Jojo, the Skinless Fox of Xuhe Mountain

It was winter.
Vast fields of withered blue gentian grass burned from before my eyes all the way to the horizon, sweeping over the entire Xuhe Mountain like a sky-covering tide.

I stood at the edge of Xuhe Mountain and glanced outward. Casually, I tossed a stone; unsurprisingly, it bounced back, rolling twice on the ground.
Hmm. The quality of this barrier was as solid as ever.

I stubbornly threw more stones. One after another, every single one bounced back. Feeling drowsy, I yawned and brushed the dust from my hands.

Today’s training was done. Time to return to my den and sleep.

I am Jojo, a skinless little fox raised on Xuhe Mountain since I was small.
My favorite daily activity is to roam the mountain after I’ve eaten my fill—though I’ve walked Xuhe Mountain so many times that every blade of grass and every tree is deeply familiar.
But after eating well and having nothing else to do, a stroll to digest my food is still quite nice. After all, a skinless fox is already ugly enough—if I were unfortunate enough to grow deformed on top of that, it’d be truly pitiful.

As a fox with no lofty ambitions, I was born talented at pretending everything was fine.
Even living within the narrow, barren confines of Xuhe Mountain, I still ate and slept well, growing steadily at the rate of two or three ounces of fat a day.

My greatest wish in this life is simply to lie on a bed of blue gentian grass, full and warm, basking in the sunlight, counting to make sure my fox cubs haven’t run off.
Well, counting cubs is still a bit early—I’m still a pure, untouched “yellow-flower” fox. Yes. A yellow-flower fox.

Xuhe Mountain is isolated from the world, and entertainment is pitifully scarce.
My only joys are eating and sleeping during leisure, and hiding when things get busy.
If I can roll on the blue gentian grass with a storybook in paw, that is the height of pleasure.

Thinking of this, I rolled twice on the grass—but the ground was full of tiny debris, and sure enough, my clothes were riddled with little holes.

I lifted my clothes to the pale-blue daylight. The sunlight passed through the barrier, through the fabric, and finally fell onto my face.
A pang of regret struck me—such a good piece of clothing, probably ruined now.

If I could return to my true form, I wouldn’t need such worldly things as clothes. But I don’t know when it began—I can no longer change back.
Five hundred years, and I haven’t even learned a single transformation spell. No wonder my aunt is always frustrated with me.

Forget it. No use thinking of these troubling matters.
I smoothed my clothes and lay back on a rock, drifting into deep sleep.

I had a beautiful dream.

In my dream, I had skin again and could change back to my true form.
I became a fox and rolled in endless blue gentian grass.

My aunt stood atop the mountain, watching me from afar. Behind her were soft, billowing clouds.
She waved to me warmly. I ran to her and leapt into her arms, nuzzling like a spoiled child.

She stroked me for a while, then clapped her hands. Several burly men appeared behind her, carrying a giant sword three zhang long and two chi wide.

My aunt gently patted my head. “Jojo, wield this sword. Break the barrier. All our fox clan’s hopes rest on you.”

A giant sword? Me?
How could a fox with no ambition wield such a thing?
I trembled, about to transform—but realized I couldn’t change back to human form.

My aunt’s face darkened. “Jojo, what’s wrong? Quickly, change back!”

I whimpered, spinning in place with anxiety.
I raised a hoof to point at my tail, hoping she would understand my meaning.

Clearly, she did not. Her face grew even grimmer.

At some point, I was surrounded by many people—the residents of Xuhe Mountain. They pointed at me, muttering broken phrases: “white-eyed wolf,” “heartless fox cub.”

My aunt, furious, ground her teeth. “So, Jojo. I took you in, raised you, taught you spells, all so one day you could save our fox clan from disaster. And now, when the chance is here, you do this? Very well. I’ll flay your skin and cut off your head!”

She lunged, grabbed my tail, and hung me upside down.
With a “whoosh,” skin and flesh parted instantly. My aunt stripped my hide skillfully while smacking my backside.

“Have you learned the ‘Twenty-Four Forms of Dharma’? The ‘Eighteen Hands of Storm’? The ‘Azar Stupa’?”

Wait—was this an exam?

Just as confusion rose, a cool voice echoed above, merging with my aunt’s voice:

“Seeing you so relaxed, you must have mastered the ‘Twenty-Four Forms of Dharma.’ Get up. Spar with me.”

A jolt of shock, a stumble, and I woke from the dream.

Opening my eyes, the terrifying face before me—who else but my aunt, the one peeling my skin in the dream?

She asked the exact same questions as in the dream:

“Have you learned the ‘Twenty-Four Forms of Dharma’? The ‘Eighteen Hands of Storm’? The ‘Azar Stupa’?”

