Amidst the bustling mortal world, where life and death intertwine in an endless cycle, only the dual forces of Yin and Yang remain constant, shaping the flow of spiritual energy.
Not only humans possess the potential for enlightenment—creatures of talent may also absorb the essence of heaven and earth, refining their power to become demons, living long lives with varied temperaments. Gifted humans, touched by fate, may ascend as monks or priests, wielding divine power to protect mortals, subdue demons, and seek liberation.
Demons come in countless forms. Some are cruel and savage, delighting in devouring human essence; others are solitary and indifferent, preferring to keep their distance from humanity; while a rare few are kind-hearted and gentle, drawn to forming bonds with humans.Yet, as a whole, the demon realm generally holds the attitude: "What concern is it of ours to meddle with humans?"
Foxes, being creatures of high spiritual intelligence, excel in demonic cultivation. With innate wit and adaptability, they effortlessly master transformations and illusions, ranking among the most formidable beings in the demon world.
The white fox, Ming Xuan, was a three-hundred-year-old demon—merely a "youth" by fox standards, with a long life ahead. To him, the fleeting existence of mortals, their vows and passions, their beauty and decay, were but fleeting illusions. The love and hatred between humans and demons? He dismissed it as the folly of lesser spirits, driven by primal instincts—demons who foolishly believed they must kill to cultivate, or who imitated humans in their desperate, melodramatic passions.
Young by demonic measure, he had long since chosen solitude, honing his power in seclusion. In his spare time, he studied herbs, incense, divination, and the Five Elements, dwelling in the remote city of Saher, surrounded by mountains, hundreds of kilometers from the nearest human village. Naturally, he kept his distance from the mortal world, observing it with detached indifference. The rise and fall of the sun and moon, the joys and sorrows of humanity—all passed through his deep, unmoving gaze like distant shadows.
Mortals lived as briefly as summer insects, their fragile bodies entangled in trivialities—today rejoicing over small victories, tomorrow weeping over petty defeats. They loved and hated with equal fervor, capable of both reconciliation and betrayal. Though the mortal world occasionally offered amusement, stretched across the vast canvas of time, it all became dull and meaningless. The loneliness of humanity was light, but their despair was heavy. He did not understand it, nor did he care to. He merely watched from afar, unwilling to intervene.
On a summer night in the month of Jiwei, beneath a sky of glittering stars, Ming Xuan sat on a clearing after his sword practice, gazing upward at the unwavering paths of the constellations.
He recalled an encounter with an elderly fortune-teller who had once told him: "Every life follows a predetermined path. The Four Pillars and Eight Characters can reveal fate with near precision. In all my years, I've seen many with lofty ambitions, but few who truly transcend." After that journey, Ming Xuan had taken up divination out of curiosity, only to grow more convinced of the futility and insignificance of mortal existence.
Just as he traced the stars, a golden light flashed nearby. A monk in kasaya robes stood before him, prayer beads in hand, his expression solemn.
Ming Xuan tensed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword, concealed within his sleeve. He had heard of powerful monks who could track demonic auras, armed with blessed artifacts of unfathomable strength. This one radiated an ominous presence.
"One mind, three realms. One thought, three thousand worlds. Amitabha… so this is the fate that binds us." The monk's eyes flickered with surprise as his beads gleamed with golden light.
"Fox demon, I am the Witch-Priest. Today, I have come to resolve a tribulation of yours."
Ming Xuan frowned. Knowing he was outmatched, he retreated half a step, feigning composure while plotting escape. "What tribulation? I would hear the details, Venerable One."
One hand gripped his sword; the other curled subtly in his sleeve—the precursor to his "Riding the Wind" technique, which would let him vanish like a swift breeze with but a few light steps.
The Witch-Priest sighed silently. With a flick of his wrist, his twelve sandalwood beads expanded, forming a halo of light that surged toward Ming Xuan.
Ming Xuan leaped back, but the pull was irresistible—a force far beyond his own power. "The strong rule, the weak perish," he thought bitterly, as the beads swallowed him whole. "This is the law of existence."
Amitabha. All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows.
Like dew, like lightning—thus should they be regarded.
The Witch-Priest's voice echoed distantly, serene and hollow. But Ming Xuan felt only rage—the fury of being controlled, the wrath of suffering unjust calamity, the hatred of his own weakness. He ignored the monk's words entirely.
When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a strange, unfamiliar world.