I Dug Up a Fox Spirit - Chapter 1

Before Dad breathed his last, he clutched my hand, tears streaming down his old face.

“Daughter, my time has come. From now on… you’ll have to fend for yourself.”

I knelt beside his bed, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. “How am I supposed to live without you?”

He stroked my head and sighed. “When the King of Hell calls you at midnight, who can keep you here till dawn?”

“Couldn’t you talk him into giving you another hundred years?”

“…He won’t agree.”

I pulled the woodcutting knife out from under the bed and held it to my neck. “Then I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, no!”

He waved frantically. “Don’t be scared. I’ve left you three treasures. If you ever need help, go to them.”

“A mountain of gold? A mountain of silver? An actual mine?”

Dad fell silent.

“…Three graves.”

What?

“Other families pass down gold and jewels. Ours passes down burial mounds?”

“Don’t you look down on those graves.”

There he went, boasting again.

“Our Zhao ancestors… were spirit hunters.”

I’d heard that story a thousand times.

He brought it up whenever he had a moment to spare.

A thousand years ago, the Zhaos had been a mighty family of spirit hunters. They could not only subdue spirits and demons, but tame spirits too.

Unfortunately, glory never lasts. By our generation, all that remained was those three graves.

I’d always thought Dad was making it up.

He couldn’t even tame our big white goose. It chased him around pecking at him every time he entered the yard.

Seeing that I didn’t believe him, Dad grew agitated. “There are powerful spirits sealed in those graves! Our ancestor subdued them. I’m serious!”

I passed those mounds every day.

Not that I wanted to doubt him, but what sort of creature didn’t turn to dust after a thousand years underground?

Besides, our dog Dahuang lifted his leg and peed on them every time he went past.

Dad said between gasps, “Xiaoman, our ancestor left instructions. A thousand years under the seal would tame their wild nature. If a Zhao descendant ever needed help, all they had to do was dig.”

I sniffled. “Dad, I don’t want to dig up spirits. Can I dig you up instead?”

He glared. “Can’t you let me have some peace even after I’m dead?”

“Don’t go calling for me unless it’s important.”

With that, he stopped breathing.

I cried all night, carried him up the mountain on my back, and buried him beside the three old graves.

Dad said there were spirits sealed underneath.

But who’d ever heard of spirits these days?

Even the village storyteller said they’d died out long ago.

If there really were any, they’d be rare enough to fetch a good price.

I thought about it for a while, but left the graves alone.

I had more work than I could handle as it was.

The autumn harvest had arrived. With Dad gone, every stalk of rice in our fields was mine to cut.

Then it needed drying. If rain ruined it, I’d go hungry next year.

Our hens were brooding again, so I had to keep the weasels away.

There was firewood to chop, water to haul…

My days were packed solid with chores.

By the time I finally caught up, I looked around and realized the ox was gone.

I took Dahuang out and searched all night, scouring field ridges and mountain gullies. Not so much as an ox hair.

It was the most valuable thing we owned.

I asked every neighbor. Nobody had seen it.

“Maybe a wolf dragged it off?”

“It’s getting cold. Wild animals can’t find food in the hills, so they come down after livestock.”

But in other years, we’d lost a chicken at most, or an egg.

First Dad, now the ox.

In just a few days, it felt as though two chunks of flesh had been carved out of me.

I couldn’t stop the tears. The longer I cried, the harder they came.

Unable to sleep in the middle of the night, I shouldered my hoe and made my way up the mountain.

The graves were silent.

I wept in front of Dad’s fresh mound. “Dad, the ox has run off. Could you help me find it?”

A frog suddenly sprang out of the grass with a croak.

For a moment, I almost heard, “Get lost.”

I wiped my tears away and swung the hoe into the first old grave.

Soon enough, a coffin appeared.

Dad had died so suddenly that I’d never asked what sort of spirit was sealed inside.

I just hoped it wasn’t too ugly. If it was hideous, I was burying it again, no matter what.

I lifted the lid. Moonlight spilled in.

An exquisite face.

Not ugly.

So beautiful I forgot to breathe.

A pair of fluffy ears stood on his head. His hair was a fiery crimson, and a long, bushy tail curled beside him.

I couldn’t help reaching out to stroke an ear.

Warm. Soft.

I poked his eyelid. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

I pushed his shoulder. “Wake up.”

Still nothing.

So I climbed into the coffin, drew my arm back, and slapped him across the face. “Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open, their irises a reddish gold. “Who are you?”

“Zhao Xiaoman.”

“Zhao Whatever.” He frowned. “Get off me.”

“Oh.” I scrambled out on my hands and knees.

He sat up, his joints crackling like links of a rusty chain coming loose one by one.

“What year is it?”

“The third year of Renhe.”

“The third year of Renhe?”

He swore. “That bastard kept me locked up for over a thousand years?”