Chapter Text
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Xianle was a glorious kingdom, and was renowned far and wide for its splendor. This notoriety was well-earned: it was, after all, very glorious, very splendid, and very, very wealthy. However, to maintain such an envious reputation, there was a certain necessity for loud and ostentatious displays of its attributes.
Its gilded palaces and jeweled temples were as numerous as flowers, and equally as beautiful. Its music and poetry and plays were known even across the seas. There was always an occasion for a festival, a parade, a feast at the palace with only the most elite of attendees. An envious reputation was best cultivated through a perfect balance of gratuitous showboating and exclusivity. Look, look all upon us – look upon us, and know the glory that you dare not touch.
The event that best encapsulated this mindset was the annual Imperial Hunt.
The Xianle imperial hunt; a glorious and storied tradition, where the royal family and nobility valiantly set out into the wilderness to vanquish evil with nothing but the swords on their hip, the arrows on their backs, and hundreds of personal assistants to keep them in the comfort they expected. They were of course also accompanied by fleets of elite soldiers, who did the lion’s share of the work in scouting out and chasing down prey.
It would not do for the Xianle nobility to be thought of as the idle rich – well, not entirely. While few of the nobles looked forward to leaving the comforts of the imperial city, the idea of not attending – worse, not being invited – was simply scandalous. And so, most were content to spend their week in the autumn wilderness in spacious and well-outfitted silken tents, sipping tea and writing guqin compositions on topic of the red maple leaves, while the busy work was taken care of by the staff.
…most were content.
“Your highness! Please, wait!”
Xie Lian had never listened to his bodyguards before, and was not about to start now – especially when his target was almost within his grasp.
Said target was a spider-legged demon the size of a draft horse. The eight sharp, jointed legs supported a massive round body, covered entirely in long, coarse black hair. Unlike the noble arachnid it had crudely copied its shape from, it sported only a single pair of eyes and a grinning, toothy mouth; both too large, and too human-like. It was a fearful sight to behold. It had terrorized nearby villages for months, and had effortlessly taken down troops of soldiers and cultivators sent to neutralize it. It was powerful, and terrifying, and was fleeing for its life from Xie Lian’s relentless pursuit.
Xie Lian was the crown prince of Xianle; the only son, an only child, the one and only darling of the heavens themselves. His martial talents were known far and wide – he was as unparalleled in the sword as he was with the spear, with the bow, with the staff, with nothing but his fists and feet. His mind was as sharp as the blades he wielded, and his sense of justice was as sturdy as the earth beneath his nimble feet. Or – being that he was currently freefalling through the air – at least as sturdy as the impact of his foot colliding with the thorax of the demon spider, sending the awful beast tumbling down from the tree trunk it had been previously scaling.
It landed hard on the forest floor; flipped on its back like a turtle. It let loose an awful croaking noise as it flailed its legs, trying and failing to right itself. It was too little, too late. A flash of sunlight in the tree canopy heralded Xie Lian’s descent, as if he was a bolt of divine lightning. He leapt from the highest branch, sword drawn, aiming straight for the wretched beast’s exposed underbelly.
It was mercifully quick. The demon spider croaked out its death rattle, and its legs twitched spasmodically for a few seconds before they stiffened and went motionless.
Xie Lian withdrew his sword, and pulled a paper talisman from his sleeves. He attached the talisman to the beast’s corpse, and murmured a quick incantation. The talisman erupted into white flames, and rapidly started to spread across the beast’s body; purifying its remains to ensure none of the corruption roiling within it would spread and reform itself into something equally vile.
“Your highness! For heaven’s sake…”
Xie Lian smiled at his bodyguards as they approached. “Sorry, Feng Xin. If you and Mu Qing keep squabbling over whose turn it is every time we spot a target, you can’t blame me for taking matters into my own hands.”
Mu Qing clicked his tongue irritably. “It was my turn, for the record.”
Feng Xin shoved him. Mu Qing punched him in the jaw. Within seconds, they were rolling around on the forest floor, kicking and slapping each other; lit by the setting sun and the gentle glow of the burning spider monster corpse. Xie Lian shook his head and took out a handkerchief to clean the blood from his sword.
Most Xianle nobles were content to allow the soldiers to capture and beat targets into submission; once subdued, the killing blow would be delivered by whatever noble liege the troop was assigned to. This would ensure the points for the kill were properly granted to their rightful recipient – tallies were carefully tracked by enchanted jade bracelets attached to every participant, and were quite serious business indeed. As crown prince, Xie Lian was of course entitled to a first-place finish; however, he was quite determined to earn this placement legitimately instead of relying on his bodyguards’ undeniable talents…
…and this, unfortunately, had the side effect of giving his bodyguards more free time to fight with each other. (Although they seemed to always make time for it regardless of the situation.)
