Chapter Seven: The Amethyst-Eyed Serpent

The little fairy had just finished bandaging Li Pingyang’s wound when she suddenly noticed tears streaming down his face.

She thought to herself, “If you won’t marry me, then so be it—why act as if the world is ending? A grown man, crying like this? Clearly, the one who should be crying most right now is me, Wu Yiyi!”

The boy who once vowed to protect her, who patted his chest and promised to marry her when they grew up—he had forgotten her now.

Those days in Cangzhou had been the happiest of her life, memories she cherished dearly. Back then, Li Dog-egg was two years older than she, always looking out for her.

Ever since a boy named Li Dog-egg moved into Cangzhou, Uncle Li next door, who sold roast chicken, was perpetually troubled—every day, a freshly cooked chicken would inexplicably lose a leg.

Little did he know, beneath the shop, mischievous Li Dog-egg had dug a tunnel, so he could come and go unseen, feasting on chicken legs at will.

Aunt Wang’s pastries were always a few short; Aunt Li’s fish mysteriously floated up dead. The window paper at old Zhou’s house was never intact, always poked through with little holes. Even the birds in the branches above lamented the loss of their eggs.

There was a wealthy child, their age, who would parade around with strings of plump, glistening candied hawthorn, showing off in front of the siblings—but always ended up crying, clutching only a single stick, running home to his parents in tears.

In class, whenever the teacher dozed off, they would draw turtles on his face with a brush, or even shave off half his eyebrow, driving away so many teachers that an entire courtyard could barely contain them.

For all this, Li Dog-egg’s father often disciplined him, sometimes with a solo beating, sometimes with a double, but the boy would soon forget the pain, much to his father’s exasperation.

He was always fiercely protective of Yiyi as well. Whenever she made a mistake, he’d step forward to take the punishment for her. Even when his palms were raw, he’d smile at her and say it didn’t hurt.

Now, remembering that affectionate big brother, so cold and distant as iron, Wu Yiyi couldn’t help but burst into tears.

Her sobs grew louder, finally rousing the absentminded Li Pingyang from his daze.

Li Pingyang, confused, thought she was crying because she looked down on him—and hearing her weep, he grew even more heartsick. Regret for his missed chance gnawed at him, and as she cried, he too wiped at his tears.

When they were children, whenever she cried, Li Dog-egg would make silly faces to cheer her up, or perform his signature donkey bray.

He was so convincing that even the family’s real donkey was fooled several times, thinking a relative had come visiting, and would bray happily in reply.

But now, as she wept so bitterly, Li Pingyang remained unmoved, and Wu Yiyi’s sorrow only deepened.

Li Pingyang panicked. He’d never been good at comforting girls, let alone making them laugh. He wanted to soothe her, but his hands fidgeted helplessly.

In the end, he awkwardly patted her head as one might a puppy. Only then did Wu Yiyi finally stop crying.

Suddenly—

A rustling came from the distant grass. Something was swiftly approaching, the stones on the ground trembling with its passage.

It moved so fast that, in the blink of an eye, it was upon them.

Sensing danger, Li Pingyang was the first to react. He saw a massive black shadow and, without hesitation, shoved Wu Yiyi aside.

She had barely stumbled clear when a colossal head lunged from behind, spitting something out as it wound itself around Li Pingyang and swallowed him whole.

Wu Yiyi blinked, glancing to where Li Pingyang had been—empty. A living, breathing person had vanished, just like that.

A few drops of liquid splattered beside her. Looking up, she found herself face-to-face with a gigantic python, its twin purple eyes as large as cave entrances, its entire body a glossy, inky shade of violet.

The python’s throat convulsed, as if it had just swallowed something. Li Pingyang was sliding helplessly along a slick, wet passage, trying to stop but unable to slow down.

Wu Yiyi seemed a beat too slow to react. Only then did she scream.

Her would-be husband—just devoured by this stinking snake? And the snake even seemed satisfied, letting out a belch!

The witch was furious.

And the consequences would be dire.

Wu Yiyi leapt up and kicked the python hard in the belly. The pain brought tears to the serpent’s eyes as it writhed in agony.

