the prince and the serpent

A scream echoed through the inner palace.

The young prince Li Wenrong started from his mother’s table where they had settled down for tea. Martial training kicked in; his hand went to his side, but there was no sword—he gave it up when he entered the inner court. Undeterred, he continued to stride towards the noise, ignoring his mother’s disgruntled pleas.

Two women huddled close together near a small stream that flowed through the garden, the embroidery of their sleeves and ornaments in their hair signaling them to be royal consorts. Prince Wenrong approached them with caution, as one wrong move could shame his mother and have his head on a plate.

It was still a funny sight, seeing two beautiful well-dressed women balancing precariously on a stone chair, afraid of something lurking in the bushes. One of the ladies, seeing him approach, raised a hand and gestured to one of the peony bushes.

“I saw a snake!”

Li Wenrong sighed and parted the peony leaves, eyes squinting to find patterns amid the foliage. In the late spring afternoon, the entire garden was lush and verdant. Among the mottled green and flecks of sunlight, he saw some movement on the moss-covered ground. There—a snake the length of his arm, scales glistening bright as the jewels adorning the ladies’ hair.

Slowly so as to not disturb the creature, Li Wenrong reached down into the bush and grabbed the snake by the midsection. As he pulled his hand out, the snake writhed pathetically, lashing with its head and tail.

“Calm down, little snake,” the prince murmured. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Be careful, prince!” one of the consorts shouted. “That snake is poisonous, look at its pointed head.”

Li Wenrong glanced back at the two women, who had both stepped down from the chair but still huddled a fair distance away. Looking at them now, they were both incredibly young—probably not much older than he was. The thought of his lord father having lovers close to the age of his sons made Li Wenrong’s skin crawl, but he quickly cleansed the thought from his mind. It was unseeming to think such thoughts of the lord emperor.

The snake continued to flail about in his hand, its tail whipping the sleeves of his robe. Its head bent back against its body and its fangs found purchase on Li Wenrong’s hand. The prince sucked in air and winced, trying not to panic or yell out in pain, but one of the consorts saw the bite and let out a bloodcurdling scream, louder than before.

While the shock of being bitten did not loosen his grip on the creature, the scream startled him enough that he dropped the snake, which hit the ground belly-up with a dull thud and twisted to right itself. It paused and stared at Li Wenrong, something similar to surprise in its large yellow eyes.

His heart pounded heavy in his chest. He heard the ocean in his ears. His hand was numb and he dared not move it, letting it sit claw-like at his side. The snake glanced over at his hand and then over at his face, flicking its tongue twice as if in apology.

It truly was a beautiful creature. A body of light green with flecks of yellow, like sunlight shining through willow leaves. Once again those large yellow eyes stared at him, round as pearls and bright as citrine. Both he and his mother were born in the year of the snake, he mused, and though others were wary of a snake’s capriciousness, he knew to appreciate their resourcefulness and violent beauty.

Two guards and a eunuch arrived. Li Wenrong heard someone say, “The prince was bitten,” and a sword unsheathing. Quickly, he turned and raised his arms, though his limbs were beginning to feel heavy.

“No, it was merely defending itself,” he shouted, placing himself between the guards and the retreating snake. “I made the mistake of disturbing it.”

“You were bitten,” the eunuch insisted. “That snake’s venom must be harvested for an antidote.” As the guards rushed forward, the prince took two shaky steps to block their path.

“It’s just a small snake,” Li Wenrong insisted. “There’s no need for such fuss on my behalf.” He tried to take another step towards the guards, but his leg seized, and he fell. The roar in his ears was louder now and he couldn’t make out words amongst the shouting. He was being lifted and moved. More shadows gathered around him.

-

Consort Si held her son in her arms as he shivered and sweat, murmuring words without meaning in his delirium. Her son was dying, all for some foolishness with a garden snake.

An entire retinue delivered her son to her quarters. Two younger sisters sloppy and incoherent with tears, guards trembling with fear at the thought of imperial repercussions, and a eunuch muttering about how the prince insisted on letting the snake go.

