Chapter 54: Annihilation of the Clan

It was a late night, yet tonight the darkness felt unusually heavy. This district was home to the Lü clan, a close-knit cluster of houses and pavilions sheltering a multitude of masters and mistresses, young and old stewards, servants, maids, and even an old crone who had spent her life emptying nightsoil buckets.

At midnight, flowers quietly bloomed and leaves fell from the parasol trees. Suddenly, a light flared in the main room of a small courtyard.

A man’s voice, thick with drowsy irritation, drifted from the bedchamber, quickly followed by a woman’s sharp, scolding retort.

Inside, a middle-aged man with a fair face and broad chest sat on the bed, yawning, fighting off sleep. He tried to soothe, “Enough, the third wife’s had a turn with her pregnancy. I’ll go check on her and come right back. Don’t stoop to argue with a pregnant woman.”

The woman sat before her vanity, brushing her hair, lips pursed and brows knit, snorting coldly, “Fine, so she’s having a fit. I’ll come too. After we’ve seen her, we’ll come back and finish sleeping.”

The man’s brows drew together in exasperation, and he waved her off. “Why come along? Dear, be good and stay. I’ll just check quickly and return, I promise.” With that, he slipped into his shoes and headed out.

“Where do you think you’re going, master? Wait for me.” She hurriedly gathered her hair, about to rise and follow.

“I’m going to relieve myself,” he snapped, ducking behind the screen.

The woman sat back down, reassured, and returned to her powders and rouge, muttering under her breath, “That little wench—pregnant and still causing trouble. Just wait till I get there and give you a piece of my mind.”

Soon, the sound of trickling water came from behind the screen. The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Ugh, that stinks.”

The man behind the screen chuckled, ready to tease his concubine, when suddenly, a blue shadow shot out from the chamber pot. He hadn’t time to utter a word; the lascivious grin froze on his lips as a blue-scaled serpent sank its fangs into him, tearing away the pair of organs at his groin. Blood spattered, splashing across his face and lips.

Agonizing pain sliced through him in an instant. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed thunderously to the floor.

The woman, hearing the commotion, stalked over cursing, only to be confronted by the sight of the blood-soaked man and a blue bamboo snake coiled in the crimson pool, its head bobbing. Her scream shattered the midnight silence, sharp as an alarm bell, echoed by cries from all directions within the district.

Screams, pleas for help, frantic footsteps—doors burst open in every inhabited house. Those who didn’t die inside fell in the courtyards. Some, clinging stubbornly to life, were bitten repeatedly by two or three blue bamboo snakes, their faces turning a sickly blue-black as they staggered desperately toward the main gate, believing escape meant survival. But at the entrance, two massive, ink-black pythons awaited, strangling the survivors when their venom failed to kill them outright.

That night was a massacre. No cats mewed, no dogs barked—those beasts seemed to sense some dreadful secret and kept silent.

As the saying goes, when the King of Hell calls for your soul at midnight, you will not survive until dawn.

The serpent tribe, cold-blooded as they were, always repaid kindness and never forgot a grudge. Cats and dogs, being spiritual creatures, wisely kept out of the way.

For the ordinary folk living in the neighboring districts, dawn came far too late that night. They waited, faces pale as snow, shivering with dread.

That night, the Lü clan’s wails of terror made their neighbors feel as if they had become the King of Hell’s next-door companions.

When the sun finally rose, and the dew on the roadside wild grass evaporated, someone finally dared to go and report to the authorities.

When the officials of the Capital Prefecture hurried over and opened the grand red-lacquered doors of the Lü estate, everyone gasped: bodies were piled like a mountain just a step inside the gate, each one with its spine snapped.

This was the most horrifying massacre since the founding of the Great Yan dynasty—worse still, it happened right under the emperor’s nose, and the Lü clan were kin to the royal family.

Had it been the work of men, people would have merely cursed the killer’s cruelty. But when the coroner, pale with fright, presented his findings, fear gripped everyone.

No one knew who said it first, but the words, “The serpent demon has come for vengeance,” quickly spread like wildfire.

