In the Xincang Mountain Range.
Night.
The high forest in autumn, the moon transparent, serene and comfortable. The moonlight sprinkled down, as if they were a layer of frosting.
Insects chirped beneath trees, owls perched on branches. After the outsiders with differing objectives had left, the space was returned to its original owners.
A fox sat under a stone, its eyes closed in seeming slumber. The moonlight draped the stone in a white veil, but as it fell onto the fox, it flowed in front of it like a stream of light.
This fox was too quiet and bizarre. If it wanted to hunt, it should be hiding its body in the bushes; if it wanted to rest, it should return to its den, rather than sitting immobile under the moonlight as if waiting for a spirit to descend.
If a hunter wandering in the mountains saw this scene, they would probably believe they had encountered a fox spirit.
