The Tsar-Python

Long ago, in the Changbai Mountains, there lay eternal snows and a dense, dark forest where the sun never reached. In that forest lived wolves, venomous creatures, and fierce tigers and leopards. No human foot had ever stepped there.

At that time, there lived a young man named Liu Yong-jun, known as Liu the Ever-Beautiful. He lived at the very foot of the mountains, and his entire family made their living by hunting. His grandfather was an exceptional marksman, and he passed his skills down to his father, who in turn passed them on to his son. Day and night, the young man trained, and by the time he was seventeen, he could handle a heavy bow weighing three hundred jin.

Every day, the young man went hunting, riding his horse through the thickets at the foot of the mountain, but he never ventured into the dark, dense forest that grew higher up. The young man was strong, agile, and brave, afraid of nothing. But he did not go into the mountains, so as not to disobey his mother, not to upset her or make her angry.

Every time he prepared to go hunting, he would take his sturdy bow in hand, fill his quiver with sharp arrows, and leap onto his horse. His mother would come out of the house, take the horse by the reins, and say:

"You are my only son! Remember well what I tell you: you may hunt at the foot of the mountain, but do not go deeper. This is what your grandfather instructed your father, and your father passed it on to you."

The young man would ride far from home, look back, and see his mother still standing at the gate, watching him with worry.

Sometimes, Liu Yong-jun thought his mother was overly timid and fearful. He tried to argue, but she would cry so bitterly, so pitifully, and hold the reins so tightly that the young man had to apologize two or even three times, promising not to go into the mountains, before she would let him go. Liu Yong-jun was a filial son and did not want to upset his mother, so he never went into the mountains. But as time passed, the young man became an increasingly skilled hunter. He grew tired of hunting at the foot of the mountain and began to think more and more about venturing further. By the time he turned twenty, he had grown even stronger. One day, he could no longer hold back and asked his mother:

"Tell me, why won’t you let me go into the mountains? Do you think I’m a poor marksman, afraid a tiger will eat me? But I’ve already taken down dozens of tigers!"

His mother sighed and replied:

"You’ve grown up, my son, so I’ll tell you the whole truth. Do you know how your grandfather and father died?"

The young man was surprised and asked:

"Wasn’t it illness that took them?"

His mother answered:

"You don’t know, my son, that both of them were killed by giant serpents. After his death, your father’s body swelled and turned black—that was from the serpent’s venom."

Having said this, his mother wiped away her tears and continued:

"In the Changbai Mountains, there are only serpents, and that’s why people fear going into the mountains. Your grandfather relied on his hunting skills and came to the mountains with his brothers, settling there. Day after day, they waged war against the serpents. I don’t know how many they shot with their bows, but many more remained. Often, the serpents attacked them at night, killing four of his brothers. Only your grandfather survived. He killed all the serpents around the mountain, cleared the area for hunting, and then built a home. Now, there are still two serpents living in the mountains—the king and queen, each as thick as a large clay jar and several dozen zhang long. They heard that your grandfather had killed all their sons and grandsons, so they descended from the mountains to take revenge. One day, your grandfather was hunting at the foot of the mountain when suddenly he saw two figures jump down from an old pine tree—a man and a woman, dressed in black, with black hats, tall and thin. They grabbed the horse by the reins and said to your grandfather:

'Hey, Liu, you won’t escape us! We are your eternal enemies!'

These were the serpent king and queen. They said they wanted to fight your grandfather to the death, to test their strength. They agreed to meet him in three days on the red stone scree. On the appointed day, your grandfather took his bow, hung a bag of food on his back, mounted his horse, and set off for the mountains. Three days later, his horse brought him home. He was black all over, his face swollen. Your grandmother carried him into the house and saw his lips trembling.

It turned out that after he left home, it took him until the next day to find the red stone scree. At the very top was a serpent’s lair, where the two serpents lay coiled, guarding a priceless treasure—two ginseng roots, ten thousand years old. Whoever killed the serpents would gain three treasures: the two ginseng roots and the serpents’ eyes, which turned into pearls that glowed in the night. They were also priceless.

