NTYOL 09

Chapter – 09

The Clever Fox Has a Way

Prince Wei and Tinglan had barely exchanged a few veiled barbs when they heard a tremendous commotion from inside the room. They stepped forward to investigate and saw that the man they had brought was already lying on the ground, unconscious. Prince Wei was greatly alarmed. “What happened?”

One of his subordinates leaned in and whispered in his ear, explaining that the young Daoist had struck too fast—they hadn’t been able to stop him. Who would have thought a Daoist could be so violent, swinging his sword like a hammer?

“How dare you! Why did you strike him?” Prince Wei thundered.

His subordinate hurriedly leaned in again, whispering that this Daoist was the very one who had presented the golden elixir to the Emperor—His Majesty held him in high regard, and for now, they could not touch him.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Zhou Yiqing remained calm, pacing in circles while ringing a bell and chanting, “This fellow Daoist has been possessed by evil spirits. This humble Daoist is performing a rite to exorcise them—how can you speak of striking anyone?”

He sighed as he spoke, wearing an expression that said, You common folk simply cannot understand.

Prince Wei, forced to swallow his anger, growled at his subordinates, “Who exactly brought this man along?”

His subordinates dared not speak now. They had all been in agreement before, but this Daoist, apparently making his first visit to the palace, understood neither the rules nor the unspoken cues. He must have come from some backwater mountain temple—such an untutored man, no matter how skilled, was ultimately useless.

An inexplicably cheerful atmosphere filled the hall.

Regardless of how others fumed, the fox suddenly perked up. No longer thinking of running away, his head no longer spinning, his stomach no longer aching—he felt an indescribable sense of ease. Delighted, he scurried to the front to watch Zhou Yiqing put on his act with the bell.

Seeing Jiqing staring at him eagerly, Zhou Yiqing raised an eyebrow. Later, you’d better come clean—how exactly did you sneak in here?

This humble Daoist had no idea the silly fox had such skills—there must be more to the story.

Tinglan’s gaze, however, gradually darkened. Only now did he vaguely realize that he did not know how to interact with others normally. He was a proficient machine of schemes, but one that lacked human emotion.

As the Seal-holding Director of the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs, over the years he had grown accustomed to remaining impassive, to luring snakes out of their holes, to killing in silence. Anyone could be his bait—if it served his purpose, nothing was off-limits.

When Prince Wei had made his move, Tinglan could have stopped him directly, but instead he had used the young prince as bait. Tinglan knew well that years of bloodshed within the palace had frozen his blood solid. Years of scheming had become habit; cold indifference and detached observation were etched into his very bones.

Now realizing this, he felt a chill run through him.

His feelings toward Jiqing might not be romantic—so the things Pei Yue had said meant little to him. But having spent so long in the depths of the palace, occasionally encountering a lively soul, he had simply tried every means to keep that person by his side.

A eunuch had no right to speak of love.

Tinglan turned the jade thumb ring on his finger—his fingertips were somewhat cold.

Moments later, the unconscious Daoist slowly came to. He did not look at Zhou Yiqing, who had struck him, but instead stared at the Thirteenth Prince with a mixture of shock and terror.

“What… what are you?” His pupils dilated, as if he truly saw something beyond his imagination.

The clamorous room fell silent instantly. Eyes from all directions turned to fix upon Jiqing’s face.

Jiqing stepped back two paces, thinking, Oh no.

Zhou Yiqing thought, So you can actually tell. If he hadn’t known in advance and seen his true form, even this humble Daoist couldn’t tell whether Jiqing was human or demon. He gripped his copper-coin sword, ready to give the man another hit.

You’d better just stay unconscious.

But the Daoist spoke rapidly, his lips barely moving as he blurted out, “Your Highness’s aura is pure white, unstained by any dust—I have never seen such purity in all my life.”

The fox was dumbfounded, and the scheming men in the room were dumbfounded as well.

Only Tinglan let out a soft laugh.

Zhou Yiqing was silent for a moment, then lowered his sword and patted the Daoist on the shoulder. A loss may turn out to be a gain—the ancients were not wrong. Even half-baked skills have their advantages; at least he’ll suffer fewer beatings.

Prince Wei had thought the man might finally prove useful and had perked up slightly—only to hear this. He was furious. Clenching his fists, he glared to the side.

What nonsense is this? Pei Jiqing is a bastard, utterly without breeding—his mother can’t be found, he’s not even on the family register, and all he has is a face that looks imposing.

Having suffered such a huge setback, lost so much face, and instead earned praise for Pei Jiqing, Prince Wei could no longer stay. He flicked his sleeves and turned to leave.