From that day on, no one in the Great Yan dared eat snakes, perform with snakes, or burn them for food. People built shrines to honor the Serpent Bodhisattva. Five hundred years later, no one worshipped the Buddha or Arhats; for children, wealth, or success, they all prayed to the Serpent Bodhisattva—devotion beyond price.

The incident befell Ji Ye’s mother’s clan, and he soon heard of it. At the time, he was in council with senior ministers, discussing reforms for the Six Ministries.

When news arrived of the Lü clan’s destruction, his first reaction was shock, followed by fury—not for the loss of their lives, but for the affront to his authority.

For such a massacre to take place, right under the emperor’s nose—how brazen, how lawless must the perpetrator be?

He immediately ordered the Capital Prefecture to investigate thoroughly and apprehend the murderer without delay.

But three hours later, when the coroner’s report was delivered to his desk, his face changed dramatically.

Astonished and enraged, he blurted out, “Wretched creature! How dare you commit such slaughter! I will not let you go unpunished.”

He stood tall, righteous as a wrathful deity.

Far away, in a flower-filled valley of Mount Luofeng, yet untouched by human feet, a waterfall tumbled from a cliff above, crashing into a stone pool below. The current slowed as it flowed onward, the spray scattering over wildflowers, water droplets bursting into beads that rolled down to nourish the grass.

The stone pool had an outlet where water trickled down the mountainside, forming a clear stream ten yards away. There, a huge boulder, smoothed and cooled by years of water, beckoned Dai Dai, who loved such rocks and scenery, to lounge upon it.

The imperial serpent had already reached its mating season. In the palace, it had disdained the pet snakes of the serpent court and refused to settle for less. Now, set free in the wild, it had washed itself in the stream and happily slithered off into the woods in search of companions.

Dai Dai did not stop it, thinking how unfairly it had been confined in the depths of the palace.

The forest air was moist, scented with fresh flowers and trees. Ancient canopies shaded her from the fiercest midday sun, and she lay content on the boulder.

Last night’s blue bamboo snake, still reeking of blood, came seeking her. Dai Dai heard it the moment it slipped into the water. With a delicate hand, she stirred the stream, and the freshly bathed snake happily swam to her, climbing up her hand and arm onto the boulder, coiling itself upon her hem and hissing as though reporting its success.

After a moment, Dai Dai stroked the snake’s head and nodded approvingly, “Good work. Qiu Yun, fetch it a piece of raw meat.” She called casually, pointing to Qiu Yun and the others roasting meat by the shore. “Go ask them for food.”

The blue bamboo snake seemed to understand, hissed in response, slid off the boulder, and swam to the shore toward Qiu Yun.

The four maids, emboldened by last night’s ordeal, managed a pale smile as they tore off a chunk of meat and threw it to the snake, treating it with reverence.

Dai Dai watched them, laughing softly.

Chun Mo, pouting, glared at Dai Dai. “Miss, please, stop frightening us.”

“All right.” Dai Dai rolled over onto her back, gazing at the blue sky, her lips curled in a rebellious, determined smile. “My king, I have committed murder. Even if this world is but my dream, the will to kill has already taken root in me. I am waiting for you to appear in truth and bind me.”

She stared up at the sky, as if a pair of eyes watched her from beyond the clouds.

Yes, she had finally realized some things. This dream was too real; the only explanation was that he was watching her from outside this world.

Not just the crime of murder—from the beginning, she had broken the precept of desire.

In this idyllic valley, upon the great boulder, a woman lay with seduction in the arch of her brow and the corner of her eyes. Her dress was torn, legs, arms, and soft bosom half-revealed. She posed enticingly toward the sky, her eyes brimming with a cold, mocking allure.

If her suspicion was correct, then what were those men in each lifetime who bore his exact face? Were they creations born of her own longing?

But they were too real.

A thought, impossible yet thrilling, flashed through her mind. She could not be certain, but her heart leapt with excitement.

King… my king… With this life, you have imprisoned me for nine lifetimes—does this mean I have finally appeared in your heart?

There are smiles humans wear many times in a lifetime, but for demons, there is only one—a smile that blossoms when two souls are bound in mutual, unrepentant love.

Now, upon her face, that smile had half-bloomed; the other half remained lost in confusion and pursuit.