“Hello, your package has arrived.” A rhythmic knock sounded at the door.

The doctor opened it, received the parcel with practiced ease, signed his name, and shut the door behind him.

The package was long and narrow. When the doctor turned it over in his hands, he realized with a slight frown that he had ordered nothing of the kind. Curious, he checked the shipping label and realized it had come from his hometown.

A memory surfaced—his aunt had phoned him just a few days prior, saying she had discovered one of his grandfather’s old belongings while sorting through the attic and would send it along. Intrigued, he tore through the wrapping and revealed an old oil-paper umbrella.

The umbrella was undoubtedly an antique. Its once honey-glazed umbrella had faded to a sickly brown, nearly black in places, now so brittle it seemed ready to crumble at a touch, exhaling the musty scent of neglect. The ribs—some unnaturally white material like bleached jade—clashed eerily against the yellowed parchment, creating a dissonance that unsettled the eye.

He remembered that his grandfather had locked this umbrella away inside a large camphorwood chest, guarding it carefully and forbidding him from playing with it. Yet, the more he kept it away, the more he wanted to sneak a peek. 

Perhaps his aunt had mistaken his boyhood curiosity for attachment. She must have believed it meant something to him.

In truth, he didn’t want it at all.

With a sigh, the doctor scratched at his head. His apartment was already a mess. There was no place for such an antique here; even if there were, it was useless. One glance at the umbrella was enough to guess that opening the thing might destroy it entirely.

Should he toss it away?

The thought barely formed before he dismissed it. 

The umbrella looked like an antique. It would be better to take it to the Ya She someday and let the owner have a look.

He wrapped the umbrella carefully in a plastic bag and stored it on the highest shelf of his wardrobe. Then, as if tucking away the memory with it, he let the matter slip from his thoughts.

Rain had begun to fall outside—soft, persistent, the kind that clung to the edges of windows and whispered against glass. For a moment, he thought he glimpsed something. A thin shadow gliding past the window, too fluid for human movement.

However, it vanished just as quickly, swallowed whole by the curtain of rain. Everything was so fast, it felt like a hallucination…

“Boss, I bought you some Wuxi food,” the doctor said cheerfully, sliding a plastic bag onto the counter.

The owner barely glanced up at him. “Thanks,” he said, already unwrapping the food without fanfare.

The doctor was just as informal, grabbing a piece of pastry and biting into it while complaining. “Honestly, what’s the point of these hospital-organized trips? We’re so busy! We couldn’t go anywhere far, so we just made a quick stop in Wuxi. And what’s so great about Jinshan Temple anyway? Oh, yeah, there was this old monk who kept staring at me. He handed me a pack of realgar! Weird, right?”

The owner’s eyes stiffened slightly. “And where is it now?”

“Threw it out, of course!” The doctor clapped his hands to shake off pastry crumbs and scoffed, “What, does he think I’m Xu Xian or something?”

The owner’s gaze flickered toward the longevity lock peeking out from beneath the doctor’s collar. His voice was calm, but his words carried weight as he said, “If I recall correctly, your birthday’s coming soon. You’ll be turning 25, won’t you?”

The doctor perked up immediately. “Yeah, that’s right! Just a few more days to go. Heh, I’m the youngest doctor at our hospital, you know! I skipped several grades back in school and started my career three years earlier than my peers. I’m a genius, after all! Are you thinking of getting me a birthday gift? Hmm… But I’ll have to think carefully before accepting anything from you…”

“The timing is just about right…” the owner murmured as if to himself, then asked, “Have you received anything unusual lately?”

“Something unusual? Isn’t randomly being handed realgar strange enough?” The doctor adjusted his glasses with a grumble, clearly still annoyed.

“I mean before that,” the owner said as he absently rubbed the Yixing Clay Tea Pet in his palm. After a moment of contemplation, he added, “Something like… an umbrella?”

“An umbrella?” The doctor blinked. “Hey, now that you mention it… There really was an umbrella mailed to me. It came from my hometown—my relatives sent it over. Are you saying there’s something wrong with it? It’s an old oil-paper umbrella. I mean, it looks antique enough. I was planning to bring it by and have you take a look, but the year-end rush kept me busy and I completely forgot.”

The owner narrowed his eyes and gazed at the doctor with a look tinged with sympathy. “Do you know The Legend of the White Snake?”

“Of course I do! It’s a beautiful story, but obviously fictional. Realgar? Xu Xian? Are you saying… this umbrella is the legendary White Snake umbrella? That’s ridiculous.” The doctor scoffed.

“Do you believe in myths and legends?” the owner asked calmly.

The doctor thought about saying yes—after all, he had witnessed plenty of bizarre things at Ya She. 

But in the end, he shook his head. “Of course not. Everything requires scientific evidence. Medicine is about logic, not imagination. My work isn’t something a person can perform based on fantasy.” 

Whatever strange occurrences he had witnessed at Ya She, his own life remained perfectly normal.

“Oh? So, do you love your job?” The owner raised an eyebrow.

“Of course I do,” the doctor replied without hesitation.

“Then prove it to me.”

“…”

“You can’t dismiss something as fiction just because there’s no physical proof! Love, hope, faith—all these things exist.” A cryptic smile tugged at the owner’s lips. “And so do legends.”

The doctor was momentarily at a loss for words.

