Chapter Fourteen: Tu Shan Ke’s Confession

My name is Tu Shan Ke, a white fox with a thousand years of cultivation. My father was once the Fox King of the Tu Shan clan, and among my ten siblings, I was the fifth, hence people called me the Fifth Lord of Tu Shan. Unfortunately, few of my brothers and sisters survived; most perished in the three tribulations, and in the end, only my eldest brother Tu Shan Qing and I remained. He is now the Fox King.

I remember when my consciousness first awakened, my father doted on me greatly. At that time, I had not yet taken human form and he would often hold me like a cherished pet, recounting the history of the Tu Shan clan.

The “Wu Yue Spring and Autumn” records: “Yu was thirty and unmarried. He traveled to Tu Shan, fearing dusk and losing his way, and thus declared, 'If I marry, there must be an omen.' Then a nine-tailed white fox appeared before Yu. Yu said, 'White is my attire. Nine tails are the sign of kingship.' The Song of Tu Shan says: 'Gentle white fox, nine tails swaying. My home is bright, honored guests become kings. The household prospers, I bring fortune. The bond between Heaven and Man is fulfilled here.' It is clear!” Yu married a woman from the Tu Shan clan, named Nu Jiao. She bore a son, Qi, in the tenth month. Qi was born not knowing his father, crying day and night.

Father told me that in ancient times, humans and spirits mingled, and the Tu Shan clan was named for dwelling on Tu Shan within the Qing Qiu kingdom. An ancestor, Tu Shan Nu Jiao, married Great Yu and bore Qi, founding the Xia dynasty. Thus, our clan could coexist with humanity, even enter the court. Those were the most glorious days of Tu Shan!

Yet, all things rise and fall. With Tang of Shang overthrowing Xia, our position collapsed alongside the dynasty. We became pariahs, no longer daring to appear openly among men.

Of course, the Shang dynasty was not eternal. Its last king, Di Xin, angered Nu Wa by disrespecting her statue. Nu Wa sought my father's aunt, who transformed into Da Ji, daughter of the You Su clan, to sow chaos in the Shang court. The promised reward was the restoration of Tu Shan's former status.

Da Ji bewitched Di Xin, who became the infamous tyrant Zhou. Da Ji believed she had succeeded, but Nu Wa broke her promise, blaming Da Ji for excessive bloodshed, dispersing her spirit so she would never reincarnate. The Tu Shan clan was implicated, forced to leave Tu Shan, wandering for centuries. Only in my father's time did we settle on Mount Bu Xian, now known as Mount Tai Bai. I was born after that.

Whenever Father spoke of these events, he would smile bitterly and say, “People claim demons deceive the masses, but are the lofty gods any better?” Sadly, my newly awakened mind could not grasp the depth of his words.

Yet, truthfully, my inability to understand Father’s sorrows was not solely due to youth. My fate was far smoother than my siblings’. Throughout my cultivation, I was blessed with opportunities no other spirit could dream of.

When I was nearly a hundred years old, the world was in the late Spring and Autumn period. I was caught by a hunter during a mortal tribulation. Seeing my pure white fur, he deemed me valuable and sold me to a merchant. After several exchanges, I ended up in the royal Zhou court. The reigning king, King Jing of Zhou, admired rare creatures, modeling himself after his ancestor King Mu. He cherished me, treating me as an honored member of the palace.

But prosperity was fleeting. The Zhou dynasty was in decline, begging utensils for rituals from other states. King Jing himself lived frugally, gradually dismissing many palace attendants, and eventually could no longer care for me. He left me to roam freely, abandoned in the palace.

Perhaps fate was merciful, for just as I was about to starve, the palace’s librarian—a man named Li Er—rescued me. He was the great opportunity I spoke of, for Li Er would later become Laozi. He left the royal court, gathered disciples, wrote his treatises, and became the founder of Daoism. For decades, I followed him, absorbing the wisdom of the “True Classic of the Way and Virtue,” and my cultivation advanced rapidly.

After Laozi’s westward departure through the Hangu Pass, I endured the Earth and Heaven tribulations alone. Though my life hung by a thread many times, it seemed Heaven favored me, perhaps due to that fateful encounter. Because of it, I gained the qualifications to ascend as an immortal, and I was filled with pride.

Yet, after crossing the Heavenly tribulation, I wandered the mortal realm for centuries, enamored by its splendor. I had little desire for immortality, preferring to seek pleasure among mortals. Perhaps this longing for worldly delights led me to the events that followed.

Unconsciously, the dynasties of the world changed again and again. Qin and Han passed, Wei and Jin arrived, then the chaos of the Five Barbarian Tribes, until Northern Wei unified the north. But soon came the rebellion of the Six Garrisons, the rule of Er Zhu Rong, and then the division between Gao Huan and Yu Wen Tai, splitting Wei into East and West. Gao Huan’s son, Gao Yang, founded the Northern Qi, and at this point my fate began to change.

Gao Yang was a complex man—an energetic founding emperor, but also a debauched tyrant. He indulged in vice, dishonored his brothers’ wives, but in my view, his most heinous act was murdering his beloved concubine Lady Xue and fashioning her bones into a pipa, singing “A Beauty Never Returns” before the court.

