Chapter Thirty-Nine: Red as Spring Peaches

The revelation of my origins from my grandfather struck me with such force that I could hardly withstand it.

When he finished speaking, I stood there in a daze for over a minute. I had never imagined that I was truly a child my grandfather found deep in the mountains. His story was nearly identical to what the lame Ma had once told me.

It wasn't until I regained my senses that my grandfather continued.

Eighteen years ago, Grandfather and Niu Dahuang ventured into the depths of the Old Boundary Ridge, searching for medicinal herbs. But the heavens were unkind; as soon as they arrived, rain began to fall. They sheltered under a stone ledge, and when the rain lessened, a thick mountain mist rolled in. Grandfather thought it best to return home and come back another day. But Niu Dahuang was obsessed with rare herbs; upon spotting a golden herb on a cliff opposite, he refused to turn back and insisted on retrieving it.

The mountain mist was dense and the paths slick. The two had to detour through the valley below, and in the process, they became separated. Grandfather searched for Niu Dahuang, but the further he went, the more unfamiliar the terrain became. He realized he was wandering places he’d never set foot in before.

While pondering how to proceed, he suddenly heard a hissing sound beneath the ancient trees. He knew there must be snakes nearby. Venomous snakes could be dangerous, so without hesitation, he turned to leave—only to spot a snake in the mist not far off. More accurately, it was a massive python, and Grandfather was so startled he fell to the ground. The creature was as thick as a water barrel, its scales pale as snow and each as large as a palm. Strangely, entwined in its coils was an infant.

It seemed a newborn, for the umbilical cord was yet uncut. The baby’s eyes were closed, as if asleep or perhaps unconscious. In the instant of his astonishment, the giant snake gently uncurled its tail and placed the baby before my grandfather.

My grandfather sensed that this serpent possessed a human-like intelligence and meant for him to take the child away. He dared not hesitate and scooped up the infant. Suddenly, thunder cracked overhead. The python raised its head, eyes fierce as it stared at the sky, hissing and flicking its tongue.

Then, turning to my grandfather, it hissed again and nudged him back with its head. Grandfather understood: he nodded and, holding the child, fled without looking back.

As he escaped the valley, thunderbolts crashed down upon the forest. The giant snake’s roar resonated so powerfully that the earth itself seemed to tremble.

Curiously, after he left the valley, the mountain fog began to lift, and soon he found his way back to familiar ground, where he saw Niu Dahuang still gathering herbs on the cliff.

Niu Dahuang was so shocked to see Grandfather cradling a baby that he nearly fell from the cliff. He climbed down to help cut the umbilical cord, and, after hearing Grandfather’s tale, was full of wonder. He teased Grandfather, saying that although he was an old bachelor, fate had gifted him a fine, chubby son—something even he, Niu Dahuang, could envy.

When Grandfather finished recounting these events, I felt as though I’d just heard a fantastical tale. Yet, the infant in that story was me. How could I accept that this was truly how I came into the world? The story, though different in detail from lame Ma’s, was the same in essence.

“Then who are my parents? Why was I left in the mountains?” I asked, dazed.

Grandfather shook his head gently. “That’s why I never answered you before,” he said. “No one knows who your parents are. Perhaps that white python who protected you does. But I saw it only once; it never appeared again. I’ve searched the mountains many times out of curiosity, but to no avail. Even the very valley where I found you has vanished.”

With that, Grandfather fell silent.

He resumed his meal, but I’d lost all appetite.

“Grandfather, what would happen if I drank a cup of wine?” I pressed—a question the lame Ma had once asked me.

Hearing this, Grandfather nearly choked on his rice. After a pause, he replied, “You tried it as a child. Scales erupted all over your body—you were no longer like other people. So you mustn’t touch alcohol. And Lin Yi, during your wedding, be careful; do not offer toasts. If anything goes wrong, your marriage may be in jeopardy.”

This only made it harder for me to accept. The tales lame Ma told me were true. After drinking, I would grow scales—so what was I?