“Besides,” the owner added, “there’s evidence for The Legend of the White Snake. That umbrella in your home is the proof. Long ago, it was said that Xu Xian lent that oil-paper umbrella to a lady by the Broken Bridge of West Lake. That act began his fateful bond with Lady Bai. And now… it has found its way to you.”

The owner spoke with deliberate clarity, finally meeting the doctor’s gaze and shaking his head slowly.

The doctor, unsettled by that look, felt his heart lurch. “Why are you looking at me like I’m a tragic case? What’s so bad about the White Snake umbrella? Maybe it means a beautiful snake spirit will appear and become my girlfriend!”

The owner regarded him with a gaze full of pity. “If it were truly a blessing, then why do you suppose that monk went out of his way to give you realgar? He only gave it to you, did he not? No one else?”

A chill began to creep up the doctor’s spine. “You mean… that snake spirit has already appeared? But… but everyone around me seems perfectly normal!”

The owner nodded. “That oil-paper umbrella must have drawn the White Snake’s lingering obsession. You’re a doctor—You see patients every day. But when Lady Bai first met Xu Xian, she’d already cultivated her human form for a thousand years. The Legend of the White Snake is said to have occurred during the Song dynasty, meaning another thousand years have passed since then. A snake spirit with 2,000 years of cultivation… You think you’d recognize her? That’s unlikely.”

“But wasn’t Lady Bai suppressed under Leifeng Pagoda…?” 

The doctor’s voice trailed off as he remembered—the first Leifeng Pagoda had collapsed centuries ago. Even though the rebuilt version by West Lake was stunning with its modernist arches and even had an elevator, it could no longer suppress a spirit of such power.

The doctor froze momentarily before jolting upright like he had been electrocuted. His eyes darted around the empty shop with growing agitation. “You’re not joking, are you?”

The owner scoffed. “Weren’t you just fantasizing about having a snake spirit for a girlfriend?”

“I was joking! Who knew it might be real!” The doctor paced in a circle. “So the White Snake’s here for the umbrella? That shabby thing? I’ll return it to her, no problem!”

The owner’s voice remained calm as he said, “The White Snake… is here for revenge.”

“Revenge?” The doctor was dumbfounded. “But The Legend of the White Snake is a love story, isn’t it?”

The owner lowered his gaze, absently adjusting a green porcelain incense burner on the table. He watched the delicate wisp of smoke swirl upward and spoke in a detached yet weighted manner.

“The tragedy of the White Snake began with a single cup of realgar wine. On the Dragon Boat Festival, the very man who claimed to love her poisoned her. Tell me—would she not hate him? Legends aren’t always true. In the story’s ending, she was imprisoned beneath Leifeng Pagoda, while the man she loved married another woman to continue his bloodline. The oil-paper umbrella you received… was originally stored in a camphorwood chest, wasn’t it?”

“Camphorwood repels insects and snakes. Its unique scent concealed the presence of the oil-paper umbrella, which is likely why things remained peaceful all these years. But now that it has been brought out into the world once more, how could she not sense it? Whoever possesses the White Snake’s umbrella must bear the burden of her wrath.”

The owner’s tone had grown solemn, lacking the casual ease he usually wore like a second skin. For the first time, the weight of his words pressed down with tangible force.

The doctor fell silent, finally grasping the gravity of the situation. “Do you have any realgar here?”

“You think a mere packet of realgar can suppress a snake spirit who has cultivated for 2,000 years?” The owner exhaled deeply, as though savoring the lingering fragrance of sandalwood in the air. 

His eyes half-closed in satisfaction as he added, “When Xu Xian forced Bai Suzhen to reveal her true form with realgar wine, it was during the Dragon Boat Festival, precisely at noon—the hour when her powers were at their weakest. It’s already the end of the year. No amount of realgar will help you now.”

“Then what should I do?” The doctor’s skepticism toward the supernatural had long since crumbled. 

After all, he had seen more than a few unexplainable things in the shop. He had personally witnessed Huán Gǒu and Qiongqi from the Classic of Mountains and Seas, and he still fed Sanqingniao fresh bamboo shoots, which he bought weekly from the supermarket.

Without warning, the owner reached out, parted the doctor’s collar, and grasped the longevity lock hanging at his chest. 

The lock was carved from a single piece of mutton fat jade—generally known as white jade—its smooth luster resembling frozen cream. On the front, the characters “Live to a Ripe Old Age” were inscribed in archaic seal script, while the reverse featured a delicate carving of a crystalline white lotus.

The doctor watched as the owner stared intently at it.

Awkwardly, he laughed. “Hah… You probably think this is childish, huh? A grown man still wearing a longevity charm. All the fortune tellers said I’d face a catastrophe at age 24. My family insisted I wear this lock and never take it off. But obviously, that’s nonsense! My birthday’s in less than half a month. I’m almost past 24 now. Where’s the disaster?”

The owner yanked firmly on the longevity lock, tugging the doctor’s entire body toward him. 

The doctor assumed he wanted a closer look at the lock. Though he claimed not to believe in fate, he had never once removed that longevity lock, not even during surgery. Hence, he couldn’t possibly take it off and hand it over. 

Left with no better option, he propped both hands on the counter and leaned forward.

With this proximity, his gaze inevitably landed on the owner.

