The Resurrection of Bai Xi — Fire Beneath the Ice

In the gentle bloom of early spring, the imperial palace of Xihan basked in a sea of colors—crimson, gold, violet, and white. Everywhere was festivity and splendor.
Everywhere but one place.

Far to the north lay the Chang Ji Courtyard, a place of eternal silence.
For decades, no one went near.

At its heart rested a cold pond, surrounded year-round by frost. Not a single blade of grass grew within several miles. Yet three years ago, this forsaken courtyard had inexplicably become a sacred site—and within it, a celestial maiden appeared.

The story began with Qin An, who brought this “immortal” back from the polar ice.

It had once been an old legend of Xihan:

“Deep in the frozen mountains of the far north sleeps a maiden of incomparable beauty.
Bring her home, and the kingdom of Xihan shall prosper for ten thousand years.”

A foolish myth, or so they thought—until it came true.

There really was a woman sealed in the ice.
A vision of snow and night—white robes, black hair, beauty so devastating it outshone even Princess Jin Xiu, the most beautiful woman in the realm.

Qin An brought her to the palace. Emperor Zhuo Yuan saw her once—and was lost.

But the maiden lay frozen, untouched by age or heat. No blade could cut through her icy prison. So Zhuo Yuan did what emperors always do—he settled for imitation.

He sent word across the world, seeking women who resembled the sleeping goddess. Married, unmarried, it did not matter—all were summoned to the palace.

Months later, Gu Yi, prince of Dongyi, entered the palace with twelve beauties in tow, fulfilling the emperor’s wish at last.

And the true ice-bound maiden—forgotten, unwanted—was moved to the frigid Chang Ji Courtyard, left to her eternal sleep beside the cold pond.

Time passed.
The courtyard grew infamous—not for divinity, but for secrecy.

Servants came here to shirk duties, lovers to meet unseen.
Sometimes a dead maid or eunuch was dumped here too, wrapped in a mat, left to rot until spring thawed their remains to bone.

So when a young eunuch dragged a blood-stained sack across the courtyard and heaved it into the pond, no one thought twice.

The body inside was broken—bones shattered, limbs bent at wrong angles, a heavy stone tied to the back. With a dull thud, the sack hit the water and sank. No bubbles rose.

That lifeless body, unfortunately, was me.

Cold. Unbearably cold.

The chill pressed in from every side. My lungs seized. Awareness struck me like lightning. I tried to move, to swim upward—but my limbs were useless, my spine twisted, the weight of the stone dragging me down into the black.

After a while, I stopped struggling. My strength ebbed away, leaving only surrender.

Then, quite suddenly, the weight slipped loose. The stone fell, and my body grew light.

I kicked weakly, pushing toward the surface—when a pale, slender hand appeared in the darkness below, its touch colder than the water itself. Fingers wrapped around my ankle.

And pulled me down.

The pond was deeper than I had ever imagined. No light, no sound—only an endless, suffocating dark.

Far below, a faint luminescence shimmered. The outline of a human form.

The hand vanished, replaced by a voice, soft and low:

“You’re here at last.”
“I’ve waited for you for so long.”

The suffocation eased, replaced by a cold terror. I tried to speak, my voice echoing in the water:
“Who are you?”

No answer.

Then came the hair—long strands of black, drifting toward me like seaweed, wrapping around my arms, my throat, my chest.

Memories flooded in, memories that weren’t mine.

They poured into my skull like molten iron, searing through thought and bone. Pain clawed at me; I screamed soundlessly.
“Please—stop! Those aren’t mine! Stop it! Bai Xi, please—please stop!”

But the flood continued.
Her pain. Her hatred. Her memories—all burned into me like brands.

And then came the heat.

Fire beneath the ice. My veins turned molten; the pond began to boil.

The iron chain around my wrist shattered, melting into molten slag. Steam hissed into the night. The moon broke through the fog, silver and cold, revealing the face tangled in the black hair.

“Bai Xi…”

It was her.

She smiled faintly, her arms sliding around me in an embrace.

Fear clenched my chest. I tried to pull away, but she held me still, her lips brushing my ear.

“I’m sorry.”

Then she vanished.

The pond vanished with her, drained into a vast crater. I sat at the bottom, drenched in moonlight, staring at the distant sky.

I needed time—time to see through the torrent of memories that were not my own.
Time to understand what Bai Xi sought—what vengeance she desired against Qin An and Jin Xiu.