Zhou Yiqing helped the Daoist up, deliberately took the horsetail whisk from his waist, gave it a flick, and with the air of a transcendent sage, saluted the fox. “Wuliang Tianzun. This humble Daoist will also take his leave. For the blessing ritual, I will return once I have retrieved some talisman paper.”

This chaotic farce finally subsided. The people left, and Qiuyuan, still clutching his chest in fright, said cheerfully, “I told you that Daoist had some skill—His Highness is truly blessed with profound fortune.”

The fox smiled back at Qiuyuan, then leaned against the window, gazing at a certain red-clad figure as he walked away.

Why did Tinglan leave too? There were still things I wanted to say to him.

After a moment of wistfulness, once Qiuyuan had gone off to attend to his duties, the fox spread his arms like wings and ran around the room.

He ran to the inner chamber, proudly placed his hands on his hips, stood before the mirror, and asked himself smugly, “Don’t I look just like a real person?”

The mirror said nothing—it was, after all, just an ordinary mirror.

The fox took that as agreement, twirled around with delight, and admired his flawless transformation from every angle.

Perfect. No tail popping out inexplicably. I’m a genius.

Who says I’m stupid? I’m not stupid at all.

The clever little fox, wielding an invisible tail, pranced around the room, eventually ambling over to the bed, pulling out a chest from underneath, retrieving a packet of candied fruit, and stuffing a handful into his mouth.

Having resolved a crisis, I should celebrate—might as well have two more packets.

Under the pretense of performing a blessing ritual, Zhou Yiqing returned once more, unceremoniously helping himself to half of Jiqing’s stash of snacks. Having fed this fox for so many years, this was the first time he’d seen any return—of course he had to eat his fill.

After the last piece of cake went down, he was so stuffed he could barely breathe. He patted his chest for a while, drank some tea to wash it down, and finally asked, “What’s going on? Weren’t you supposed to be descending the mountain to undergo your tribulation? How did you end up here?”

Jiqing hung his head and poured out the whole story—from encountering something strange, to being dragged into a carriage and brought to the capital—like pouring beans from a bamboo tube. Finally, he pouted and said, as if tattling, “They tricked me first! Otherwise I wouldn’t have come here. There’s no cabbage here, no chickens either.”

Zhou Yiqing fell silent. Explaining what the imperial family meant to this little fool was far too difficult, so he tried a different angle: “They don’t grow cabbage here, but… don’t you think they’re actually quite wealthy? Isn’t the food good?”

The fox shook his head in confusion. “If they’re rich, why don’t they buy up a whole mountain to raise chickens? Don’t they like them?”

Zhou Yiqing held his forehead. He’d thought little Jiqing would broaden his horizons this time, but his head was still full of food and drink, with not a shred of real cunning gained. On second thought, he supposed that wasn’t so bad—at least there was no danger of a fox spirit bringing ruin to the realm.

A fox spirit who just wants to eat good food—what harm could it do? Even if left to eat freely, at most it could polish off two chickens and a plate of sticky rice in one sitting.

The Emperor surnamed Pei ruled the four seas—it wasn’t as if he’d be eaten into poverty.

“Right now, this humble Daoist couldn’t take you away even if he wanted to. Hurry up and finish your tribulation—once you’ve gained enough power, run back home,” Zhou Yiqing said. After worrying about the fox harming others, he now worried about others harming the fox. He asked with concern, “Also, does Guan Ning know?”

“Sister doesn’t know,” the fox said, lowering his head. “How is she at home? Does she miss me?”

The Daoist thought, She’s doing wonderfully—living the good life. She’s in fasting, so she doesn’t need to eat, and spends all day playing mahjong, winning against everyone in our temple one by one… Since you left, with no fox to pet, she’s been petting our Xiao Mi, Da Hua, and Qiu Qiu—aiya, she’s rubbed Qiu Qiu bald. Hurry up and finish your tribulation and go back—save Qiu Qiu from her clutches.

“Guan Ning is doing very well, uh… she misses you. Are you doing all right? Aside from that Prince What’s-His-Name, has anyone bullied you? If this humble Daoist goes back, I can pass a message to your sister.”

The fox sat on the stool and began counting on his fingers. “No, the people I’ve met have been wonderful. Tinglan gave me lots of good food and played with me. Qiuyuan is also great—he cooks for me. And I met a Seventh Brother…”

Before he could finish, Zhou Yiqing’s eyes widened and he interrupted, “Seventh Brother—which Seventh Brother?”

The fox tilted his head in thought. “His name is Pei Yue. He didn’t give me food, but he was nice too.”

Zhou Yiqing leaned back, covering his forehead with his sleeve. A moment later, he snapped upright again and asked urgently, “You saw him—how is he?”