With each question, my head drooped lower.
By the end, I wished I could dig a hole and hide.
Impossible—no matter how deep I dug, I couldn’t escape her. Better to admit fault early.

I clasped my hands and squeezed out tears, racking my brain for a self-critique.

“Auntie, it’s Jojo’s fault. Jojo plays too much, Jojo’s head is slow. After all these centuries, I still haven’t learned anything and have only worried you.”

Her cold gaze told me she wasn’t convinced.

I trembled and added, “Auntie, you’re already so busy with all the affairs of the mountain, and yet you still take time to worry about me, this useless fox. Jojo has let you down again and again. Jojo deserves to die a thousand deaths. Please don’t be angry. Even if you kill me right now, Jojo would gladly accept it if it makes you smile!”

I shouted the last sentence with all my might. If a knife or sword had been nearby, I might have cut myself to show my resolve.

But even after my neck ached from bowing, my aunt still gave no response.
I suspected she had already left and only left a puppet to frighten me.
I lifted my head carefully.

“Hmm?”

That one cold syllable nearly sent me to my knees, my heart, liver, spleen, and lungs trembling.

When my aunt doesn’t “hmm,” it’s fine. When she does, someone ends up dead.

By the time I was born, my aunt was already the leader of the fox clan.

They say that three thousand years ago, when the Heavenly Emperor sealed us within Xuhe Mountain, the fox clans fought among themselves.
Though my aunt was a woman, her fists were hard as iron, and she forcibly unified the foxes into the “iron plate” we are today.

But even an iron plate sprouts thorns. One branch, led by Nie’an, wanted to surrender to the Heavenly Emperor and demanded my aunt hand over the clan’s sacred treasure.

Of course, my aunt ignored such traitors.

Nie’an mistook her disdain for weakness and spoke out of turn.
Somehow, he enraged her. Calmly, she stood, dragged Nie’an to the back mountain, and beat him until even his own mother couldn’t recognize him.

Indeed, Nie’an’s mother came storming in, shouting for justice.

My aunt gave her a cold glance. “Hmm?”

Nie’an burst into tears on the spot and crawled away.

So yes—my aunt’s “hmm” truly terrifies me.

She isn’t my real aunt. Long ago, she found me in a snowstorm and raised me. This iron-blooded leader stumbled only when it came to me.

By rights, though foxes are now at the bottom of the six realms, we’re still considered demons. Yet I’ve failed even at that.
Five hundred years of practice, and I haven’t learned a single spell.

My aunt’s hot blood for revival was doused cold on me.

She often wheeled in a cart piled high with books taller than a man, speaking earnestly:

“Jojo, all our fox clan’s hopes are on you. If you learn these, you can split the barrier and free our people.
And if you master our sacred treasure, killing that Heavenly Emperor above the Nine Heavens isn’t impossible either.”

I looked at the books with a headache. Never mind learning them—just seeing them hurt my head.
Honestly, if I slammed these tomes onto the Heavenly Emperor’s skull, I might crack it open then and there. But actually mastering the spells and breaking the barrier to lead the foxes out? That would take ten thousand years.

Now, following my aunt down the path, I stammered through the rules I’d memorized.
Out of twenty, I barely recalled seven or eight.
Her face grew darker as she listened. Finally, she turned, glaring at me.

“This is all you’ve learned in a day?”

I whispered, “Mm.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Have you even tried?”

I twisted my hands in silence, guilt crawling up my spine.

This question was self-deceiving. As the saying goes, iron trees cannot bloom, rotten wood cannot bear fruit.
I am the ironest of iron trees, the rottenest of rotten wood.

Many have despaired of me, yet my aunt still hopes, refusing reality.
But no matter how hard I work, nothing changes.
I can’t even manage a simple transformation or cloud-riding spell.

So I’ve given up—now I’m lazy whenever possible.

Her face twitched, almost erupting. After a long pause, she let out a laugh so bitter it chilled me.
She seemed to be asking me, or perhaps herself: “Heh. Why her? Why her?”

My aunt staggered away.

Why me?
I’ve never understood.
There are thousands of foxes on Xuhe Mountain, countless with talent and ability. Yet she pinned all her hopes on me, expecting this rotten wood to bloom, to one day split the barrier and free our people.

But rotten wood is still rotten wood—at best, firewood.

I’ve hinted to her many times that I’m hopeless, but her burning gaze always told me firmly:

“Jojo, you are the hope of our fox clan. There are things only you can do.”

Now it seems she was terribly wrong.

After she left, I returned to my fox den, dug out two fruits from the corner, and took slow bites.
In moments, the sourness rushed to my head, tears and snot streaming.
I hopped up and down at the entrance, then spat toward the orange moon.