93: Kindred Spirits

Beyond the mountain, a group of people had formed a circle. In the center stood a donkey, a Taoist priest, a strange man wearing a bamboo hat, and a girl dressed in purple.

“Lady Jiao’e, are you really leaving?” a man asked, tears welling in his eyes, his voice choked with emotion. The others shared the same look—hopeful yet reluctant, wishing Xin Shiniang would stay.

Xin Shiniang’s eyes were red as well. She kicked a stone by her feet and turned her head, saying, “I will come back. None of you are allowed to cry. You must smile—happily smile.”

But the more she said this, the sadder everyone became. Soon, someone started to weep loudly, and a chorus of sobs filled the air, creating a heartrending scene.

Yi Fan shook his head. “Enough. Let’s get going.”

After reprimanding Xin Shiniang the last time, he had come here the next day with Yan Gui and the old donkey to stay temporarily in the mountains. Xin Shiniang had stayed for a few days to handle some matters, but now it was time to leave.

To prevent the little fox spirit from causing trouble, he naturally wouldn’t allow her to stay here any longer. So, he decided to take her along, especially since on their way to the Jiangxi region, they would pass by the vicinity of Fairy Fox Mountain.

With that, he vaulted onto the donkey’s back and patted its neck. The old donkey cast a sidelong glance at the people blocking the way, bared its teeth in a grin, and immediately frightened the crowd into clearing a path. Proudly, it lifted its head and started walking forward.

Yan Gui, carefree as ever, bounced along behind, carrying a bundle on his back.

Xin Shiniang bit her lip, took a last long look at the crowd, stamped her foot, and immediately caught up. Behind her, the crying and wailing rose again, causing her to falter. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she didn’t look back—she lowered her head and ran on.

After crossing several mountains, she finally shook off the closely following villagers. She kept her head bowed, refusing to look back or stop. Yi Fan also acted as if he hadn’t noticed, closing his eyes to rest, letting the old donkey amble along at its own pace.

With no more signs of human habitation, the surrounding mountains undulated quietly, birds and beasts peaceful. The rising sun at the far end of the mountains bathed the sky in a myriad of colors, dispelling the last chill of dawn.

Xin Shiniang ran a few steps further, then spun around and transformed into a white fox. She leapt gracefully, landing on the old donkey’s neck, burying her head in silence, mood low.

The old donkey was momentarily startled but shook its head and continued forward. One more little fox was no burden at all. Though curious about the sudden appearance of the white fox, the donkey had seen all sorts of strange things around Yi Fan—it was hardly surprised.

Yi Fan opened his eyes and looked at the little white fox resting in front of him. Its fur was pure white, and its blue eyes stared blankly ahead, lost in thought.

He sighed, shook his head, and closed his eyes, choosing not to interfere.

…

Seasons passed swiftly, from spring to autumn. Months had flown by since leaving Guobei County, and now winter had arrived. All life was quiet; birds and beasts silent; the mountains bleak.

Along a mountain path, the old donkey trotted steadily. Draped over its back was a fur coat, atop which sat a Taoist priest. Nestled in the priest’s arms lay the white fox, occasionally poking its head out, curiously observing the world outside the mountains.

This was Yi Fan and his companions, journeying through mountains and valleys. They rested in towns when encountered, or camped under the stars. Fortunately, Yi Fan’s skills and courage meant most mountain spirits didn’t need his intervention—Yan Gui could handle them all.

After nearly a month on the road, half of which was spent camping in the mountains, they finally neared the next town beyond the next mountain pass. There, they could rest for a few days before continuing. Just a couple hundred miles further, they would reach the borders of Fairy Fox Mountain.

The biting wind swept sharply as a figure leapt between mountain cliffs. Soon it arrived ahead—Yan Gui scouting the path. It gestured wildly, making strange calls, and Yi Fan understood immediately.

Frowning slightly, he looked ahead, puzzled. He had sent Yan Gui ahead to scout because some mountain paths had been damaged, so they could prepare or find detours. Indeed, days earlier a path had been washed away by a flood, forcing them to backtrack and take a long detour, costing precious time.

But this time, Yan Gui found no damaged roads. Instead, it discovered cultivators up ahead. This place was still close to the county, and judging by the gentle mountain ridges, there was no overwhelming demonic energy. So what were these people doing here?

Yi Fan didn’t dwell on it. He simply intended to continue his journey without interference.

At that moment, clothes billowed as two figures rushed over, arriving in the blink of an eye. They were two men with Taoist topknots, holding fly-whisks. Their sharp gazes fixed on Yi Fan, then swept over the white fox nestled in his arms and the snarling Yan Gui by his side.

One man cupped his hands in greeting. “Just now, we detected a strange beast spying nearby. My senior brother and I came to investigate, but to our surprise, it was a fellow practitioner’s spirit beast.”

He paused, then continued, “I am Zhou Cong, disciple of Bai Ling Temple on Mount Qianyun. This is my junior brother Liu Hui. Greetings, fellow Daoist.”

Yi Fan dismounted and returned the salute. “I am Yi Fan, a lone cultivator passing through. I intended to rest in the nearby town but did not expect to meet two fellow Daoists.”

A lone cultivator?

The two Taoists exchanged a glance, their expressions relaxing. Then, looking at Yi Fan with a trace of pride, they noticed his faint spiritual aura and weak martial power. Their tone turned cold.

“So, fellow Daoist Yi. Just so you know, ahead lies a flying rock and a mountain temple where many Daoists gather. Since we have met, why not join us?”

A gathering of cultivators?

Yi Fan’s heart stirred. Over the years, most of those he had met were lone cultivators. The only disciples of a sect he knew were Zhuge Liuyun and the others. Such a chance was rare—an opportunity to see more of the world.

One purpose of coming down the mountain was to broaden his horizons.

With this thought, he said, “Then I will trouble you two, Daoists. You go ahead; I will follow shortly.”

Zhou Cong nodded silently, glanced once at the white fox in Yi Fan’s arms, then turned and flew off with his junior brother.

Yi Fan vaulted onto the donkey’s back, patted its neck, urging it to quicken its pace—he didn’t want to keep them waiting.

The donkey, wise to the seriousness, did not slacken. Holding its head high, it strode forward with purpose, Yan Gui close behind.

After a few turns, they spotted a hidden fork in the grass leading up the mountain. On the mountaintop was the strange peak, like a rock fallen from the heavens.

The path was rough. Though the donkey was experienced, it was still uphill. Yi Fan dismounted and placed the white fox on his shoulder, gently patting its small head.

“When we reach the top, don’t make a sound, and don’t run around,” he warned. “Those people aren’t like me. If they catch you, they might skin you alive.”

The little white fox immediately shrank its neck and nodded. Its long tail curled around Yi Fan’s neck like a specially made scarf, occasionally flicking his face playfully.

In the days they had spent together, the little white fox had grown comfortable around Yi Fan, even fond of him. Whenever it encountered difficulties in cultivation, it sought his advice, and Yi Fan generously guided it. As a result, the little fox’s power had grown somewhat.