Though the shrine was crude, every stone spoke of heartfelt sincerity.
They believed Black Snake had appeared to save them. With no way to repay a life-saving debt, the mountain folk offered the simplest tribute they knew: they built Black Snake a Small Temple.
The words "Snake Immortal" were carved crookedly into a wooden board, which they placed in the center of the shrine as a spirit tablet.
Then they set out travel cakes and wild fruit.
Besides thanking Black Snake for saving their lives, they also prayed for protection. Making a living year after year in the perilous depths of the mountains, they had only the experience passed down by their ancestors; beyond that, they could only rely on divine protection. Whether they worshipped the mountain god or the earth god, all they asked was to return home safely.
Strangely enough, spending the night beside the Small Temple gave them an extraordinary sense of security.
That evening was another full-moon night.
Black Snake's Yin Spirit Separation began, and he prepared to gaze at the moon and breathe in its cool, pure essence as usual.
Suddenly, he felt something extremely faint, unlike anything he had sensed before. Like an invisible strand of spider silk tugging at his awareness, it made him pause and turn his gaze toward the area near the deep pool at the bottom of the valley.
The strange sensation was far too faint, so faint it was difficult to grasp, yet it undeniably existed.
He decided to go down and take a look. He was fast; a brief delay would hardly hurt his moon-gazing.
He immediately became a streak of black light, winding swiftly downward. Soon he reached the Thatched Hut at the valley floor, glanced over the three heat sources, then followed the sensation to the stone platform. Raising his head, he stared at the tiny stone house built from slabs and discovered that the strange sensation came from within.
His little brain was utterly bewildered.
Through his dim, gray vision, a faint glow came from inside, barely visible.
Unable to understand the connection, he could only marvel at how humans were always making such strange things.
He flicked his tongue, turned, and slithered back up the mountain to raise his head toward the moon and breathe.
In the blink of an eye, he forgot all about the pile of stones...
The Thatched Hut beside the pool already stood along a route the mountain folk often traveled. Whenever they saw the Small Temple dedicated to the Snake Immortal, they would stop, leave wild fruit or dry cakes, and bow respectfully three times, praying for a safe journey free of venomous creatures and fierce beasts.
Gradually, the Small Temple became a landmark in the mountains.
Rumors about the great black snake multiplied, growing ever more fantastic. There was even a story that a rooster's comb had sprouted on his head.
The earth before the Small Temple was trampled hard and compact, and people often spent the night or rested in the old hut beside it.
Outside the valley, fierce beasts might attack people, but there was no need to worry inside it. There were no tigers, Wild Leopards, or wolves, so they could camp in peace.
Somehow, word spread that prayers at the Snake Immortal Temple were answered, and passing travelers gradually became more numerous.
Black Snake noticed that the faint glow in the pile of stones was growing.
But he paid it no mind. It could neither be eaten nor quench his thirst, and was useless for survival. He ignored it.
One night.
Fox showed off that eerie appearance again, clasping his paws behind his back and imitating a human as he tilted his head toward the moon in a contemplative pose. He raised a forepaw to stroke the few sparse whiskers around his mouth, then bent forward and affected a couple of coughs.
Who would have thought that Weasel's yin spirit beside him would stand up, the light and shadow around him quivering several times before taking human form? He likewise retained a weasel's head, but walked more nimbly than Fox, darting about.
The two whiskered fellows tried to outdo each other, chittering and babbling as they imitated human speech and movements.
Black Snake thought the pair really had far too much time on their paws.
The moon was perfectly round tonight, its pure essence at its strongest. They should hurry up and concentrate on gazing at the moon and breathing it in. The next full moon was still several days away. They were wasting precious time.
The two had been rather restless lately. Hearing people talking at the bottom of the valley, they could not contain their curiosity. They reverted to their original forms and dashed down the mountain. Relying on their yin spirits' ability to remain undetected by ordinary creatures, they sat right in front of the people to watch and eavesdrop.
Black Snake found it terribly boring. Alone, he raised his head toward the moon and breathed, cultivating with diligent concentration.
