Lord of the Demonic Path

The moonlight was pale and cold, veiled further by drifting clouds. In the mountain valley, darkness reigned supreme. Fortunately, Ying Chen’s senses were keen, allowing him to discern the path ahead. He pressed one hand to the sword at his waist, moving cautiously through the underbrush, until at last he caught the flicker of firelight. He looked up.

Spread before him was a sizable clearing. Beneath the gnarled, crooked old trees, a den of scruffy foxes crouched around a campfire. Some poked at the flames with sticks, turning over unknown things in the fire, while others, cradling fragrant morsels in their forepaws, ate heartily and content.

A den of foxes—using fire, roasting meat, and eating cooked food, just like humans!

There was no doubt now: these foxes had become spirits. One might even call them demons.

Ying Chen’s hand slowly drew the sword from his belt.

“Esteemed guest of the forest,” came a sudden, awkward voice from beside the fire, speaking in an affected, scholarly tone, “from whence do you come?”

“Hm?” Ying Chen’s gaze sharpened. By the fire, a red-furred fox stood upright—yes, upright like a person, tail dangling, hind legs on the ground, front paws clasped in a gesture of greeting, looking his way through the trees.

Since he’d been spotted, Ying Chen parted the shrubs and stepped forward, replying coolly, “From Chishui Cliff.”

“Chishui Cliff?” The red-furred fox’s expression was strikingly human as it smiled and approached, asking, “I can’t say I’ve heard that name. Is it far from here?”

“You’ve nev