The valley was not especially cold. After each snowfall, the snow on the sunny southern slopes melted within a few days, leaving only a swath of white on the shaded northern slopes.
At dawn, mist engulfed the winter valley. When it departed, it left the trees covered in frost blossoms.
Sunlight spilled over the ridge, illuminating the frost in a brilliant sea of white. When the wind stirred, countless flecks of starlight scattered down. Sadly, as the sunlight slowly shifted, the spectacle was erased little by little.
Amur adonis flowers bloomed amid the lingering snow.
By noon, the sky had grown somber. A light snowfall began, then turned to threads of rain.
Down in the valley, the drizzle was damp and cold; higher up, snow fell in great goose-feather flakes. Halfway up the mountainside, a straight snow line divided rain from snow.
A pitch-black cave mouth.
Drawn by the scent of rain, the black snake slowly crawled out.
The cave sat right on the snow line. Sleet formed a thin glaze of ice on the rocks, wet and cold, so the snake turned around and slipped back inside to keep sleeping.
After nightfall, the temperature plunged, and a brittle crust formed over the snow on the ground.
The moon was full that night, though nowhere to be seen. The black snake wandered idly through the dim mountain wilderness.
Following its instincts, it had made several attempts to hunt other prey. Those attempts confirmed that it could not hunt in its current state. It could only send its prey into fits, and it suffered as well, growing so tired that it had to return to the cave early to sleep and rest. The only thing it could do was gaze at the moon.
It followed the slope down to the valley floor.
The ice in the streambed was extraordinarily thick, burying the grass along the banks and even covering large rocks and dead stumps. Whenever the space beneath the ice froze solid, water overflowed onto the surface and flowed across it, then froze at night. The new ice became a new riverbed, awaiting the next overflow and freeze. The cycle repeated, building layer upon layer.
The black snake liked traveling along the broad expanse of ice, practicing control over its tremendous speed so it would stop stumbling and crashing about.
When it passed the deep pool, it went around the well opening and did not visit the thatched cottage.
Without realizing it, it had traveled far from the cave.
It wandered aimlessly, entirely unaware of how far it had gone. After rounding several bends, it could no longer see the cave where it sheltered beneath the mountain behind it.
Without warning, a violent pang in its heart jolted the black snake to its senses. It felt as though it was about to lose what mattered most, about to become utterly lost. It glanced back toward the cave and raced back. No one had told the black snake what to do. Its instinct for survival told it to turn back!
Without hesitation, it slithered frantically back the way it had come.
Once it returned within some invisible boundary, the bone-gnawing terror finally receded.
It glanced behind it, unable to understand where that heart-clenching dread had come from. All it remembered was that it must never stray too far again.
This time, the black snake returned to the cave of its own accord.
The instant it overlapped with its sleeping self, an indescribable sense of wholeness soothed all its fear. Only then did the black snake learn that besides the sharp fangs and claws of wild beasts, there were dangers it could not see.
Its old questions remained unanswered, and now new troubles had arisen. Faced with these problems, it had no one to ask and no texts to consult. It could only swallow the bitterness alone.
Burdened with worry, it drifted into a hazy sleep...
Chilly early spring had arrived.
Warm sunlight shone down, softening the snow everywhere. What remained huddled in shaded ravines, while water gurgled beneath the ice.
Water dripped beside the cliff, washing the dirt from little hollows and leaving fine gravel behind.
The black snake had already awakened. Strings of water droplets slid swiftly down the slanting rock overhead, struck stone ridges along the way, and pattered onto the ground.
It had no choice but to wriggle into a dry corner.
It was not yet time to go outside. The spring chill beyond the cave was still sharp, the warmth still faint. It had to wait a little longer.
It stared intently at a hollow in the rock. Only after a long while did enough water drip into it to form a small pool.
It ought to drink more water now.
The black snake crawled up to the hollow and lowered its head. It flicked its tongue against the water several times to test it. Once it confirmed the water was safe to drink, it gently dipped the front of its head into the pool and slowly sipped. The entire process was quiet and patient, with only a faint pulsing on either side of its throat.
