Chapter 5: The Wyrm-Slayer of Yixing
H1: The Serpent’s Pearl
“Smell like one of them?” I repeated, grabbing the collar of my shirt and sniffing it. Nothing. Just the faint scent of soap and the humid summer air.
Hu Yang watched me with a patient, tired expression. “The smell isn’t on you,” he said softly. “It’s on something you carry.”
The words hit me like a jolt. The bead.
Without a word, I went to my study, pulled open a desk drawer, and retrieved the small wooden box. I walked back into the living room and opened it, revealing the dull, blackish-green sphere resting on a bed of old cotton. I placed it in my palm and held it out to him.
Hu Yang’s reaction was immediate and startling. He was like a starving cat that had just seen a fish. He snatched the bead from my hand, held it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. An expression of profound, almost familial recognition washed over his face. “Where,” he asked, his voice a reverent whisper, “did you get this?”
I told him everything. The story of Dragon Spring Village, of the three men I lost, and how the place itself had vanished as if it had never existed.
He listened intently, his face a mask of disappointment as he gently placed the bead back in its box. “Do you know why I’m searching for one of these things, Xia Zhu?” he sighed, sinking back into the sofa. “Two years ago, after the flood, my hand just got worse. I went to every doctor I could find, but no one could stop the scales from spreading. I thought I was turning into some kind of monster. I was going to kill myself.”
He lit another cigarette, the small flame illuminating the deep lines of exhaustion on his face. We sat in silence for a moment before he continued.
“I was at the river one morning, planning to just let the current take me. An old man out for a walk saw me. He started talking to me, trying to talk me down. I don’t know why, but I just… broke. I told him everything. The whole insane story.”
“He didn’t think I was crazy. In fact, he got more excited than I was. He grabbed my hand and said he could help me. His name was Liu Xiancheng, a renowned doctor, a professor at the medical university.”
H2: A Murder and a Stolen Cure
“At first, I thought he was just saying it to stop me from jumping,” Hu Yang said, staring into the middle distance. “But then he said the name. He told me the creature I touched was a Jiao.”
Here are a few options for the term 蛟 (Jiāo):
- Wyrm: (Pros: This is my chosen term. It’s an archaic, powerful word for a serpent or dragon, often associated with earth and water. It carries a more primal, folkloric weight than “dragon.” Cons: Less common in everyday language, but perfect for a mythological horror story.)
- Great Serpent: (Pros: Clear, epic-sounding, and immediately understandable. Good for a more grounded, less high-fantasy tone. Cons: Lacks the specific mythological nuance of Jiao or Wyrm.)
- The River Dragon: (Pros: Directly links the creature to its environment. “Dragon” is instantly recognizable. Cons: Might conjure images of a typical winged, fire-breathing dragon, which doesn’t fit the aquatic, serpentine nature of the Jiao.)
“He told me to come to his hospital the next day. He gave me a small packet of gray powder and told me how to make a poultice. I was skeptical, but I was desperate. Xia Zhu… it worked. For the first time, the raw flesh of the wound began to close. The scales started to recede. I was ecstatic. I ran back to find him, thinking he was some kind of miracle worker.”
“He invited me to his home. He showed me this ornate sandalwood box. Inside, resting on a velvet cushion, was a single, palm-sized scale, gleaming like polished obsidian. He told me it was the scale of a Wyrm. It had been in his family for generations, a priceless heirloom. The medicine he gave me? It was just powder scraped from that scale.”
Hu Yang rubbed his face, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “I thought I’d finally found my salvation. I used the two-week supply he gave me, and my hand was almost normal again. I went back to his house, practically skipping, to get more.”
His eyes, when he opened them again, were burning with a venomous hatred. He clenched his fists, his voice dropping to a low, guttural growl. “Someone killed him. Someone murdered him and destroyed my only hope.”
“What happened?” I asked, leaning forward.
“I got to his house and there was a mourning wreath on the door. I saw his portrait draped in black. His daughter told me that ten days earlier, there had been a break-in. A thief had come in the night. The old man must have confronted them. They left him in a pool of blood.” Hu Yang buried his head in his hands. “The thief didn’t take any money, no valuables. Just the sandalwood box and an old, leather-bound book from his study. The police have nothing. The case is still cold.”
