Recently, something rather interesting had happened.
When bored, the yin spirit occasionally wandered down to the little stone temple at the bottom of the valley and watched the faint light inside grow, thread by thread. When it listened intently, it could catch a jumble of indistinct murmurs, like countless tiny voices whispering at once.
Its connection with the little temple remained hazy. Up close, it could faintly sense it, but once it crossed a mountain ridge, that thread of connection broke.
It could not figure it out, and that troubled it.
The red cords tied there earliest had faded pale, while new red cords kept being added.
A small incense burner carved from green stone had appeared on the stone platform. It was only a crude rectangular trough, holding a thin layer of incense ash that had been soaked by rain and dried by the sun.
Black Snake had seen humans burn incense, smoke curling upward. It did not understand the meaning of this behavior and thought it a waste of time.
Someone had built a low thatched shelter within the shell of the old building and tidied the interior thoroughly.
After observing for a while, the yin spirit raced up the mountain like a streak of ink, heading to a high place to gaze at the moon and breathe.
Without Fox and Fat Weasel, life was not actually much different. Black Snake knew perfectly well that it was forgetting them. Before long, it feared it would not even remember what the two of them had looked like.
The only thing it could do was try not to eat other foxes and weasels, though they had always been extremely difficult to catch anyway.
Once there were fewer things to care about, time seemed to move a little faster.
One summer day, so hot that even the cicadas sounded listless.
Black Snake saw someone cross the stream.
Only after pacing back and forth several times did the man find the moss-covered stone steps hidden beneath branches and foliage. Then he climbed the mountain, one step at a time.
It paid little attention to someone climbing the mountain. It had never stopped humans from approaching; they stayed away out of their own fear. As long as they did not enter its safety perimeter, it did not matter where they wandered on the mountain. The mountain was not its property.
A faint crack came from beside it. The chipmunk had accidentally dropped a nut.
The thick foliage did not obstruct its observation. Its heat sense clearly revealed the figure struggling up the mountain, and it could hear his panting from far away. He seemed a feeble one.
After assessing him, it decided he posed no threat.
It could suitably reduce the perimeter it maintained against him, or simply ignore him. If it ever became desperately hungry, it could swallow him outright.
Carrying a bulging bundle on his back, the man walked and rested by turns, finally making it to the courtyard entrance.
He looked to be in his thirties, with a somewhat slight build.
He dropped his bundle with a thump. Exhaustion had turned his lips purple, and his chest heaved violently, yet he could not catch his breath. He braced himself against a rock, tilted his head, and vomited...
Trees grew quickly in the mountains, and no one cleared them away. Giant Rock had once been visible from Lonehead Crag, but now dense foliage concealed Black Snake from view.
He rinsed his mouth several times before finally suppressing the sour, foul taste churning in his throat.
Once his breathing steadied at last, he began examining the buildings. Most of the timber needed replacing, but large quantities of stone had been used in the original construction. The craftsmen had taken great care: the stone walls stood straight and solid, without any leaning, and the overall structure remained intact.
After looking everything over, he found that repairs would be easier than he had expected.
He rinsed his mouth again, pushed the weeds aside with a stick, and walked inside, tearing away a rotten piece of wood dangling from the main gate as he passed.
He went to the stone wall overlooking the valley. From here, he could look down over the entire valley.
He was pleased with the scenery before him, but the stream at the valley bottom filled him with worry. The thought of carrying water up from there every day left him with a profound sense of helplessness.
He hoped he could find a spring in a nearby gully. Otherwise, sooner or later, the climb would work him to death.
It was getting late.
He put his worries about water aside for now. First, he needed to hurry and clear somewhere to stay. Repairing the buildings and tidying the courtyard could be done gradually.
Suddenly remembering something, he hurried through the weeds.
He went around a roofless building with only its four walls remaining and headed toward some vine-covered ruins near the mountain rock. He tugged hard with his hands. The vines' thorns scratched tiny cuts into his skin, and sweat made them sting like fire.
Too excited to tend to his wounds, he stared at the enormous, black-tinged Pill Furnace standing silently amid the ruins.
It really was a treasure!
In the distance, Black Snake watched indifferently as the thin man busied himself, laughing delightedly after finding something good.
It remembered that someone had lived there before, but could not recall the details.
Suddenly, it caught the scent of wild boar drifting through the air. After a moment's thought, it swayed its body from side to side and slithered toward the smell to see whether there were any piglets. If there were, it would hunt them. Unless necessary, it tried not to eat humans.
It could not remember why it tried not to eat humans. Someone seemed to have instructed it a very long time ago.
It swiftly wound its way into the dense forest and vanished.
The new recluse settled in just like that. He paid no heed to the various terrifying tales about the great black snake, wanting only to cultivate in peace somewhere far from the clamor of the world.
Within a few days, he found a narrow path buried beneath weeds. He cut grass as he followed it and found water dripping from a rocky outcrop.
Clear, cold beads of water seeped from cracks in the rock and fell like rain.
With the water problem solved, he grew even more determined to remain a recluse here for years to come.
He asked hunters entering the mountains to bring him some grain and vegetable seeds. Wielding hoe and axe, he cleared a small patch of farmland near the old building at the valley bottom, happily sowed his seeds, and eagerly waited for sprouts.
Who could have known that the tender shoots, barely emerged, would be gnawed clean overnight by wild rabbits and rodents?
Then a torrential downpour struck. The crude shelter leaked everywhere, dousing his enthusiasm for seclusion in the mountains.
Black Snake saw it all.
It thought this man could not feed himself. He spent all day digging up wild greens to eat, and Black Snake could smell that weedy odor on him from far away.
A wild rabbit once accidentally darted into the little courtyard and could not get out, yet he actually let it go.
Why would this human release prey already at his lips?
He often sat cross-legged high on the solitary rock without moving. His body was clearly exhausted, so why did he not lie down and rest?
Black Snake realized it seemed to have changed. Like Fox, it was curious about useless things and entertained thoughts unrelated to survival.
The new recluse labored over the little courtyard for a long time, yet the confusion in his heart only deepened by the day.
He had thought that retreating deep into the mountains would let him breathe facing the morning sun each day, or observe the flourishing and withering of plants and the turning of the seasons until enlightenment suddenly dawned. Instead, every morning he opened his eyes to endless work and inescapable hunger, often missing three meals over the course of three days.
Chopping wood, digging up wild greens, carrying water, cooking, repairing the house, pulling weeds...
Like a field mouse, he searched for food. Like an old ox, he lived in a leaking thatched shelter, with venomous snakes, insects, and ants for company.
The exhausting days of mountain seclusion wore away his initial enthusiasm, little by little.
Black Snake thought the thin man would soon starve to death.
It did not matter. It simply ignored him.
There would be no rain for a while, so it decided to go hunting and build up enough reserves for winter before the leaves fell.
It crossed mountains and ridges in search of prey, regardless of whose territory it entered. Wherever there was prey,
it went there to eat. If all else failed, it could eat some wood frogs coming down the mountain.
Two months later, Black Snake returned to Giant Rock. It glanced over the little courtyard and discovered that the man was still alive.
His body gave off less heat than when he had first entered the mountains, and he was as scrawny as a grasshopper.
He could easily have gathered wood frogs to eat when it rained at night, yet he ignored them and even released those trapped by the stone wall.
By now, Black Snake no longer regarded him as reserve food.
Swallowing this skinny, fleshless bag of bones would yield no benefit. Instead, digesting him would cost extra energy. A terrible bargain.
And just like that, Black Snake lost interest in its new neighbor. Though they were close, it acted as if he were not there.