That was when it struck him.

He had never once looked at the owner this closely before. Perhaps it was because they always met in this dimly lit shop, where most of the owner’s features remained shrouded in the shadows. Even at a glance, what usually caught his attention wasn’t the man’s face, but rather the crimson dragon embroidered on the black Zhongshan suit he always wore.

Observing him now, the doctor realized the owner looked relatively young. 

Instinctively analyzing his skin and facial features, he estimated that the owner might just be two or three years younger than him. 

However, this realization felt strangely impossible.

Perhaps it was because the owner had always handled those uncanny events with such calm competence that he had come to seem utterly dependable. Even at this moment, confronted with the imminent threat posed by a vengeful snake spirit, the doctor exhibited an unusual sense of calm, possessing a certain level of confidence that the owner would help him deal with it.

The doctor’s gaze trailed down the owner’s flawless profile, and he suddenly spotted a faint but ghastly horizontal scar on his neck, partially obscured by his raised collar.

The scar appeared to have been made a very long time ago. It was deep, almost as if someone had tried to slit his throat. 

The doctor was curious to ask about it, but this hardly seemed like the time. It was best to leave that question for another day.

Maybe this was why the owner always wore a high-collared Zhongshan suit—to hide that scar.

His thoughts meandered as he watched the owner gently turn the mutton fat jade lock over in his palm, as though mulling over some particularly troublesome matter. 

The doctor dared not interrupt. 

He simply held himself in that awkward, leaning posture until his arms began to ache from bracing against the counter. At last, the owner released the lock, adjusted the collar of the doctor’s shirt, and tucked the jade back in place against his chest.

The moment the cold jade touched his skin, the doctor shivered.

Why did it feel so cold despite having been held for so long?

The thought flickered through his mind but vanished before he could fully process it.

The owner said, “Avoiding the White Snake’s revenge is simple. A thousand years ago, Fahai trapped her under Leifeng Pagoda and bound her with a curse—she can’t harm the innocent. But the fateful entanglement between Xu Xian and Bai Suzhen all began at the Broken Bridge of West Lake, with a single borrowed umbrella. So all you need to do is never let her borrow the umbrella.”

“That’s it?” The doctor was stunned. 

Moments ago, the owner had looked at him as if he were facing an imminent catastrophe. Yet now it turned out the solution was this simple? 

“That oil-paper umbrella’s at home. If she comes and takes it herself, does that count as me lending it?” he asked.

“An umbrella exists to shield against rain. Rain is water without roots, and although it’s greatly beneficial for nourishing all things, it brings coldness into the body when it falls on humans. So, an umbrella protects the human body from the invasion of cold in rainy weather. 

“Snakes, by nature, love dampness. They were once called ‘serpent dragons’ in ancient times. Rainy days are when their yin energy is strongest. What she seeks may not be that specific oil-paper umbrella—any umbrella you hold will do. If you lend her yours, it is equivalent to handing her your protection. She can follow the rain into your body, and devour your soul.”

The owner’s somber voice was kept at a very low volume, making it sound as if he were narrating a ghost story.

Yet the doctor felt a sense of relief. With a grin, he slapped the counter and said, “So I just can’t lend out my umbrella? Got it. Anyway, it’s about time. I’ve got a shift to cover. Let’s talk again later!”

As he walked out, the owner called after him, “White snakes are masters of disguise. You must trust no one.”

The doctor never turned back. He simply lifted a hand and waved in acknowledgement, then pushed open the door and left.

The owner stood there for a very long time, his expression hidden behind the curling smoke rising from the incense burner. Even the Republic-era crystal mirror across the room couldn’t reflect him clearly…

Despite a snake spirit with 2,000 years of cultivation might now have him in her sights, the doctor felt relatively calm.

Because the owner had said so—just don’t lend any umbrella to anyone, and everything would be fine!

Thus, in the dead of winter, who carries an umbrella when it’s not even raining?

However, that was only what he told himself that day. 

The very next morning, as if heaven had heard his inner complaints, a steady drizzle began to fall—soft at first, then mixed with occasional icy pellets, blanketing the city in a curtain of rain. The forecast warned that a low-pressure front had settled in and would remain so for at least a week.

The doctor was irritated. He knew southern winters were often like this, but the thought that anyone around him might be the White Snake in disguise left him uneasy. 

After a while, even he began to feel the strain from the paranoia.

He considered simply not bringing an umbrella at all.

On second thought, that wouldn’t work either.

What if he had to borrow one, and the person lending it turned out to be the White Snake? 

The owner hadn’t said anything about whether the rule worked both ways.

He had been looking at the world before him for two years, which was incredibly familiar. However, now enveloped in the misty rain, it possessed a somewhat ethereal quality, as if the reality of things was subtly diminished.

He stood by the window wall of his office with the umbrella sitting on his desk. The thought that the White Snake might be somewhere nearby made him feel like a frog trapped under the gaze of its predator. 

The very thought of it sent a chill down his spine.

“What are you staring off at? Are you still not leaving? Did you forget your umbrella?” someone asked and clapped him hard on the back. 

The doctor turned around to see his college classmate and current colleague—Chun Ge.

He was instantly reminded of the time he had used the Yellow Millet Pillow and seen Chun Ge cooking for him with disturbing tenderness…

He shuddered.