It was, after all, a Sky-swallowing Python of the Violet-eye rank in the demon realm. To be pummeled so brutally by this madwoman—if the others heard, they’d never let it live it down!

Determined to reclaim its dignity, the python composed itself, then opened its cavernous jaws in a menacing display toward Wu Yiyi.

But, to its misfortune, it received another sound beating.

Wu Yiyi didn’t play by the rules—it was truly terrified.

It turned and began crawling away toward the valley, suddenly convinced it was the weakest one here. As it fled, it even pulled out its graduation certificate—never in its hundred years among demons had it encountered a creature so frightening.

Narrator: The python twisted its massive body and sped away—not just fleeing, but escaping for its life! If it was a second slower, it would be reduced to ashes!

Wu Yiyi, burning with rage, gave chase, creating the legendary spectacle of a lone woman relentlessly thrashing a ten-story-high python.

By now, the villagers had returned to normal, and the white mist had dispersed. Li Hu hurried outside, searching for Li Dog-egg.

Turning a corner, Li Hu was stunned to see a woman chasing and beating a giant python as it ran past him.

He thought his eyes were playing tricks, rubbing them to be sure. Surely, his mind was playing games with him!

“Dog-egg! Where are you?”

“Help—”

As Li Hu and the python passed each other, he seemed to hear Li Dog-egg’s voice. It sounded so close, and yet he couldn’t find him.

Inside the python—

Li Pingyang had tumbled over and over, as if riding a hundred roller coasters. His stomach churned, but finally, things came to a stop.

He wondered what had spooked the python, making it shift shapes so wildly. It was hard on him, being swept along inside.

If he knew Wu Yiyi was the source of all this chaos, he’d have no idea what to think.

A nauseating stench filled the air, everything damp and slimy. Li Pingyang had no idea where he was.

He fumbled around and found a fire striker.

Lifting it, he discovered stone steps beneath his feet. The place didn’t seem like the inside of a snake at all, but rather the interior of some structure.

He followed the steps, hands tracing the walls, which were reinforced with iron plates—thick, sturdy as a fortress.

The dripping moisture appeared to be stomach acid, trickling down from above. Even the thick iron had been corroded into countless tiny holes.

The foul stench grew stronger the deeper he went. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but there was no other path.

He pressed on and finally emerged into a spacious hall, ringed by massive stone pillars carved with serpents.

The snakes looked oddly familiar, though he couldn’t place where he’d seen them.

Moving forward, he was surprised to reach a dead end, faced by a huge iron door.

Since arriving, he’d noticed the architecture resembled modern engineering. If he hadn’t just been swallowed by a python, he’d never have believed such a structure could exist inside one.

He opened the door, the heavy gears grinding as they turned.

Rows of oil lamps ignited one after another, lighting a corridor stretching deep into the darkness—so far, the end couldn’t be seen by the naked eye.

On both sides of the corridor were small rooms, each with a wooden door marked by a number.

The numbers weren’t sequential, nor did they follow any logical order—seemingly random.

Beside every door was a slot, just large enough for a bowl to pass through. Li Pingyang peered into one of the slots.

There was nothing unusual inside—just a simple office. A desk and chair, some papers for notes, and a wooden bed for rest.

He checked several more rooms; each was arranged identically. The position of the desk, the angle of the bed, even the orientation of the pen holder—everything mirrored the first room precisely.

Were it not for the numbers on the doors, anyone working inside, upon leaving for the restroom, might never find their room again.

His stomach growled loudly. Li Pingyang realized he was hungry.

The food he’d brought had been taken by the villagers, but, fortunately, he’d kept a flatcake hidden on him.

As he reached into his chest to retrieve it, his fingers brushed something hard. He pulled it out—it was the brocade pouch his father had given him.

He’d completely forgotten about it these past days. Now, curiosity overcame him—what could be inside?

Swallowed alive by a python, in such dire straits, surely this counted as a moment of desperation. It was time to open the pouch and see.

After all, who knew how long he could survive in this forsaken place, without food or water?

With that thought, Li Pingyang reached out to open the brocade pouch.