When it was time to drink, it drank. It had once suffered badly from drinking too little water, so it had developed the habit of drinking often.
Its mind was poor. It could not remember the year, the month, or the exact circumstances.
The water in the hollow soon ran out. It waited quietly for the drops to refill it, then continued drinking.
The black snake drank copiously, easing the discomfort hibernation had caused in its internal organs and throughout its body. It recovered a little strength, then remembered its many unanswered questions.
Its sluggish brain realized that it had never had worries before. Perhaps ever since it began forming memories, tangled thoughts had started plaguing it constantly.
It silently lamented that worries came from memory.
But memory and thought were the foundations of growth, and a larger body brought safety.
The light through the opening grew dimmer and dimmer. Once the sun sank behind the mountain, the temperature immediately fell and ice formed. The dripping from the cave ceiling stopped, leaving only hanging icicles.
The following afternoon, the dripping began again in a clattering patter, only to stop at nightfall. This repeated for perhaps three or four days before finally ending.
The black snake remained half asleep and half awake, keeping its energy expenditure to a minimum.
One day, a deep, rumbling peal shook it awake.
It raised its head toward the opening. The black snake remembered the sound of thunder and recalled the loveliness of rainwater.
The thunder of Awakening of Insects roused all living things.
The black snake slithered out of the cave, lifted its head toward the sky, and gently extended its forked tongue to taste the scattered raindrops. Unfortunately, the rain was rather light. It could not even wet the entire surface of the rocks, leaving only scattered dark marks.
The air was warm. Hibernation was over, and there was no need to return to the cave to lie dormant.
But it was still not time to hunt. Its old skin hovered on the verge of shedding, and its vision was blurred as though veiled in a thin mist. It could only endure its hunger and quietly await renewal.
The rain stopped and the clouds dispersed. The bright sunlight dazzled its eyes.
With no particular concern for a den, it casually found a sunny, dry spot sheltered from the wind, stretched out its body, and basked lazily in the sun.
The shadows of tree trunks moved slowly like a sundial. After they vanished, pitch-black night descended, and the temperature fell with it.
The black snake remained coiled where it was. It could not see the orange lamplight in the thatched cottage at the valley floor, nor the flowing splendor of the glittering river of stars. It waited quietly, trusting that sunlight would return.
Day and night kept alternating, and the temperature rose little by little.
The black snake resembled a dead branch, the scales covering its body dull and lusterless. A closer look showed that its old skin, weathered by many battles with wind and frost, was already riddled with scars. Beneath the sunlight, it separated ever so slightly from the new scales, and the suffocating sense of confinement grew stronger by the day.
Although its eyes could not see clearly, it could trace a shifting map of its surroundings through vibrations.
Small insects pushed through the soil, birds chirped, and various beasts that wandered close by accident fled in panic.
Long ago, shedding had meant danger lurking on every side. Even the weakness of its own body could lead to death; every shedding had been a trial of life and death. Now, however, its vitality was strong, and it had grown large enough that it no longer needed to fear encountering natural enemies.
After several days of lazy sunbathing, the sunlight dispelled all the chill.
At last, it began to move, slowly wandering wherever it pleased.
As it passed through a pile of loose rocks, it drew its entire body out of the tight old sheath. Finally, the last section of its tail slipped free of the old skin. Fortunately, there had been no sticking or infection.
Its vision cleared, and its body had grown longer. Its new scales were tightly fitted and tough, gleaming with a dark luster.
An empty, translucent snakeskin remained among the rocks.
The black snake continued its unchanging life.
The moon grew round once more, spilling down its cool radiance. To the black snake's surprise, the night passed peacefully, without anything unusual happening. Mountain winds and insect calls kept it company until dawn.
It wound its way to the stream, drawn by the clamorous calls of several wood frogs in a shallow hollow. It swallowed the noisy frogs, then lowered its head and lightly touched its tongue to the water to test it. It dipped the front of its head into the stream and slowly sipped.
As it rested, the black snake pondered seriously, wondering whether it had to sleep before that dim perspective could appear again.