Disgusting!

Chun Ge spotted the umbrella on the desk and grinned. “Hey, lucky me. You’re on the night shift, right? Lend me your umbrella!”

The doctor watched as Chun Ge reached naturally for the umbrella in his hand. Though both the casual words and familiar gesture were nothing new, the thought of the White Snake’s ability to assume human form sent a chill through him. 

Before Chun Ge could touch it, he quickly switched the umbrella from his right hand to his left. “No,” he said. “I swapped shifts with someone tonight. I’m off-duty.”

“Oh, that’s great then! Come on, walk me to the parking lot,” Chun Ge replied with a cheeky grin. 

He had bought a car at the beginning of the month, officially joining the ranks of car owners, and he was eager to show it off.

The doctor’s mouth twitched. “The elevator goes straight to the underground parking lot.”

“Well, there was a traffic jam this morning, so the underground lot was full. I had to park in the surface parking lot…”

Just as Chun Ge was about to launch into a rant about the congestion of city roads, the beeper at his waist began to chirp.

He glanced down at it, then sighed. “Emergency surgery. Guess I won’t be heading home anytime soon. See you later!”

He gave the doctor a firm pat on the shoulder before striding back into the building.

Watching Chun Ge’s figure disappear behind the doors, the doctor couldn’t help but feel he had been overreacting. Snake spirits and all that—it was just the owner’s theory. Maybe he had just been messing with him.

Just as he was about to head home, the doctor suddenly sensed someone standing beside him. Turning his head, he saw the new intern assigned to their hospital. 

He remembered her name—Ye Qianqian—because of her striking beauty.

She was just as delicate and graceful as her name suggested—her presence reminiscent of a lightly swaying leaf.

The doctor wasn’t immune to aesthetics. He couldn’t help but steal a few glances at her. It was rare these days to see a woman step outside without even a hint of makeup. Yet, Ye Qianqian, who looked in her 20s, had flawless skin that was as smooth as a teenage girl’s.

Seeing her standing before the window wall in a troubled manner, he couldn’t help but ask, “Xiao Ye, you don’t have an umbrella?” 

“Yeah. The forecast never said it’ll rain today, so I got lazy and left mine at home.”

Ye Qianqian frowned slightly.

As she lowered her gaze, she caught sight of the umbrella on the doctor’s desk. “Senior, are you on duty tonight? Can I borrow your umbrella? I’ll return it later—I live nearby.” 

She called him ‘Senior’ as he was two years ahead of her in school.

Under normal circumstances, the doctor wouldn’t hesitate to help a pretty junior out. At worst, he would just go home a little later.

But just as he was about to say yes, the words changed shape in his mouth.

“You live nearby? Then I’ll walk you home.”

Sharing an umbrella shouldn’t count as lending it, right? 

The doctor was pleased with his own cleverness.

Ye Qianqian’s lips twitched in a barely perceptible pause, but she quickly smiled politely. “Then thank you, Senior.”

The rain had somehow grown heavier than before.

The doctor opened the umbrella and walked beside Ye Qianqian down the narrow streets. The pattering sound of rain on the umbrella muffled the world outside. 

For a moment, it felt like the entire universe contained only the two of them.

He suddenly understood what the owner meant about the umbrella serving as a kind of shield, guarding those beneath it.

The downpour dampened any desire for small talk. Still, he matched Ye Qianqian’s pace, walking unhurriedly by her side.

He watched the rain form tiny crowns in the puddles at their feet. It struck him how, despite the changing times, the umbrella had remained more or less the same in design throughout the centuries.

Just like the world around him—ever changing, ever evolving—yet some things never changed. He thought of the antiques in Ya She, where their history had solidified into permanence. For hundreds, even thousands of years, they had waited in silence, as if stubbornly awaiting something…

Sigh. If only his old oil-paper umbrella weren’t so delicate… No one would find it outdated even if he used it now.

Ye Qianqian’s house was indeed nearby. 

As the doctor turned onto a familiar street, he realized that if they continued walking, they would pass by Ya She. Instinctively, his eyes drifted toward it.

But when they reached the storefront, he noticed the carved wooden doors of the shop were sealed with a heavy bronze lock.

The doctor froze on his steps.

The owner never locked Ya She’s door. Even when he wasn’t there, the shop always remained open.

The sky hadn’t darkened—it wasn’t closing time yet.

Noticing the doctor had stopped, Ye Qianqian had no choice but to halt as well. Though confusion flickered across her face, she didn’t ask any questions.

The doctor remained uneasy, but he forced himself to move forward until someone suddenly stepped into their path.

“Ah! It’s you! Do you know where the owner of this shop has gone?” the person asked. He held an umbrella in one hand and leaned on a cane with the other. His hair was streaked with white, and his bearing was cultured and refined—it was the museum curator.

“I’m not sure,” the doctor responded. “I was just here yesterday, and I saw him then.”

He knew the curator frequented the shop as often as he did, and they had grown familiar over time, though neither knew the other’s name. The curator only knew he was a doctor, and the doctor only knew he was the museum’s curator and director.

The curator tapped the ground with his cane and sighed, “The shop has been closed the entire day. Yesterday, I traded him three antiques for a Warring States-period wujin alchemy cauldron—I came back to ask if he discovered anything new about it, only to find the doors were shuttered!”

