Long ago, in a misty valley nestled between emerald mountains, there lived a village terrified of the monstrous Nian. Every winter, when the moon grew thin, the beast would descend from the shadows, devouring crops, homes, and even children. The villagers trembled, hiding in caves, until one frosty year, a shimmering snake named Ling slithered into their midst.
Ling was no ordinary serpent. Her scales glowed like jade, and her eyes held the wisdom of ancient rivers. “I can help you,” she hissed softly. “Nian fears courage and light. Together, we can drive him away.” The villagers doubted—how could a snake defeat a monster? But Ling’s calm resolve kindled hope.
On the eve of Nian’s return, Ling coiled herself around the village well, her scales reflecting the moonlight. When Nian lunged, roaring with fiery breath, Ling struck. She twisted her body into a living barrier, her venomous fangs biting at the beast’s claws. The villagers, emboldened, clanged pots and lit firecrackers, their noise echoing like thunder. Nian staggered, blinded by the flashes and deafened by the clamor.
But the monster was relentless. With a furious swipe, he tore through Ling’s scales. Yet even wounded, she tightened her coils, trapping Nian in a glittering knot. “Now!” Ling cried. The villagers hurled torches, driving Nian into the mountains—forever.
Exhausted, Ling collapsed, her light fading. “Do not mourn,” she whispered. “My spirit will watch over you. Let my sacrifice remind you that even the smallest can be mighty.” As her last breath misted into the cold air, her scales scattered like stars, painting the night sky.
From that year on, the villagers honored Ling by naming the year after her, celebrating the Year of the Snake. They hung red lanterns to ward off evil and shared stories of the brave serpent who taught them courage. To this day, when the new moon rises, children whisper thanks to Ling, knowing her stars still shine above, guarding them from shadows.
And so, kindness and bravery—like a snake’s sleek grace—endure forever.