“He didn’t seem too well… When I saw him, he was covered in blood, though his injuries weren’t very serious.”

“Not serious—good,” Zhou Yiqing muttered to himself.

A moment later, the Daoist sat up once more, eyes wide. “Wait—did you just say Tinglan? How do you know him?”

“Tinglan is the best,” the fox said, bouncing up and spinning around the room, happily showing off to Zhou Yiqing. “Look at this, and this, and that—he gave me all of it. He even invited me to dinner.”

“Then he seems like a decent person…” Zhou Yiqing replied flatly.

If that was the case, then Pei Yue should be safe in his hands too. He had just let out a sigh of relief when he turned back to see Jiqing holding up a longsword.

The Daoist was horrified, gasping sharply, and immediately leaped up from his seat. “Put that down—don’t touch that thing!”

The fox only wanted to show off the gifts he’d received. He bent down, gently placed the sword on the ground, and said uneasily, “What’s wrong? This was given by Prince Ning—he’s nice too.”

Zhou Yiqing scratched his head. “Aiya, this humble Daoist can’t really explain it to you. Just stay as far away from swords as possible—don’t play with them, and stay far away from people who use them too. Once you’ve gotten through this tribulation, everything will be fine.”

The fox didn’t understand, but obediently put the sword away.

Zhou Yiqing had left, taking with him the other half-box of his snacks. The fox sat at the entrance waiting for Ting Lan, clutching a bag of crispy fried beans and crunching them noisily.

He wanted to go out and find Ting Lan directly, but Zhou Yiqing had said that among those Daoists, there were still a few with considerable cultivation. To avoid any mishaps, it was best not to leave the palace for the next few days.

So the clever fox could only think of one solution—sit at the entrance and wait. Waiting here, Ting Lan would see him the moment he walked in.

When mealtime came, the fox would go inside to eat. When bored, he’d pick up a twig and poke little holes in the ground, or pick up yellow fallen leaves to play with.

Night fell. Ting Lan did not come.

The fox lit the lantern at the door, patted the dust off his rear, and prepared to head back inside. He could keep waiting tomorrow—and when he finally saw him, he could play with Ting Lan right away.

Only Ting Lan was willing to play with the fox. The fox treasured this good friend dearly and hoped he would come soon.

The fox lifted his head, glanced at the lantern, then chose to remain seated at the doorway. He rested his chin in his hands, gazing at the distant path where lights were beginning to glow, hoping to spot a figure in red appearing there.

His Lordship the Seal-Bearer had worked from dawn till dusk. It was only when the moon rose above the treetops that he finally emerged from the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs. Recalling the day’s events, he could not help but furrow his brows slightly.

The young prince had already been unwell, and that afternoon, the Prince of Wei had gone and caused such a commotion—it would surely only worsen his condition.

With such thoughts drifting idly through his mind, his feet unconsciously veered onto the side path.

Just one look.

After all, he felt guilty about what had happened during the day.

So he turned and said to his attendants, “It’s getting late. You should return early. No need to follow me.”

Dismissing them, Ting Lan walked alone toward the Thirteenth Prince’s palace chambers.

He no longer knew what emotion he was feeling. It was as though he had been possessed—emotions that had lain dormant for over a decade now inexplicably blazing like a wildfire.

He had entered the palace at the age of ten. From then on, all past affairs and deep-seated grudges had been churned together in his dreams—blood-soaked dreams—granting him no rest thereafter.

He could not live a single day as a man; he was but a ghost surviving by mere luck.

Ahead lay the Thirteenth Prince’s Changqiu Palace. Two ginkgo trees stood outside the gate, their golden leaves fluttering down in abundance—a scene most fitting.

The palace gate was half-shut. A gust of wind rattled the lantern against the door, startling the person seated there. That person wore sky-blue robes, a small pile of ginkgo nuts before him, his cheeks flushed red from the autumn wind, and he was looking up toward him.

The fox had been too absorbed in playing with the ginkgo nuts to remember to look up. In any case, when a flash of red appeared in the corner of his vision, he lifted his head to confirm it, then immediately sprang to his feet, kicking aside all the embarrassing little nuts and twigs, and let out a joyful cry, “You’re here!”

“Your Highness… were you about to go out?” Ting Lan was stunned.

He did not understand that Ji Qing’s exuberance was meant to welcome him.

“I’m not going out. I was waiting for you.”

Ting Lan felt that he had fallen even deeper under this spell.

He could not fathom what the Thirteenth Prince wanted—what could possibly be worth this much scheming with him.

Yet here, under the bright moonlight, Ting Lan thought that even if this were all just a transaction, it would still be worth it.

He wanted that fire.

He had walked through the darkness for too long, through the biting wind and heavy dew.