He spoke with such regret that it was clear he felt he had suffered a terrible loss.

The doctor didn’t know much about antiques, but he understood that every item in Ya She was priceless, each with a unique and often bizarre reason for remaining unsold.

He had seen the curator and other wealthy collectors try to coax or haggle, offering astronomical sums, only to be ignored by the owner. Yet the same man might turn around and sell an antique for a pittance to a clueless passerby, or even hand it out on the street like a scammer unloading junk. 

If three antiques had been traded for a single cauldron, then the cauldron’s background must be far from ordinary.

Still, whatever the doctor suspected, he had no interest in wrangling with that temperamental, self-important curator. After exchanging a few polite words, he excused himself on the pretense of escorting his colleague home.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. After dropping Ye Qianqian off at her building, he stood at the entrance watching her vanish into the stairwell. Then, turning with his umbrella, he walked off into the rainy night.

Nothing had happened.

Maybe he had just been overthinking things.

Seeing no one around, the doctor spun the umbrella in his hand, watching the raindrops scatter like silver beads across the air, shaking off the last traces of unease. 

He laughed, feeling genuinely relieved.

The next day, the sky remained overcast, and the rain continued.

The doctor stood before the bulletin board, scanning for his surgical schedule. 

Just then, Chen Ge arrived.

The doctor greeted him with a smile, “I heard your operation last night was a success. Nice work!”

“Of course it was! With me on the job, it’s like having two people in one!” Chun Ge beamed with pride. It wasn’t a particularly complex case, but it marked his first time as a lead surgeon. However, that was only because the department chief was unable to return on time.

Still, it was a personal milestone.

After a few smug laughs, he remembered to tone it down and coughed, “Honestly, though, I owe it to Ye Qianqian. She was my second assistant. Don’t be fooled by her pretty face—she used the Halsted suture technique! I only learned that last year! Crazy, right? If you were there, you would have been impressed too.”

The doctor was indeed shocked, but not because of Ye Qianqian’s skill with the Halsted suture technique.

She was in the operating room last night?

That was impossible.

His gaze shifted to the bulletin board. Yesterday’s surgery roster had not yet been removed. For the emergency operation scheduled at 5:30 PM, Ye Qianqian’s name was printed among the team.

The information was clearly presented in black and white. The surgical timetable wouldn’t be erroneous, given the implications of medical accountability, nor would Chun Ge be the kind of person to fabricate his stories…

Therefore, who was the woman he walked home last night?

The doctor felt a piercing chill instantly travel from the soles of his feet up his spine to the back of his head, and in an instant, his hands and feet turned ice-cold.

That was the moment the doctor decided never to carry an umbrella again.

No matter how hard it rained.

No matter how soaked he got.

He would never carry an umbrella ever again.

If the doctor had only half believed the owner’s words before, his recent experience had swept away all doubt. Since he had stopped carrying umbrellas altogether, surely no one could borrow one from him now. Not even a spirit could manage that.

Having made up his mind, the doctor no longer let the matter weigh on him. It was the end of the year, after all—an onslaught of surgeries, annual reviews, and performance assessments left him barely time to breathe. 

Each day, he would race home through the rain, only to find Ya She’s doors tightly shut.

Perhaps the owner had gone home for the holidays.

That was what the doctor told himself.

The man always gave off a solitary air, but surely even someone like him must have someone waiting somewhere.

Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that in the past two years—Christmas, New Year’s, even Spring Festival—Ya She had always remained open. Last year, he had stayed in the city to work overtime during the Lunar New Year, and the shop had been open then too. It had seemed that Ya She never closed its doors, not even for a day.

So for it to stay shut for several days in a row now… perhaps something urgent had come up—something to do with the antiques.

The doctor was concerned, but deep down he knew the owner would be all right. Sooner or later, he would probably pass by Ya She again and see the man seated behind the counter in his black Zhongshan suit with a crimson dragon embroidered, sipping his Longjing tea and leisurely reading a book. 

Compared to that, the doctor’s own life—endlessly hectic—felt like one destined for toil.

On the 5th day of Ya She’s closure, the doctor had just completed a surgery and was standing by the window wall, sipping bitter coffee as he drifted into a daze. Outdoors, a consistent and gentle rain continued to fall in fine sheets. The weather forecast said it would clear tomorrow, but the overcast sky looked no different from dusk, though it was only a little after 2:00 PM.

“Birthday boy, dinner’s on you tonight!” Chun Ge’s booming voice rang out, prompting a round of cheerful heckling from the office.

The doctor nodded with a smile, knowing full well they were simply looking for an excuse to unwind.

“You’ve got nothing else scheduled today, right? Go home and change into something decent first,” Chun Ge said, patting his shoulder and gesturing to the crumpled coat slung over his chair. “Did you lose your umbrella or something? Here, take mine. No way we’re letting the birthday boy show up looking like a drowned rat!”

The doctor stared at the umbrella Chun Ge shoved into his hand, momentarily stunned. The owner had told him not to lend his umbrella to others, but surely there was no harm in borrowing one from someone else, right?

He had half a mind to decline, but showing up to dinner dripping wet would be somewhat disrespectful. So he thanked Chun Ge and slipped out early to go home and change. 

