To Serve a Serpent

Chapter 1: The Sacrifice's lETTER

“To my successor, my next young aspirant... How impressive you must be! How does it feel to be a candidate for the throne? As long as you pass the trial of the Serpent Ancestor, you will immediately take the serpent scepter that represents royal power from the hands of that priest. You will have the palace, wealth, women, and the nobility that belongs only to a king… Are you delighted by your fate? Are you proud of how quickly you will rise to the heavens in one step? Are you smug because you will inherit my throne?

Bastard! Don’t get proud. Don’t get arrogant. Who do you think you are! The throne is mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!!! Don’t you dare think of stealing it from me! From the moment you read these words, you have already earned our curse. Thousands of resentful wraiths will scream and circle above your head… Your life has already begun its countdown… You will be just like me, just like us… rotting to death in agony! We’ll meet again in hell!”

The sun had already set and only a dim, reddish glow could be seen flickering on the western horizon. A fierce wind blew in from far away, gust after gust, chilling everyone to the bone.

A page filled with twisted curses slipped from Ao Jia’s hand. He leaned against the window frame and stared at the sunlight that warmed nothing at all, his fingers stiff.

“You shouldn’t look at these kinds of things.” A petite maid approached and took the crumpled sheet from Ao Jia. “Cheer up a little…”

“For the few remaining hours I have left to live?” Ao Jia’s gaze fell on her. The mixture of indifference and resentment in his eyes made the maid too afraid even to lift her head.

Ao Jia glanced at the yellowed page in her hand and tilted his head slightly. “Where was that found?”

“The day after the Great Sacrifice, on the altar. Together with his corpse.” The maid couldn’t help covering her mouth as she spoke. That gruesome death haunted her memory. 

“Actually… actually, if you can pass the Serpent Ancestor’s trial, you might survive.” She shook her head, trying to comfort him even though she didn’t believe her own words. “If you survive, you’ll become someone second only to the gods, above all other mortals.”

Ao Jia let out a faint laugh but didn't reply. After watching the last vestiges of sunlight fade, he finally rasped, “Has anyone survived?” 

For five hundred years, no one had ever passed the trial of the Serpent Ancestor—if the Serpent Ancestor even truly existed in the first place.

The throne, no matter where it appeared, has always inspired envy and allure. But in the Wuzong Kingdom, it was more like a seductive dream.

Every ten years, the High Priest recorded the names of all healthy men between fifteen and twenty-five with a beautiful face. After bathing, burning incense, and fasting for three days, he would personally draw a single name from a gilded vessel. If the chosen man survived the trial of the Serpent Ancestor, he would become king.

While the ritual to become king was almost too simple and casual, no one objected. After all, no one envied the fate of the chosen.

“No one envies it,” Ao Jia murmured. Because the promise of “passing the trial to become king” was a lie. Every sacrifice thought he would be the one-in-ten-thousand lucky soul who could withstand the trial and reach glory. However, reality always proved otherwise. No one passed the trial. Only madmen chasing the throne wanted to become the sacrifice. Not that it mattered. Whether someone wanted to be king or not, the reality was that they all ended up as cold corpses carried down from the altar the next day, sometimes with a page or two of morbid curses. 

The sun sank behind the mountains and vanished from sight. Only half the sky still burned red, waiting to be devoured by the cold night. The wind grew stronger and colder; it stung Ao Jia’s ears and forced its way into his thin clothes.

He shivered.

Yes, no one envied them. He didn’t know exactly what happened to those “kings,” but from the rumors and the dying notes they left behind, it would be nothing good. He remembered the expressions on people’s faces when the High Priest announced him as the candidate to undergo the Serpent Ancestor’s trial: relief, gloating, sycophantic flattery, envy… so many faces…

Just thinking of how those “kings” died was enough to make anyone shrink back.

He refused to die in such a revolting way…

Ao Jia’s elegant fingernails scratched fiercely across the wooden window ledge, his gaze turning clear and resolute.

Yes, he had to find a way to escape. He refused to live a morbid life like they did and he even more refused to die disgustingly like them!

Heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell. The High Priest, leaning on a heavy cane, climbed up step by step.

“What are you doing by the window?” The High Priest’s voice was stern and dignified, with a hint of displeasure in his deep voice.

Ao Jia turned to look at the short, wiry old man before him and replied indifferently, “I wanted to feel the wind.”

The High Priest’s hawk-like gaze slashed across him. He slammed the floor with his serpent-headed cane. “No wind! The Serpent Ancestor dislikes weak, sickly sacrifices.”

In Wuzong, the High Priest was a godlike figure beyond the mortal realm. Rumors said he was at least five hundred years old and immortal. He controlled the kingdom’s government with one hand, forever controlling the country's fate.

Ao Jia had assumed that someone who had lived through five centuries would either be wise and detached or at least reasonable. But there was not a trace of humanity in this High Priest.

The High Priest’s sharp gaze bore into his back, sending a chill through Ao Jia.

Ao Jia understood what the High Priest wanted, but he refused to bow to this gloomy old man. He took a small step forward, then stopped firmly, meeting him with a cold, unwavering stare.

The High Priest suddenly found Ao Jia’s expression irritating. His tone grew nastier, his voice sharper. “What do you think you are? To put it nicely, you're a successor to the throne; to say it plainly, you are just an altar sacrifice—no different from pigs or cows!”

Ao Jia never imagined that the respected High Priest would say something so crude. He froze for a moment, stunned. It felt like a hard slap across his face—his cheeks turned pale, even his fingertips trembled.

Seeing Ao Jia’s powerless anger, the High Priest finally smiled in satisfaction. His narrow, gloomy eyes swept over him, silently saying, “You’re nothing.”

Ao Jia bit his lower lip, standing rigidly in hatred. The High Priest’s gaze fell to his fingers, and his brows furrowed.

“Ow…” Pain shot through Ao Jia’s wrist. The High Priest’s thin fingers locked around his wrist like talons.

“What’s this filth?” The High Priest held Ao Jia’s hand with arrogant disdain.

Ao Jia looked down and saw that some wood chips had gotten stuck beneath his nails from when he ran his fingers across the windowsill. He was about to explain when he saw the High Priest whirled around in a rage, yelling at the maids, "You useless slaves! Weren't you supposed to be watching over him?! Have your eyes been gouged out by dogs? The Serpent Ancestor despises dirty sacrifices! Get out, get out, GET OUT! Wash him again! Wash him again now!"

While scolding the maids, the High Priest dragged Ao Jia down to the hot spring and shoved his head underwater.