“We only have an hour’s worth of daylight left,” Xie Lian stated. He stuck his empty sword sheath between Feng Xin and Mu Qing, trying to separate them as one would two fighting cats with a broomstick. “Then we’ll need to be more on guard. I’d like to keep our lead and not be stuck playing catchup tomorrow.”
Finally, Xie Lian managed to pry the two of them apart. Grumbling, they stood up, dusting themselves off and rubbing their sore jaws and shoulders.
“With all due respect, His Highness’ lead is such that it would take more than a single idle night for others to catch up,” Feng Xin said.
“We could very well spend the rest of this joke of an expedition drinking ourselves to death in a ditch and still comfortably hold the top placement,” Mu Qing added, with no small amount of disdain. “Even with an entire damn fleet of soldiers doing all the work for them, these nobles still manage to be useless leeches.”
“A harsh statement,” Xie Lian chided. “An insult to the hardworking leeches in the medical field.”
A horrible shriek rang out through the trees.
“From the southeast,” Feng Xin stated with confidence.
“Southwest,” Mu Qing corrected.
“Split the difference,” Xie Lian confidently declared; setting southward before Feng Xin and Mu Qing started brawling again.
It wasn’t hard to find their target – its continued shrieking and cursing were like a guiding beacon. Initially, the noise sounded inhuman enough for Xie Lian to assume they would be closing in on another demon target. However, as they got closer, it was clear they were dealing with something a little more…familiar, but no less foul.
“FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING RANCID MANGY SHIT I’LL FUCKING SKIN YOU WHILE YOU’RE STILL ALIVE AND FUCKING CRUSH THAT FUCKING SKULL AND—”
“Qi Rong!” Xie Lian barked. “Where is your entourage?”
Qi Rong was madly chopping at the base of a tree, wielding his gilded sword like a woodsman’s axe. Having finally turned fifteen, he’d begged and screamed and demanded to accompany his much-adored cousin Xie Lian on the Imperial Hunt this year, which was an outing that required a sword on one’s person. Reluctantly, Xie Lian’s father had bestowed upon him a fine golden blade, with the strict guidelines that he was not to wield it against anything but the beasts of the hunt, and that he would not leave the accompaniment of the soldiers assigned to protect him. These guidelines went out the window the moment Qi Rong had the sword in hand, and within half a day he was swaggering through the palace halls like an accomplished general, terrorizing servants and wielding the sword against rogue porcelain vases with all the finesse of a child with a stick.
Xie Lian had put a stop to his nonsense, but his father seemed to have no interest in disciplining Qi Rong further, or revoking the privilege of attending the hunt. His royal status gave him a right to attend regardless, he’d said, but the truth of the matter was that he simply did not feel it was worth the effort to bother. The tantrum at having his much-desired invitation snatched away would have resulted in far more than just a few shattered vases.
Xie Lian strode, chin high, to interrupt Qi Rong’s assault on the tree’s roots. He snatched the blade between two fingers as Qi Rong raised it once more, and effortlessly yanked it out of his cousin’s grip. He tossed the gaudy golden thing behind him, hearing it stick into the ground well out of reach. Qi Rong sputtered in wordless rage.
“Explain yourself,” Xie Lian said.
Qi Rong tried to dart away to reclaim his sword, but a battle against Xie Lian’s reflexes was destined to failure. Xie Lian grabbed him by the back of his robes and held him in place.
“Ow ow ow ow! Cousin crown prince!” Qi Rong wailed. “I wanted to hunt monsters too!! Those stupid meatheads just wanted to march around and shoot arrows at targets, and they wouldn’t even let me do anything when we did find a monster! I could’ve did it like you and chopped off its legs, then gone in and start stabbing right into its vital points—”
Qi Rong had never been trained with a sword for the same reason one would not strap knives to the limbs of a rabid beast. (Even if he had been given training, he surely would have skipped all his lessons like he did with every other topic.) The idea of him being able to emulate Xie Lian’s feats was laughable.
“And this explains why you’re here, chopping firewood?” Xie Lian interrupted him before he could go on with his violent fantasies any longer.
Qi Rong made a noise like a hot tea kettle, and he pointed accusingly at a little recess underneath the tree’s roots. It was small, too small for anything larger than a small animal to hide – all the beasts and monsters and demons gathered for the Imperial Hunt were chosen for their massive size. It was, after all, much more exciting to fell a giant creature, and made for more impressive trophies and commemorative prints after the fact.