Was I truly not human, but something else? Had that white serpent left me with my grandfather because I was its own child? Otherwise, why would I break out in scales from drinking wine? I dared not pursue these thoughts further; the truth was too terrifying.

Yet, Grandfather added, “Lin Yi, don’t worry. You are not a serpent demon; you are human—just different from others.”

He explained that snakes are lowly creatures, and for them to cultivate into human form is extremely difficult. First, they must form a core, then refine essence into energy, and with enough true breath, refine spirit into soul. Only with a soul can they attain human consciousness and form. This process is unimaginably long—at least a hundred years, sometimes thousands—and requires immense fortune. If I were a serpent demon, never having cultivated, it would be impossible to maintain human form since birth.

Grandfather’s explanation was profound, and I understood little, but his intent was clear: he didn’t want me to think of myself as a freak. I was human, though not an ordinary one.

I took his words to heart and nodded, though I still struggled to accept it all. The truth behind my origins, shrouded in mystery, only left me more bewildered.

But for the next two days, I had no time to dwell on these matters.

There was too much to prepare for my wedding. When the villagers heard of my family’s happy event, they all came to help—some offering labor, some money, all lending a hand. Everyone was curious about my bride: who was she, which matchmaker had arranged it, and which village was she from? No one seemed to know.

Grandfather simply told them it was a secret; the bride’s family was well-off, marrying beneath them, so it was best not to make a fuss.

Of course, this was only an excuse; if they knew my bride was a ghost, no one would dare attend the wedding.

In those busy days, I naturally relied on Erpang’s help as well. Yet seeing him reminded me that, after my wedding, he would be leaving.

Erpang assured me not to worry—no matter how far he roamed, he’d never forget his old friend.

I could only nod in silence, telling myself that as long as we remembered one another, we’d meet again someday.

But I hadn’t expected that, when we did, everything would have changed. I would no longer be myself, and Erpang would not be the friend I once knew.

But that is a story for another time.

Previously, Madam Wang, the village shaman, had instructed me to collect Weiyang’s bridal gown the night before my wedding. Afterward, I was to burn it at the base of the nameless stele on Old Grave Hill.

I kept her words in mind. When I went to fetch the gown, Madam Wang gave me a green jade ornament and instructed me to wear it at my waist during the ceremony. I recognized it as the same piece worn by the Lady in Blue. Madam Wang confirmed that the Lady in Blue had visited her the previous day.

I asked why I needed to wear the ornament, but Madam Wang only insisted, warning me not to forget—it concerned not only my marriage, but my very life.

Her seriousness unnerved me, and as I left with the bridal attire, my heart was heavy with anxiety. Still, she assured me that with the ornament, nothing untoward would happen, and I was somewhat reassured.

Carrying Weiyang’s bridal clothes, I went alone to Old Grave Hill.

I waited beneath the nameless stele, and before long, she appeared.

Once more, she arrived on a white horse. This time, she dismounted and did not wear a veil. Her beauty was flawless, though she remained distant and cold, as if she kept the world a thousand miles away.

“Are you refusing to burn these clothes? Planning to give them to someone else?” she suddenly asked.

Her words snapped me out of my reverie. “No, of course—they’re for you,” I replied at once, and crouched to burn the bridal gown and other garments in the flames.

It was a marvel to see: as the beautiful clothes were consumed, they danced on the wind and settled into Weiyang’s hands. By sheer mischance, the final piece to fall into her grasp was an undergarment.

We looked at each other in mutual embarrassment.

At last, she spoke first, a faint blush on her cheeks—so rare for her—“You… why did you even prepare these intimate things…”

It was the first time I’d seen her shy; her cheeks glowed like spring peaches, making her appear both lovely and endearing. I found myself momentarily stunned.

“Are you still staring?” she chided, quickly hiding the undergarment beneath the bridal robe.

With the clothes gathered, Weiyang folded them carefully and placed them on her horse’s back. Then she turned to me and said, “Tomorrow, I’ll be waiting.”

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