Yu En recently found herself suddenly thinking about the story of the White Snake. For reasons she could not quite explain, Yu En had felt an aversion to this story ever since childhood. Whenever she came across the White Snake story in Chinese folk tale books, she would feel a sense of discomfort in her heart.
As she grew older and saw the story being portrayed in novellas, operas, television dramas, and films as a bittersweet and romantic love story, Yu En found that, strangely, her feelings did not shift with age. Rather than coming to accept the story, she felt an even stronger resistance and would avoid watching any adaptation of it.
Yu En asked Yu — why would this be? Since this story has been passed down from ancient China, surely it must be something beautiful?
Yu said that ancient China did indeed pass down certain stories that served as warnings, and that these stories were all based on real events that had been recorded. However, as dynasties changed, texts were lost or revised by scholars over the generations, and the stories gradually became distorted. The White Snake story was no exception — through the revisions of scholars across successive dynasties, it became the version known today, bearing little resemblance to its original form.
Yet the earliest origins of the White Snake story — long before the Tang Dynasty — involved similar events that had actually happened to a cultivator.
Toward the end of the Tang Dynasty, a lay Buddhist cultivator was traveling the land as part of his spiritual practice. One day, he arrived at the home of a wealthy family and knocked on the door. He was greeted by a young maidservant dressed in blue, whose pretty peach-blossom face was lit with a gentle smile. Such an appearance would have been enough to bewitch an ordinary person, yet the cultivator was not swayed by the young woman's beauty.
He asked the maidservant whether it would be convenient to lodge there for the night, as it was already getting late. She said she would need to ask the mistress of the house, and went inside.
After a while, the maidservant in blue came back out carrying an oil lamp and told him that her mistress had agreed to let him stay. The cultivator followed her inside and was shown to a side room, where she prepared his evening meal. After setting down the tray, she left.
Unexpectedly, the cultivator poured the entire meal into the flower bed by the window. After a brief wash, exhausted from a full day of travel, he quickly fell asleep.
In his dream, he saw the maidservant in blue standing beside a beautiful young woman dressed in white — in the Tang Dynasty, the term niángzi referred to an unmarried woman. Compared to this woman's ethereal beauty, the maidservant's looks paled considerably.
The cultivator noticed that the three of them were standing on a boat. As the boat reached the shore, a light rain began to fall. Without much thought, the cultivator handed his umbrella to the mistress and her maidservant, then jumped off the boat into the rain — and the dream ended.
When he awoke, it was already morning. The maidservant in blue was standing outside his door, saying that the mistress of the house wished to see him. The cultivator thought it over — he had borrowed their lodgings for the night and ought to pay his respects before leaving — and so he followed the maidservant to the main hall.
The door to the main hall creaked open, and out walked the very woman in white from his dream.
The cultivator was not bewitched by her breathtaking beauty. He thanked her and turned to leave — but the woman in white called out to thank him in return, expressing gratitude for lending her the umbrella in the dream, and invited him to stay for a few more days. The cultivator paused, considered it, and agreed to stay.
In truth, cultivators in ancient times possessed formidable spiritual abilities. The moment he had stepped through the gates of this household, a pungent snake smell had hit him — and he had understood immediately what kind of place this was. Yet he had remained calm and stayed the night, giving the household a chance: if he could leave safely the next morning, he would not take action against the inhabitants.
His agreement to stay was to observe what the mistress and her maidservant intended to do with him. The woman in white told him her name was Zhen'er. She had been alone since childhood, with only Qing'er the maidservant willing to stay by her side. The two of them lived out in the wilderness, with few relatives or friends coming and going. It was rare to have a visitor, she said, and she was pleased. She invited him to stay for a few more days.
But as the paths of humans and spirits are fundamentally different, the cultivator agreed to stay only three nights — after which he would continue on his travels. Zhen'er nodded in agreement, saying that during those three days they would treat him well.
Strangely, however, the cultivator did not touch a single bite of the lavish meals Qing'er brought to him, returning each tray untouched to his doorstep. Qing'er, puzzled, went to ask why. The cultivator explained that he was in a stage of his practice that required abstaining from food and the desires of the mouth — it was part of his path of cultivation. Qing'er said she understood, and turned away with the tray.
The True Story of the White Snake: Yu‘s Incarnation (Part Two)