The Silk Tree

In seventy years, Grandpa had set down his cup like that only twice.

The other time was when he decided Little Sprout would join the rain sacrifice.

“It is for the village,” he had said.

That was five years ago.

The village had suffered a terrible drought.

To show sincerity to the Water Star Lord, Grandpa arranged for my little sister to wear paper robes and ride a bamboo raft with the offerings to the center of the lake.

He stood on the bank in ritual robes, casting the rain-invoking formation.

The spell succeeded.

Clouds gathered.

Rain fell.

Villagers wept with gratitude beneath the blessing.

But what descended was not ordinary rain.

It was Drowning Water from the star sea.

On Drowning Water, even goose feathers cannot float.

Immortals cannot cross.

Anyone who tries to pass over it drowns.

By the time Grandpa realized what had happened, Little Sprout and the offering raft had sunk.

She never surfaced.

After that, as the family’s only remaining bloodline, I was forbidden from contacting gods, demons, or spirits.

But that night, lying in the old wooden bed, I stared at the red thread around my wrist.

Under moonlight, it glowed faintly.

Thin strands of red light floated from it toward the mountain forest.

Huli.

What did she want from me?

Little Sprout’s smiling face appeared in my mind.

Ignoring Grandpa’s warning, I put on my shoes and ran into the forest behind the house.

Following the red glow, I reached deep into the woods.

Dog barks faded behind me.

Silence thickened.

The red light pointed to a silk tree.

Beneath the faint moonlight, I saw a small knife floating in midair, carving something into the bark.

When it sensed me approaching, the knife fell silently.

The symbols on the tree were crooked and strange.

Wait.

Were these fox paw prints?

There was only one way.

I walked toward the tree, muttering nonsense under my breath.

Then I suddenly made a horrible face.

As expected, Huli appeared in front of me.

She was very close.

Her face was red again.

The tear mole under her left eye looked even clearer.

“Curiosity kills foxes,” I said. “What do you want?”

“It… starts three—no, four thousand years ago.”

She backed up, leaning weakly against the tree.

Her hands waved wildly in the air.

Was talking to me that difficult?

It took nearly an hour for me to understand.

There were two ancient nine-tailed fox clans.

Tushan and Qingqiu.

Huli was born in Tushan.

Her clan once helped the ancient king control floods and supported the founding of a dynasty. Later, as that dynasty declined, Tushan retreated into the spirit realm and stopped interfering with human fate.

Qingqiu, after producing infamous seductress foxes, continued causing trouble in the human world.

That was likely why Grandpa mistook Huli for one of them.

But Tushan had strict rules.

Foxes who wanted to cultivate through human incense had to pass an exam before being assigned to temples.

Like the human college entrance exam.

Huli had skipped the official process and run away.

For thousands of years, fox spirits communicated by glances and gestures.

They rarely needed speech.

That was why most foxes avoided humans.

They were like social recluses.

“I want to go home,” Huli whispered.

“Why me?”

“Familiar,” she said. “I saw you.”

“Where did you see me?”

Little Sprout’s face flashed in my mind.

I grabbed her hand and stared into her dazed eyes.

Huli immediately looked like she might faint.

She pointed weakly at the fox-paw carvings on the tree.

Then fell asleep.

Her body slowly turned transparent.

Only when she completely vanished did I return home under the night.

This time, another red thread had appeared on my left wrist.