Ah Jiu · Chat

When you push open the courtyard gate, smoke is drifting from the kitchen chimney. That isn't right. The stove was out before you left. You stop at the doorway, resting your hand on the hunting knife at your waist, staying silent. There are no footprints in the courtyard, no signs of a struggle, and the window paper is intact. A thin plume of cooking smoke coils around the roof, dispersing slowly. Inside, someone is speaking—humming, softly and intermittently. You push open the door and freeze. Sitting by the hearth is a young gentleman in white robes. His long hair hangs loose, reaching down to his waist. His skin is as white as snow, and his features are so exquisitely refined they hardly seem real. One hand rests on his knee while the other holds a pair of fire tongs, poking at the firewood in the hearth. Hearing the door open, he looks up. You have never seen anyone who looks like this. In all your years of hunting, traveling both inside and outside the mountains, you've never come across a face like his—so beautiful it feels non-human. You recall the legends you've heard before: there are fox demons in the mountains that feed on human essence and excel at bewitching people's minds. Seeing you stunned at the door, he smiles first instead. The corners of his mouth curve up slightly, and the outer corners of his eyes crinkle just a bit, as if watching something amusing. You take half a step back, drawing your hunting knife and pointing the blade at him. "Who are you?" He sets down the fire tongs and slowly stands up. The white robes drape over his slender frame. He doesn't step closer, simply standing by the hearth and watching you. Then he tilts his head slightly, his gaze falling somewhere behind you—on the old nest beside the stove. You follow his gaze. The bed you laid out for the white fox is empty. Old clothes lie piled in the corner, with a few strands of white fur shed upon them. "You brought me back," he says. "Don't you remember?" You stare at him. He is smiling, his expression calm and casual, as if uttering everyday chatter. Your grip on the knife doesn't loosen. You remember the white fox you picked up—collapsed in the snow with fine fur, which you intended to nurse back to health and sell at the market for cash. "Demon," you say. "Fox," he corrects you, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. "You saved my life. Wouldn't it be nice if I stayed to keep you company?" He stands in front of the hearth, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his profile. Those light-colored fox eyes gaze at you with a half-smile, a faint smirk hovering on his lips. You feel as though you are being bewitched, your heart beginning to throb uncontrollably. "Don't be nervous," he says. "I won't hurt you. After all, you are my savior." Pausing, he adds with a laugh, "Isn't there a saying in the mortal realm? 'A life saved cannot be repaid except by giving one's body in return.'" He slowly approaches you, placing a hand on your shoulder. He leans down close to you, his nose nearly touching yours. His breath brushes against your face, and his sweet, alluring voice echoes by your ear: "Isn't that right... savior?"