The Snake Groom

Deep in the Green-Snail Mountains lived Old Wei the woodcutter, widowed, with three daughters. The house was poor; the three girls shared one loom and spun at night to keep their father. The eldest was Yun, the second Ling, the youngest called Third Maid — the quietest, who spoke little and saw clearly, and whose spinning sounded through the night till her fingers grew thick with callus.

Old Wei went often into the hills for firewood, and at a broken ravine he freed a green snake, a full measure long, caught by a hawk, wing and claw locked upon it, blood upon its scales. He loosed its bonds and let it go; the snake turned its head, eyes like two green stars, as if in thanks, and wound away into the grass and was gone. After that the old man's wood came easier, as if something aided him unseen, though he never saw a wonder, only a wisp of green air where the hill-wind passed.

That year a great drought left the mountain folk hungry, and the roots and bark were eaten. Wei fell ill, and his daughters grieved. Then a youth in green knocked at the door, calling himself a physician from beyond the hills; he gave medicine and Wei mended, taking no coin. The youth spoke gently, his eyes clear as a pool; Third Maid stood behind the screen and felt him unlike other men, yet was not afraid, but rather drawn to him. As he left he said to Wei, "You freed me from the hawk's beak; the debt is unpaid. I dwell in the eastern valley of Green-Snail, surname Si, seventh of my line — men call me the Snake Groom. If you are in peril, only call my name, and the valley will answer." A wisp of green smoke at the door, and he was gone.

When Wei recovered, the year's end brought snow that sealed the mountains and cut off the grain. Wei recalled the Snake Groom and called his name three times beneath the eave; through wind and snow a green shadow indeed came and left two measures of rice and some bundles of charcoal on the step, no name given. So for three winters, and Wei's house did not die.

When Third Maid came of age, a rich house in the neighboring village sent to betroth her, and Wei would have consented, saying it was a settled life. Third Maid called her father by night and said, "I will not have the rich house. He who saved you is not human yet holds to right; the rich are human yet cold of heart, and to marry them may be no blessing. I would serve the Snake Groom." Wei was aghast, thinking her bewitched, and feared the village's mockery. But her mind was set; Wei, helpless, called the Snake Groom in the eastern valley and told him all. The Snake Groom was glad, and chose a day to wed, sending green vines of the mountain as bride-price, plain yet not mean.

After, the Snake Groom was by day a youth in green, and by night showed his true shape, coiled at the bed's side, his scales like black jade, cool and fine. Third Maid did not fear him, but stroked his scales and said, "You are warm as jade; what is there to fear?" Touched by her honesty, the Snake Groom used the mountain's spirit-herbs to heal the village, and stubborn ills mended, and the countryside blessed him, calling him the Snake Groom Lord.

More than a year into the marriage, the village came to know the Snake Groom's goodness, and those who fell sick came to his door and were mostly cured by his herb. Third Maid planted gourds and beans beneath the eave, and the Snake Groom helped her by day, and the neighbors came and went without wonder. Each time Yun came to visit her sister and saw the two in such harmony, envy and admiration mixed in her, and she went home heavy of heart, and a wicked thought took root.

The next spring Third Maid quickened with child, her face flushed and well. Yun went with her husband, feigning to bring broth, and at the half-hill stream-bridge, where none were near, pushed Third Maid into the water, took her pins and rings and dress, and went home claiming to be Third Maid, thinking to take her place. The Snake Groom at first knew nothing, but each night coiled at the bed he felt the breath beside him grow foul, his scales cool yet the heart not warm, and knew it was not the old one; he kept silent. A month on, a body floated up the stream, in Third Maid's old dress and ornaments. The village roared; Yun wept and pointed at the water, saying her sister had slipped. The Snake Groom bent to the corpse: the green-jade bracelet he had given her lay warm on the wrist as in life, while Yun's wrist was bare.

The Snake Groom made no outcry. Before all he took Yun's hand — the bracelet's mark was plain upon the true wrist, and Yun's wrist bore no mark. The truth laid bare, Yun's face went the color of death, and she could not plead. That night the Snake Groom took Third Maid's body and sank into the green mist of the eastern valley; the stream ran suddenly clear.

Three days later a bird's cry was heard in the hills, piteous as a weeping woman, never ceasing day or night. The villagers called it the Wronged Bird — small, its feathers blue-gray, it circled the stream-bridge and wherever it lit left a drop of dew like a tear. The old woodcutters say it is Yun, repentant and not released, turned bird, come each spring to weep for her sister.

Of Third Maid, none know the end. Only in the eastern valley of Green-Snail, when the mist parts, a single thatched hut sometimes shows, with pale cloth drying under the eave, as if someone dwells there — and drawing near, it vanishes again. The villagers say: the Snake Groom and Third Maid are in those hills, needing be neither man nor snake, and are free.