you.”

With a deep bow before the grave, his thoughts settled, Xu Boqing untied the old donkey tethered nearby. After a moment’s consideration, he removed the harness as well—the cart, now useless, would only slow him down.

“They say an old horse knows the way. I hope you, old donkey, can find the road out, too…”

Swinging himself onto the donkey’s back, he snapped off a twig to serve as a makeshift whip and gave the beast a gentle tap. The donkey set off with a steady “clip-clop” through the night.

The moon shone bright against a scattering of stars, bathing the world in silver.

Xu Boqing had no idea where he was; his memory held no details of this place, only that it fell within the boundaries of Hongyang County. But old animals have an instinct for seeking fortune and avoiding peril, so he entrusted the task of navigation to the donkey—so long as it didn’t lead him into a ditch, all would be well.

The donkey ambled along a forest path, carrying its young master, who lounged sideways on its back. Aside from the occasional flick of his twig, Xu Boqing spent his time gazing up at the moon, pondering his uncertain road ahead.

In this world, Xu Boqing’s mother had died young, his father perished in a bandit’s den, and all the family’s servants and retainers were dead as well. His only kin now was his second uncle, Xu He, settled in the capital with his family.

From the memories he’d inherited, his uncle’s family had always treated “him” well. Xu He often returned home to visit, and “he” had accompanied his father to the capital many times. The family ties were genuine and deep.

His cousin, Xu Da, was only a few months younger but had trained in martial arts since childhood. He was broad and powerfully built, the sort who’d bullied Xu Boqing when they were children—but only if their uncle wasn’t around. Whenever they were caught, Xu Da always received a sound beating.

Later, when the two reminisced, Xu Boqing would flush with embarrassment, while his cousin roared with laughter.

Now, utterly alone, Xu Boqing had no money—what little he’d brought had been stolen by bandits. He had no home, no wealth, and no skills worth mentioning. Even finding his next meal would be a challenge.

Hongyang County was less than a hundred miles from the capital. Once he figured out his location, he could reach the city in two days at most. He would have to stick to his original plan: seek refuge with his uncle and find his footing anew!

As Xu Boqing mulled over his next steps, he remained blissfully unaware of the predatory eyes watching him from the distant undergrowth.

A massive serpent, nearly thirty feet long and as thick as a water barrel, lay hidden in the shadows. Its dark scales shifted and rippled with each breath, muscles flexing beneath as it slid forward in utter silence. The faint rasp of scales against leaves was lost beneath the chorus of cicadas.

It kept to the shadows, always within sight of the donkey and its rider.

This snake had possessed spiritual intelligence for over a century. For years it had cultivated itself with the utmost caution, never once stepping into the affairs of mortals. Yet its demonic bloodline was thin, and the inherited memories of its kind had long since faded. Not only had its cultivation stagnated, but recently it had even begun to decline.

As the years passed, it grew ever more restless.

Desperate, it had turned its gaze to humans. Deep in the mountains, it would use illusion magic to lure lost travelers, feeding off their vital energies to strengthen itself.

Once, it had gone to great lengths to have a turtle skilled in divination cast its fortune, seeking to learn where fate might favor it. The answer had led it to this very patch of forest, where it had hidden for years.

Today, it had sensed a number of corpses being brought to the graveyard. As an underworld serpent, it was acutely sensitive to life and death—there was no mistaking it.

But among those ordinary dead, one corpse blazed with the vitality of the noonday sun.

The shock nearly sent it fleeing, convinced some righteous cultivator had discovered its presence and come to vanquish it.

Timid by nature, the serpent had immediately slithered away.

But when no one pursued or revealed their presence, it recalled its reason for lying in wait. Summoning its courage, it crept back to observe.

It watched from a distance as the one who had returned from death dug a pit to bury the bodies. Meanwhile, its mind raced through the inherited knowledge of its bloodline, searching for anything that matched “returning from the dead” or “vitality blazing like the sun.”

Though it found nothing identical, it did uncover something similar.

There was a legend that immortal cultivators, when reincarnating to begin anew, sometimes produced such miracles as borrowing a corpse to return to life.

Despite centuries of cultivation, the serpent remained timid. The possibility that a high immortal stood before it filled its heart with both terror and joy—terrified because it was a demon, and the prejudices of the cultivation world ran deep; joyful because the divination had proven true.

Should it reveal itself in search of the Dao, it might be despised—or slain out of hand.

What now?

After much wavering, it edged closer, hoping to test the immortal’s attitude toward demons. To its astonishment, the immortal seemed completely oblivious to its presence.

Perhaps the immortal was aware and merely testing it?

But what if this was a trap?

Never since gaining wisdom had the serpent felt such torment—caught between two paths: one promised guidance and the chance for enlightenment, the other spelled certain doom as a “presumptuous demon.”

Either outcome seemed equally likely.

When it saw the immortal about to leave on his donkey, its anxiety was like ants on a hot griddle. It considered using its illusion magic to bar the way, but feared provoking the immortal’s wrath.

What to do?

By this time, Xu Boqing had resolved his course. He took a long, slow breath, propped his hands behind his head, and gazed at the moon, which now seemed softer and more beautiful.

Thinking of his past and present lives, he sighed, reciting softly, “Though I once dwelled in distant lands, I shall pass the spring in the capital anew. A chorus of cicadas, a stream bathed in moonlight—who can say to whom this night belongs?”

As his words faded, the hush of the forest was broken by the faint rasp of scales and a trembling woman’s voice: “Li–little demon means no harm. I am timid by nature and did not intend to hide my presence. I beg the immortal not to take offense…”

“?????”