Her poor foolish son. She was the one who had taught him to value the beauty of living things, of different things. In her part of the garden she cultivated rare flower morphs and took care to preserve rare insect specimens that she chanced upon on her walks. The emperor himself knew this and gave her rare shells and feathers as presents; once, the golden pelt of a small ape. Her son grew up chasing dragonflies and hunting for mantises, but his affinity was for the living rather than the dead. Consort Si recalled the present he received on his twelfth birthday: a small deer with a dog face and long fangs. Oh how Wenrong loved the beast, and shed bitter tears when it died. She had it made into a cloak for him to wear in the winter, but he took one look at it and recoiled, old grief welling in his eyes as he recalled his small friend.

It was just like her son to pardon a snake for biting him.

The stream of visitors had died down in the past hour. In the beginning it was a flurry of maids and eunuchs, doctors called and guards reprimanded. Three of her sisters visited to give her their regards, but even Consort Zhuang, who was a skilled herbalist, could offer no support. She was told that a messenger had been sent south to notify her parents. Even the emperor stopped by her chambers, looking down sadly at his poisoned son. Wenrong would have been overjoyed to learn that his lord father cared enough to visit him, but in his clouded state he looked up and uttered the name of his tutor instead.

They were running out of time.

“Madam!” a servant ran into the room, “a doctor has arrived to care for the prince.”

Consort Si looked up, and at this the servant remembered her manners and gave a hasty bow.

“The court doctor has already come,” Consort Si said mournfully. “My son has already swallowed his bitter medicine. Does he have something else to save him?”

“Not the court doctor, Madam, a traveling alchemist. She claims to have the antidote.”

Consort Si sighed. A hunting party had been sent to find the snake that bit her son, but she had not heard the sound of trumpets or horses that would signify their triumphant arrival. Every possible medicine had already been exhausted, and though Wenrong choked down each brew he was given, he was still spiraling deeper and deeper into delirium.

Hope was lost. What did it matter for one more person to try?

“Let her in.”

The servant quickly exited and reappeared with a young woman behind her. Consort Si didn’t know what she expected; an old crone, perhaps, face wizened with hidden knowledge. Instead, the purported alchemist was striking with sharp cheekbones and thick painted eyebrows, dressed in an emerald green robe that rivaled the garments of royal concubines. Her skin was dark but unblemished, as if she had spent her entire life in the sun with nary a burn.

Meeting her eyes, the alchemist bowed. “I am Lady Liuying, a traveling alchemist. I have the antidote to the snake’s venom that is killing your son.”

Exhausted, Consort Si did not rise to greet her but instead waved Liuying to kneel down beside her son. Taking the prompt, the alchemist procured a small glass bottle from her sleeve and discretely held it to her face, as if taking a drink of tea.

Consort Si’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure the cure is fresh,” the alchemist replied. She brought the glass bottle to the prince’s lips and was about to decant it, when Consort Si reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“If you kill him,” she warned, “I will have you and three generations of your family killed.”

The woman stared back and dared to smirk at a royal concubine. “And if I save him?”

Tears welled in Consort Si’s eyes. “If you save him, I will make you a prince’s wife.”

Liuying did not shift her gaze as she poured the antidote into the prince’s mouth. Then passed ten horrible seconds of silence, where Consort Si wondered if she had been tricked. Her eyes darted around the room for signs of treachery, and her hand moved towards the small furnace burning at Wenrong’s feet. If she needed to, she could upturn it towards this purported alchemist and scorch her. Her furtive gaze found more makeshift weapons—ornaments and tools, even the pin holding up her hair. She would rip herself apart to avenge her son if she had to.

But then Li Wenrong sputtered, and his cheeks flushed for the first time all evening. “M-mother?” he whispered, and Consort Si broke down in tears, clutching her son tightly as if his spirit would float away from his body.

“He will have a fever for five days,” Liuying said. “He will need cool foods, and to keep out of the sun. But he will live.”

Consort Si barely registered the words, she was so overcome with joy. She held her son and felt his shaky breath against her neck, rocking him as she did when he was a child. Surely Liuying was a goddess sent to save her son! And she had promised his hand to her! Grief and worrying spilling over to unbounded joy, Consort Si looked up to tell the alchemist that she would honor the match, but there was no one else in the room.

She called for servants, but nobody knew where the mysterious alchemist had gone. After a brief moment of consternation, Consort Si gave up on finding the woman and instead focused on taking care of her son.

Li Wenrong kept staring out into the garden. He had seen the snake slither away—he knew it was the same snake that bit him, the one that looked like the dappled shadow of a willow tree. He saw it along with the sleeve of an emerald robe, embroidered at the edges with the pattern of willow leaves. As he looked out into the lush garden, made strange and frightening by shadows cast by the moon overhead, he could have sworn he heard a splash. Perhaps a frog had leapt from the banks and into the intervening stream.