When the serpent king and queen saw your grandfather, they rushed at him faster than the wind. They opened their huge, red mouths—like basins filled with blood—and released a poisonous breath that could kill anyone within ten zhang. Your grandfather shot a precise, powerful arrow, hitting the serpent king right in the head. He fell at the edge of the scree, his eyes disappearing. Your grandfather drew his bow again, as fast as fire, ready to shoot a second arrow. But before he could, the serpent queen sprayed him with her venom. He fell onto his horse, which galloped home. Far away, your grandfather heard someone laugh evilly and say:

'This time, we’ve pulled out the grass by the roots. Now the Changbai Mountain is ours forever. No human will dare appear here again.'

Your grandfather looked back and saw the two serpents lying on the red scree, their heads raised, tongues flickering—rejoicing. It turned out that the king, whom the arrow had struck, was still alive. The queen had sprayed him with water from a spring at the foot of the mountain, and the serpent revived. The water from that spring could bring the dead back to life. Your grandfather soon died, for whoever was touched by the serpent king’s venom could not survive. Before he died, your grandfather told your grandmother:

'When my son grows up, let him avenge me. But remember: he must study well. Do not let him go into the mountains until he learns to shoot two arrows at once from one bow and hit a hundred out of a hundred. Otherwise, he will only destroy himself. Remember my words well.'

When your grandfather died, your father was twelve. At first, your grandmother told him nothing, but when he turned eighteen, she revealed the whole truth. Your father wanted to go into the mountains immediately to seek revenge, but he couldn’t shoot two arrows at once, so he began practicing with his bow and arrows every day. By the time you were twelve, he was thirty, and he still couldn’t shoot two arrows at once.

One day, your father said:

'I’ll never learn to shoot two arrows at once, but I must avenge my father. I’ll go into the mountains, and if I don’t return, I’ll die in the serpent’s jaws. Protect my son, and when he grows up, let him avenge me.'

Your father hung his bow on his back, filled his quiver with arrows, took some food, mounted his horse, and set off for the mountains. Three days later, his horse brought him home. He was black all over, his face swollen, killed by the serpent king’s poisonous breath.

Your father had gone into the mountains and seen the red stone scree in the distance, where two giant serpents lay coiled. During the day, he hid in the grass, secretly watching the serpents. At night, their eyes glowed brightly—like four huge lanterns, illuminating the scree as if it were daylight. It was impossible to approach them. At dawn, the serpents grew hungry, opened their mouths, and began swallowing all the animals for several li around, even tigers and boars. When the sun rose high, the king and queen grew tired, closed their eyes, and dozed off. With all his heart, your father wanted to take revenge and bravely crawled forward. But at that very moment, his horse, which had been tied to a tree all night, neighed loudly from hunger. The serpents saw that a man had come to the mountains to seek revenge. They opened their huge mouths, and the serpent king lunged at your father. Your father shot one arrow—the king fell. But as he prepared to shoot a second arrow, he heard a hiss. In that instant, he was lifted into the air and then fell into what felt like a black sack. He realized he had been swallowed by the serpent king. He drew his knife from his belt, struck three or five times, made a hole in the serpent’s belly, quickly mounted his horse, and galloped home. Suddenly, he heard the serpent king say behind him:

'The Changbai Mountain is still ours.'
Soon after, your father died. You were only twelve years old at the time. Before his death, he instructed:

"You must kill the serpent king, or else he will never let you live in peace. Make sure my son avenges me when he grows up."

Before we could even grasp what had happened, your father was gone. Many years have passed since then. I raised you, measuring my tears and sweat by the handful. How could I allow the serpent king to destroy you for no reason?

Liu Yongjun listened to this sorrowful tale and understood why his mother would not let him go to the mountains. But the young man was not afraid; on the contrary, he resolved to go to the mountains at all costs and take revenge on the serpents. He would return from hunting, have his meal, and then train near the house: drawing his bow, shooting arrows. A tall, thick birch tree served as his target. At first, he practiced piercing leaves with his arrows, then he began knocking them off the tree. A few months passed, and the birch stood bare, not a single leaf left.

