Chapter Forty-Two: Preaching on the Grasslands (II)

There is also a legend on the grasslands of foxes turning from black to white after a thousand years, and it is believed that any animal with a rare color on the steppe possesses extraordinary powers and must not be harmed. Otherwise, one would suffer terrible retribution.

The white fox cub rolled and frolicked endlessly on Yunhua’s lap, its fluffy tail waving like a spinning wheel. Liaochen could only sigh at the fox’s lack of dignity—it wasn’t a dog, after all, yet it wagged its tail so enthusiastically. Who on earth did it learn that from?

Baya'er was sitting beside Liaochen. He leaned in and whispered, “Immortal Liaochen, where did this white fox come from? Its behavior doesn’t seem like a regular fox’s. It must be very powerful, right?”

“I don’t know if it’s powerful or not, but we raised it from a pup. It’s never seen another fox, so it probably doesn’t even know what a fox is supposed to be like. Its mother entrusted it to me before she died. Judging from now, this fox is probably ruined,” Liaochen replied with a sigh.

“What!” Baya’er’s mouth fell open. “The fox’s mother left her cub to your care?”

Liaochen nodded, then recounted the little fox’s story. However, Baya’er, with his imagination, quickly conjured up a grand myth: the white fox lived for a thousand years, was captured by a hunter, and Immortal Liaochen, moved by its misfortune, rescued the pregnant fox. The white fox, mortally wounded, entrusted her cub to the kind immortal before passing away…

“We Mongols would never harm a mother animal carrying young. To do so would incur Heaven’s wrath,” Baya’er said. Liaochen was speechless, so he picked up his cup and toasted Baya’er, “Let’s not speak of sad things. Drink up!”

That night, the fox got drunk first, and then Liaochen too. “The people of the steppe are truly formidable drinkers,” Liaochen thought, though he had no idea when he fell over. When he awoke, he was already lying inside a yurt, and dawn had come. Liaochen quietly muttered a prayer for the Celestial Venerable, deeply reflecting on his wild behavior the night before.

Outside the yurt was a commotion. Liaochen crawled out of bed and stepped outside, only to find a large crowd kneeling at his door. They were visibly excited upon seeing him. Startled, Liaochen wondered what was happening.

While he was still confused and struggling to communicate with those kneeling, Baya’er arrived. He looked at Liaochen with reverence and explained, “Respected Immortal, they have come to ask you to drive away their ailments.” Liaochen was puzzled, so Baya’er recounted the events after Liaochen got drunk.

As it turned out, after Liaochen became drunk that night, he suddenly grew excited and seized the fox, declaring, “Though my fox is a male, he can still sing and dance!” The surrounding Mongols’ eyes lit up, and they all clamored for the fox to perform. So, Liaochen really picked up the fox and poured half a bowl of his own wine down its throat. The drunken fox was still confused when Liaochen had it drink some more. After the fox finished, Liaochen laughed loudly, “Go, dance for everyone!” and tossed the fox out.

With a cry, the fox landed and, in that very instant, transformed into a graceful youth—face as luminous as the moon in mid-autumn, complexion like a spring blossom, sideburns as if carved by a blade, brows like ink strokes, cheeks like peach petals, eyes bright as autumn waves. Even in anger, he seemed to smile; even when annoyed, his gaze was affectionate. There was a natural air of enchantment about him, a beauty that could topple kingdoms and bewitch all beings. Everyone stared, men and women alike, including Yunhua and Liaochen himself. He had always known that if his fox could take human form, it would be beautiful, but he never expected that even as a male, the fox would inherit the seductive charm of his kind.

Drunken Liaochen was the first to tear his gaze away, clapped his hands, and said, “Cloud Fox, come and dance the fox dance for everyone. There will be wine and mutton for you after.” The tipsy fox actually began to dance. Though he didn’t know how, he had seen others dance in the palace before and imitated them on the spot. His movements were not practiced, but his beauty made up for everything. The crowd cheered him on, and many young Mongol women, their hearts fluttering, sang songs to accompany his dance. When the dance ended, everyone was still lost in a dream.

Liaochen laughed heartily, called the fox back, and said loudly, “Well done! Come, have some wine.” The fox immediately ran to Liaochen’s side, his seductive eyes fixed on him. Liaochen could barely stand it. “Enough, change back now,” he said, gesturing with his hand. The fox returned to his original form.

The crowd, awestruck, still couldn’t bear to look away. Liaochen laughed, “Just a simple illusion, don’t take it too seriously.” Only then did everyone recall that the beautiful youth was just a fox after all. But the eyes of many Mongol maidens lingered on the fox with a hint of longing, clearly smitten.

“What a wonderful dance, and yet this old man couldn’t see it,” sighed an elderly Mongol sitting beside Baya’er, his neighbor. Once a renowned warrior, he had lost his sight in an accident, though his prestige and hunting experience remained. Whenever there was a hunt, the tribe would always seek his advice. This time, Baya’er had specially invited him to drink.

“No matter if you can’t see. Come, drink this bowl of wine, and I promise you’ll see the light again,” Liaochen said boldly, handing the bowl he’d just intended for himself to the old man. The elder didn’t hesitate, drank it all, and moments later, cried out in wild joy, “I can see! I really can see! Baya’er, Gesang, Hohoru—I can see you all!” Tears streamed down his face as he laughed in delight. With a miracle occurring before their eyes, the crowd erupted in excitement, clamoring to ask Liaochen to perform more wonders. Before passing out, Liaochen ended up healing three people’s legs, four with old injuries, and one with chronic headaches. It was astounding. The assembled Mongols lost all interest in drinking, knelt to thank Liaochen reverently, and respectfully carried him into the largest, finest yurt in the tribe, leaving guards at the door before finally dispersing.

Now, Liaochen was a living deity in this tribe. After all, such miracles had unfolded right before their eyes—there was no room for doubt. Baya’er, thrilled, said, “Respected Immortal, my home is now filled with gifts people have brought for you. Would you like to look at them?” Liaochen waved his hand, “Let them be for now, I need some peace to gather my thoughts about what happened yesterday.” Seeing Baya’er’s puzzled look, he went back into the yurt, trying hard to recall what exactly he had done the previous night. At the door, he turned back and added, “Oh, send them home for now. If there’s another chance, I’ll help them again.” With that, he went inside. Baya’er, as if receiving an imperial edict, immediately said to the crowd, “The Immortal has matters to attend to. Come back in a few days.” After much persuasion, he finally dispersed the people.

Liaochen sat inside the yurt, trying to piece together the memories of the previous day, but found his mind a muddle. “Has my spiritual awareness returned?” he wondered, sitting quietly to meditate.

But his spirit was still clouded, though much improved from before. Liaochen was greatly puzzled. What exactly had happened last night?

While he racked his brains for an answer, news of the previous night’s miracles spread from Baya’er’s tribe among the herders, growing ever more wondrous with each telling, until it seemed as if a true deity had walked the earth. The story quickly traveled far and wide.

Meanwhile, in the main settlement dozens of miles away, the chief of the Hohoru tribe also heard the news and was deeply astonished. He promptly dispatched his steward and trusted general to invite Immortal Liaochen for a meeting, as he had an important matter to discuss with him.