A man living in East Prefecture was a snake-tamer by profession. At one point, he reared two green snakes, the bigger one he called Big Green, and ‘the smaller one, Second Green. The latter had several red spots on its forehead and was particularly clever. It weaved about and danced just the way the tamer wanted. The tamer loved it far more than any other snake in his possession. A year later, Big Green died. The tamer wanted to find another snake to take its place but never got it.
Once, while in the mountains, he spent the night in a temple. When morning came, he opened his bamboo basket only to find that Second Green had disappeared. Feeling very sad, he looked everywhere for it, calling the snake by name. But it was not to be found. In the past, whenever they passed through an area overgrown with grass, the tamer would let Second Green out of the basket to go free for a while, and it would always come back. So this time, he again pinned his hopes on a similar return. He sat in the temple and waited until the sun was high. Then, he gave up hope and went on his way, feeling very downcast.
He had gone only a little way from the temple when he heard a hissing sound coming from a pile of firewood. Astonished, the snake tamer stopped. Sure enough, it was Second Green. The man was beside himself with joy, as though he had found a treasure. He laid down his bag at the corner of the road. Second Green stopped, too, and the tamer spied another little snake close behind him. The tamer caressed Second Green and said, ”I thought you’d never come back. Did you bring this little one along?” He took out some feed for Second Green, and for the little one as well. But the little snake froze and dared not take the food. Then Second Green took the food in its mouth and fed it to the little one, just as the host at a dinner would serve his guest. After that, the little snake ate what the tamer offered it. When they had finished, it followed Second Green into the basket. The snake-tamer took it back home to train. It learned to weave about and to advance and retreat just as required and was soon no different from Second Green. So it was given the name Little Green. With the two, the tamer travelled far and wide, displaying his snake trainer’s skills and made no small amount of money from it.
Usually, the standard size of a snake for a tamer is about two feet. When it gets too large, it becomes too heavy and bulky and must be replaced. As Second Green was particularly tame, the snakeman was reluctant to replace it as soon as it surpassed the standard length but waited two or three years until it grew to more than three feet long. By then, when it coiled up, it occupied the whole basket. So the man decided to release it.
One day, he came to Zibo’s East Mountain. He took out some extra good feed and fed it to Second Green. Then, after giving it his blessing, he let it go. But after only a little while, Second Green returned. It lingered around the basket. The tamer waved for it to go away, saying, “Go on! Get going! There’s an end to all banquets. From now on, you can live in seclusion in the mountain valleys and you will turn into a holy dragon. The bamboo basket can’t keep you forever.” At this, Second Green departed, and the snakeman watched it leave. But before long, it came back again and this time, nothing could keep it away. It kept knocking its head against the basket. Inside, Little Green appeared restless, too. The man suddenly realised, “Perhaps it wants to say goodbye to Little Green.” So he opened the basket. Little Green emerged immediately and the two snakes put their heads together, throwing out their tongues, as though speaking to each other. Then the two slithered away together, twisting and turning as they went. Just when the tamer began to doubt if Little Green would come back, the snake returned, alone. It slid into the basket and settled down.
From then on, wherever he went, the snakeman looked around for a good snake but never found one unique enough for him. Meanwhile, Little Green was growing bigger and bigger until it could no longer perform. He did find a young snake, once, which was quite easy to tame. Nevertheless, it could not compare with Little Green who had by now grown to be as thick as a child’s upper arm.
In the beginning, the firewood cutters often caught sight of Second Green in the mountains. But as the years passed, Second Green grew to be many feet long and as thick as a large bowl. It started to chase after passers-by. People began to warn each other so that no one dared to wander on that part of the mountain any more.
One day, the snakeman came that way. As he was walking along, a huge snake suddenly darted out from nowhere, moving as fast as lightning. The man was awfully frightened and ran for his life. The snake followed in hot pursuit. The tamer looked back and saw that the snake had just about caught up with him. Then, he caught sight of the red spots on the snake’s forehead. It was Second Green! He laid down his shoulder-pole and baskets and called out to the snake, “Second Green! Second Green!” Right away, the snake stopped in its tracks, raised its head for quite a while, and then leaped onto the snakeman’s body, coiling around him as it did in the old days during performances. The tamer knew Second Green had no ill intentions, but it had grown so big and heavy that he found it hard to bear its weight. He fell to the ground and cried out and prayed. Only then did Second Green relax its grip. It knocked its head against the basket many times. Knowing what that meant, the tamer opened the basket and let out Little Green. The two snakes wrapped themselves around each other for a long time before they separated.
The snakeman then said to Little Green, “I have long thought of letting you leave. Now you have your companion.” And turning to Second Green, he said, “You brought Little Green here, now you can take it back. And one other thing: You don’t lack food in the mountains, so don’t harass people passing by, lest you violate the laws of Heaven and anger the gods.” The two snakes lowered their heads, apparently taking in his admonition. Then, they suddenly lifted their bodies and sailed away, the big one in front, the little one behind. As they did so the grass and bushes moved to either side to make way. The snakeman stood there and watched them disappear into the distance. From then on, people trekked over the East Mountain as usual. No one knew where the two snakes had gone.
The Chronicler of the Tales had this to say: Snakes are, after all, stupid animals, and yet they cherish love and friendship for each other, and moreover, are willing to accept advice without feeling offended. What I find strange is that some people appear to be human, and yet they are always trying to hit a person when he’s down even if the victim is a friend of long standing or a master to whom they owe much. Or, rather than heed the advice of a friend, they go into a rage and even regard him as an enemy. Such people should feel ashamed before Second Green and Little Green.
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