-

Li Wenrong was bedbound for a month. Throughout his convalescence, he kept one eye glued to the garden outside, hoping to see the snake again. His eyes trailed after every green sleeve he saw, but none of them were the same shade of green as the sleeve he saw that night.

His lord father, the emperor, visited him near the end of his recovery, an awkward exchange that Wenrong was glad to have ended after a few pleasantries. He had heard rumors that the emperor was becoming more interested in Buddhist mantras, even sending a monk westward to collect new scriptures. Prince Wenrong doubted that the emperor’s interest extended to discussions of demons and spirits, however, and his continued indulgence of Consort Si’s fascination of the macabre was simply a remnant of his affections for her. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to discuss affairs of the state with his lord father, but the few times he tried the conversation quickly became unbearable.

They were men of different visions. His lord father saw the world in grand schemes, expanding distant borders and invoking sweeping edicts. His gaze was always on the horizon, his political calculus abstract. Wenrong cared not for dynastic affairs; he regarded conquests of distant regions and political maneuverings with the detached humor of an adult forced to sit through a child recounting a barely remembered dream. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t care for politics at all. If the position of magistrate was offered to him, and he must concern himself daily with tithes and harvests, he would happily accept. He treasured the rare times when he was permitted to travel out of Chang’an and walk among civilians, listening in on their gossip and their woes.

Given the cool relations he had with his lord father, and his refusal to participate in court politics, he was unlikely to be given a station anytime soon. He busied himself with reading, poetry, and nightly games of go with his mother. Once he was fully healed and able to walk without assistance, he returned to his own estate, and the affair faded into a distant memory.

A year passed, unremarkable. Prince Wenrong tracked down the writing of a Sui scholar who had meticulously documented the biology and behaviors of all the snakes currently known. He wrote poems about willow trees, and at the advice of the doctors did not travel in the winter, though he longed to greet the new year with his grandparents.

Storms were relentless that spring. Prince Wenrong spent so much time inside it felt as if he was bedbound again. Thus, when the clouds cleared and the sun once more graced the world with its presence, he took the opportunity to string his bow and go hunting in the nearby forest.

He left the stables discreetly with his brown mare. On this fine day he’d rather calm solitude than the boisterous company of his brothers and their courtiers. He rode slowly, his body still relearning old skills after illness and disuse.

The forest was lush and verdant, nourished by weeks upon weeks of rain. The prince caught sight of some pheasants flitting about in the treetops, but lost their trail when they noticed him and flew away. He decided to follow a nearby stream, his eyes searching for tracks along the banks.

The prince wandered with the intention of getting lost, filling his lungs with fresh warm air as a gentle breeze caressed his face and pulled strands of hair loose from his topknot. The small stream quickly widened to a river, deep enough for small silver fish to swim with the current. Perhaps there would be a lake ahead, Wenrong mused, making a map of the area in his mind. It would be nice to return in the summer to fish here.

His path was blocked up ahead by a giant fallen tree, its upturned roots at his horse’s height. Wenrong stopped to marvel at the felled giant: the petrified bark and the eroded surface, flattened into a sort of natural bridge. As he traced the fallen tree to the opposite bank, he was surprised to see a woman sitting there on a patterned quilt, playing a pipa so softly the music was dissipated by the wind before he could hear it.

Li Wenrong gasped. The forest canopy distilled the intensity of the noonday sun, scattering patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor, reflected within the sparkling river. The light would sometimes pierce the prince’s eyes, momentarily blinding him, but even then he was certain of what he saw across the river. The woman’s robes, that same shade of emerald green.

Time seemed to slow. Hypnotized, the prince turned his horse towards the fallen tree and coaxed the unwilling steed onto it.

The woman had noticed him, and had stopped playing the pipa, choosing instead to stare directly at him as he carefully guided his horse across the river. It was hard to tell her expression, but the way she kept staring without blinking or turning away made the prince feel as if she was challenging him to go all the way, as some strange proof of his determination.

He could not see it from the shore, but the fallen tree narrowed near the middle of the river, and after a few shaky steps, some encouraging words, and one reluctant whip to the horse’s flank, the prince’s mare could not go any further, nor could she turn around. Panicked, the horse shuffled backwards, losing her footing and falling in the river.

