HTCYH Ch 8

Chapter 8: The Fox Spirit

After watching the bride’s memory fragment, Tu Si finally understood her fate. The filth within grand estates was just as he suspected. For a powerless and lowly family like the bride’s, their ending could only be total ruin.

“Did you discover something?” Merely by the scent, Tu Si knew who had spoken. Without even turning his head, he narrated to Wuming what he had seen.

Wuming raised an eyebrow, and after a moment of contemplation, replied with a non sequitur, “You’re very suited for this game.”

Tu Si was momentarily stunned, then quickly realized—he had exposed himself again. Not everyone could see that memory. What Tu Si had seen was actually the emotional imprint carried by the peach blossom bookmark, not a programmed game clue.

Plants had memories too, much like hollow trees. Humans liked to whisper secrets to tree hollows, believing they could keep confidences. Such venting was both a release and a form of emotional anchoring. And while tree hollows could indeed bear secrets, whispering to them did not guarantee absolute secrecy. If one truly wanted to keep something hidden, the safest place was still the grave. For all things in the world had their own ways of communication—and some plants, in fact, were quite gossipy. Tu Si once became a great general of a nation simply by chatting with trees and learning all about the enemy’s strategic deployments.

Casting a sidelong glance at Wuming, Tu Si noticed no change in expression. He began to ponder—perhaps it was precisely these oddities that had caught Wuming’s attention, causing him to pay more heed to Tu Si.

Elite hunters often disguised themselves as prey. Maybe it was time to change his approach.

So Tu Si started up several topics of small talk with Wuming. He probed for quite a while but still failed to glean Wuming’s preferences or interests. The two of them chatted back and forth, covering everything from astronomy to geography, from ancient history to modern trends. Tu Si, having lived long enough, knew a bit about everything. Yet Wuming was the same—he seemed to have dabbled in all manner of knowledge and mastered them all. His comments were always extremely objective, devoid of personal bias or emotion, making him impossible to figure out.

Thus, the two of them bantered idly while strolling out of the bamboo forest. Outside the grove, two young boys stood waiting for them, one on each side. It was already late—clearly, there was another ceremony to observe tonight.

Tu Si and Wuming followed the boys into the main hall. The others had already arrived. When Huangmao, Yang Huahao, saw Tu Si, he shrank back nervously.

As expected, the fat man named Dong Hong had his eyes fixed on Tu Si the moment he entered the room. He stared straight at Tu Si’s face without looking away. Tu Si pretended not to notice, maintaining a blank expression as he walked past Dong Hong. A lecherous hand brushed down from his waist. Tu Si clenched his teeth and endured the revulsion, holding back his rage. Once seated, he reached into his pocket—and sure enough, the mole pen was gone.

Looking up, he saw Dong Hong holding the pen, waggling his brows suggestively at him. Tu Si immediately stood, pointing at Dong Hong in fury and shouting, “Give that back!”

Dong Hong, clearly enjoying Tu Si’s expression, twirled the pen in his fingers. For someone so fat, his hands were remarkably nimble. He flipped and spun the mole pen with deliberate sensuality, his voice laced with lewd innuendo: “Hm? Give back what?”

Tu Si’s cheeks flushed with shame—an expression of someone being mocked and humiliated. Clenching his fists, he yelled angrily, “You stole from me! That mole pigment in your hand is mine!”

Dong Hong laughed uproariously, shaking the pen and saying, “Hm? Yours? How do you plan to prove that? Painted so beautifully, and now you have the nerve to demand it back? Little thing! If you like it, come to my room tonight. If I’m pleased, maybe I’ll give it to you.”

Tu Si flushed with rage, eyes brimming with tears. He looked around at the people seated, but even Wuming said nothing. His repeated “you, you, you” choked in his throat. Finally, he wiped his face and sat back down, silent and seething.

Soon, the boys began to bring in an array of dishes, and the incident was glossed over as if it never happened.

After the banquet, the entertainment turned out to be a shadow puppet play, which told a story from another perspective.

The protagonist was a seductive fox spirit who had set her sights on the young master of a noble family. Through her allure, the fox spirit drew the young master into a whirlwind romance. Just as he was preparing to marry her, she drained him of his vital essence. Fearing he would see her true face, she gouged out his eyes. In his final moments, the young master summoned all his strength to draw her likeness blind before dying in despair.

His family, devastated and enraged, sought a Taoist priest to avenge him. The priest, however, could not locate the fox spirit. At that moment, a matchmaker appeared, claiming to have inherited the secrets of the Old Man Under the Moon. She said that because the young master had truly loved the fox spirit, a red thread of fate had bound them in the unseen realm. Using that thread, they could find the fox.

Indeed, guided by the matchmaker, the priest found the fox spirit in a village household. After a fierce battle, the priest captured the fox, burned down her den, and slaughtered her entire family—purging evil for the good of the people.

The priest then held a ghost marriage between the fox spirit and the deceased young master, fulfilling his wish to wed her in life. At the final moment of the ritual, as the priest prepared to destroy the spirit with Samadhi True Flame, the fox unleashed one last charm spell and nearly escaped. Many of the spectators at the ritual were bewitched. As they watched the fox spirit dance seductively in the flames, her beauty was haunting, her allure soul-stirring.

Thus, several expensive paintings later appeared in the world, each depicting the execution of the fox spirit—her bewitching form ablaze, as though a ghost of stunning allure.

When the performance ended, the boys reappeared to lead everyone back to their rooms. At this moment, Wuming approached Tu Si, handed him a talisman, and said in a low voice, “This is a protective charm I made with rooster’s comb blood. It’s for you.”

Tu Si accepted it, placed it in the pocket over his chest, and thanked him sincerely. Wuming shook his head slightly, then brushed past Tu Si and walked away.

Tu Si paused in his steps, watching Wuming’s departing back, feeling confused—though he couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason. He shook his head and was just about to head back to his room when Yang Huahao suddenly ran up to him and said, “Hmph! Got what you deserved! I kindly warned you, but you didn’t listen. You shouldn’t wear makeup anymore. You’re already good-looking enough—you don’t need it. There are plenty of people in this game better than you, so don’t get cocky!”

Without waiting for a response, Yang Huahao turned and bolted away.

Tu Si didn’t chase him or say anything more. He simply shook his head with a quiet laugh and muttered, “Already gave you a beating, yet you still come back yapping. Don’t tell me you really are just an adorably stupid little deer.”

Back in his room, Tu Si repeated his usual routine from previous nights. Then he hung Wuming’s protective charm by the door. He wanted to see for himself what effect it had. If Wuming was playing a cheap trick, trying to kill him with a borrowed knife, Tu Si wouldn’t mind draining him dry in-game. No matter how powerful Wuming was, if Tu Si truly went all out, the cost might be high—but he was certain of one thing: he wouldn’t die. People die for wealth, birds for food. A good meal was always worth it.