Chapter Nineteen: The White Fox

The night was as deep as the sea, and all was silent, save for the soft rustling of snowflakes drifting down. By tomorrow, the world would surely be clad in shimmering white, a landscape swathed in silver...

Jingyang Village lay in utter darkness; only the faint glow from Chen Jianchen’s study pierced the gloom. Unlike others, Chen Jianchen always stayed up late, unconcerned about the cost of lamp oil; at times like these, people assumed he was burning the midnight oil to study, but in truth, he was often simply lost in thought.

Tonight was no exception.

In the past few days, Chen Jianchen had encountered events so perilous and absurd that they nearly shattered his understanding of this strange world. He needed time to process it all—take today, for instance: faced with Ah San’s attempt on his life, Chen Jianchen was seized by a surge of murderous intent, nearly acting on it, and only refrained due to certain scruples.

Since his arrival in this world, he had gradually shed many old habits in speech and manner. It was inevitable—life demands adaptation to new surroundings.

Yet, at heart, Chen Jianchen had not changed. He still despised the Eight-Legged Essays, found the Four Books unreadable; to him, the so-called classics of this world—the principles extolled in the Four Books—were nothing but stale dogma:

“If the ruler demands the minister’s death, the minister must die; if the father wishes his son gone, the son must obey…”

“Extinguish all human desires, restore divine principles, only then is one truly learned…”

Page after page of rigid teachings upholding feudal order—a thinly veiled attempt to mold the populace into obedient subjects.

This was not true Confucianism, at least not as Chen Jianchen understood it; it was a distortion, a mutilation.

As a traveler from another world, he felt a deep inner resistance; with such resistance, how could he possibly embrace or accept these doctrines?

But for now, he dared not let a hint of his rebellious thoughts slip, keeping them buried deep within. Besides, the title of scholar was his talisman—discarding it would be folly.

Still, this was not a long-term solution. After the New Year, the academy would reopen; during study, if he failed to master those rigid, musty Eight-Legged Essays, his secret would surely be exposed—a troubling prospect, and counting the days, it seemed not far off.

Alas…

Chen Jianchen sighed, rose, and paced the room, draped in his robe.

Suddenly, a slight tremor stirred in his breast; his expression changed as he reached inside to pull out the protective charm gifted by Qingyun. The charm shone with a soft, luminous glow.

Qingyun had said that if the charm glowed, it was a warning—some monster was near.

Not good!

Chen Jianchen was alarmed, but before he could react, the window to the south was quietly pushed open, and in slipped a small, snowy white fox.

He was just about to hurl a chair, but as he got a clear look, he held back—it was the fox!

The white fox stood in the room, upright, raising its forepaws in greeting and bowing meekly to the floor, its mouth emitting gentle cries, as if to say, “Forgive my uninvited visit.” It seemed almost like a little girl who had made a mistake.

Chen Jianchen couldn’t help but smile—he wasn’t one of those rigid, narrow-minded folk, and he knew that not all monsters were evil. This fox spirit was grateful and clever, and he had taken a liking to it; he had even planned to visit Maple Mountain, hoping to encounter it again. Unexpectedly, it had come to him.

He set down the chair, curiosity in his gaze as he studied the white fox.

Some time ago, he had saved the fox’s life on Maple Mountain, and in return, it had given him a miraculous fruit, allowing him to transform in a short time and easily subdue the ruffian Ah San that day—he owed the fox his own life, in a sense.

A life for a life; any debt was settled.

But why had the mysterious white fox come to him on a snowy night in the dead of night?

“Chirp, chirp…” The white fox gestured with its paws and cried out, but Chen Jianchen was completely baffled, unable to understand its meaning.

Humans have their words, beasts their own language.

Communication was a major obstacle!

After some time, seeing Chen Jianchen still shaking his head in confusion, the little white fox grew anxious. It glanced around, then deftly moved a chair to the desk and leapt onto it.

On the chair, it first bowed respectfully to Chen Jianchen, then stood upright, reaching for a brush in the pen holder.

This brush had been Chen Jianchen’s before, though after he grew accustomed to the demon-repelling brush, this one had been set aside. As for the demon-repelling brush, Chen Jianchen always cleaned it thoroughly and returned it to its special case.

The little white fox took up the brush, carefully spread a sheet of white paper on the desk, and with utmost concentration and meticulousness, began to write!

Chen Jianchen watched, nearly gaping in astonishment—the little white fox could write!

The scene was ethereal and wondrous, deeply moving him; the fox’s demeanor was that of a well-mannered girl diligently doing her schoolwork.

“Little Fox pays respects to her benefactor!”

Six delicate and elegant characters appeared neatly on the paper, clear and precise—a hand practiced through many days.

Chen Jianchen could not help but applaud, quickly composing himself. He blinked curiously and asked, “What is your story?”

The white fox wrote swiftly: “Little Fox dwells in the Lying Pine Cave on the backside of Maple Mountain. By fortunate chance, I awakened my spirit and learned the Dao; now I possess cultivation at the Yin Spirit stage.”

Chen Jianchen understood—he had heard from Qingyun that Daoist cultivation comprises six realms: Awakening, Yin Spirit, Golden Core, Nascent Soul, Dharma Manifestation, and Human Immortal.

Qingyun himself was at the Yin Spirit stage, same as the fox.

The Yin Spirit is the soul leaving the body, invisible to ordinary eyes. Yet it is fragile—exposure to sunlight, strong winds, or fresh blood rich in masculine energy are forbidden; breaking these taboos could scatter the soul, leaving only a lifeless shell.

Thus, cultivators rarely let their Yin Spirit wander, for fear of dire consequences.

The white fox now had Yin Spirit cultivation; if it advanced further and formed a Golden Core, it could transform into human form—a great achievement for any spirit.

Chen Jianchen was invigorated; now, with the fox unable to speak but able to write, he could at last obtain answers to many questions he longed to ask...