Next, the young man began training with a knife. The pine forest in front of the house became his training ground. He learned to cut through pine trees as thick as his arm with a single strike. Later, he mastered felling pines as thick as a bowl with one swing. Finally, he could cut down a tree as thick as his embrace in a single blow. After that, he began practicing jumping and running. At first, he could only clear a small hill with a running start and jump over a narrow stream. Eventually, he could easily climb a high mountain and leap across a wide river in a single bound. He mastered everything, but there was one thing he couldn’t do: shoot two arrows at once.

The young man grew sad. His mother noticed his melancholy and asked:

"What’s wrong, my son? Why are you so downcast?"

Liu Yongjun replied:

"I can’t seem to learn how to shoot two arrows at once. How will I ever go to the mountains to avenge my grandfather and father?"

His mother gently stroked his hair and comforted him:

"Don’t worry, my boy! As the old proverb says: even a pig’s head will cook if you keep it over the fire long enough. With effort and patience, you can accomplish anything. Your father lacked patience, and that’s why he perished. Let this be a lesson to you."

Liu Yongjun lowered his head—his mother was right, no doubt about it. Then she said:

"Learn, my son, until you surpass your father and grandfather in skill and martial prowess. Keep learning, and you’ll achieve everything. Perseverance will overcome any challenge!"

The young man listened to his mother, and his determination grew a hundredfold.

He grabbed his bow from the wall, left the house, and began training even harder.

Spring gave way to autumn, morning to evening, and the young man kept shooting, kept training. Before he knew it, three years had passed. Day by day, his arrows became more accurate. Finally, he learned to shoot two arrows at once—knocking two leaves from a tree. He rejoiced, sensing that the day of vengeance was near. But, as they say, nothing is perfect. He shot and shot, but he didn’t always hit the target—eight, maybe nine out of ten arrows. Yet the young man had great patience: he kept learning and learning, and his mother, watching him, rejoiced and said:

"You truly spare nothing for your mother: neither blood nor heart."

The young man replied:

"Don’t worry, Mother! I’ll train as long as it takes, I’ll never give up!"

One day, the young man trained until midnight, exhausted, and collapsed to the ground, falling asleep. Suddenly, he heard someone calling his name:

"Yongjun, Yongjun, wake up quickly!"

The young man sat up, rubbed his eyes, and saw an old man standing before him, all white with a green face. The old man spoke softly:

"Wake up, poor son, don’t sleep, good son! Mount Changbai will be yours!"

The young man asked:

"Who are you, old man?"

The old man replied:

"Don’t you recognize me? I am the white birch, the one that stands near your house. Tell me, how can I help you?"

The young man answered:

"I must kill two serpents, the king and the queen. Can you advise me on the best way to do it?"
The old man nodded his head and replied:

"I'll help however I can. Just go forward boldly!"

Having said this, the old man disappeared. The young man was astonished, but then sleep overtook him again. He woke up and saw an old woman standing before him—her face black, her mouth sharp like a beak.

The young man asked:

"Who are you, grandmother?"

"Don’t you recognize me? I am the black crow, the one who nests in the old pine tree, your old neighbor. Tell me, how can I help you?"

The young man replied:

"Grandmother Crow! I must kill two serpents, the king and the queen. Advise me, how best to do this?"

The old woman nodded her head and answered:

"Brave young man, I’ll help however I can. Just go forward boldly, and don’t worry about anything!"

Having said this, the old woman disappeared. And sleep overtook Lü Yong-jun once more. He woke up a third time and saw a young man standing before him—green all over, tall and thin. The young man said:

"Don’t you recognize me? I am the thousand-year-old vine, the one that grows on the northern mountain. If you kill the serpents, you’ll do a great deed. Everyone who lives in the mountains will rejoice, and I’ll help however I can. Just go forward boldly! You will surely win!"

Having said this, the young man disappeared.

Just as Yong-jun was about to close his eyes again, he suddenly heard someone urging a donkey:

"Hey, go on, go on!"

The young man looked and saw a boy of about four or five years old riding a donkey. He was chubby and white, holding a red pouch in his hands. His eyebrows were arched, his eyes cheerful, and he waved at Lü Yong-jun, saying warmly:

"Hello, big brother! Hello, big brother!"

Then he kicked the donkey’s hindquarters. The donkey took off, galloping forward. It ran and cried, "Hey, hey!" It ran up to Lü Yong-jun and stopped. The young man stood up, gently took the boy with both hands, lifted him off the donkey, and asked:

"Who are you, little brother?"

