Chapter Six: Yu Huan

The sky was just beginning to lighten. From a distance, a pale figure crept silently along the corridor that led to Shen Xunqing’s room in the Shen Prince’s residence. It was none other than the little Heavenly Fox, who had only recently awoken. The little fox looked nervously at the fierce, scowling servant guarding the door of his benefactor’s room. His tiny body shivered—this person was truly terrifying. Yet he, too, wished to stay close to his savior. The little fox frowned, deliberating, and swallowed hard, his gaze gradually growing resolute. Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and dashed straight for Shen Xunqing’s door.

As a Heavenly Fox, he had mastered the basics of illusion. Before fleeing his clan, he had just begun to learn the art of duplication. He had practiced endlessly, never once succeeding. Now, as he barreled forward with eyes shut tight, he failed to notice the servant glance up in surprise. In that instant, the pale blur split into many identical forms. The servant, caught off guard, let one slip past him.

The little fox, still with eyes closed, crashed into the door with a thud, tumbling headfirst onto the floor. Dazed, he picked himself up, only to feel a sharp pain and a wetness at his nose. Tentatively touching it, he found his fingers stained red—blood.

His lips quivered, tears glittering in his eyes, and he burst into loud, unrestrained sobs. Hearing the crying, the servant thought to himself, “This is bad. The young master’s temper upon waking is not to be trifled with...”

Still crying heartily, the little fox suddenly heard movement by the bed. The sleeping child sat up abruptly, turning sharp eyes upon him. The fox froze. The little child on the bed—his benefactor—now gazed at him with a cold, piercing glare.

The little fox felt even more aggrieved. He had searched so long for his savior, wishing only to repay his kindness, and now he was met with such a look. His lips trembled even more, and just as he was about to cry anew, the servant hastily scooped up the fox, now in human form, and carried him out, closing the door behind them.

On the bed, Shen Xunqing tilted his head in confusion, then lay back down to continue sleeping.

Outside, the servant listened to the quiet inside and sighed in relief. This little fox must have just learned to take human form—he hadn’t even remembered to hide his tail. Catching the fox’s eye, the servant clicked his tongue in mild disdain. How foolish...

In a small mountain village, in a direction entirely opposite the imperial capital of Yan, a new “notorious” figure had emerged in recent years.

His name was Yu Huan. For reasons unknown, the child was born ice-cold, chilling the midwife who delivered him. He neither cried nor smiled, unnervingly silent. The midwife, seeing his closed eyes and unresponsive body, was alarmed to find him utterly without warmth, though his breath still misted in the air. Her intention was to pinch him so he would cry, but as she reached out, Yu Huan suddenly opened his eyes and fixed her with a cold, penetrating stare that so startled her she nearly dropped him.

Never before had she encountered anything so uncanny. The midwife, drenched in cold sweat, left without even collecting her fee, muttering superstitiously at home. Was that child not some ghostly spawn? The more she thought, the more she believed it. The next day, she went to burn incense at the temple and told everyone she met. Thus, the rumor spread: Yu Huan was a child born of spirits. Whenever odd things happened in the village, they blamed it on the Yu family’s “ghost child.”

Gradually, the villagers began to shun the Yu family, fearing ill fortune.

The village’s previous “notorious” resident, by a twist of fate, was none other than Yu Huan’s father, Yu Qian. Whenever his name was mentioned, people would recall his patched, threadbare robe, his frail frame that looked as if a breeze could topple it, and his constant quoting of the classics.

Most spoke of Yu Qian with disdain. To them, a man who left all the housework and farming to his wife, who did nothing but bury himself in books, was no sort of man at all. Worse yet, it would be understandable if he had passed the imperial exams, but he had journeyed to the capital to take them many times, never once succeeding.

The villagers mockingly called him “Scholar Yu.”

After several failures, Scholar Yu finally gave up and stayed home. That year, Yu Huan was born—a healthy, chubby boy, and naturally they were pleased. The child’s unusual constitution at first seemed like a lingering chill, but the physician assured them there was no cause for concern, and Scholar Yu was reassured.

Scholar Yu knew nothing aside from his books, so he stayed home to care for Yu Huan. As the boy grew, Yu Qian began to teach him to read, and was astonished to discover that Yu Huan possessed an exceptional memory, never forgetting a single word.

Delighted, Scholar Yu’s hopes of journeying to the capital for the exams were rekindled. That year, Yu Huan was five.

Scholar Yu bid farewell to his wife and son, leaving for the capital and not returning for over half a year.

Once again, he failed the exams, and this time he was utterly crushed. When he returned, he was dispirited and silent. Yu Huan was alone at home, reciting the verses his father had taught him. When he saw his father, his face lit with unconcealed joy. “Father...”

At the sound of his son’s recitation, Scholar Yu felt only bitter irony. He nodded curtly, went to his usual spot to fetch some money, and left the house again without so much as a glance at Yu Huan, not returning until nightfall, drunk.

Hearing the door open, Yu Huan hurried to greet him. “Father, where have you been?”

Scholar Yu scoffed. Though his son’s words were full of concern, to his ears they sounded like reproach. He shoved Yu Huan aside with a burst of anger. “Out of my way! Since when do you get to question me?”

Though thin, Scholar Yu still had the strength of a grown man. Yu Huan fell to the ground, staring in shock at the father who seemed a stranger. Instinctively, he scrambled into his room and locked the door. Scholar Yu, who normally spoke only in the loftiest literary terms, now drunk, was no different from a street ruffian.

His flushed face grew even redder with rage. That little brat dared to hide from him! He stormed to Yu Huan’s door, only to find it locked. Enraged, he began to batter the door. Yu Huan, curled up in the corner, watched in terror.

In a mountain village, doors are never particularly sturdy, and soon it gave way. Scholar Yu grinned wickedly. “Run, go on! Let’s see how far you get!”

Yu Huan tried to escape, but Scholar Yu seized him by the collar and lifted him off the ground, glaring at him with such loathing that Yu Huan’s chest felt tight. Tears welled in the child’s eyes as he trembled, whispering, “Father...”

Scholar Yu spat in disgust, then slapped Yu Huan hard. A red-purple handprint bloomed on the boy’s pale cheek, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, his mind ringing with confusion. “You worthless brat!”

“Aaah!” Madam Yu had returned just then, and with a cry, rushed to snatch Yu Huan from her husband’s grasp. Her hands, chilled by contact with her son, trembled, but she only held him tighter. Seeing the swelling on Yu Huan’s face, her eyes filled with distress. “Husband, why are you hitting the child?!”

Scholar Yu merely cast her a heavy glance, then went to bed without another word.

Madam Yu stifled a silent sigh and forced back the burning in her eyes.