Lady Xue was once a famous courtesan and had a brief, passionate encounter with me. I could not fathom how Gao Yang could so cruelly harm someone so beautiful and gentle. Of course, to some, Gao Yang’s greatest offense lay elsewhere—in the eyes of the Lord of the Eastern Peak.

During his reign, Gao Yang once visited Mount Tai. In a drunken frenzy at the Temple of Heaven’s Blessing, he insulted the Lord, who held a grudge and sought me out to ruin the Gao clan. Lady Xue’s death left me with resentment toward Gao Yang, but remembering Da Ji’s fate, I dared not agree easily.

Yet, the Lord exploited my weakness—my love for beauty. He promised me the most beautiful woman in the world, surpassing Lady Xue by a hundredfold, if I fulfilled his request. Eventually, unable to resist, I agreed.

Gao Yang died, his brothers Gao Yan and Gao Zhan succeeded him, both slaughtering the children of the former emperor. Whether this was karmic retribution or the Lord’s manipulation, I knew it was time for me, the grave-digger of the Gao clan, to take the stage.

Gao Zhan had a son, Gao Wei, whose lifespan was only six years according to the Lord. At six, he was destined to die from drowning, but instead, the Lord arranged for me to take his place.

A year later, Gao Zhan made me crown prince.

Three years later, the Lord sent a comet, which the court astrologers interpreted as a sign of renewal—a new emperor must emerge. To follow this omen, Gao Zhan abdicated, becoming Emperor Emeritus, and passed the throne to me.

Four years later, Gao Zhan died, and I knew the Lord’s mission for me had arrived.

In truth, if the Lord had wanted me to be a wise ruler, I would have struggled. But as a foolish king, it was effortless; I simply continued my playful approach to life on the throne. My actions did not disappoint the Lord, and as a reward, he fulfilled his promise. Thus, I met Xiao Lian.

Xiao Lian was the most beautiful woman I had seen in centuries. Though I had met Wang Zhaojun, Zhao Feiyan, and Diao Chan, to me, Xiao Lian surpassed them all.

Her beauty was not merely in her appearance, but in her entirety. Her skin was soft enough to break with a touch, her figure exquisite, her breath fragrant as orchids. In winter, she was as warm as fire; in summer, as cool as jade. She was a natural wonder! She was understanding and gentle—a flower that spoke to my heart. How could I not love her, not be utterly enthralled?

Xiao Lian’s allure and charm ought to have been my exclusive delight, yet I felt it unfair to her. I decided that all men in the world should see her beauty, but never touch her. That, I thought, was the greatest joy we could share.

Thus, I lived happily with Xiao Lian, fulfilling the Lord’s mission. In a few years, Northern Qi collapsed, and Xiao Lian and I became captives of the Northern Zhou Yu Wen clan.

I did not fear death, for my true identity was Tu Shan Ke. Even if I was executed, I would merely lose Gao Wei’s mortal shell, completing my mission. What I feared was losing Xiao Lian. Without her, even as an immortal fox, what joy would life hold?

After dying as Gao Wei, I sought the Lord multiple times, begging him to return Xiao Lian to me. But the Lord told me she had died, and as a mortal, she would enter her next reincarnation. Worse still, trouble awaited me. For in my guise as Gao Wei, I unjustly killed two men—Gao Chang Gong and Hulü Guang—both celestial stars incarnate. Upon returning to their celestial forms, they sought vengeance against me.

This was the Lord’s scheme, and he ought to explain on my behalf. Unexpectedly, he betrayed me to appease their wrath, plotting to kill me and silence the matter. In his eyes, a mere fox spirit was inferior to celestial stars. Yet, because of my past connection with Laozi, the Lord dared not kill me outright. Instead, he imprisoned me beneath the Heavenly Pool waterfall, claiming it was for me to reflect for a thousand years.

How absurd! What am I supposed to reflect on? My own faults, or the Lord’s?

Decades passed in a flash. Trapped in this tiny realm, the bitterness in my heart faded with time, and I grew calm, like an old man of seventy or eighty.

Later, I met a young fox with newly awakened intelligence. Truthfully, she was the most foolish fox I'd ever encountered, and I felt ashamed of her simplicity. Yet, after repeatedly testing and using her, I realized her “foolishness” was actually a rare honesty, seldom seen among foxes or humans. In the past, I might have mocked this, but having been used by the Lord myself, I now truly appreciated its value.

The little fox recently went down the mountain to find Lady Red for me, disappearing for half a year. Though I am reluctant to admit it, I truly missed her.

When she returned, she recounted her experiences. I learned she had survived a human tribulation and sought my guidance on becoming human. In that moment, a sudden idea flashed through my mind and would not let go: since I must endure a thousand years of solitude here, why not transform the little fox into Xiao Lian’s form to amuse myself? But would this not betray Xiao Lian?

After a night’s struggle, I finally did it. Now, the little fox stands before me as Xiao Lian, and my heart is once again lost in confusion.