Beneath the Rain, I Remember Myself

Rain surged from the heavens, rising into white mist.
Droplets fell in rhythmic bursts—pi-pi, pa-pa—against the thatched awning overhead.
The steady sound was like the muffled beating of countless drums, tapping softly against my heart,
and for the first time in a long while, it lured me toward sleep.

I hadn’t slept this soundly in ages. My heart was calm as still water.
Yet even in such peace, I dreamed—
and in the dream, I saw my aunt again.

I had longed for that moment, night after night,
yearning to ask her all the questions that had haunted me.
But endless days of flight and exhaustion had drained me dry.
The forces of Yingzhong had sent three different pursuers after me—Zhuo Yuan, Gu Yi, and Jin Xiu.
In times like these, I could not even afford to blink, much less sleep.

Only when I finally escaped Yingzhong, reaching a small border town at the edge of Xihan,
did I manage to breathe again.
I found an abandoned temple, collapsed upon its offering hall,
and there I slept—utterly and completely—beneath the sound of the storm.

And within that rain-drenched slumber, my wish was granted.
I dreamed of my aunt.

In the dream, the world was blindingly white.
Snow fell in soft clusters, dense and weightless—
like grains of salt, like drifting willow fluff.
The blanket of snow stretched endlessly,
until from the boundless white, a shadow of deep green emerged.

That silhouette was strangely familiar.
Though I could not make out his face,
I remembered him.
He was the man I had glimpsed in the illusion days ago—
Bai Xi’s master,
the one who had done everything in his power to stop her from becoming immortal.

The scene shifted, and I saw my aunt.
In the dream, she looked much younger.
Her hair was tied high in a celestial knot,
her black robe heavy with wind and snow.

When she saw him, she hurried forward.
“Master Tu,” she said urgently.

He coughed—harsh and wet—and spat a mouthful of blood.
The crimson splattered across the snow, blooming like plum blossoms.

“Master Tu!” my aunt cried. “Are you all right?”

He wiped the blood from his lips, unbothered.
“It’s nothing,” he said softly. “The Soul-Suppressing Stone carries too much malice, but it’s done. I have taken her out.”

He turned his palm over. Light shimmered faintly from it—
tiny motes glowing like fireflies.

“This,” he said, “is her soul.
She has been steeped too long in the stone’s resentment and corruption.
It will consume her unless she finds a vessel to rest in.”

My aunt’s eyes burned with urgency.
“Use me,” she said at once. “Let Lady Bai Xi rest within my body!”

He shook his head. “No.
Your cultivation is too mixed—half celestial, half demonic.
Bai Xi’s path is that of the Nine-Tailed Fox;
your energies would reject each other and destroy you both.”

“Then what must I do?” she asked.

“You must find a newborn child,” he said slowly,
“and seal Bai Xi’s soul within it.
Raise that child to cultivate the pure art of the Nine-Tails.
Her power will nourish Bai Xi’s essence.
Perhaps, in time, Bai Xi will awaken again.”

“And the child?” my aunt whispered.

He smiled faintly. “The child will become Bai Xi’s nourishment.”

My aunt fell silent, then nodded.
And I—
I woke.

When my eyes opened, I saw a kind face bending over me,
a damp towel in her hand gently wiping my forehead.

Seeing me stir, she smiled.
“You’re awake, girl. Had a bad dream?”

She was Old Madam Li,
a beggar woman who lived in the ruined temple.

The previous night, I had collapsed at the gates.
She found me and took me in, caring for me as though I were her own.

Later I learned her story: once, she was an ordinary farmer’s wife.
She had sons and daughters, a quiet home.
But when her husband died, her children cast her out.
Since then, she had survived on scraps and mercy.

After Bai Xi’s rampage at the imperial feast,
she had withdrawn into my body to recover.
And I—
what was left of me—was nearly spent.
For three days, I lay half-dead in that temple,
while Madam Li tended to me without rest.

My fever had broken, but my forehead was still damp.
She set down the cloth and brought a bowl of porridge—thick and fragrant.

I tried to sit up and take it myself, but she stopped me gently.
“Your body’s too weak, my dear. Lie down. I’ll feed you.”

She scooped a spoonful, blew on it to cool it,
then held it to my lips.

As she did, her eyes welled up.
Tears trickled down the deep lines of her cheeks,
falling onto the floor with a soft pat.

Embarrassed, she wiped them away with her sleeve and smiled faintly.

I knew then—she was seeing her daughter in me.
But alas, she could not have birthed a five-hundred-year-old daughter,
and I could not truly be hers.

I had always known I was born of no one.
Aunt had merely picked me up—a stray fox,
a creature of chance.

She had treated me well,
but always with a cold distance.
As a child, I thought it was my fault—
that I wasn’t clever enough,
that I could never meet her expectations.

Now I understood.
The way she looked at me—so intent, so burning—
she had never truly seen me.
She had been looking through me,
at the soul she hoped would awaken.

Outside, the storm raged on.
The downpour trapped Madam Li inside with me.
I lay listlessly on the straw mat,
staring up at the roof’s leaking seams.

The rain fell softer now,
a thin drizzle whispering against the eaves.

Madam Li watched me with worry,
but said nothing for a long while.
Finally, she stepped forward, hesitating.

“Girl,” she asked, “are you hungry?
Shall I find you something to eat?”

I nodded weakly.

