Chapter Seventy-One: The Wild Fox Once Meditated
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He Chang’an stepped out of the academy’s gates. He felt that perhaps some truths had not yet been fully explained. The old master hurried after him, calling out, “Do not do unto others what you do not wish for yourself,” before turning slowly back inside.
He Chang’an felt stifled. To be a teacher of Master Lü’s caliber was truly a state of enlightenment: unmoved by praise or humiliation, calm even when spat upon—no matter how much Yu Youwei tormented him, he remained the picture of a gentleman. Yu Youwei was probably even more frustrated than he was.
The thought of his alluring superior, flustered and perhaps sulking in some tavern, brought He Chang’an a sense of reassurance.
“Scholars, ah, scholars!”
Back beneath the Demon Suppression Tower, He Chang’an let out a sigh of relief, took out the copy of “The Forest of Books” Master Lü had given him, and flipped through it, but the words were utterly perplexing—none of them sank in. He picked up “The Three Cangs,” and his headache only worsened.
How could reading ever compare to the thrill of slaying demons?
He sat cross-legged on his bed, circulated his energy through two cycles, gradually entering a meditative state, guiding the small black rod as it darted about within him, completely oblivious to the hours slipping by.
…
At dusk, a young monk arrived in Chang’an, drawing the attention of the Star Plucking Tower, the Demon Slayers’ Bureau, the Academy, and even the palace itself.
Yet the young monk seemed entirely unaware, carrying a purple-gold alms bowl, smiling serenely as he walked the city’s streets and alleys.
From time to time, he would pause before mundane shops, earnestly inquiring, “What is this?” and “How much is it worth?”—like a young scholar on his first journey, brimming with curiosity for the unknown.
There was a temple in Chang’an, too, named Lanhua Temple, which had fallen into ruin over centuries—now little more than crumbling walls, where at night unknown birds, beasts, snakes, and rats emerged, seeming to vie to gnaw at a sutra.
The young monk’s final stop was this very Lanhua Temple, all but forgotten by the people of Chang’an.
He put away his alms bowl, rolled up his sleeves, and set to clearing the debris, brick by brick, as though planning a long stay.
The Buddha statues had long since been destroyed; only a few severed fingers remained, half-buried in the overgrown weeds and snow, like frostbitten radishes.
The young monk’s smile never faded. His plain moon-white robes were soon spattered with mud and grass, his fair face and shaven head likewise flecked with filth.
At midnight, strange rustlings came from beneath the rubble, distant screeches of night-owls echoing through the ruins.
A jade-faced fox spirit transformed into human form and beckoned him over, covering her mouth as she laughed. “Little Arhat, come here a moment.”
The young monk turned, pressed his palms together, and replied with a gentle smile, “Amitabha, well met.”
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The fox spirit’s human form was exquisitely beautiful—skin like snow, eyes bright as stars, every glance and smile radiating feminine allure. She giggled at the young monk’s gleaming bald head and said,
“Lanhua Temple has been desolate for ages. By day, naughty children climb atop the Buddha statues to relieve themselves; by night, snakes and rats swarm out to gnaw on scriptures, some even gaining demonic power.
“For nearly a century, I have driven away the children, slain the lesser snake and rat demons, and guarded this temple. Does that mean I am fated to be close to the Buddha?”
The young monk pressed his palms together solemnly and said, “Well met indeed. There is fate at work.”
The fox spirit glanced sidelong at him, hesitated, and asked, “Then… am I able to cultivate a golden body of merit?”
“You cannot,” the young monk replied gravely. “Monks do not lie. I would not deceive you.”
The fox spirit was momentarily stunned. After a long silence, she sighed deeply. “A wild fox seeking enlightenment—truly wishful thinking. If that’s the case, then I must go and argue my case with someone.”
The young monk smiled serenely. “When you are done and return here, I will subdue you then.”
As the fox spirit turned, her true form emerged—a snow-white fox with pointed ears and red eyes, her delicate face caught between a smile and a smirk. Even the young monk’s tranquil heart rippled ever so slightly.
In a flash, the spirit leapt a hundred feet away.
In Chang’an, the world was frozen under a black sky.
Snakes and rats swarmed to gnaw at sutras, each vying for even the slimmest chance at Buddhist fate. The young monk fell into deep contemplation.
…
Three days later—
Having just finished a joyful ‘free meal’ and not yet fully refined the yin-fiend energy, He Chang’an was summoned by Luo Daqi for tea.
He respected this superior of his superior, Luo Daqi, but for the short, stocky middle-aged man, he harbored a touch of resentment.
After all, it was this very Earth-ranked Demon Slayer, Luo Daqi, who had personally thrown He Chang’an into the depths beneath the Demon Suppression Tower, washing his hands of him and nearly getting him killed by Chen Double-Blade.
But what was with those fresh scars on the man’s head and face?
Entering Luo Daqi’s chambers, He Chang’an stood uneasily by the door, bowing deeply from afar and announcing, “Subordinate He Chang’an greets Chief Luo.”
Luo Daqi sat behind a stone table, shuffling through dossiers, silent for a long time, both hands hidden in his sleeves, trembling slightly.
“That Zheng Hongxiu, that little shrew—she’s far too ruthless…”
Just hearing He Chang’an’s voice made Luo Daqi’s blood boil. All because of this brat, Zheng Hongxiu, without rhyme or reason, had returned from Weiyang County and the very first thing she did was to block him at his doorstep and give him a thorough beating.
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If Zhang Yichao hadn’t hinted at it, he wouldn’t even have known what he’d done to offend that “elegant and refined” shrew…
“He Chang’an! You little wretch, confess honestly—was it you who crippled that bastard Chen Double-Blade?” Suddenly, Luo Daqi slammed his palm on the stone table, sending up a cloud of white dust and roaring in fury.
He Chang’an jumped in fright.
Coming in hard from the start—it seemed this Earth-ranked Demon Slayer was all bluster and no bite, just venting his anger wherever he could. There was nothing for it but to accept his bad luck.
“Chief Luo, is there something you need?” He Chang’an stepped forward half a pace and bowed.
“It’s nothing, really. I just don’t like the sight of you—called you here to give you a piece of my mind.” Luo Daqi suddenly stood, then slumped back down, his mouth twitching as he glared fiercely at He Chang’an.
“Two things. First, your old man’s arrived in Chang’an—go see him when you have time. Second, help a wild fox reason things out.”
“My father’s in Chang’an?” He Chang’an was taken aback, his expression odd.
How did that old man get here? So much had happened recently that he’d almost forgotten what his father even looked like.
He remembered his father wielding a kitchen cleaver, apron tied around his waist, following the constables to hunt spirits and monsters, and warmth filled his heart.
But what was this about reasoning with a wild fox? Another assignment?
Luo Daqi couldn’t be bothered to explain. He tossed something over casually. It was a spirit beast pouch, faintly emanating demon energy—a three-tailed jade-faced fox.
“Chief Luo, what is this?”
“Get lost, get lost, get lost!”
He Chang’an was left utterly bewildered. As he tried to ask more, the irate Luo Daqi waved him away, driving him out.
“Chief Luo, where is my father?” He Chang’an had walked several steps before remembering to ask. He poked his head back in through the doorway.
He caught sight of the short, stocky man pulling down his trousers, grimacing as he applied medicine to his bruises…
He Chang’an spun around and bolted, dashing out of the Demon Suppression Tower. Only then did he breathe easy, muttering inwardly, “If I’ve discovered my superior’s embarrassing secrets, am I in danger of being silenced…?”