Bai Xi, the once-great fox immortal, had burned too briefly.

Three hundred and twenty-one years of life—a flicker to the divine.

Two thousand years of cultivation, thirteen heavenly thunders endured—she had risen from the last nine-tailed fox in the mortal world to the first fox immortal of the heavens.

But her time in the Celestial Court was anything but peaceful.

There were always those who despised her, who mocked the “fox that became a god.”
Yet Bai Xi never cared. Her heart was consumed by one thing only—Qin An.

He was her sun, her belief, her ruin.

And Qin An—he was the God of War, protector of the realms.
Too noble, too radiant to belong to anyone.

Young and brilliant, he had admirers beyond count. Among them, the famed Immortal Jin Xiu, adored across the Three Realms.

For millennia, Jin Xiu loved him.
And for millennia, he ignored her.

Until Bai Xi appeared.

Qin An’s indifference shattered. He chose Bai Xi.
And Jin Xiu’s love turned to fury.

So she schemed.

A theft—false but convincing. The Empress of Heaven’s Thousand-Feathered Robe went missing.
Evidence appeared in Bai Xi’s home.

She was dragged before the heavens, condemned before she could speak.

No one believed her pleas.
Her words were dismissed as lies, her tears as deceit.

Desperate, she sought Qin An—her last hope.
“Do you not believe me?” she begged.

Qin An’s reply was ice:
“You are but a beast of the wilds, blessed by chance. A fox in a goddess’s robe. Thievery is your nature.”

The light in her eyes died.

They flayed her alive.

As they prepared to cast her body into the Abyss of Souls, Jin Xiu stepped forward, veiling her smile behind a fan.

“The heavens have grown too peaceful,” she said to the Empress. “Even beasts now call themselves immortals. Today it was a stolen robe. Tomorrow, who knows what else? Should we not remind them what it means to defy heaven?”

The Empress hesitated—then nodded.

And thus, the punishment was chosen.

In the Celestial Fire Pool, divine flames burned for ten thousand years without rest. At its heart stood a bronze pillar that reached into the ninth sky—once used for the gravest of sinners.

Bai Xi was bound there.

Day and night, her flesh burned, peeled away, and grew anew—an endless cycle of agony.

Immortals cannot die. That was her curse.

Through the flames, she whispered one name again and again:

“Qin An… Qin An…”

Jin Xiu stood before the fire, her face lit red by its glow. She smiled down at the ruin that had once been a goddess.

“Qin An belongs to me.”

On the third day, Qin An came.

He said nothing—only drew his black blade.

And drove it through her heart.

That sword was called Zhui Hun, the Soul-Chaser.
Its wound marks the soul forever—so that its wielder may hunt the victim through every life and every death.

Now, under the same moonlight, I tore open my robe and looked at my chest.

There it was—a faint scar over my heart, the mark of the sword.

Bai Xi’s.

The spirit in the cold pond was hers, without doubt.

And this body—this skin—held one percent of her divine power.

Now everything made sense.

I covered my mouth, choking back the sob that threatened to rise.

No. I mustn’t cry.

I had to smile. Smile for my kin buried beneath Xu He Mountain. Smile for the foxes who waited for her return.

So I laughed—harsh and broken—while tears spilled hot and fast.

“Aunt,” I whispered to the night, “you must have felt it too, haven’t you? Bai Xi has returned. Our kind will rise again.”

I pressed a trembling hand to my chest.

“Bai Xi,” I whispered, “you’ve come back. So… is it time for me to go?”

My voice cracked, raw and ragged.

“Five hundred years I’ve nurtured you. Don’t I deserve an answer?”

The words tore at my throat.

“Why? Why must my whole life revolve around you?”

I am not Bai Xi.
Not now. Not ever.

How absurd. I am not her—only the soil that fed her roots.

The truth flickered in my mind like a cruel jest.

Five hundred years ago, when I was born, I was chosen to be Bai Xi’s vessel.
Her master had torn her soul from her dying body and sealed it into mine.
“Raise her well,” he told my aunt. “When the time comes, Bai Xi will awaken.”

And now I understood.

My endless years of cultivation, the strength I’d fought to gain—it had never been mine.

All my power, all my essence, had been hers to consume.

She was the seed.
I, the soil that nourished her.

From birth to death, my entire existence was to bring her back to life.

Now she had awakened.

And I… was no longer needed.