Her face lit up with relief.
“Wait here,” she said quickly,
and hurried out into the storm.

I watched her leave, a crooked smile tugging at my lips.

Yes… it was better to be human.
Short-lived, yes—but within those fleeting years,
they tasted everything: joy, sorrow, bitterness, warmth.
We demons lived too long,
and in that endlessness, there was only emptiness.

Besides, I wasn’t even a proper demon anymore.
I was just—mud.
A vessel.
Nourishment for someone else’s rebirth.

I placed a trembling hand over my heart,
feeling its heavy, insistent beating.
“Bai Xi,” I whispered,
“since you’ve come back…
why not devour me outright?
Why hide within,
while I bear the punishment for your sins?”

No answer came.

The wind howled through the trees,
and I heard branches cracking,
the forest breaking apart.

I crawled out of the temple,
my body too weak to stand.

Wind and rain slashed across my face,
a thousand needles cutting deep.
Still, I dragged myself forward, gasping for air.

Thunder rolled.
The clouds above swelled black as iron.
My pulse hammered so violently
I thought my heart would burst.

“Bai Xi!” I screamed at the heavens.
“The ones who wronged you—they’re up there!
Your vengeance lies in the Ninth Heaven, not here!
If you must curse someone—curse the heavens themselves!”

Lightning struck.
A boulder nearby shattered,
its fragments slicing across my cheek.
Blood blurred my sight.

“Did you hear me?” I whispered, desperate.
“I’m just an ordinary soul—
a fox without ambition,
who only wishes to live quietly.
Why… why won’t you let me?”

“Bai Xi, please,” I begged,
“let me go.”

But there was only thunder in reply.

My arms fell limp.
Pain surged like waves through my chest,
so sharp it took my breath away.
The rain came harder, piercing my skin like arrows.

I sank to my knees and wept,
hugging myself tightly.

What difference was there between this life and death?
Even if I died, no one would mourn me—
for in everyone’s eyes, I was Bai Xi.
No one would grieve for Qiao Qiao.

The world dimmed.
Somewhere through the roaring storm,
a faint voice called out:
“Girl! Girl, what’s wrong?!”

And then, everything went dark.

In the darkness, I dreamed again.
I was back in the mountain,
a captive bride of bandits.
A man in blue armor fought desperately to save me.

When he thought I had died,
he knelt and wept—
cradling a stone in his arms.

“Qiao Qiao,” he sobbed, “don’t die…
I was going to marry you,
take you back to Mei Shan Forest…”

At last, he pressed his lips to the stone and whispered,
“I love you.”

He was Gu Yi,
the only man who had ever wept for me.

When I awoke, my face was wet again—
not with rain, but with tears.

Madam Li wiped my forehead and sighed.
“My dear, what could trouble you so deeply?”

She clucked her tongue, scolding softly.
“Running out in a storm like that—you’ll ruin your health!”

“Madam Li…”
My throat was raw, my voice cracked.

She covered my brow with a towel, still fussing.
“If you break your body now, how will you live?
You’re young—don’t throw it away like this.”

I gave a bitter smile.
“This body isn’t mine anyway.”

Her eyes widened. “Don’t say nonsense like that.”

She reached beside her and pulled out two roasted potatoes,
offering them with pride.
“Here—fresh off the coals. Eat while they’re hot.”

I took one, warm and steaming.
The first bite filled me with a fragile warmth.
For the first time in ages, I wanted to talk.

“Madam Li,” I said quietly,
“what would you do if, after all these years,
you discovered everything you had—your body, your family,
even your dog—belonged to someone else?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

I thought for a moment.
“Say you’ve lived fifty years,
and suddenly some wandering ghost appears,
claiming your life was hers first.
What would you do?”

Madam Li chuckled. “Why, call a priest and have the ghost driven out, of course.”

I shook my head.
“No. This ghost is powerful—
and everyone wants her back.
Everyone wishes you dead so she can return.
What then?”

Her face grew solemn.
She pondered for a long while before saying,
“This body’s been mine fifty years.
No one can claim it with words alone.
If my family turned on me, I’d leave and start anew.
And if that ghost came again,
I’d destroy the body before letting her take it.”

Her words struck me like lightning.

She was right.
This body has been mine for five hundred years.
Why should Bai Xi take it back with a single word?

Yes—perhaps I had lived on her fortune.
But I had also kept her alive.
I had nourished her soul for five centuries.
Our debts were even.

I could give her anything—
but not myself.

When the storm passed, something inside me cleared.
A question that had haunted me for years
finally found its answer.
My heart felt lighter, freer.
I thanked Madam Li deeply.

In the days that followed,
we grew close.

The rain had washed the grime from my face,
and when Madam Li saw my true features,
I no longer bothered to hide them.

She worked at an inn collecting scraps—
toiling all day, then returning at night to care for me.
I felt ashamed,
but she only smiled.

“Caring for you is my blessing,” she said.
“I ask for nothing.
Just someone to keep me company.
In truth, I already think of you as my daughter.”

Her words pierced something tender in me.
My throat tightened; I nearly wept.

In my heart, I had begun to think of her as a mother too.

I made a silent vow:
when I recovered, I would find work, earn silver,
buy land, build a house.
A place to belong.
I would care for Madam Li as my own kin,
and when her time came,
I would honor her memory every year.

I would live—
truly live—
like a human being.

And for the first time in centuries,
that thought was enough.