Chapter Ten: The Magical Little Serpent

Serpent King Without Barriers

Shaler watched in despair as his little snake, Goldie, lunged toward the birdcage. He couldn’t rush out to save it. If people realized the snake belonged to him, those old men whose precious thrushes had been eaten would demand compensation. Anyone who could afford thrushes costing four or five thousand each must come from wealth—how could he possibly contend with them?

He was nothing but a country boy.

As Goldie pounced on the birdcage and was about to slip inside, it suddenly halted, its eyes turning toward the direction of the Snake Catcher King.

Xian Donghai sat unmoving, eyes closed, like an old monk in meditation. Even when the plaza thundered with noise, he didn’t open his eyes. Yet, from the moment the little snake entered the square, he had locked onto its whereabouts. He didn’t need to see; he could sense its position with perfect clarity.

This was not mysticism, but a genuine, tangible feeling. When the little snake entered, he immediately felt its presence. After years of catching snakes, he was sensitive to their aura, and this snake’s was far stranger than any ordinary serpent.

Precision and steadiness are the keys to snake catching. Yet, ever since he’d sensed this snake’s aura, his own felt unsteady. That was unsettling—a feeling he’d only experienced in Australia, when hunting the taipan, his heart rate and blood flow surging.

Could this snake be on par with a taipan? The taipan ranked third among the world’s deadliest snakes. If it were of the same level, it ought to be famous. Yet, according to experts, no data existed about such a snake. Where did this bizarre creature come from?

Suddenly, he felt the snake lock onto him. His heart raced even faster, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

He opened his eyes, calmly staring at the snake—indeed, it was looking back. Man and snake’s gazes collided, and his heart gave another fierce thump. In the snake’s eyes, he saw coldness; involuntarily, he blinked, a trace of panic flickering in his gaze.

The snake seemed to catch that moment of panic, flicking its bright red tongue. Suddenly, it darted into the cage, killing a thrush in a single bite, but today, it didn’t feed. Like lightning, it leapt from the cage, straightened its body, and lunged at another cage. In no time, every singing thrush—over a dozen—lay dead.

“My God! The snake’s gone mad!”

Cries rose from the crowd. Previously, it had only killed the birds it intended to eat, never harming the others. What was wrong today? Was it protesting?

Shaler felt his heart twisted tight, his breath uneven, something lodged in his throat. When had Goldie become so savage? He’d followed it into the mountains, watched it hunt, but never witnessed such slaughter.

The snake wasn’t mad; only Xian Donghai understood its purpose—it was demonstrating to him. This little thing dared to challenge the Snake Catcher King—who did it think it was? His gaze suddenly sharpened, and he stood up. He was the nemesis of snakes; he could not allow such arrogance.

Still, he was not reckless. Decades of snake-catching had honed his meticulous observation, or he’d have long since died by a serpent’s bite. He saw that the thrushes, once bitten, barely moved before dying, their bodies instantly turning black. That meant blood poison—a venom that attacked the heart in a flash. Yet that wasn’t entirely accurate. With blood poison, birds would show signs of struggle, but these died without a twitch, indicating their nervous system had been paralyzed first. That meant the snake’s venom contained neurotoxins as well.

His knowledge of snakes, while perhaps not as systematic as a specialist’s, was unmatched in practical experience. There were thousands upon thousands of snakes in the world, but none possessed more than one type of venom. A snake with two kinds of poison—what manner of serpent was this?

He halted his advance. These thoughts cast a shadow over his heart, a shadow most detrimental to his hunt.

Seeing him stand, the snake responded, darting from the last cage to perch atop it, body coiled, head raised high, eyes fixed on the Snake Catcher King.

Hundreds on the plaza fell silent, every pair of eyes locked on snake and man. Shaler’s heart twisted again and again—watching Goldie confront the Snake Catcher King, he was shaken. Everyone’s hearts were seized.

Even the wind seemed to pause.

The Snake Catcher King finally stepped forward. He was truly masterful, almost dispelling the shadow in his heart, focusing all his attention, his strides steady. Suddenly, a chill seized him—he stopped. The snake leapt down from the cage, landing on the ground. He thought it would attack, hurriedly preparing to capture it.

But when he stopped, the snake stopped too, coiling, its head crowned and upright. Man and snake faced off once more.

“Damn!” he cursed inwardly. Another shadow formed, faint yet present. Ordinary snakes flee from humans, never attack proactively. Though they have the instinct, they only strike when directly threatened.

This snake seemed to possess intelligence. Perhaps it was just instinct, but a snake with such aggression was extraordinary.

He moved again, cautiously, with composure. Despite the shadow, his tens of thousands of encounters compensated for the risk. Step by step, each one weighed on the hearts of the crowd, especially on Shaler. The snake remained motionless, its cold eyes fixed on him, chilling his spine. If not for the crowd, he would abandon this attempt.

Sometimes, fame is a curse. With great renown, one becomes powerless to resist. He calculated he had only one chance—about 0.7 seconds—to pin the snake precisely at its vulnerable spot. Miss it, and he’d likely be bitten. With such venom, even with resistance and medical experts, he might not survive.

When only three steps away, he shot forward like an arrow, hands blurring into countless shadows, sealing every escape route.

Shaler’s heart nearly leapt from his throat, fists clenched, lips bitten until they bled. This time, Goldie was surely doomed. Yet, to his astonishment, the Snake Catcher King failed to grasp the snake and stood frozen, statue-like, unable to move.

“Ah…”

At last people saw—the snake was draped over the Snake Catcher King’s neck, its bright red tongue flicking at his carotid artery. Shaler wiped his eyes, moisture fogging his vision. The crowd couldn’t trust their eyes, nor imagine such a scene.

One bite at the artery, and the Snake Catcher King would die instantly. He couldn’t save himself, nor could anyone else. The Snake Catcher King broke down, cold sweat pouring from his brow, eyes closed, body trembling.

No one is unafraid of death; the Snake Catcher King was no exception.

Yet, the snake did not bite him. It straightened, leapt to the ground, and slithered toward a nearby sapling, not particularly fast. Some police officers drew their guns, aiming at the snake. The Snake Catcher King waved them off.

“Don’t shoot.”

His whole body seemed washed clean, the officers looked at him in confusion.

“It’s very likely someone’s pet—it won’t harm humans. If you shoot, you might miss, and if you anger it, many could die here.”

“Someone’s pet?” The police chief and others were incredulous.

“Otherwise, many would already be dead—I’d certainly be one of them. Its venom is incurable.” He gave a bitter smile. “Sorry, I failed, didn’t complete the task. Farewell.”

He refused the police car, pushing through the crowd, departing with a hint of desolation. Shaler had already slipped away, sprinting toward the construction site. His heart was filled with joy and tension, afraid someone would recognize him as Goldie’s master.