“That thing was stealing our rations!” Qi Rong hissed. “I kicked it away and it made this awful fucking noise, like some screaming woman, so I know it’s not really what it looks like, so I ran after it and it fucking hid down there before I could kill it…”
Xie Lian gestured, and Feng Xin and Mu Qing came over to supervise Qi Rong while Xie Lian investigated. He knelt to the forest floor, his heavy silk robes spreading around him like a flower; white and red and gold. The sun was setting behind him, bathing him in a heavenly glow. He peered into the little root hideaway, and saw the “monster”: a small, injured, terrified little fox. Wholly ordinary, wholly innocent. Its great dark eye focused on Xie Lian’s face; intense and unblinking, despite the halo of the sun surrounding him.
“It’s alright,” Xie Lian said softly. “You’re safe now.”
He extended a hand to the poor creature, trying to beckon it out. Xie Lian, for all his martial prowess, was a spoiled prince who lived in a golden palace – even if this wasn’t some dangerous monster as his cousin insisted, Xie Lian was heedless of the danger of trying to befriend a wounded wild animal. All he knew was simple compassion for an innocent creature in desperate need of kindness.
“Cousin crown prince!” howled Qi Rong. “Don’t! It’s a fucking monster, it bit the shit out of my hands and kept screaming like some bitch getting slapped around—”
“It’s a fox,” Xie Lian shot back. “And what did you expect him to do when you were trying to kill him?”
Xie Lian felt a tiny exhale of breath against his hand, and looked back to see that the fox had crept forward from its hiding place to delicately sniff Xie Lian’s hand. Xie Lian’s heart sank as he took in the poor thing’s condition. It was small, so small that it couldn’t yet be fully grown, and so emaciated that Xie Lian could clearly count its ribs through its filthy matted coat. Blood, both fresh and long-dried, was caked on its fur. A deep cut over its right eye had left the organ so damaged that it was wholly red and almost certainly blind. It clearly had been on its own for some time, with no mother to help it hunt, or keep its fur tidy, or defend it against those who meant it harm.
As far as Xie Lian was concerned, there was only one course of action.
“We’re going back to my tent,” Xie Lian declared. “Mu Qing, please run ahead and tell the royal physicians to draw a medicinal bath and bring supplies. Have the chefs bring in some meat and milk as well. Oh, and get some fresh linens to make bedding with.”
Mu Qing stared. “…it’s a fox.”
“It’s a fucking monster!” Qi Rong hysterically insisted.
“I don’t like repeating myself,” Xie Lian said firmly. “Feng Xin, accompany Qi Rong back to his entourage. I’ll need to rush back to the tent to get him treated once I coax him out.”
“…it’s a fox…” Feng Xin echoed, helplessly, but he’d known Xie Lian long enough to understand when his mind was made up.
With his two bodyguards (and screaming cousin) now gone, Xie Lian was able to devote his full attention to the little creature cowering under the tree’s roots. The fox was still staring at Xie Lian; staring and staring, trembling in every limb, ears plastered back. But not growling, not showing its teeth. That was a good start. Belatedly, Xie Lian remembered the satchel of rations tucked into his sash – dried meat, good for long-lasting energy while on the hunt for creatures of darkness. Xie Lian peeled off a bit of it, and offered it to the little fox.
“Here,” Xie Lian said softly. He took a bite of the portion in his other hand to demonstrate. “Passable as far as camping food goes.”
Hunger was a powerful motivator. The fox inched forward, on trembling limbs, to investigate. It became clear that the fox’s fear wasn’t the only thing slowing its step – from the way it held the limb up, limping along, one of its back legs was clearly badly injured. Broken, perhaps. The creature was battered and trampled all over, with injuries both old and new. Qi Rong could hardly be blamed for all of it. Or even most of it.
Little fox, all alone in the world. Xie Lian’s heart ached.
“I’m sorry. I doubt this foolish hunt of ours has made your life any easier, lately,” Xie Lian said.
It doesn’t look like your life is easy in general, he added silently. It was not something that he saw fit to voice – this creature needed his action, and his compassion, not his pity.
…Even if the fox surely couldn’t understand a word he was saying, regardless…
He gave the fox another strip of meat to eat. The fox swallowed it down, hardly chewing; driven by urgency to get something in its empty stomach.
“I’d like to take you back to my tent,” Xie Lian said. “We have food, and a warm and safe place for you to spend the night. The monsters always more active during the night…”
…as if the fox wasn’t already well aware. Those recent injuries had to have come from something, and it wasn’t all Qi Rong. Xie Lian felt a twinge of guilt. He always thought of the Imperial Hunt as a frivolous waste of time, simply another kind of social gathering for idle nobles, a way for the Xianle military to showcase its might…but he’d also thought that the only things getting hurt were the monsters the military rounded up into the hunting grounds. It was so unfair, that this little fox – already struggling to survive – had to suffer all the more just so a bunch of nobles could have a pointless romp in the woods. Xie Lian wanted to do what he could to make things right.