I processed this, a chill running down my spine. “The thief knew exactly what they were looking for,” I said. “Those items were more valuable to them than money, or even a man’s life.” A question suddenly sparked in my mind.
“Hu Yang, do you know the name of that book?”
He thought for a moment. “His granddaughter told me about it. She said besides the box, it was his most prized possession. I think it was called… Gleanings from the Water’s Edge. Something about ancient, strange creatures. She said he treated it like a more serious version of the Classic of Mountains and Seas.”
“His granddaughter?”
The bitter mask on Hu Yang’s face softened for a moment, replaced by a flicker of warmth. “Yeah. Yang Junjun. She’s been helping me look into her grandfather’s death. We stay in touch.”
I saw the way he smiled when he said her name. So that’s how it is, I thought.
“Any luck with the investigation?”
He shook his head, the smile vanishing. “Nothing. After that, the wound on my hand came back, worse than ever. But I didn’t give up. I knew there was a cure. I just had to find another Wyrm.”
H3: The Legend’s Hidden Truth
“For two years, I’ve been chasing down folklore, old wives’ tales, anything I could find. A few days ago, I finally narrowed it down to a single, promising location. But I can’t do it alone, and I can’t trust anyone who doesn’t understand what’s at stake.”
“So you came looking for me,” I finished.
He finally looked at me directly, and for the first time, I saw a glimpse of the handsome, confident young man he used to be, buried under layers of pain and exhaustion. “Finding you was an accident,” he admitted. “I was in the city, following a lead. I walked right past you at a supermarket, and I smelled it. That faint, coppery scent from the bead. My gut told me you were the one who could help me. And I’ll pay, of course.”
He pulled a bank card from his wallet and placed it on the table between us.
“There’s half a million yuan in there. I sold my parents’ old house. It’s everything I have. I know this is a long shot, maybe even a suicide mission, but—”
I pushed the card back across the table into his hand. “Don’t insult me,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’ve got my discharge pay collecting dust in the bank. We’re not mercenaries, Hu Yang. We’re brothers. Put that away.”
I clapped him on the shoulder, a wide grin spreading across my face. “Besides, I’m about to rust from sitting around this damn apartment. It’s time for some exercise.”
“The job’s mine,” I declared. “I’m in.”
His eyes welled up, and he mumbled his thanks.
“Enough of that,” I said, waving him off. “Tell me the plan. Where are we going?”
He took a deep breath, composing himself. “Have you ever heard the old story of Zhou Chu and the Wyrm-Slayer?”
“From the A New Account of the Tales of the World,” I nodded. “The story of the bully who redeems himself by killing the three great evils, the last of which is a serpent.”
“What if I told you that story,” Hu Yang said, leaning in, his eyes glinting, “was a lie?”
“I chased that legend to its source, a town called Yixing. At first, it was a dead end. But then, in a rundown old temple, I found an ancient Taoist priest asleep on a stone bench. I woke him up and asked him about the story. And he told me the version that isn’t in any of the books.”
“According to the old priest, Zhou Chu never killed the Wyrm. He fought it for three days and nights, and finally managed to wound it badly. The creature fled into a deep pool and wouldn’t come out. So Zhou Chu hired men to drain the pool, and then he built a temple right over the entrance to the Wyrm’s underwater cave, trapping it. After that, Zhou Chu’s fortunes soared. He became a famous general, a hero of the state. But years later, for reasons no one knows, the pool filled with water again. And just as suddenly, Zhou Chu’s luck turned. He lost a major battle and was killed.”
The story sent a shiver through me. It twisted a simple tale of redemption into something far darker—a story about a man who built his success on the back of a trapped power.
We spent the next hour planning, making lists of supplies we’d need for a serious expedition. As I walked him to the door, he turned to me, his face grim. “Don’t tell anyone about this, Xia Zhu. The man who killed Professor Liu… I have a feeling he’s still out there. Still looking.”
After he left, I sat in the quiet of my apartment, rolling the Serpent’s Pearl in my hand. A deep sense of unease settled over me. Before we left for Yixing, there was something I had to do. I needed to go back to my childhood home. There was something my grandfather had left for me, an old heirloom from his days on the river.
It was time to go get it. Our journey was about to begin.