The first light of dawn filtered through the trees as thin mist drifted slowly among the woods.
Bai Heng slipped out of the tree hollow where she had spent the night and shook off a few dry leaves clinging to her fur.
She mentally calculated the remaining distance, cross-referencing it with the rough map in her mind. Qingxi Village in Ping Province was still quite far away.
At a normal pace, traveling day and night, she might reach it in two or three months.
But she had no intention of rushing.
For one thing, there was still plenty of time.
Yun Qing’s request was important, but it was not an emergency.
Arriving a few months later would not change much.
For another, she knew her own strength was the true foundation.
This long journey was the perfect opportunity to grow more familiar with her techniques, adapt to this world, and practice blending the different powers within her body more smoothly.
Most importantly, after reading Qing Song Daoist’s travelogue and quietly observing the villages along the way, she had discovered that the people of Lan Province were exactly as the book described: simple and honest, with an ancient charm.
They held no deep fear or strong hostility toward the “spiritual” beings that lived in the mountains and wilds.
Here, the locals seemed to view awakened spirit creatures or demon cultivators who understood cultivation as simply another part of the mountain forest—a special kind of neighbor.
Small cultivator families or villages would occasionally make offerings of incense and provide small conveniences to invite relatively gentle demon cultivators to serve as “mountain guardians” or “household immortals.”
In return, the demon cultivators would refrain from harming the villagers and might even offer protection when needed.
This relatively peaceful atmosphere—one of cautious respect and occasional cooperation—allowed Bai Heng’s constantly taut nerves to relax just a little.
She decided it was time to stop completely avoiding human paths and hiding only in deep, trackless mountains.
That day, she left the secluded forest and stepped onto a wide dirt road that connected several villages.
Neatly cultivated fields lined both sides of the path, their green seedlings swaying gently in the spring breeze.
In the distant mountain hollow, faint wisps of cooking smoke rose from a village.
Farmers bent over their work in the fields, hoeing weeds.
When they saw a snow-white fox with unusually bright, lustrous fur walking along the road, most simply lifted their heads, looked twice with mild surprise or curiosity, then lowered their gazes and returned to their tasks.
No one showed fear or hostility.
Occasionally a cheerful villager driving an ox cart would spot her, pull the cart to a stop, and whistle playfully from a distance or wave, trying to coax her closer with a warm, honest smile.
Bai Heng would usually glance at them calmly and keep walking at her steady pace, though she never hurried away.
She could sense that these villagers meant no harm; they were simply fascinated by something beautiful and rare.
As she passed an orchard, a sun-browned boy of about seven or eight was squatting by the roadside playing.
He held several plump, bright-red wild berries he had just picked.
When he saw Bai Heng, his eyes lit up. Instead of being afraid, he trotted over excitedly and stopped a few steps away.
Shyly, he stretched out his hand and offered her the largest, reddest berry.
“Fox, fox, for you! It’s really sweet!”
The boy’s voice was clear and carried the pure innocence of a country child.
Bai Heng stopped. She looked into his eyes—earnest, hopeful, and full of the simple desire to share—then lowered her head and sniffed the berry.
It was perfectly ripe, fragrant and sweet, with nothing wrong.
She gently opened her mouth, took the berry, chewed it a few times, and swallowed.
Then she raised her eyes, narrowed them slightly in a soft, intelligent fox smile, and gave the boy a small nod.
“Wow! She ate it! She likes it!”
The boy nearly jumped with joy, clapping his hands, his face blooming into a huge grin.
“Fox, you’re so pretty! Come back to the village with me and play, okay? I’ll show you to Tie Dan and Er Ya!”
The boy clearly had a little plan: he wanted to bring this beautiful and strangely intelligent white fox back to show off to his friends.
Bai Heng saw through the innocent scheme at once, but the goodwill was genuine.
After a brief pause, she decided that experiencing this pure, calculation-free interaction would do no harm. She nodded again.
“Great! Let’s go! This way!”
The boy skipped ahead happily, turning back every few steps to make sure the white fox was still following.
Bai Heng walked with light, graceful steps, keeping a short distance behind the boy as they headed toward the small mountain village of about fifty households nestled against the slope.
The other children playing near the village entrance quickly noticed and came running over in a noisy crowd.
“Shi Tou! Where did you get such a white fox?!”
“She’s so pretty! Her fur is so shiny!”
“Will she bite?”
“Can she understand what we’re saying?”
The boy called Shi Tou puffed out his chest proudly.