He gave the last of his rations to the fox, and, again, offered his hand to sniff. Slowly, hesitantly, as if expecting to be struck at any moment, the fox leaned its little head into Xie Lian’s palm. Its eyes slid shut, and it let out a small breath before going completely still. Xie Lian almost panicked – the fox was in such bad shape that it wouldn’t be surprising if it had just dropped dead before his eyes – but calmed somewhat when he still saw the slow rise and fall of the fox’s chest as it breathed.
Carefully, Xie Lian moved to pick up the little creature. The fox’s eyes flew open at the feeling of Xie Lian’s gentle touch, but it made no move to run (as if it could make it very far) or bite. It simply continued to stare, eyes huge and mismatched, up at Xie Lian as he bundled the creature close to his chest. Xie Lian could feel the quick stuttering of its heart, even through his robes. Such a steady, strong heartbeat. Such a remarkable creature.
“Come on,” Xie Lian said. “Let’s head back.”
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Despite his cantankerous personality, Mu Qing was as excellent a personal assistant as he was a bodyguard, so when Xie Lian entered his royal tent, he was presented with everything he’d requested: a warm bath, food, and three royal physicians who stared at him as he entered. Disbelief was plain on their faces.
“…a fox,” one finally stated.
“Yes,” Xie Lian confirmed. “I am quite sure doctors of your stature can manage to attend to him. If I’m mistaken, however, I’m quite sure there are many army physicians milling about that we could call in to consult.”
Xie Lian knew that they would not dare go against a direct order from the crown prince, but it would perhaps do some good to remind them to take their charge seriously. The physicians rose from their kneeling positions and hurried over to Xie Lian to examine their new patient. Xie Lian carefully studied their faces, looking for any sign of disdain or disgust. He would not hesitate to dismiss any of them if he needed to. This creature deserved to be treated with care and respect.
The fox eyed the doctors warily, and flinched and growled as they poked and prodded him. Xie Lian soothed him:
“It’s alright, it’s alright. Let’s get you cleaned up so they can treat you, and then we’ll have dinner…”
The fox’s eyes had slipped shut again at the sound of Xie Lian’s voice and the gentle touch of his hands, but they flew open again at the sound of fabric slipping to the floor. Xie Lian laughed.
“Don’t worry! I’m just getting undressed so I can get into the tub with you. It’ll be easier for me to wash you that way…”
The fox’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and it began to squirm relentlessly in Xie Lian’s arms. Xie Lian tilted his head curiously.
“…too shy?” he hazarded a guess.
The fox stopped squirming, but couldn’t quite meet Xie Lian’s gaze. Ah well, Xie Lian thought as he walked over to the tub, dressed only in his inner robes. We can do it this way then. It would be easier to do this undressed – I just so hate the feeling of wet sleeves.
After carefully lowering the fox into the warm medicinal bathwater, Xie Lian gestured to Mu Qing, who – not without sighing – came over to help tie up Xie Lian’s voluminous sleeves, baring his snowy-pale skin and firm arms. The fox, still unable to look at Xie Lian’s face, was now equally determined to not look at the arms and hands that came to card through his wet fur.
At every pass of Xie Lian’s hands, the fox flinched less and less. The blood and mud caked to his coat washed away, revealing fur of a most marvelous color – a deep reddish-gold, like the autumn forest surrounding them. One could only imagine how beautiful it would be after a few months of being fed and cared for in the palace. Although Xie Lian’s heart still ached at how thin he was – Xie Lian could distinctly feel the outline of his spine, his ribs, just as he could feel the pounding of the creature’s heart – Xie Lian was relieved to see that his injuries were not quite as bad as they’d originally looked. The medicinal water was already working to heal the fox; wounds knitting shut before his eyes, bones setting into place. The fox’s eyes stayed mismatched, but this really only added to his charm.
“There now,” Xie Lian said. “I’ll get you dried off and we’ll have something to eat.”
The fox shook out his coat, sending a shower of bathwater everywhere. Xie Lian laughed in delight, but Mu Qing wasn’t quite as entertained. With an annoyed grunt, he handled off a towel to Xie Lian’s waiting hands and stormed off to prepare bowls of food, cursing to himself all the way.
“Such a beautiful coat,” Xie Lian praised, and meant it – even though said coat was now pointing every which way, fluffing the fox out enough that he almost looked well-fed. “Like a red maple. I don’t suppose you have a name already? What do you think about ‘Red Maple’?”
