The Fox Who Refused to Bow

My aunt once told me — I was born in the dead of winter.

That year, Mount Xuhe was buried in snow. Though the Heavenly Emperor had set up a barrier to separate the fox clan from the outside world, the barrier was cleverly crafted — those within could not leave, yet the forces of nature outside could easily come in. Fire in July, thunder in August, and in the twelfth month, snow that blanketed the heavens.

Three months after I was born, I was subjected to the flaying punishment. There were eighteen foxes punished alongside me; fewer than eight survived. Being born in winter was already torment enough for our kind — to be skinned alive on top of it made survival nearly impossible.

The Executioner peeled one fox after another and threw them into the snow. The skinned foxes, slick with blood, looked like dying rats trembling in the frost. Most were taken home by their parents. But I — I had no parents. It was my aunt, pitying me, who carried me away.

My aunt said, “This snow… is a good omen.”

Indeed, in over five hundred years, such heavy snow had fallen only twice. The pain in my legs blurred the boundary between past and present; white snow blinded my eyes, and in that haze, I saw something strange — two figures standing amid the storm.

“Master Tu,” one said softly, “the fox clan will never forget your kindness.”
“Raise her well,” the other replied weakly. “She’s your last hope… cough…”
“I will. I’ll teach her all I know. But you — where will you go? You’re gravely injured…”
“It doesn’t matter,” the man murmured, his voice fading like wind through frost. “I’ll move fast… remove her dangers one by one… so she can return home in peace…”

Their figures flickered and vanished into the swirling snow.

The vision was strange — it wasn’t my memory, yet it forced itself into my mind, leaving a dull ache behind. Then came noise — harsh voices breaking through the ringing in my ears.

“Pull the arrow out, stop the bleeding, and drag her to my carriage!”

Before I could move, someone kicked me twice.

“What’s this gunk on her face? Disgusting — wipe it off!”

A burning pain spread across my cheek.

“Prince, it won’t come off.”

A pause. Then that cold, infuriating voice again: “Forget it. Throw her in the carriage.”

My limbs were seized, and I was dragged away like a sack of grain. My head slammed against a rock — stars burst behind my eyes, and I woke instantly.

Peeking through barely open lids, I saw him — Gu Yi, staring straight at me. My heart jumped, and I snapped my eyes shut again.

“Oh? Playing dead, are we?”

Another kick.

“So the bear pelt made you brave enough to act like one. Fine imitation.”

A foot landed dangerously close to my face. My royal face!

Enough was enough. I, the ruler of Mount Mei, the fearsome Black-Faced King, would not be trampled by this brat.

I seized the foot that had dared to strike me, yanked it closer, and sank my teeth in — hard.

Salty. Metallic. Delicious. My bite drew blood.

“Ah—!”
“The Prince’s been bitten! The Prince’s been bitten!”
“Quick, get her off him!”

The world erupted in chaos. I swallowed the blood proudly and collapsed back into the snow with a grin.

Hmph. Did he think he could bully me?

Now, I lie chained in his carriage, wrists bound by iron cuffs as thick as my thumb. From time to time, I tilt my head forty-five degrees and ponder the meaning of life. Life truly is strange — I, once the terror of Mount Mei, have ended up like this.

The air inside the cramped carriage is thick with incense — sweet and pungent enough to sting my nose. I try to hold it in, but finally…

“Ah-choo!”

A glistening spray lands right on Gu Yi’s open book. His lips twitch, and he turns the page with exaggerated calm.

I inhale sharply. Another sneeze is coming.

“Stop,” he says coldly.

“I can’t!” I protest, rattling my chains. “Humans have two nostrils for sneezing! If we weren’t meant to sneeze, why have nostrils at all?”

“Is that so?” he murmurs, setting the book aside and giving me that infuriating smirk. “If you sneeze again, I’ll plug them with icicles.” He props his chin on his hand. “Go on, then. Sneeze.”

“...”

The urge hits like an avalanche. Desperate, I force it down — the sneeze bursts from my chest and dies halfway out, turning into a ridiculous hiccup that echoes through the silent carriage.

Gu Yi looks up.

“I didn’t mean to,” I stammer quickly. “That wasn’t a sneeze — I swear!”

He stares for a long while, then — like melting snow — lets out a soft, helpless chuckle. “You…”

His hand lands on my head, gentle, almost affectionate. His eyes are warm — too warm. It’s the look one gives a pet.

And indeed — I, once queen of the mountains, am now nothing more than Gu Yi’s pet.

Living with this twisted prince is a daily gamble.
But in truth, it’s a miracle we haven’t killed each other yet.

When he first captured me, I swore I’d never obey him. I hated him to the core for shooting me, and I dreamt nightly of flaying him alive. On our way west, as the carriage wheels turned farther and farther from Mount Mei, my patience wore thin.

I tried escaping — four times in two days.

Each time, I was caught and dragged back. Once, I bolted through a thicket of thorns and came back covered in spikes like a porcupine. Gu Yi calmly plucked them out one by one with silver chopsticks.

With every thorn removed, he asked, “Still planning to run?”

“N-no…”

“Too quiet,” he’d say — and jab another thorn into the wound. “Still planning to run?”

“N-no, I won’t!”

“Shouting won’t save you,” jab.

“Gu Yi, you bastard! I’ll kill you!”

After that, I behaved — mostly. I realized there was no point dying on principle when the food here was better than I’d had in years.

When he was in a good mood, he’d prepare two plates of pastries — one for me, one for his pet mouse, A-Bao.

A-Bao wasn’t an ordinary mouse. Its fur gleamed like polished silk, and it clearly understood human speech. I suspected it was on the verge of becoming a spirit — a distant cousin, perhaps. But despite our similarities, it despised me. Always baring its teeth whenever I came close.

Once, while I was out for a walk with Gu Yi’s servant, I overheard him talking to that mouse:

“Why so jealous, hmm? I only brought her to keep you company.”

“Squeak, squeak, squeak!”

“I know, you think I’ve been neglecting you. But taming a wild pet takes time. Once she’s obedient, I’ll spoil you again.”

“Squeak!”

I nearly burst through the door to throttle him.

Pet?! Me?!

No wonder he’d been reading strange books lately — ‘Ten Psychological Traits of Pets,’ ‘How to Tame a Wild Beast’…

So that’s what he was doing.

He wasn’t keeping a fox.
He was keeping me.