Along the way, he also made a reservation for the gathering—the first restaurant on the commercial street behind the hospital. That way, if any emergency surgeries came up, he could return to duty at any moment.

After finalizing the booking, the doctor stepped out of the restaurant and into the rain with the borrowed umbrella sheltering him once more. It was a weekday afternoon, and the unending downpour had left the commercial street quiet and subdued. 

Many shops had closed altogether.

With no urgency, the doctor let himself wander, reflecting on his 24 years of life. His hand moved instinctively to the longevity lock that hung from his neck.

It was said to be a longevity lock left to him by his deceased mother. Although the elder members of his family had instructed him not to remove it before his 24th birthday, he had grown accustomed to wearing it and resolved to continue doing so even beyond that milestone, as it constituted a cherished memento from his mother.

While the doctor was musing to himself, he turned into the supermarket, intending to do some shopping while he had the time.

Just as he stood at the supermarket entrance and put away his umbrella, he suddenly noticed someone walking past in the rain. 

The crimson dragon on the black Zhongshan suit was incredibly striking.

“Boss!” The doctor waved excitedly.

He hadn’t expected to feel such joy at seeing the man safe and sound. But then again, aside from his colleagues, the owner was the only person he could truly call a friend in this city of steel and concrete.

“What are you doing off work so early?” the owner asked, evidently surprised to see him. As he wiped the rain from his face, he casually extended his hand. “Lend me your umbrella for a bit. I have business up ahead. I’ll return it when I’m back.”

Without thinking, the doctor instinctively handed the umbrella to him.

But as he looked up to take a better look at the man before him, his gaze unintentionally fell upon the owner’s neck. It was smooth, pale, and unmarked—completely lacking the vicious wound he remembered.

The doctor’s face changed instantly. His grip tightened around the umbrella handle, and he demanded sharply, “Who are you?”

The question, in truth, was already redundant.

In that instant, the world around him seemed to shift. Thunder roared in his ears, lightning ripped across the sky, and the brightly lit supermarket behind him dissolved into a desolate wilderness.

Even as he surveyed his surroundings with bewildered apprehension, he suddenly felt an anomaly in his grasp. Upon closer inspection, he discerned that the umbrella he held had metamorphosed into a pallid greenish-white venomous snake, and what was originally the umbrella handle was now the snake’s head. Two venomous fangs emitted a faint luminescence in the lightning’s glare, directed menacingly towards his wrist.

With a jolt of panic, the doctor flung it away. The moment it left his hand, the snake transformed back into an umbrella, now held delicately in a hand as pale and smooth as jade.

Before him stood a woman of unfathomable beauty, draped in robes as pristine as freshly fallen snow. Her features were a masterful stroke of artistry—delicate yet enigmatic, as if painted with the finest ink that exuded a haunting allure. It was a kind of beauty that defied language, too exquisite to be captured in words.

Gazing upon such an exquisite woman, the doctor felt his heart plummet into an abyss of cold dread—for he knew, with absolute certainty, that she was none other than the White Snake spirit.

Despite her impassive expression, devoid of earthly emotion, the heavens behind her raged in turmoil. Thunder roared, splitting the silence with deafening fury, while jagged bolts of lightning tore across the sky, flickering like the dramatic flashes of a cinematic spectacle.

There was no doubt that this chaotic storm was her doing, a manifestation of her power, bending the very fabric of nature to her will.

It was only when he felt the cold rain biting into his skin that he finally understood why the owner had warned him never to lend out the umbrella.

Without an umbrella’s protection, the falling rain became a torrent of silver needles—each droplet piercing his body with a sharp, freezing sting that reached his very bones.

The surroundings were utterly desolate, devoid of even a single place to seek shelter from the downpour. The doctor pondered whether this entire scene was an illusion conjured by the white snake, yet regardless of where he attempted to flee, the rain descending from the heavens pursued him relentlessly.

“Where is it? Where’s the White Snake Umbrella?”

The woman’s voice was harsh and demanding, but the doctor had no idea what she meant. 

What umbrella? 

That White Snake Umbrella? 

It was… at his home, wasn’t it?

The doctor parted his lips to speak but found himself unable to form the words. The pain was overwhelming, leaving him too weak to utter a sound. With no other choice, he collapsed onto the ground. His arms instinctively curled over his head, shielding himself as best he could, trying to expose as little of his body to the relentless downpour.

“Where’s my umbrella? Where did you hide it?”

Her voice grew more desperate. Perhaps it was that sharp, almost mournful tone that made the doctor glance up from the crook of his arm.

She was gone.

In her place loomed a massive white snake at least 10 meters long, coiling in an eerie dance around him. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed that the ethereal beauty from moments before was truly this monstrous creature.

As he watched this horrifying white snake open its jaws to strike, there was no doubt that the snake could swallow him whole in one gulp.

Was this how he would die?

Strangely, his mind wandered to something an elder had once told him that he would face a catastrophe at the age of 24.

Was this it?

The doctor, however, didn’t shut his eyes when the gaping maw rushed toward him. Closing them would change nothing—there was no escaping what was about to happen. He wanted to see for himself how the White Snake devoured its prey.

In that fleeting instant, time seemed to slow. The storm, the snake, the world—all of it blurred, like a dream in reverse.