The water was cold and the current strong. The prince struggled to hold onto his horse’s reins as the creature struggled to stay afloat against the current. The river was deeper than he thought; his horse could not find footing at the bottom, and the current swept them under the fallen tree, towards what looked to be turbulent rapids. Through the spray, the prince could no longer see if the woman was on the opposite bank.

Something cool brushed his against his leg. His horse whinnied in panic, rearing up and causing Wenrong to fall into the river. He choked down mouthfuls of water, and as he flailed around in panic he saw green and yellow scales coil around him, bringing him away from the rapids and onto the opposite bank. He laid on the rocky shore, staring up at the sky, blue and framed by trees. There was more splashing downstream, and as he turned his head he saw the woman leading his horse out of the water. Her hair was wet, but her robes were dry.

Coughing out the rest of the water from his lungs, Prince Wenrong sat up to meet the woman with some decorum intact. He winced at the heaviness of his wet clothes.

“Thank you for saving me,” he said, with as much poise as he could muster. His horse looked at him disdainfully before trotting off into the distance, declaring itself done with her foolish rider for the day.

The woman continued to stare at him, still not blinking. Now that she was nearer, he could see that she was not expressionless as he once thought: her lips were perpetually upturned in a wry smile.

“It’s not every day someone is stupid enough to walk a horse across a log.”

Wenrong let out a laugh despite himself. “I do not mind your humor, dear lady, but you must know that I am the Divine Emperor’s son. Be careful when you speak so freely to strangers, because someone more self-serious than I may have your head for that comment.”

The woman’s expression did not change, even as she shrugged slightly. “What do I care about the affairs of mortals? If you threaten me, I can kill you with a flick of my wrist.”

She began to walk back towards the fallen tree. Prince Wenrong stood up and followed her, clothes and shoes squelching with every step. His mare trailed close behind.

As they neared the fallen tree, the green-robed woman looked back and sighed. “I guess I should have expected you to follow me.”

“Why did you save me?”

“You were making such a ruckus, I wouldn’t have had peace if I let you drown.”

“Not that time, though I thank you for that as well. The first time, when I was dying of poison.”

They had reached the spot where she was sitting before. The woman, whom Li Wenrong was certain was the same Lady Liuying who saved his life a year before, sat back down and picked up her pipa again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said blithely, and began absently strumming a tune.

“A year ago, I was bitten by a garden snake. I almost died but a traveling alchemist by the name of Lady Liuying arrived with the antidote just in time. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“So what if it was?”

“I’m just confused,” the prince said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It was awkward speaking to her standing up, but sitting down would be more uncomfortable in his wet clothes. “First you bite me, then you come and save me? Why not just leave me to die? Like you said, I’m just some mortal. Even if I’m a prince, I’m not a particularly important prince. I am neither a skilled warrior nor scholar, and I have few exploits to my name. Why come back?”

The supposed Lady Liuying struck a sour note and paused her playing once more. “You better take off your wet clothes if you don’t want to catch a cold.”

Prince Wenrong blushed. “If you wish me to leave, Lady Liuying, I will oblige.”

“I never said that.”

“Then I don’t understand what you are trying to say.”

Lady Liuying raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”

“I…I don’t believe that is proper,” Li Wenrong stammered, his face becoming even redder.

“Suit yourself. Though I doubt it would be comfortable riding back sopping wet.”

Li Wenrong weighed his options, and reluctantly began stripping off his wet clothes. He stopped at his innermost layer, which he hoped would dry against his skin. The rest of his clothes he hung on nearby branches. As another breeze stirred through along the banks of the river, Prince Wenrong shivered as the wind made contact with his bare skin. Without the layers he had been wearing, the spring day was suddenly much colder than before. He walked a few steps to find a patch of sunlight to sit in, relishing in its warmth.

He spent a few minutes just basking in the sun and listening to the sounds of the forest and the rush of the river. A part of him was waiting for Liuying to play the pipa again, but the only music was the sounds of nature around him.

A hand lightly touched his shoulder and he turned around to see Lady Liuying standing beside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Liuying quietly placed a finger to her lips, then pointed towards the fallen tree. Wenrong stared at the place where he fell and waited, unsure of what he was expecting. The river reflected rays of sunlight in his eyes, and it was beginning to be hard to keep looking.

