Chapter Twenty-Three: A Fox in the House

“If I were to go to the authorities right now and take the examination as a Qi Practitioner, I could probably become a minor official!” Wang Zhenling mocked himself.

Had this been his previous life, he would have been considered a master of the highest order! Just then, the three little foxes, unseen for days, darted inside. As soon as they saw Wang Zhenling, they began to chirp incessantly, both excited and aggrieved, as if Wang Zhenling had abandoned them these past few days. No matter how he tried to appease them, the little foxes refused to forgive him, endlessly denouncing his “crimes.”

In the midst of this lively scene, a voice suddenly called from outside the door, “Has Thirteenth Young Master returned…”

The caller peered through the crack in the door, exclaiming, “Oh my, how did foxes get into the house…”

It was the peddler from the Wang clan, who brought Wang Zhenling his daily provisions. Though he shared the family name, his branch was far more distant. He had come by two days prior and found Wang Zhenling absent. Returning today, he heard a commotion inside and, peeking through the door, happened upon this very spectacle.

Startled, the three little foxes, prompted by Wang Zhenling’s gesture, quickly darted out of the house. Wang Zhenling opened the door unhurriedly and said, “I just returned, and to my surprise, after only a few days away, some foxes and hares have invaded my house. I had just caught one, but your shout made me loosen my grip, and the fox escaped!”

He turned the blame on the peddler, complaining as if it were his fault. The man, clueless as to what had really happened, had only glimpsed Wang Zhenling holding a fox through the door and couldn’t tell whether he was capturing or cuddling it. With this excuse, he could only smile awkwardly. “Thirteenth Young Master, since you live up in the mountains, you ought to keep a dog to guard against wild animals, don’t you think?”

Wang Zhenling nodded repeatedly, saying, “I must get one indeed!”

The peddler immediately became enthusiastic. “Next time I come up the mountain, I’ll find you a fine hunting dog. Never mind foxes—even tigers would be afraid of it…”

With just a few words, the subject was deftly changed. The peddler, after all, had come to deliver supplies, not as a favor—Wang Zhenling had to pay for them. After settling the account, they exchanged a few more words.

The peddler asked why Wang Zhenling had been absent these past days. Wang Zhenling replied that he had gone down the mountain to visit a friend. The peddler said, “There’s been unrest in the county lately. You should be careful!”

Wang Zhenling was puzzled. “Has something happened?”

The peddler lowered his voice, his expression furtive. “Do you remember that severed head hanging over the city gate?”

Wang Zhenling knew this was typical of rural folk—always dramatic, relishing in secrecy when they possessed a scrap of gossip. But the mention of the head made his heart skip a beat. Of course he knew—that was the head of the transmigrant, True Cloud Master.

“Thirteenth Young Master, you may not know—the head was stolen. Even the patrolman in charge of the case was killed…”

“What?” Wang Zhenling cried out in shock.

“Hush! They say it was done by his accomplices,” the peddler whispered. “I heard people say they might be members of the Eternal Heaven Sect!”

The Eternal Heaven Sect?

How could Wang Zhenling not know of them? They were a notorious heretical group, a prime target of the authorities, who some years ago had incited ignorant peasants to rebel.

At the same time, Wang Zhenling found the situation rather absurd. If one were unfamiliar with this peddler and inclined to suspicion, his behavior might seem intentionally provocative, as though he’d learned something and was dropping hints.

Fortunately, Wang Zhenling knew the peddler’s character well and was not taken in, nor did he act rashly.

“The county magistrate is furious and has already sent men everywhere to hunt down the accomplices. The case has even been reported to the prefecture,” the peddler went on.

Wang Zhenling felt a headache coming on. Who could have done such a thing? It was a blatant challenge to the authority of the government—no wonder they were in an uproar. With things reignited after he thought the matter had ended, if the investigation eventually led to him, he’d be in real trouble!

Hearing this news soured his previously good mood.

Early the next morning, Wang Zhenling was awakened by a chorus of chattering. The three little foxes leapt onto his bed, their fluffy tails sweeping across his face. They seemed baffled at why he was still lazing in bed and were determined to wake him, mischief in mind.

Wang Zhenling, dazed and muddled, mumbled to himself, “Where am I… Didn’t I travel back?”

He had dreamed the previous night that his identity had been exposed, and the authorities had discovered him as True Cloud Master’s accomplice, coming to arrest him. He fled, eventually reactivated the Dual Realm Jade Pivot, and crossed over to the modern world where Jun Tian Temple was located. But, having exhausted his spiritual energy, he could never return. Year after year passed in that modern society, and as he was about to grow old and die, he jolted awake.

The three little foxes leapt about on him, chasing and playing until Wang Zhenling finally came to his senses. Suddenly, he let out a shout, sprang from bed, and startled the foxes into scampering off.

He rushed to his desk as if possessed, spread out paper, and began to write with swift, flowing strokes. After a few sheets, he abruptly tossed the brush to the floor and burst into hearty laughter.

Having spent the past days reading and cultivating without rest after his return, then being startled by the peddler’s news, he had been mentally exhausted and went to bed early. His anxieties had followed him into his dreams, and upon waking, his mind was still clouded, almost believing that everything he had experienced in the cave dwelling of Heaven’s Pivot and in that modern world was nothing but a dream.

So he had tried to sketch the Diagram of Nine Heavens’ Primordial Yang Longevity Creation, to test his memory. But after only a few strokes, he realized his recollection was perfectly clear—not a trace forgotten. Why bother drawing it out? More importantly, when had he ever learned to draw?

As he laughed up at the ceiling, one of the little foxes, annoyed, extended its paw and began to chirp angrily at him. In his excitement, Wang Zhenling had tossed aside the brush, and the ink had splattered all over the little fox, staining its snowy white fur with black spots so that it now resembled a cow.

The little creature stretched out its paw, protesting Wang Zhenling’s “atrocity,” while the other two foxes watched gleefully, their expressions almost humanlike as if mocking their companion’s misfortune.

Overcome with joy, Wang Zhenling’s playful spirit awoke, and he laughed heartily, fixing a mischievous gaze upon the two remaining white foxes.