Perhaps Fox and Fat Weasel found it amusing. From then on, whenever anyone spent the night or rested near the Small Temple, their Yin Spirit Separation would take them down the mountain to eavesdrop up close.
They sat beside the humans, taking the opportunity to learn their language and imitate their conduct.
Almost imperceptibly, slight changes came over the valley, yet it also seemed that nothing had changed at all.
The little stone shrine stood in silence.
One day, a strand of red cord hung from a corner of its eaves, a cherished wish secretly tied there by some mountain dweller. Sun-scorched and rain-washed, it gradually faded, only for new red cords to be wound around it. Red cords also appeared on the elm behind the shrine, swaying gently in the wind.
After the autumn rains, golden and russet leaves piled over the stone platform.
In winter, an even layer of white covered the stone shrine. Snow blanketed the red cords, burying every past prayer and trace, leaving only a small, quiet outline nestled in the winter valley.
The four seasons slipped through the cracks of time; it simply remained within their passing.
Watching Fox and Fat Weasel frequently mingle with humans, moving among voices and firelight, Black Snake had a vague premonition.
The two wanted to go down the mountain.
After several more years of cultivation, their yin spirits advanced another step and could transform their heads into human ones.
Although their movements were still clumsy, all fumbling paws and feet, lowering the sleeves of their broad, long robes to conceal them made them look fairly convincing.
They had learned some human speech as well. They could open their mouths and introduce themselves as a certain Mr. Fox, or cup their hands and offer some polite greeting such as, "A pleasure to meet you."
Black Snake suspected the pair had enjoyed some fortuitous encounter and learned a better method of cultivation. Unfortunately, he had no opportunity to learn it himself.
A certain snake had no recollection whatsoever of that long-ago encounter with a qi-refining adept on the icy path.
He, too, had once received rain and dew, but alas, his brain was too smooth and slippery to hold on to it. Perhaps this was what they called fate.
Days of unbroken rain arrived.
Black Snake stayed on the summit, breathing in the rain's essence and taking lightning strikes amid rolling thunder and blinding flashes.
Looking up from below at the summit's frequent bursts of dazzling light, the two beasts deeply admired how wildly Black Snake played.
At last, the relentless rain relented. The heavy clouds split open, and long-absent daylight poured down. Washed over and over by rain, the light was pale and bright, not warm, but clear. All across the mountain, vegetation silently steamed with moisture.
Black Snake slid down from the summit.
White vapor spilled from his entire body, with occasional tiny arcs of electricity crackling and flickering. This was a normal occurrence after being struck by lightning.
By the time he reached Giant Rock, the mist had subsided, though his enormous body would still occasionally give a sudden crack, scattering electrical sparks as it discharged energy it could not retain.
Fox and Fat Weasel called to Black Snake twice.
They could not speak human words while inside their bodies; to do so, their yin spirits had to leave them. Fox could stiffly imitate a few syllables, so he was probably close. With enough practice, he would be able to speak more fluently.
Shafts of light slanted through gaps in the dark clouds overhead, bathing Giant Rock halfway up the mountain.
Black Snake's scales gleamed with a cool, moist metallic sheen.
Fox raised a paw and pointed toward the distant Valley Mountain, then at himself and Weasel.
Black Snake watched in silence, roughly guessing his meaning. He gently twitched the tip of his tail to show he understood. Whether they left or stayed made little difference.
Having been
neighbors for several decades, they could hardly be called close, but they had also long since passed the stage where he regarded them as prey to swallow in one bite.
Without any long-winded chatter, the pair bounced a few times, turned, and leaped lightly down from Giant Rock.
Two figures, one russet and one yellow, ran together toward the world beyond the mountains.
On Giant Rock, Black Snake watched silently.
He vaguely felt that they were going out so their cultivation could advance further.
The valley was too small. There might be more opportunities outside.
To Black Snake, parting was like the rain coming and going, or clouds gathering and dispersing. He felt little about it.
His little brain could not weave such complicated emotions into "longing."
He only felt that his surroundings had grown quieter, emptier.