The boy replied:

"I am the treasure hidden in the mountains."

The young man asked:

"What kind of treasure are you?"

The boy replied:

"I am the ginseng root. I am ten thousand years old. And I am guarded by the serpent kings from the red slope. Save me quickly, kind young man!"

The young man said:

"Don’t worry, little brother! Be patient for a while! I must kill those serpents."

The boy asked:

"Do you know how fierce they are? In a single day, they devour twenty wild boars and ten tigers, and they feast on antelopes and deer. Their eyes bulge—each one bigger than a plate—and their tongues stick out—longer than a bolt of cloth. How will you overcome them alone?"

The young man grew sorrowful and asked:

"What should I do, brother? Advise me!"

The boy replied:

"Don’t be afraid, elder brother, don’t grieve! I know a way to kill the serpent kings!"

The boy clapped his hands and sang:

To kill the serpent kings,
You must wait for the festival.
And when the time comes, at noon sharp,
Poison your arrows and strike!

After singing the little song, the boy patted his stomach and disappeared from sight along with the donkey.

Then Lü Yong-jun came to his senses, scratched the back of his head, and looked up: the North Star was shining brightly in the sky, which meant it was past midnight. He hurried home.

From that day on, the young man firmly believed that he would defeat the serpent kings. He trained even harder, and soon he could hit a hundred out of a hundred targets with two arrows at once.

Time passed, and the Dragon Festival was approaching. The serpent kings grew anxious: for thousands of years they had lain coiled on the red slope, but now a fox had brought them news: Lü Yong-jun had learned to shoot, and his skill was unmatched. Soon, he would come to the mountains to take revenge on them. The serpents guarded the old ginseng with four eyes, fearing that someone might steal it.

When the serpent kings heard what the fox had said, they became furious. Black smoke poured from their mouths, covering the entire mountain like a cap—nothing could be seen. Then they began spewing fire from their mouths, intending to burn everything on the mountain to ashes. The old trees grieved, fearing that their children and grandchildren would perish in the terrible flames. Wolves, reptiles, tigers, and leopards hid in their dens in fear. Even hawks no longer flew over the red slope, not wanting to die in the poisonous jaws.

The serpent king raged, unleashing all sorts of magic. A furious wind blew, thunder roared, lightning flashed—it seemed as if the sky would collapse and the earth would split. Still unsatisfied, he poisoned all the mountain rivers—anyone who drank the water would die instantly.

But Lü Yong-jun was not afraid. No matter how his mother tried to dissuade him or hold him back, it was in vain. On the first day of the fifth lunar month, he slung a bag of food over his back, mounted his horse, and rode into the mountains. He rode and rode until he grew tired and hungry, and his horse could go no further. The young man dismounted, found a small stream, and scooped up a handful of water to drink. Suddenly, he heard a crow cawing:

"Caw-caw! The water is poisoned, don’t drink it!"

The young man quickly threw the water away, but his mouth was dry and burning. Then, out of nowhere, a frog appeared:

"Ribbit-ribbit, ribbit-ribbit! Run to the stone slab if you want to drink! The water there is clean and tasty!"

The frog hopped ahead, and Yong-jun ran after it. Soon they came to a large flat stone. The young man, desperate with thirst, quickly moved the stone aside, and pure spring water gushed out. He scooped up a handful, drank, and felt as if he had been reborn. His strength returned, he ate, fed and watered his horse, and rested for a while.

It began to grow dark. Lü Yong-jun was about to find a place to sleep when he noticed a stone cave with a bed woven from branches inside. Delighted, he entered, but a small bird, a banchuīniao, cried out from a tree:

"Qù bù dé, qù bù dé, don’t go, don’t go! It’s a snake’s nest!"

The young man rushed out of the cave and saw that the woven bed had fallen apart, and red tongues were sticking out from it. There were so many! It turned out the bed wasn’t made of branches—it was woven from snakes. They had been waiting for the young man to lie down so they could sting him to death, but the little bird had saved him. Yong-jun mounted his horse and went to find another place to sleep.