“She’s really smart! I gave her a berry and she ate it, then nodded at me! I invited her to come play in the village!”
The children’s curiosity was fully ignited. They crowded around Bai Heng, wanting to get closer yet still a little nervous, chattering nonstop.
Soon the adults in the village were drawn out as well.
Women and elders busy in front of their houses turned to look.
When they saw the white fox surrounded by the children, they were briefly startled, then studied her more carefully.
Bai Heng had not deliberately hidden her aura. The refined, tranquil presence that set her apart from ordinary wild foxes caused a flash of understanding in the eyes of the more experienced elders.
“Don’t crowd too close! Be careful, don’t disturb… the fox immortal.”
An old man weaving a bamboo basket called out to the children.
His tone was gentle but carried clear respect; he had used the honorific “fox immortal.”
A woman drawing water from the well also warned her own child.
“Play nicely with the fox immortal. No mischief, and absolutely no throwing stones! Understand?”
The children answered obediently.
Under the adults’ subtle guidance, their attitude toward Bai Heng shifted from pure playfulness to a careful, respectful closeness.
Bai Heng understood. It seemed some people in this village had recognized that she was no ordinary beast.
Yet they showed no panic, rejection, or greed—only measured respect and a touch of awe as they reminded the children to behave properly.
This once again confirmed the travelogue’s description of Lan Province’s customs.
For the rest of the day, Bai Heng stayed in the small village.
She never entered any house.
Instead, she either crouched beneath the old tree at the village entrance or strolled along the edge of the threshing ground, quietly watching the children play.
The children gradually grew bolder.
They chased and laughed around her, playing simple games.
The braver ones would reach out cautiously to stroke her smooth fur. When she did not pull away, they beamed with delight.
She cooperated as well, occasionally brushing a fallen child’s clothes with her tail or nudging a vine ball that rolled to her paws with a paw.
These small, simple interactions always drew happy laughter from the children.
The afternoon sun was warm and drowsy.
Watching the innocent, carefree children who held no wariness toward her, Bai Heng felt a long-forgotten sense of peaceful groundedness.
No schemes. No killing. No pressing urgency of cultivation or hidden worries about the future. Only the simplest, purest joy and kindness.
The sun slowly sank westward, painting the sky in orange-red sunset glow.
Calls for the children to come home for dinner echoed through the village.
“Shi Tou! Time to eat!”
“Tie Dan! Stop playing!”
The children were reluctant to leave. They gathered around Bai Heng, unwilling to part.
“White fox, will you come play tomorrow?”
“I have good snacks at home. I’ll bring some for you tomorrow!”
“Where do you live? Can we come find you?”
Bai Heng stood up and looked at the small faces bathed in golden sunset light, each one filled with reluctance.
She did not answer their questions. Instead, she gently activated the tuft of fur between her brows.
A very faint wisp of aura—blending the cool, nourishing moonlight power of the Heavenly Fox Moon-Drawing Art with the life force from her original blood essence—brushed over each child like an invisible breeze.
It was not some profound blessing. With her current ability, she could only gently cleanse and nourish their bodies, meridians, blood, and qi.
It would not bring dramatic transformation, but for the coming period it would make them healthier, less prone to minor illnesses, and more energetic.
The children felt nothing unusual, only that the tiredness from a full day of play seemed to melt away. Their bodies felt warm and full of vitality.
They waved goodbye to Bai Heng one last time, then ran home under their parents’ calls, turning back every few steps.
Bai Heng watched them leave, then turned and walked lightly toward the village entrance.
As she passed beneath the old locust tree at the entrance, the white-haired elder who had earlier reminded the children was standing there with his cane, as if waiting for her.
When he saw Bai Heng approach, the old man straightened his somewhat worn clothes and gave her a respectful bow.
“This old one thanks the fox immortal on behalf of the village children for your blessing.”
His voice was sincere and filled with genuine gratitude.
Bai Heng stopped and looked at the elder with his bright, clear eyes despite his age. She gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
Then, without lingering, she stepped into the golden-red glow of the setting sun, leaped lightly onto the earthen slope beyond the village, and disappeared into the distant mountains.
The old man remained where he was, gazing in the direction the white fox had vanished. He stroked his beard and murmured to himself.
“Spirit concealed within, aura pure and upright… truly rare. It looks like the children in the village will suffer fewer illnesses this year.”
The setting sun stretched his shadow long, intertwining with the shadow of the old locust tree to form a peaceful scene.