The Fox and the Green-Robed Healer

Beyond the wild lands there lies a mountain called Xu He; beyond the northern mists a land named Yi Chuan. Yi Chuan is divided into four kingdoms, each named for a direction: Dongyi (the Eastern Barbarians), Nanchuan (the Southern River), Xihan (the Western Cold), and Beiji (the Northern Reach).

These four kingdoms stand as the center, ringed by eight tribes of the outer wilds—wolves and tigers circling, their threat ever-present.

Among them, Xihan and Dongyi lie closest to each other, separated only by a single forest. For years they’ve quarreled over its control, bickering endlessly.

In this very year, a man in a dark green robe found a pitch-black bundle by the stream. Guided by a sense of benevolence, he picked it up, carried it back to a nearby thatched hut, and cared for it with meticulous attention.

This scene echoed dimly with another one a thousand years ago.

Lately, I had been feeling very annoyed.

Because of a certain incident, I lost the only piece of clothing I had, leaving me to live wrapped in a colorless blanket. And the owner of that blanket now sat in front of me, utterly absorbed in a piece of paper. He glared at it with a face full of gloom and gnawed on the brush in his mouth like a man in despair. I had been about to kindly point out the ink smudged on his face, but then remembered how he had sternly warned me days ago to stay away from him—so I swallowed my words.

Of course, at noon when he returned from town, he was even more indignant, storming in to accuse me of not telling him about the ink on his face.

I thought for a moment, then chose my words carefully: “I thought it was a new kind of makeup you invented…”

His expression grew even darker.

Ah, humans really are the strangest creatures.

Counting on my claws, I realized I had been away from Mount Xu He for more than ten days.

A dozen days ago, I had accidentally slipped through the barrier, only to meet a strange man. After fighting him for three hundred rounds, I was inexplicably knocked unconscious.

When I woke, I found myself stripped bare, soaking in a steaming wooden tub.

Generally speaking, if a pure young maiden wakes up naked in another place, what should her reaction be?

Scream? Weep? Or perhaps lean back comfortably in the bath and wait for the rogue to come in?

While I was debating, the door suddenly opened. A man in dark green robes walked in openly, carrying another bucket filled with colorful herbs.

He didn’t glance sideways, simply walked over, poured the herbs into the tub, and stirred them deftly with his hand—completely ignoring the naked woman inside.

I shrank down, submerging half my face in the water, leaving only my eyes above.

He asked kindly, “Is the water hot enough?”

I stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded lightly.

He scooped a handful of water into his palm and examined it. “The medicine has blended with the water. Soak a while longer.”

I nodded again, still dazed.

Then, as if no one were there, he continued pouring mysterious things into the tub. Finally, he pulled out a wooden ladle, scooped up some water, and poured it gently over my head. “You look rather pitiful,” he said softly. “Better wash your face too.”

“…”

This green-robed man was my benefactor, a herbalist of the wilds.

According to him, he had gone into the mountains to gather herbs and, on his way home, found me collapsed on the ground. Out of a healer’s compassion, he brought me back and brewed a tub of medicine to soak me in.

I was deeply moved.

After two days of treatment, he seemed to think my face was injured too—seriously injured, in fact—so he tore off a strip of bedsheet and plastered it over my face, repeatedly warning me not to take it off.

Moved to tears, I became a masked hero each day. But on the day I finally removed it, I remembered my face wasn’t actually hurt at all…

Between men and women, many taboos exist. Even though I was just a female fox, I still counted as a woman. To live alone with a young man without anything happening—it was frankly disappointing.

These days, he slept on a small cot outside the hut, while I slept inside. One night, in the dead of silence, as I drifted between sleep and wakefulness, I felt him quietly slip in.

I held my breath, pretending to sleep, though my heart raced. Could this be… the legendary midnight assault?

I wondered if I should put up a token resistance, then yield coyly, and thus let this rogue have his way. After all, that’s how it always went in the storybooks. But instead, he only tucked my blanket tighter and left silently.

I was sorely disappointed.

With a lifesaving favor, naked encounters, and a supposed midnight attack all tangled together, I felt I ought to act like a heroine at last. The next day, blushing and hesitating, I went up to him and delicately hinted that I was willing to “follow local custom.”

He blinked. “What local custom?”

I recited a line straight from the storybooks: “This humble girl has nothing with which to repay her benefactor’s life-saving grace, and thus is willing to devote herself entirely…”

He just said “Oh,” pointed at a pile of firewood, and said, “Perfect timing. Chop that wood for me and we’ll call it even.”

“…”

High-level figures often like to hide their names to maintain an air of mystery. Ever since the “devoting myself” incident, his image in my mind fell from lofty master to hopelessly mundane man. When I asked his name, he irritably said to just call him “Benefactor.”

But our fox tongues aren’t shaped like human tongues, and the word “Benefactor” was awkward, making me bite my own tongue. So, silently, I gave him a name: Little Green.

One day, I accidentally called him that out loud. It suited him perfectly—not only his dark green robes, but even his face turned green.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet—colors flashed across his expression as he ground his teeth. “Why do you call me Little Green?”

“Because… because Benefactor’s robe is green…”

“This is dark green! Dark green!”

“Dark green?” I tilted my head. “Never heard of that color. I thought you’d just worn it so long it turned deep green.”

Little Green: “…”

In a blink, I had lived in that hut for over a month. In the meantime, I’d gone back to Mount Xu He, only to find the barrier had been mysteriously repaired by some accursed hand. All I could do was sigh at the mountain.

Today, Little Green said the treatment was finally done. It meant I could at last remove the sheet from my face.

This month had been bitter.

First, Little Green said he needed to treat my injuries, and every day he poured strange medicines into the tub, ordering me to soak for three hours. Then he focused on my face, applying weird salves daily, saying my face was too tragic to look at and ruining his appetite.

I wanted to argue, but couldn’t think of a comeback, so I just endured his torment.

Now, Little Green stood there with a faintly sinister smile, scissors glinting in his hand as he stepped toward me. “I’m going to remove the sheet now. Don’t move. If anything goes wrong while I’m cutting, it won’t be my fault.”

I nodded knowingly, promising not to move.

He gripped the corner of the sheet and, in a flash, yanked it forward.

After more than a month together, I’d grown attached to that sheet. Day after day I soaked in medicine with it, three hours at a time, until it stuck to my face like a second skin. I had no doubt that in a few months it might fuse with my flesh.

So—

“Ow ow ow ow ow…”

I howled, looking around desperately for some way to ease the pain—then—

“Ouch ouch ouch—stop biting! Stop right now!”