He rode and rode until he saw an old tree trunk ahead. It seemed strange to him—bare and leafless, with a board lying across where the trunk split in two. The young man thought it would be peaceful to sleep there. Just as he was about to tie up his horse and climb up, he heard a magpie chattering:

"Chak-chak-chak, don’t climb up! Chak-chak-chak! Death awaits in the old tree! Chak-chak-chak!"

Lü Yong-jun quickly realized what was happening. He ran away from the tree. Suddenly, the tree swayed and disappeared along with the board. It turned out it wasn’t a tree at all—it was a serpent. The trunk was its body, the fork in the trunk was its gaping mouth, and the board was its enormous tongue. If the young man had lain down to sleep on the board, he would have slipped right into the serpent’s mouth.

Just thinking about it was terrifying! Lü Yong-jun whipped his horse and galloped away, with the serpent chasing him. The young man drew his bow, shot an arrow, and killed the serpent. His heart pounded as he realized it was the serpent king who had sent the creature after him. After killing the serpent, he rode on, searching for a place to sleep. He saw a house ahead, its gates wide open, and the interior pitch dark. There were windows on either side of the door, with bright red lanterns in them. The young man thought: how could there be a house in these remote mountains where no human foot had ever stepped? Surely, the serpent king had set another trap. He whipped his horse and rode away.

By now, Lü Yong-jun had ridden so much that both he and his horse were on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, and he still hadn’t found a place to sleep. The young man grew sad, when suddenly a fawn appeared in front of his horse, stretching its neck and perking up its ears. It was so cheerful and called out:

"Qiu-qiu-qiu, qiu-qiu-qiu! Don’t grieve, there’s a place to sleep, qiu-qiu-qiu, there’s a place to sleep!"

The fawn runs ahead, while Liu Yong-jun urges his horse forward, following closely behind. Soon, they approach the mountain slope, where a wide river flows at the base, with a clean sandy shore. The fawn runs to the river, shakes the sand off its hooves, and says:

"Do not grieve, do not worry, lie down and sleep! Do not grieve, do not worry, lie down and sleep!"

The young man dismounts, lies down on the sand, and falls asleep instantly. He is so exhausted that he hears nothing. He sleeps for a long time, and when he wakes up, he finds himself lying on the back of a huge fish. It has carried him to the very middle of the river and is swimming against the current. The young man is frightened and reaches for his bow and arrows, asking:

"Fish, big fish, what do you want from me?"

The fish raises its head, and its scales shimmer and dance. The young man realizes that what he thought was a sandy shore is actually the fish's scales.

The fish replies kindly:

"Put down your bow, good young man, and put away your arrows. I will take you to the red scree. Put away your arrows, lay down your bow, and I will help you defeat the venomous creatures so they no longer poison the river and harm my kin!"

The young man's heart is eased. He puts away his bow and arrows, stands up, holds his horse by the reins, and floats on the fish's back. The fish spreads its fins, flicks its tail, and surges forward with the wind, cutting through the waves. Soon, they reach the red scree. The young man jumps off the fish's back onto the shore, ties his horse securely, hides in the grass, and looks ahead. He sees a fiery red cliff piercing the sky. Around it lies a rocky scree, with thick smoke and fierce flames. From behind the flames, two enormous serpents poke out their heads, surveying their surroundings. The young man realizes that one of them killed his father and grandfather. He is frustrated that he cannot kill the serpents in one stroke: the flames are too fierce to approach. Though he is a skilled archer, the scree is too far for his arrows to reach. The young man is troubled and cannot think of a solution. Suddenly, he remembers what the boy on the donkey told him: only at noon during the Dragon Festival can vengeance be achieved. The young man looks at the sun and waits patiently. Time passes drop by drop, and the sun moves slowly across the sky. When the shadows of the trees point directly south, the sky is suddenly covered in black clouds, thunder rumbles, and rain falls to the ground. Such an event happens once in a thousand years. The young man begins to coat his arrows with poison, leaps onto his horse, and charges toward the red scree. His head is drenched in sweat, and his horse's hindquarters are soaked as if doused with water. They gallop and gallop, but the scree is still far away—his arrows cannot reach it. Just as noon passes, the sky clears again, the rain stops, and the thunder ceases. The serpents, the king and queen, awaken and realize that the avenger has come. They widen their eyes and look around. They see Liu Yong-jun drawing his bow, charging straight at them, and they roar:

"Ah, you slave, have you come for death?"

