A taste of fear: On snakes and the Wood Snake Year
The snake is a creature with a very mixed reputation; in Chinese culture, it is simultaneously seen as auspicious and as a symbol of evil. In celebration of the Year of the Snake this year, Hua Language Centre director Chew Wee Kai discusses the duality of the slithering reptile.
Recently, I was wandering around some shopping malls. Surprisingly, what truly made me feel the Chinese New Year spirit was the rows of display boards showing the fortunes of each Chinese zodiac sign, which attracted quite a few people despite being in inconspicuous spots. This is the Year of the Wood Snake — just hearing the name feels auspicious.
In both Eastern and Western cultures, snakes are seen as dynamic creatures and symbols of wealth, good fortune and vitality. Dream interpreters even say that seeing a snake in a dream is a good omen. But in real life, most people either avoid snakes at all costs, or try to exterminate them. These cold-blooded creatures, with their constantly flicking tongues and swift, slithering movements, naturally come across as not to be trifled with.
A source of fear and uneasiness
As a child growing up in the countryside, old snake skin moults — “dragon robes” — would occasionally turn up among the clutter at home. It scared me at first, but I carefully picked it up the next time I saw it and played with it. New burrows would sometimes appear in the ground near our chicken coop, and my mother would boil a large pot of water and pour it in without a second thought, saying that the holes must belong to either rats or snakes. Her remark brought to mind the Chinese phrase I had read in books: “Snakes and rats in the same nest.”
My own close encounter with a snake happened one night when I was ten years old, as I was walking home. The dirt road was unlit, and even the moonlight refused to illuminate my path. I carefully navigated the uneven gravel road when something suddenly shot out from the grass. I froze as a snake slithered swiftly across the top of my flip-flop and over my bare foot, sending a chill down my spine and leaving me with a lingering fear.
I was afraid of snakes too, but for the sake of boyish pride, I would puff up my chest, muster my courage and step up.
As someone who fears snakes, I could not help thinking of a story from my textbook as I lay in bed that night — the tale of Sun Shu’ao, a minister of the state of Chu during the Eastern Zhou dynasty more than 2,500 years ago, who encountered a two-headed snake as a child. According to superstition, encountering such a snake foretold certain death. When the unfortunate boy came across the creature, he killed it and returned home to bid a tearful farewell to his mother, convinced that his time was up after seeing a two-headed snake.
There are many snakes in the countryside. My mother was afraid of them, and whenever she encountered a large one, she would usually shout for me to get rid of it. I was afraid of snakes too, but for the sake of boyish pride, I would puff up my chest, muster my courage and step up. After dealing with them a few times, I learned that the key to dealing with these agile creatures is not to startle them before making a move.
I had long heard the saying 打蛇打七寸 (strike a snake at seven inches from the head), but it was easier said than done. Each snake was of a different length, and pinpointing that exact spot was tricky when it was only a foot or two long.
People have little fondness for snakes because they are commonly perceived to be venomous (although this is an erroneous assumption, as not all snakes are venomous). The term “snake scorpion beauty” (蛇蝎美人, meaning femme fatale) describes someone with an evil heart under a pleasant exterior. If a snake appears, beware! And yet, they still end up on the dining table.
Down went the sharp knife into the snake’s belly; its gallbladder was removed and placed into a cup, then swallowed in one gulp along with fresh snake blood, without any change in expression.
Snakes as food
The first time I tasted snake meat was in my village. I do not remember how it tasted, but I do remember the sight of snake gall being consumed. That summer break, the villagers slaughtered a snake, and a crowd gathered to watch, including me.
Down went the sharp knife into the snake’s belly; its gallbladder was removed and placed into a cup, then swallowed in one gulp along with fresh snake blood, without any change in expression. People believed this had powerful health benefits, and many sought it out eagerly. When the weather turned cold, similar scenes often played out on the streets near Temple Street in Kowloon.
Snake soup is a seasonal delicacy unique to Hong Kong and Guangdong. As the saying goes: “When autumn winds rise, the snakes grow fat.” As the autumn chill sets in, snake soup makes its grand return in Hong Kong, from street stalls to speciality restaurants. A steaming bowl of it brings a comforting warmth on a cold day; its nourishing properties — or otherwise — are not the point. The fearsome snake, once on the dining table, takes on an almost redemptive purpose.
Thirty years ago, when I was in Hong Kong, I passed through a small alley in Causeway Bay one April day and noticed that a once-bustling snake soup shop had its shutters down. A small, crooked sign hung outside, with the words: “See you this autumn.” Such vignettes feel reassuring and satisfying, like how in the past the air in Singapore would only smell of durians in June and July. The limited-time availability of seasonal foods is good — food lovers long for their return as taste buds’ anticipation of good food deepens.
Snakes: not all bad?
Fifty years ago, during my military service, I noticed that the insignia on the collars of military doctors had a snake on it. An army doctor explained that the emblems of almost all international medical organisations feature the image of a snake coiled around a staff. This symbol traces back to Asclepius, the Greek god of medicine, who bore a staff with a snake on it, representing healing and medicine.
The snake thus gains a certain degree of positive symbolism by association. Its venom can be lethal, but it can also be used to create life-saving medicine — perhaps the greatest merit of snakes in human society. Also, because snakes periodically shed their skin, discarding the old for the new, they have come to symbolise renewal and recovery. This is how the snake staff became a universal emblem of healing and medicine.
The entire world watches warily for an unexpected strike, as though waiting for a fierce snake to emerge from its lair with its flicking tongue.
Tang poet Liu Zongyuan’s essay The Snake Catcher (捕蛇者说) depicts a time during the mid-Tang dynasty when oppressive governance was more fearsome than venomous snakes.
In Yongzhou, Hunan, there was a black-and-white viper so toxic that even the grass and trees it slithered past would wither and die. However, when captured, dried and used in medicine, it could cure ailments such as ulcers and convulsions. The imperial court, seeking skilled snake catchers, promised tax exemptions as an incentive. Though snake catching was a high-risk occupation that could result in death, it was still worth the risk as the alternative was starving to death. In times of unjust rule, venomous snakes paradoxically became the lifeline of the common folk. Ah, the snake, sacrificing itself for humanity.
The Wood Snake has just taken its seat of honour. In the eyes of the world, however, the snake’s image of coldness, cunning, and vengeance remains indelible. In the US, the formidable Donald Trump has returned to power after lying dormant for four years, acting like an invincible avenger as he repeats his old rhetoric and captivates global attention once again. The entire world watches warily for an unexpected strike, as though waiting for a fierce snake to emerge from its lair with its flicking tongue.
This article was first published in Lianhe Zaobao as “惧蛇者说”.