He could see the rain suspended midair, each droplet glittering like crystal; the lightning tearing across the sky like cracks in glass. Against this backdrop, the serpent’s gaping maw took on a surreal and breathtaking grandeur.

If this were the last thing he would ever see, perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible end.

As the doctor caught the rancid stench of venom wafting from the serpent’s maw, a figure suddenly stepped in front of him, meeting the monstrous fangs head-on.

The snake recoiled, seemingly startled, but its sheer size made stopping impossible. Even as it twisted away, one razor-sharp fang grazed the figure’s abdomen.

The doctor’s glasses were covered in rain, but even through the blur, he could make out the familiar form of a crimson dragon, coiling and snarling across the back of a black Zhongshan suit.

Is that really… boss?

The doctor’s mind felt dull; he hugged his knees and stared blankly upwards.

Above him was a large oil-paper umbrella, sheltering him entirely from the piercing cold of the rain.

“You idiot,” the owner’s voice came softly from overhead, “I told you that no matter who it is, never lend the umbrella.”

“But I thought it was you!” the doctor cried silently. 

He dared not say it aloud.

Now that the deadly rain had stopped falling on him, he began to recover his breath. Suddenly remembering how close the owner had come to being bitten, he scrambled to his feet and moved around to check on him.

“Thank goodness, you weren’t hurt. Just your clothes got torn,” he said with a sigh of relief. 

The doctor looked at the slit in the Zhongshan suit the owner was wearing. Even if he didn’t know much about clothes, he knew this well-made Zhongshan suit must be worth a lot. 

“That’s a shame. But you’ve got plenty of these, don’t you? I’ll pay you for this one!” he offered, reasoning that, no matter the price, his salary should be enough to cover it.

The owner lowered his head. When he saw the tear in his coat, a flicker of complex emotion passed through his eyes, but it was swiftly concealed. 

He lifted his gaze calmly and said, “It’s nothing. You don’t need to compensate me. By the way, I took the White Snake umbrella from your house five days ago. I hope you don’t mind.”

The doctor had already recognized the umbrella in the owner’s grasp—the very object that had triggered this entire ordeal. Though he was curious about how the owner had managed to enter his home, he also understood that had the owner not kept the umbrella in his custody for the past five days, the White Snake spirit might have reclaimed it long ago.

He was no fool. 

At this point, it was clear to him that the spirit’s ultimate goal had always been this umbrella. The act of lending was merely the spark that ignited the storm.

“Let me handle this umbrella. Will that be alright?” the owner asked casually.

The doctor gazed at the White Snake flicking its tongue in the distance and spoke with genuine sincerity, “It must be dealt with. And…and while you’re at it… could you deal with her as well?” 

Perhaps it was his perception, but he felt that since the owner had appeared, this White Snake spirit had become considerably more subdued. Even the thunder that had previously roared across the heavens had now fallen silent.

The owner stared steadily at the White Snake and suddenly let out a sigh. 

“Do you know,” he said, “that The Legend of the White Snake never told its true ending?”

“Its true ending? Isn’t it that the White Snake was imprisoned beneath the Leifeng Pagoda, which later collapsed, and now she’s here in front of us?” The doctor was puzzled by the sudden shift in topic, but with the owner by his side, he felt assured everything would be handled.

So he played along, calmly engaging him in conversation.

“That white snake had cultivated for a thousand years. She could command wind and rain, and was already a half-dragon. Once she passed her tribulation of love, she could’ve transformed into a full dragon and ascended to a reversed dragon deity,” the owner explained calmly.

The doctor drew in a sharp breath.

That was the very moment he knew that the endless rain of the entire week was the work of the White Snake spirit. 

Also, the violent thunder and lightning from earlier were undoubtedly her doing as well. 

What else could lead to thunder during winter?

“At that time,” the owner continued, “though she lacked a dragon’s form, she already possessed a dragon’s bones. But a single talisman from Fahai sealed her fate, declaring her a snake spirit and locking her beneath the Leifeng Pagoda. When Fahai asked Xu Xian how the spirit should be dealt with… do you know what he said?”

Though the owner spoke with a calm and even voice, a chill crept up the doctor’s spine. He dared not ask the question himself.

However, it wasn’t the owner who answered—it was the White Snake.

“He skinned me and stretched my hide into the umbrella’s parchment. He tore out my dragon bones and fashioned them into its ribs…”

As she spoke, the white snake transformed once more into human form. That ethereal feature was now contorted with a sorrow so thick it seemed it could never lift.

“All those vows, all those sweet words… In the end, faced with fear, they vanished like mist. He only saw me as a demon who might devour him. But did he ever consider…” her voice trembled. “…that my love for him was etched in my bones?”

“This… does that mean…”

The doctor stared in horror at the White Snake umbrella in the owner’s hand. Goosebumps began to erupt across his skin like bamboo shoots after a spring rain, rising one by one in an uncontrollable shiver.

“Bailu,” the owner murmured, “just one more day, and your spirit will finally disperse. In your next life, you’ll forget the past and be reborn as a person, which is far better than lingering in this world.”

So the snake had a name—it wasn’t Bai Suzhen, but Bailu.

Watching the gracefully approaching woman, the doctor couldn’t help but inwardly acknowledge the power of appearance. Just moments ago, he’d found the white snake horrifying, yet the woman before him was so frail and delicate that even knowing her true form, that of the White Snake, made it genuinely challenging to feel afraid.