But Liu Yong-jun sits on his horse, unmoving, his chest puffed out and his mighty shoulders squared. He draws his bow and replies bravely:

"It was you, serpent king, who killed my grandfather and my father. Today, I will avenge them!"

The king and queen smirk coldly and say:

"Hey, you hairy boy, what talents do you possess that you dare come to avenge yourself? You wouldn't even be enough to fill the gaps between our teeth. Since ancient times, Changbaishan has been the mountain of serpents, and it will remain so. Whoever covets it, we will not spare—we will uproot them like grass."

The serpent king then flips over, hangs his head down from the scree, and falls to the ground, nearly crushing half the forest. Everything around cracks, and even the mountains tremble. The serpent queen also flips over, hangs her head down from the scree, and falls into the river. The surroundings rumble, and the river water rises to the middle of the mountain. But Liu Yong-jun is not the least bit frightened! Instead, he spurs his horse even harder, flying forward like a bird. The serpent king and queen charge toward him, shouting:

"We will drink your blood, taste your flesh, and gnaw your bones!"

The brave young man replies in a loud voice:

"I will slit your bellies, skin you, and pluck out your eyes to retrieve the pearls that glow in the night."

The serpents do not wait for the young man to shoot his arrows. They open their jaws, ready to poison him with their foul, venomous breath. But a fierce wind suddenly blows, stripping leaves from the trees and sending them dancing across the sky. The leaves of an old birch tree cover the sky, hiding the sun and blinding the serpents, who can no longer see.

The king and queen grow anxious and quickly extend their ears, thinking they will hear from which direction Liu Yong-jun is coming so they can release their venomous breath. But out of nowhere, a flock of crows descends—a whole cloud of them—and begins to caw. The sound echoes across the mountain: caw-caw-caw! Caw-caw-caw!

The serpent king and queen grow even more agitated. They try to swing their tails to crush the young man to death, but their tails are tightly bound to the ground by an ancient, thousand-year-old vine. Liu Yong-jun catches up to the serpents. He places two arrows on his bowstring, and the arrows sing as they fly: swish, swish—straight into the heads of the serpent king and queen. The serpents writhe in pain, rolling on the ground like millstones, grinding the entire forest to dust. Then they begin to thrash against the red rocky scree. The surroundings rumble as the scree collapses, and the serpents lie dead on the ground. The young man had coated his arrows with poison, and so the serpents perished.

Suddenly, a chubby boy with a red pouch emerges from the edge of the scree, dragging a hairy donkey by a leash. Liu Yong-jun had seen this boy in his dream. The boy walks, constantly looking back, and calls to his donkey:

"Let's go drink water, let's go drink water!"

The young man runs up to the boy, ties him and the donkey with a red thread, and they instantly transform into rare treasures: two medicinal roots—renshen (ginseng) and shoushen (animal root). The young man runs further, plucks out all four eyes of the serpent king and queen, and retrieves the rare treasure—the pearls that glow in the night.

Peace and tranquility return to the mountains. The grass, trees, birds, and beasts all rejoice. Even the stones nod their heads and smile. The serpent king and queen are dead; they will no longer swallow or deceive anyone. The frogs, crows, banchuiniao birds, magpies, the old birch tree, and the thousand-year-old vine all congratulate the young man on his victory, jumping and singing. The young man thanks them for their help.

He mounts his horse and heads home. His mother hears that her son has defeated both serpents, embraces him, and cries, saying:

"My son, you have accomplished what your father and grandfather could not."

From that day on, more and more people are drawn to Mount Changbaishan—some to hunt, others to search for medicinal roots. All praise the brave young man Liu Yong-jun, who destroyed the serpents, and everyone eagerly tells his story. Many, many years later, when people visit the place where Liu Yong-jun fought the serpents, the red rocky scree is gone. Only the stones in the mountains are stained with serpent blood, and people name the place Red Gorge. The serpents themselves have turned into white stone, stretching out in two long ridges, which people call Manwangling—the Ridges of the Serpent Kings.

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The Tsar-Python

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