The Prince’s Pet Fox

After finally seeing through Gu Yi’s true intentions, I felt utterly humiliated.

When I was dragged back into the carriage, Gu Yi smiled as if nothing had happened. He pushed a plate of chicken toward me, patted my head with mock gentleness, and said, “Here, little wildling. Eat some chicken.”

I let out a furious roar, slapped the plate across the carriage, and lunged straight at him.
Before I could make contact, the blue-armored general suddenly stepped forward, grabbed the chain around my ankle, and yanked hard. My head dove straight into the snow with a muffled thud.

Gu Yi frowned and stepped out. “What on earth are you doing now?”

I scrambled up, snow sticking to my hair and face, pointed straight at his nose, and shouted, “Gu Yi, you bastard! I am the mighty Black-Faced King of Mount Mei, and you dare keep me here as your pet! Just you wait — one day I’ll skin you alive and roast you over a fire!”

He blinked once. “Oh? You’re only realizing that now?”

The air froze in my throat.

Blue General’s expression tightened. He turned to Gu Yi, saluting. “Your Highness, this wild creature is too dangerous to keep. I advise disposing of her now, before she causes real harm.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

Gu Yi didn’t even glance at him. Instead, he crouched before me, his perfectly clean hands pressing down on my head. “Whether or not you could skin me alive, I don’t know,” he said softly. “But I could easily skin you whenever I please.” Then he rose and gestured toward the endless expanse of white mountains. “If I were to strip that bear hide off you right now and toss you into the snow… how long do you think you’d last?”

I wilted instantly.
Right. Of all things in the world, I only truly feared the cold.

Thus began my reluctant acceptance of being his so-called “pet.”

Later, I overheard Shishu gossiping that Gu Yi had always wanted to tame a lion or a tiger.
But the Eastern Yi Kingdom was too small — all farmland, no wilderness. When he heard that Mount Mei was steep and full of beasts — even legends of “wild people” — he grew excited and prepared everything in advance, hoping to pick up a new exotic pet on his journey.

Too bad for him, the mountains closed under heavy snow. No lions, no tigers — and as it turned out, even the legendary “wild man” he captured… was just me.

He was disappointed for days. Then, upon learning that the “wild woman” could speak like a human, he decided that half-human still counted — enough to keep as a pet.

He went back to his manuals with renewed enthusiasm.

I swallowed hard.
Thank the heavens he didn’t realize this “wild woman” was actually a fox spirit wearing human skin.

By February, the world was still frozen solid.

That was when Gu Yi officially began “training” me.

He’d had practice before — his previous pet being the fat little mouse, A-Bao. Apparently, he believed all animals could be trained the same way, following his precious “principles.” And every one of his manuals agreed: to tame a beast, you must first conquer its stomach.

Not a bad strategy, really — quite similar to the saying that to win a man’s heart, you must first win his appetite.

So, he trained me through food.
If I behaved, I’d get treats.
If I didn’t, he’d take up his whip or starve me for a few days.

I found his methods childish beyond words, and I refused to play along.
When he realized I wasn’t reacting, his pride snapped. He declared he’d starve me until I begged.

I nearly laughed. Please. I could outlast your grandchildren’s grandchildren.

Once, back in Mount Xuhe, I’d stolen a single Bodhi fruit from the northern slopes — rare, sacred, and strictly forbidden. My aunt caught me and sealed me in a cave to “reflect” for fifty years. She went into seclusion herself and promptly forgot I existed.

When she finally emerged, she found I hadn’t starved to death — though I had nearly chewed the mountain walls smooth.

So, yes. Starvation and I were old acquaintances.

Three days passed.
Gu Yi, watching me sleep soundly without so much as a whimper, grew visibly irritated.
Which, of course, delighted me immensely.

One evening, Gu Yi ordered a lavish dinner — far more than he could ever eat.
When he was done, half the food remained: a whole roast chicken, a block of beef, and half a lamb shank.

Shishu moved to clear the table, but Gu Yi waved him off. “Leave it. I’ll have it later as a midnight snack.”

“The cold will spoil it quickly, Your Highness. You’ll upset your stomach,” Shishu warned.

“It’s fine.”

That night, while Gu Yi snored softly on his bed, I lay curled on the floor, starving.
My belly grumbled like thunder, the scent of roasted meat teasing my nose.

He was asleep.
Surely he wouldn’t notice if I just… sampled a piece?

