Chapter 12: Young Master, Three Books

Beneath the great apricot tree, the swarm of mice had already dispersed.

Ji Ming stood tall with closed eyes, like a crane, guiding the flow of his vital energy and practicing the third form of the Crane Control Technique. Ever since he had begun to gather spiritual energy, a hint of demon nature had arisen within his crow’s body, allowing him to sustain the third form of the Crane Control Technique—“Pine and Crane.”

He believed that he had set foot on the path to becoming a true spirit.

Yet, he could not maintain the third form for long; this shape demanded even more of the body than the previous two—Standing and Spreading—and it was still too taxing for him to cultivate it in his crow form.

Not far away, a thin, hunched figure was making its way over hills and mounds. Ji Ming felt a stir in his heart and, sensing something, immediately stood motionless on the branch, appearing to rest with his eyes closed.

The figure was Old Master Hu, now fully transformed into human shape, with no trace of beastly wildness left. Before he reached the tree, he squinted his aged eyes and carefully scrutinized the great bird perched on the branch, at once discerning it was a crow.

However, this crow was twice as large as any ordinary one, and its bearing was extraordinary. In the mottled shade of the tree, its feathers shimmered with deep blue and black hues, instantly impressing upon the old man that this was no common raven.

“Where do you hail from, friend?” the old man asked, his voice trembling.

Ji Ming shook his head slightly, eyes still closed, and replied, “From where I came.”

“Oh~” The old master sensed an ineffable, Zen-like philosophy in the words and asked again, “And where do you intend to go?”

Ji Ming opened his eyes and gazed directly at Old Master Hu. The clarity and serenity there, utterly devoid of wildness, dispelled all doubt in the old man’s heart.

He knew well that only those who had studied the classics, grasped reason, and transformed a beast’s heart into a human one could possess such eyes.

“Naturally, I go where I am meant to go,” Ji Ming replied with deep meaning.

Old Master Hu beckoned Mouse Four to come forward with an iron box and said, “Since you are bound for somewhere, consider our Hengshan Fox Society as one such destination. Should you be willing to stay as our guest, this box contains a Wind-Cleansing Pill, offered as a token of respect to invite you as our teacher.”

“Teacher?” Ji Ming feigned surprise.

At the old man’s signal, Mouse Four stepped forward, presenting the iron box.

“You once composed a three-word verse for the mice, which our old patriarch happened to hear and found much to his liking. That is why I have come in person to offer this Wind-Cleansing Pill and respectfully invite you to be the schoolmaster for our Hengshan Fox Society. Take it, and you will feel a clear wind beneath your wings. For a flying creature such as yourself, it will grant you swifter flight.”

“The three-word verse was not of my making; I merely heard it and passed it along,” Ji Ming denied flatly, for he lacked the literary talent to have composed it, and feared being exposed if he claimed credit. Though he coveted the elixir, he forced himself to be honest.

“I thought there was some lack of coherence in the verse, perhaps that is why,” Old Master Hu mused. He was right—the verse had indeed been deliberately abridged by Ji Ming, for in this world there were no tales such as ‘Meng’s mother chose a neighbor; her son did not learn, she cut the loom’s threads.’

But the old master did not withdraw his offer; instead, his opinion of Ji Ming’s character only grew.

“This Wind-Cleansing Pill has sat gathering dust in my storehouse for many years. In a while, its medicinal properties may fade with age. If you do not wish to accept my invitation, take this old elixir anyway; consider it an act of hospitality.”

Ji Ming alighted beneath the tree, suppressing his joy and pretending to be moved. “With such sincerity, how can Wu Songzi refuse?”

“Excellent!” The old man felt a curious sense of accomplishment, having finally won Ji Ming’s agreement after two refusals.

Under Old Master Hu’s guidance, Ji Ming flew to a strange forest, a place his sky-roaming eyes had never seen before. He sensed that some power concealed this place, preventing outsiders from entering.

Soon, hazy shapes of buildings began to appear—houses clustered together, some glowing with candlelight. As he drew closer, he seemed to pass through an invisible barrier; the houses vanished, leaving only rows of tombs.

“Truly, fox spirits are masters of illusion,” Ji Ming thought.

Old Master Hu led him into a grand tomb, where the candlelight shone from within. Upon entering, Ji Ming saw a roomful of foxes seated at low tables like humans, their startled expressions as if caught misbehaving by a teacher.

A youth entered from the inner chamber, red boots on his feet, clad in crimson, hair tied atop his head. He bowed deeply before Ji Ming.

“I am Hu Tuer, sir. I greet you.”

Ji Ming, knowing he was chiefly hired to serve this young master, dared not put on airs and nodded in return.

Upon first meeting Young Master Tu, uncertain of his temperament, Ji Ming deliberately remained reserved and silent, answering only one out of every three questions. In time, Young Master Tu grew impatient.

Later, when Old Master Hu and Young Master Tu were alone, the youth voiced his doubts, believing that a crow who had not even taken human form could teach him nothing.

“Where is he now?” Old Master Hu ignored the remark and asked instead.

“Seems he’s in the scripture room,” the young master replied hesitantly.

“Observe his conduct and his words, and then judge his worth. Remember, Tu’er: we foxes are masters of illusion, but our hearts must be clear, true, and substantial.”

…

In the scripture room, Ji Ming had Mouse Four tend the lamp while he pored over scrolls and books, one after another, lost in rapture. At this moment, all other concerns faded; only knowledge mattered.

Everything Ji Ming had schemed for was for this very purpose.

He focused first on two kinds of books: histories and cultivation manuals. Perhaps by misfortune, or because his aims were too lofty, after much searching he found only three volumes.

One, “Notes from Wild Hill,” a brief chronicle of the fox lineage’s history.

Two others, “On Illusions within the Hall” and “Volume of the Dark Wind,” were manuals of cultivation used in the society.

Standing on one leg before the three texts, Ji Ming could hear his heart pounding with excitement; the most mysterious secrets of this world were about to be revealed.

“Bring the lamp closer,” Ji Ming instructed Mouse Four, picking up “Notes from Wild Hill.”

Mouse Four could not comprehend Wu Songzi’s eagerness, nor could he fathom the longing of someone who had come from a mundane, miracle-less world.

“Three Sovereigns ruled together, founding the true way of the gods, and cultivation flourished. Later, ancient immortals served the Three Sovereigns, called True Men, recipients of the Mandate of Heaven. With the Primal Divine Truth, they entered the world to preach the Way…”