Then it happened: out from the river leapt a golden carp. It sailed over the fallen tree in a perfect arc, then landed back in the water with a splash. It quickly disappeared with the river current, but it took some time for Prince Wenrong to release the breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was a moment of perfect flight, the kind of sublime beauty poets and painters chased after.

“Ninety-three.”

The spell broken, Wenrong turned back to face Lady Liuying. There was a warmth to her face that hadn’t been there before. “Pardon?” he asked.

“That was the ninety-third time that carp has leapt over a bridge.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked her,” Liuying laughed. “She told me that she was following all the rivers of the land, from snowy mountaintops back to the sea. If she jumps over one hundred bridges, one bridge a year, then she will obtain human form. If she jumps over three hundred, a dragon.”

“Did you jump over one hundred bridges to become human?”

The woman looked the prince in the eye, and any uncertainties he had about her identity were dispelled. Her eyes were the same color as the snake’s, yellow like amber or citrine. Her pupils were even still slitted.

“What a preposterous question to ask,” she said.

“I guess I’m just full of preposterous questions, then,” he replied. “But I have to ask them anyway.”

“You saved me from getting my head chopped off by the palace guards. I was simply repaying a debt.” Liuying finally broke her gaze and began wrapping her pipa inside her quilt, then slinging everything upon her back. As she began to walk away from the river, Prince Wenrong realized she was once more leaving his life. His heart seized, and without thinking he began to follow.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to repay you,” the prince answered. “Twice you have saved me, while I only saved you once. Thus, I am still in debt.” He felt foolish saying his answer, a schoolboy once more stringing words together without meaning. But Liuying’s smile widened, and he knew he would gladly act a fool for the rest of his life if it meant making her smile like that.

“I mean to say, perhaps it’s best you don’t follow me practically naked. Or is your impropriety intentional?” she winked.

Once more, the prince blushed. Reluctantly, he walked back to the branches where his clothes hung drying. The sun had done its work on his clothes, though the fabric was stiffer than before. He dressed quickly, though Liuying did not seem to be in any rush to leave. She stood idly under the shade of a pine tree, looking out into the distance to give him privacy. After spending so long drying off in his undergarments, the added layers felt restrictive.

As he finished tying his sash around his waist, he realized that his royal pendant, which usually hung at his hip, was missing. Worried, he looked inside his shoes, not yet completely dry, then within the various folds of his clothing. Nothing.

“Lost something?”

“My pendant,” Prince Wenrong sighed. “I’d have a hard time returning to the palace without it.”

“What does it look like?”

“A piece of stone the size of my palm, carved in the shape of a lion. There’s a green tassel attached to it.” Wenrong looked up and saw the woman smiling, his pendant dangling from her hand. “Oh, thank you.”

But as he came closer, Liuying jerked her hand away and held the pendant out of reach. “Perhaps I’ll take this as payment for saving you again,” she teased. “After that I can disguise myself as a prince and sneak into the imperial palace. Seduce the emperor and then slay him in his sleep.”

Her words should have startled him, but Wenrong simply kept reaching for the pendant even as she moved her hand away. This was the same snake that bit him, the snake whose venom almost sent him to an early death. And yet he felt no fear, only gratitude and admiration. She was a wild and beautiful thing, dangerous as previously shown. Perhaps it was his mother’s influence at play, to gravitate towards the strange and mysterious.

“I don’t believe you’re malicious.”

Liuying’s eyes widened in surprise. The next time Prince Wenrong reached for his pendant, she did not move her hand away. Her skin was cool as he pried his pendant from her hand, fastening it afterwards to his belt.

“I’m a demon, Prince,” she said softly. “You should not trust the likes of me.”

“Maybe that’s how I repay my debt. By giving you my trust.”

“Foolish prince,” the snake laughed ruefully. At last she closed her eyes, her faced relaxed and deep in thought. Prince Wenrong was content to watch her think, composing poems in his head dedicated to the wind through her hair, her rich dark skin, the sloping curve of her neck.

The snake demon Liuying opened her eyes to find the prince staring, and to her surprise she didn’t mind it. There was comfort to his earnest gaze, a warmth gentler than the sun. It was a dangerous, foolish thing to get entangled with mortals, especially with a prince of all people, but Liuying extinguished her doubts with one more look at the prince. She could bask in his gaze.

She too, despite all logic, wanted to see him again.

“If I tell you where the carp will be next year, will you come watch her jump over the bridge with me again?”