The Guardian Snake
The widow Chen lives alone; when a wicked youth climbs the wall to force her, a great snake from the beam winds his feet and drives him off. It guards by her stove each night; when she dies it vanishes, leaving a jade-like slough by the coffin, which the villagers hang in the shrine.
There was a widow, Chen, who lived alone and kept herself by spinning. A wicked youth of the neighborhood, coveting her beauty, often assailed her with foul words; Chen shut her door and made no answer. One evening the youth, drunk, climbed the wall into her room, meaning to force her. Suddenly something dropped from the beam — a great coiling snake, thick as an arm, wound about the youth's feet, raised its head and flicked its tongue, its eyes like torches. The youth, terrified, fled wildly out, and from then dared not come again.
When Chen's fright settled, she saw the snake would not leave; instead it coiled by the stove, as if standing guard. From then it came out each night, circled the room once, and hid. At first Chen feared it, but in time they were at peace; she fed it hen's eggs, and the snake grew tame.
After some years Chen fell gravely ill; the snake coiled by her bed and would not eat day or night. When Chen died, the snake vanished. On the day of the shrouding, beside the coffin lay a snake's slough, lustrous as jade, more than ten feet long. The villagers, wondering, hung the slough in the shrine.
The Chronicler of the Strange says: The snake is a thing men fear, yet it could guard a chaste widow and drive off a wicked youth — is it that the creature has knowledge, or that chaste sincerity moved it? Chen kept her honor and spurred herself; her spirit was enough to move a creature; the snake was nothing else but moved by her uprightness and guarded her. Those of the world who wear cap and gown yet act as beasts, set beside this snake, can they not blush? The snake could guard chastity, while men sometimes harm it — this is man falling short of the snake. Can one sigh enough?