How could Xu Xian have been so heartless?

If he had loved her even a little, how could he have ordered her skin to be flayed and her bones to be torn out?

Sometimes, the doctor would wonder if humans are far less compassionate than the so-called monsters of legends and myths.

Bailu stopped before them. Her voice was calm, but unwavering. “I only want the umbrella. Dissolve the skin, burn the bones, and my soul will remain bound to this world.”

“To what end?” the owner asked with a frown. “So you can spend eternity searching for his next incarnation, watching as he suffers—falls into ruin, loses everything, dies without peace? Does that not tire you?”

Bailu’s blood-red lips curled into a faint smile. “Spare me your sanctimony. You and I—we aren’t that different. A thousand years ago, you obeyed the will of heaven and never came to save me. So today, you should do the same.”

The doctor turned toward the owner in shock. 

A thousand years ago?

Bailu glanced at the doctor out of the corner of her eye as a laugh escaped her that held both resignation and mockery.

“I knew it,” she said. “You would do anything for him. Hand over the umbrella, don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”

The doctor felt increasingly uneasy.

Something about the way they spoke—it was as if they weren’t referring to him at all, but to someone else entirely.

The thought unsettled him to the core.

The owner said nothing more. He simply handed the umbrella to Bailu, then turned and grasped the doctor’s sleeve, leading him away without another word or glance.

Rain fell upon them, but it was no longer biting cold. 

That was when the doctor finally let out a breath in relief.

Behind them came Bailu’s silvery laughter.

“Thank you,” she said. “And I apologize for tearing your crimson dragon robe. But really… you’ve lingered in this world far too long…”

Her laughter seemed to split the dark clouds apart. The sunlight, which felt like it had been gone for ages, broke through the heavy cloud cover and poured down upon the earth.

The doctor couldn’t help but glance back.

Under the sunlight, the White Snake umbrella in Bailu’s hand had begun to melt—the paper parchment igniting as if set aflame, releasing pale bluish smoke that curled upward.

In the span of a single breath, it had all but vanished.

He knew she must be in pain. Even if she was now just a lingering soul without nerves or flesh, her agony must have run deep into the marrow of her being.

Yet she was smiling—freely, radiantly, without regret.

Rain fell through the now-bare umbrella frame, landing on her ethereal features like teardrops sliding down her cheeks in silence.

She stood in the rain, holding that skeletal umbrella—not like a ghost condemned to wander for thousands of years, but like a young woman waiting, proud and resolute, on the misty banks of West Lake for the lover who had once promised her eternity.

The doctor forced himself to turn away.

When he blinked again, he realized they had already returned to the bustling commercial street he knew so well.

The sun had come out, though the drizzle still whispered down. Puddles on the stone pavement shimmered in the golden light, dazzling with a beauty that felt like rebirth.

“The reeds grow green; frost-white dew turns to rime. The one whom I love is on the far side of the water…”

Bailu’s wistful singing floated from afar, until at last it faded into silence.

The doctor knew she was gone—yet still, she lingered in this world.

She refused to be freed, and she would never allow herself to forget.

Abruptly, the doctor halted. He turned to the owner, who had been walking ahead in silence, and asked, “You… and Bailu knew each other?” 

He had meant to say that snake, but the words caught in his throat. That was no mere serpent. She had been a woman, fierce in love and fearless in pain—her name was Bailu.

The owner halted abruptly but refrained from turning and stated quietly, “It was a medicinal snake that my master raised back in the days.”

The doctor held his breath. Something in his bones told him that the owner wasn’t joking.

But how could that be?

Back in the days?

Like 2,000 years ago?

He quickened his pace and stepped in front of the owner to look him in the eye. However, the moment he saw the man’s face, he froze in shock.

He had always known the owner’s skin was as pale as fine jade, but now it was as white as snow. The whiteness was so pure, it seemed as if it might melt beneath the warmth of the sun.

Suddenly, the owner erupted into coughing—a seismic, gut-wrenching fit, as though his very organs might tear loose from the convulsions.

The doctor panicked, thinking the man had sustained some internal injury. He grabbed his arm and tried to pull him toward the hospital. “Come on, you need a full exam—”

“No need… I’m fine,” the owner said hoarsely as he steadied himself. He could taste blood in his mouth, but he carefully swallowed it back down.

The doctor frowned, not convinced that the owner was fine at all, especially since the hand in his felt unnaturally, almost devoid of warmth.

Just as he was about to insist that he get checked at the hospital, the doctor’s eyes widened in disbelief when two dragon whiskers materialized on the owner’s left shoulder. The crimson dragon that had been coiled behind him seemed to come alive, gradually moving onto the owner’s shoulder at a clearly visible speed.

As if sensing the doctor’s speechless astonishment, the owner offered a quiet reassurance, his voice gentle as a breeze through falling rain. “Don’t worry. As long as you’re safe, that’s enough… Just make it through today…”

Just as the doctor was about to ask what he meant by “making it through today.”

What would happen after today?

He suddenly felt the weight around his neck lift.

Then came the crisp, unmistakable sound of something breaking.

They both looked down.

There, on the rain-scoured bluestone pavement, lay the mutton fat jade longevity locket—now cleanly split in two.