The fox stared at him blankly as Xie Lian worked the towel over his fur.
“Hmm. Just ‘Red’, then? That would be more masculine-sounding, I agree…”
“Your Highness,” Mu Qing said. “A thousand apologies for interrupting your conversation with your new associate. Dinner is ready.”
Despite Mu Qing clearly not actually being sorry at all, his feelings on the situation were clear enough; he’d chopped the meat in one of the bowls into small enough pieces that they could be easily chewed, and wet it with milk to help with digestion.
“Your Highness,” Feng Xin said with despair evident in his tone. He’d returned from his harrowing quest to deliver Qi Rong to find this scene before him. “Please, I’m certain the animal can eat on its own…”
Xie Lian had Red settled on his lap, swaddled in blankets, and was hand-feeding him chunks of meat from the bowl. It brought to mind the image of a lady noble doting on a small ornamental dog. Or a mother bird feeding its young. At that thought, Feng Xin had a brief flash of terror that Xie Lian would start chewing food for the creature.
“He’s still recuperating,” Xie Lian stated, his tone brooking no argument. “Once Little Red comes back to the palace with us, he’ll have healed up enough to take his meals normally…”
To the creature’s credit, it was just as shocked at this statement as Feng Xin and Mu Qing were. Its huge eyes stared up at Xie Lian, ignoring the tempting bit of meat offered between Xie Lian’s elegant fingers.
“…back to the palace,” Feng Xin echoed. “Your Highness. With respect, a common wild animal is not a fit companion for someone of your stature…”
“My grandfather had a pet tiger,” Xie Lian said mildly, trying to get Red re-interested in his dinner. “There’s more than enough precedence.”
(As if Xie Lian actually cared about precedence, instead of doing exactly what he had decided upon already and ignoring any arguments to the contrary.)
“I’m certain your noble parents would give you a whole stable of tigers if you wished it,” Feng Xin began, with a very convincing argument on his lips.
“That’s very nice of them. Little Red has proven himself to be far stronger than a stableful of tigers, though,” Xie Lian said, cutting off that argument before it even sprang into existence.
Feng Xin’s jaw gaped, and Mu Qing rose an eyebrow – the two were actually in mutual agreement over something for once, and it was unsurprisingly on the topic of Xie Lian doing something ridiculous. Xie Lian smiled and hoisted Red up under his front legs, lifting him so they could see eye to eye.
“Surviving alone for so long in a den of monsters, armed with nothing but his wits and teeth. Truly, as powerful as any tiger I’ve seen.”
“If a fox is as powerful as a tiger, then the farmers that chase them away from their chickens must be mighty martial gods.” Mu Qing flicked his eyes to Feng Xin’s untouched dinner bowl, and scowled. “Eat before I shove your face in it. I won’t reheat it for you.”
It was rather hard indeed for anyone to tell the crown prince of Xianle that he wasn’t allowed to do something. And so, the three of them went to bed that night fully expecting to be bringing a furry addition back to the Xie household.
It was very unexpected indeed for Xie Lian to awaken with no ball of red fluff curled against his chest. He looked, and looked; turned his whole tent and the surrounding camp upside-down, sent Feng Xin and Mu Qing and his own self searching in every direction. There was neither hide nor hair of the sweet creature that Xie Lian had sworn to protect.
As the hunt concluded that afternoon, Xie Lian left for the palace with a heavy heart. He hoped that Red would grow and thrive, wherever his paws had carried him.
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The fox was just an ordinary, ugly thing. The fox was not powerful, it was not beautiful. It was a lowly scavenging beast.
But the prince had saved the fox, all the same. The prince had appeared, bathed in golden sunlight, and had treated him gently. He’d eased his pain, he’d held him close. He’d given him a name.
The fox’s heart would belong to the prince forevermore. This was simple fact. But it was true, what that other, lesser human had said. The fox was not a fit companion for the prince.
But the fox had gotten a taste of what it could feel like, if he was. And the fox was so, so greedy.
There was a legend that all foxes knew, deep in their bones. (The fox could not remember anyone having told him, anyway – he only dimly remembered a mother, and perhaps two older siblings. Long dead, in any case. He’d been alone for as long as he could recall.)
The legend was as such: journey to the realm of the Fox God, undertake their trials, and be granted an audience and a wish.
Red knew what he needed to do, if he was ever to be able to return to his prince. He would earn a place at his side. He would make himself into something worth his prince’s compassion.
And so, Red had slipped away into the night, with the cadence of his prince’s heartbeat thrumming in his bones.
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