Chapter Nineteen: Willing to Spend a Thousand Gold for This White Fox

Early the next morning, a caravan of more than a dozen people set out from the Zhang family estate, laden with cloth, grain, and rice. Zhang Niankang rode at the head of the procession, astride a fine steed, with Liu Xiyue beside him. His face, alternating between slight frowns and thoughtful expressions, drew more than a few curious glances.

Liu Xiyue, noticing her senior’s distracted demeanor, couldn’t help but ask, “Senior Brother, what are you thinking about?”

Snapped out of his reverie, Zhang Niankang saw concern in Liu Xiyue’s eyes, and felt a surge of joy. Ever since that day when she had stormed out of the Zhang residence, incensed by its ostentatious luxury, their relationship had cooled. Yet, through his tireless efforts these past days to help her procure gifts, the tension between them had eased somewhat. Seeing her initiate conversation, he dared not neglect her, and answered promptly, “I was just thinking about someone.”

“Who?” Liu Xiyue’s curiosity was piqued.

“The disciple of Master Songhe, the one Daoist Qingsong mentioned earlier. I’m wondering whether he can truly cure your illness…” Zhang Niankang replied without much thought.

His words touched Liu Xiyue, mingling gratitude with deep bitterness. This Senior Brother had been running about for her sake, ever concerned, even planning to travel far to seek a physician in the capital. If she were a normal girl, she would surely entrust him with her life. Yet, afflicted as she was, doomed not to live past twenty, she could not bear to let him hope in vain. Thus, their bond was fated to end without fulfillment.

She sighed. “Senior Brother, I know my own body. At most, I have two years left. Even if there are miracle doctors in this world, how can anyone turn back fate?”

Zhang Niankang fell silent, a wave of sorrow washing over him. He had originally approached her for the sake of family alliances, but who can remain unmoved by affection? Even his powerful second uncle had been ensnared by love in youth. He himself had long since grown fond of Liu Xiyue; otherwise, he would never have sent the notorious bandit Jiang Huai to steal medicine for her. So many words, distilled into a single sigh.

As he brooded, a commotion suddenly rose within the caravan. He looked up—mist shrouded the mountains, and only a few yards ahead were visible.

“Why is the fog so thick?”

“It’s always misty in the morning here. Hold the reins tight, don’t let the horses get startled!” The guards familiar with the mountain path quickly soothed the group.

Zhang Niankang frowned; something about Chisong Mountain felt different today, as if it had gained a subtle, uncanny vitality.

He shook his head, dismissing the absurd notion. He rode up to Liu Xiyue and reassured her, “Don’t be afraid, Junior Sister. Our Jinhua region is ringed by mountains, so morning mist is common. We only need to follow the path.”

Liu Xiyue nodded, unafraid. As the daughter of a martial arts master, well-read since childhood, how could she be frightened by mountain fog? The group pressed onward, climbing the moss-covered ancient trail.

Half an hour later, the leader of the guards sensed something was amiss. By the usual pace, they should have reached the summit, yet they seemed stuck, circling the same ground. He called for a break and approached Zhang Niankang, lowering his voice.

“Sir, something’s not right.”

Zhang Niankang frowned. “What’s wrong?”

The guard’s face grew grave. “Don’t you think this stretch of road is too long? We martial artists should have reached Chisong Mountain’s top by now, but it’s as if we’re going in circles. I fear…”

“Fear what?” Zhang Niankang prompted, catching the unfinished sentence.

“I fear we’ve encountered some monster’s mischief!” There was an edge of dread in his voice.

Though skilled in martial arts, they knew that facing legendary monsters was futile. Jinzhou was full of towering mountains; tales abounded of mountain spirits and water demons whose powers rivaled martial masters, leaving ordinary folk doomed.

As heir to the Zhang family, Zhang Niankang understood the danger and grew tense. He stepped forward, shielding Liu Xiyue behind him.

Liu Xiyue, seeing everyone so alert, asked, “Senior Brother, what’s happened?”

Zhang Niankang explained their suspicions, then reassured her, “Don’t worry, Junior Sister! If danger comes, I’ll protect you, even at the cost of my life!”

He had barely finished speaking when the mountain wind swept the mist, and amidst the rustling woods, a shadowy figure appeared.

Everyone tensed; Zhang Niankang drew his sword and stood guard. Liu Xiyue felt a flicker of nervousness—after all, she was only seventeen or eighteen, and the unknown both intrigued and frightened her.

From deep within the mist came a light, wandering chant:

“Watching chess and chopping wood, drifting through the valley, selling firewood and wine, laughing madly at my own delight…”

The voice carried a carefree, untamed air, as if spoken by a reclusive hermit living in tranquil seclusion. Pine and cypress branches swayed, the wind scattered the fog, and the shadow in the forest became clear.

A young Daoist, dressed in blue, with bright eyes and an ethereal bearing, descended the steps, accompanied by a white fox with crimson eyes. He held a bamboo staff, and on his back was a basket full of wild ginseng, red lingzhi, and other rare medicinal herbs.

He seemed to have just returned from gathering herbs in the mountains.

Liu Xiyue’s eyes sparkled, not at the Daoist, but at the lively white fox whose snowy fur caught her fancy at once.

Zhang Niankang signaled to the guards to step forward and inquire. The leader understood and moved ahead, clasping his hands in greeting. “May I ask who you are, and why you appear in these mountains?”

The young Daoist, half smiling, pointed to his basket. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The guard’s gaze sharpened; rarely had he been spoken to so casually. He was about to rebuke the Daoist, but Zhang Niankang stopped him. Zhang Niankang had noticed his junior’s fascination with the unusual fox and resolved to buy it for her as a token of affection.

He addressed the Daoist, “May I ask, Master, is that white fox yours? I am Zhang Niankang, and I am willing to pay a thousand gold coins for it, if you’d allow.”

His gaze was fixed intently on the Daoist’s eyes, not realizing that the white fox at the Daoist’s feet flashed a trace of anger. Its ruby pupils glowed with a ghostly light.

As he awaited the Daoist’s reply, he suddenly felt something cold and slippery in his hand—something wriggling. Looking down, he saw a large, mottled snake in his grasp, its triangular eyes staring coldly up at him. In that instant, it bared its fangs and lunged for his hand.

“Aah!”

Zhang Niankang shrieked in terror, all composure lost, and flung the snake into the crowd.

“Sir!”

“Senior Brother?”

Several voices rang out, puzzled and startled.

Liu Xiyue sidestepped the sword, her expression full of disbelief. She had just seen her senior suddenly cry out and hurl his sword at them, as if what he held was not a treasured blade but something terrifying.

What was going on?

Liu Xiyue turned her gaze to the young Daoist before them. Her mind was quick; in a moment she guessed the cause. Surely her senior’s careless words had offended this mysterious figure and brought about a lesson.

But this master—wasn’t he a bit too young?