In the deep woods of Sishui County, there stood a remote hermitage, seldom visited by travelers. Within its walls lived a Taoist priest who kept a great number of large snakes, a fact that ensured the place remained entirely deserted.

A certain youth, out hunting hawks, became thoroughly lost. Seeing the outline of a temple in the distance, he sought refuge there for the night. The priest emerged to greet him, exclaiming with surprise, "From where have you come, layman? It is a mercy the children did not see you." While speaking, he ushered the youth inside and offered him tea and rice gruel.

As they ate, a monstrous serpent slithered into the room—so thick that ten men linking arms could not encircle it. It raised its head, fixing the youth with eyes that shone like lightning. The youth was paralyzed with terror, but the priest brought his palm down sharply on the great snake’s head and commanded, "Be gone." The serpent immediately lowered its head submissively, then slowly retreated into the eastern bedroom, coiling itself until its body completely filled the chamber. The youth trembled uncontrollably, gripped by fear. The priest remarked, "This serpent is one I keep and nurture. With me here, there is no danger; but should you have met it alone, the peril would have been considerable."

Even as he spoke, another massive snake navigated its way into the room. This one was thick enough for six men to encircle. Seeing the guest, it reared back, flicked its tongue, and let out a series of menacing roars. The priest shouted sternly, and the serpent turned away, winding itself into the same eastern bedroom. The space grew cramped, offering no room to maneuver. The serpent shifted its bulk, climbing onto the rafters, its tail sweeping the wall and sending plumes of dirt scattering into the air.

The guest’s heart hammered against his ribs, and he dared not close his eyes all night. At first light the next morning, the youth announced his departure. The priest escorted him to the gate. Outside, upon the stone steps of the courtyard wall, they saw a writhing mass of snakes—large ones as thick as washbasins, and small ones no thicker than wine cups—some resting, some crawling, all in varied poses. Upon sighting the youth, the serpentine congregation opened their mouths in hisses, their intent clearly malevolent. The youth, his apprehension spiking, gripped the priest’s arm, and they hurried away.

……………… ……………… ……………… A resident of Zhongzhou, taking lodging at the Snake Buddha Temple, watched as the resident monks prepared dinner. The meat stew was rich and savory, containing chunks that resembled chicken necks. The guest inquired, "How many chickens must you slaughter to yield so many necks?" The monk shook his head. "That is snake meat." The guest was aghast. He fled outdoors and vomited great gulps of air.

When it came time to sleep, the guest felt a chilling sensation on his chest, as if something were wriggling and crawling beneath him. He reached out to touch it and realized it was a snake. Startled, the guest shouted uncontrollably. The monk rushed in upon hearing the commotion and chuckled, "It is only a few snakes; why such a fuss?" He lit a lamp, and by the light, they saw that the walls, large and small, were entirely covered in serpents, and beneath the bed, all manner of strange snakes were crawling.

The next day, the monk guided the guest to the main Buddha Hall. Beneath the statue was a great well. The snakes inside were as thick as large earthenware jars, their heads protruding over the lip of the well, yet they would not emerge fully. Lighting a torch, they peered down to see millions of hatchlings and descendants filling the shaft. The monk explained, "In years past, the snakes would emerge from this well to cause devastation. Since this Buddha statue was consecrated to suppress them, no incidents have occurred."