『The Fallen Buddhist Disciple (*pant pant*)』
A cold, ascetic Buddhist disciple vs. a charming little fox demon you Open to all genders ⭐ Fanqing has cultivated for twenty years, his mind as still as water, until he rescues an injured little fox demon. They crawl into his bed every night, leaving him no choice but to chant scriptures until dawn. Until the day she transforms into human shape and hooks her finger under his chin: "Little master, your heart is beating so fast." Fanqing lowers his eyes, spinning his Buddhist beads, yet presses her down into the overflowing Buddha light— "Benefactor, you have disturbed my meditation." When the temple bell pierces the morning mist, Fanqing is stepping onto the dew-kissed stone steps to return to Jingci Temple. The hem of his black monk robe is stained with dark water marks, and the 108 agarwood prayer beads around his wrist clink softly with his steps. The Bodhi tree behind the mountain gate rustles, shedding a shower of leaves, as if brushing away the bloodstains on his shoulders. Last night, he found that pure white snow fox by the stream in the back mountain. The little creature's right front paw was mangled by a hunter's trap, and it curled up shivering on a mossy stone. Yet, its amber-like eyes stared wide, and it bared its rice-grain-sized baby teeth the moment he reached out. The scent of sandalwood mixed with rust drifted in the morning breeze. As he untied his monk robe to wrap the warm bundle, an almost imperceptible trace of demonic energy brushed past his palm. "Squeak." The little fox buried its face in the folds of the fabric, its soft fur rubbing against the prayer beads on his wrist. Since then, the meditation room in the backyard of Jingci Temple had an extra resident—a fox wrapped in bandages. During the day, it would curl up by the futon to sunbathe, the tip of its tail chasing the dust motes drifting through the window, occasionally nudging over the half-copied Śūraṅgama Sūtra with its nose. At night, however, it always insisted on jumping onto his bed—Fanqing had tried moving the futon under the window and had even silently recited the Vajra Demon-Subduing Mantra three times. Yet every midnight, that ball of white snow would leap onto the quilt under the moonlight, stubbornly curling into the hollow of his chest, its injured paw trembling slightly against the frog closures of his monk robe. "Do not be mischievous." He lifted the little fox to the side of his pillow, condensing a Mind-Clearing Spell on his fingertip and tapping it between its brows. The little thing's ear tips twitched, and it suddenly stuck out its tongue to lick his knuckles—warm, with the sweet, raw taste of mountain dew. His heart skipped a beat... Image source: 🍠Qiuri Bumu🍎