No! I scolded myself. I am a proud mountain spirit! Not a stray dog!

Still, the smell wafted over and over, delicious and maddening.
In my head, two versions of me argued.
The hungry me hissed: Eat it! No one will know!
The righteous me retorted: You are the Black-Faced King of Mount Mei — have some dignity!

I tossed and turned, each movement making his breathing heavier, his snores uneven.

At last, hunger won — but before I could act, exhaustion took me first. I drifted into sleep, still dreaming of lamb shanks.

I woke later to find a man’s face inches from mine.
Startled, I swung out with pure reflex — smack!

The intruder let out a muffled groan and tumbled backward into the snow.

Shishu’s panicked shout rang out: “Assassin!”
In seconds, torches flared, soldiers rushed in, and there, half-buried in the snow like an upturned radish — was Gu Yi.

And not far from him lay the tragic half of the lamb shank.

By morning, an “official explanation” had circulated: the prince had simply risen at midnight for a snack, slipped on the snow, and landed headfirst.

After that, the “food-taming” strategy was quietly abandoned.

I decided it was best to appear obedient — after all, one must bow before the roof that shelters them. I feigned fear and docility, and soon, our days settled into a strange, uneasy peace.

The prince and his “pet” — living together in mutual tolerance.

By the time the carriage finally rolled out of Mount Mei, spring had arrived.

March sunlight melted the last of the snow. The air grew warmer.

But Gu Yi still feared the cold. Each night, before sleeping, he’d rest his hands and feet on my bear-hide cloak to warm them.

I realized then why he’d been so determined to capture a furry creature.

Still, I wasn’t truly tamed. I only looked like I was. In truth, I’d begun carefully plotting my escape.

After the slap I’d given him that night, Gu Yi had replaced my chain with a thicker, finger-width shackle, anchoring my ankle to the bedpost. The craftsmanship was solid — unbreakable.

No matter how I pulled, it wouldn’t give.

But foxes have good teeth.
So I waited until nightfall and began to chew.

The iron tasted foul, rust and blood mixing on my tongue. My jaw ached by morning, but I’d managed to leave faint bite marks.
Night after night, I kept at it — a prisoner gnawing at her cage.

By day, I was the obedient pet.
By night, the desperate fugitive.

The constant shifting between those roles made me question my sanity.

And yet, even that didn’t escape the notice of that accursed mouse.
A-Bao simply watched me, squeaked once, and went back to sleep.

Then, one night, as I was gnawing particularly hard, a shadow fell across me.

Gu Yi stood there, perfectly still, eyes open and blank.

My heart leapt to my throat.

“I was just— just dreaming of chicken legs!” I babbled, spitting the iron taste from my mouth.

He didn’t answer.
I looked closer — his eyes were unfocused. He was… sleepwalking.

Cautiously, I whispered a few insults. Nothing.

I relaxed and stretched my leg out slyly. If he took one more step, he’d trip.

He didn’t move.
Then, suddenly — he toppled forward like a felled tree.

Right onto me.

“By the heavens— you’re heavy!” I gasped, pinned flat.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he instinctively wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. One leg hooked over mine, locking me in place.

I froze. Warm breath fanned my neck, and my pulse stuttered.

Well… there was no getting out of this.

I sighed. Fine. Perhaps it was time to rest my aching jaw anyway.

Morning light spilled through the carriage. My back ached, my neck was sore, and there he was — perfectly composed, sipping tea and reading.

For the past hour, he hadn’t turned a single page.

And every few seconds, I caught him sneaking a glance my way.

I cleared my throat. “About last night—”

“Nothing happened last night,” he interrupted immediately.

“But—”

“I slept perfectly well,” he said, a little too fast.

“Well, I didn’t. My back’s killing me.”

He leaned closer — far too close — his face flushing pink. “You… you didn’t see anything last night, did you?”

I frowned. “See what?”

“Anything strange,” he muttered, twisting his sleeve between his fingers, visibly anxious.

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

I stared at him, confused — then, all at once, realization struck.
In my years of studying human “spring pictures,” the answer was obvious.

He must think we’d… cultivated together.

Granted, dual cultivation does involve hugging and rolling around — but not fully clothed, and certainly not in one’s sleep.

So I smiled sweetly, patted his hand, and said reassuringly,
“Don’t worry. I didn’t take your virginity.”

“...What?!”