Ma didn't dwell on his wife's death.
The day after her body, now strangely peaceful and devoid of its former terrors, was found, he laid her to rest.
The commotion that had shaken our house that same night remained an unspoken mystery.
Though fear hung heavy in the air, no one dared to investigate the howls and eerie sounds that echoed through the darkness.
Not even Ma, who harbored suspicions about his wife's vengeful spirit, dared to seek answers.
Meanwhile, I was battling a raging fever, trapped in a delirium that terrified my family.
In my feverish haze, a vision flickered: a beautiful white fox with eight tails, its eyes opening occasionally, radiating weakness.
Fearful, Grandpa sought out Liu, the village mystic.
Liu's words offered strange comfort. She claimed the celestial being within me, weakened from protecting me from harm, was healing.
My frail state was a reflection of its own. She assured Grandpa I'd recover soon.
True to her word, I recovered after days of burning fever.
My bloodlust waned, replaced by an appetite for ordinary food, much to my family's relief.
It seemed the ordeal had brought unexpected blessings.
I had been born different, a spectacle with a vulpine face, a coat of white fur, and tiny, sharp teeth.
By age three, these striking features had receded, leaving only the unsettling craving for blood, which had now also subsided.
My family, harboring few expectations, simply prayed for my survival.
Yet, the words of Wu and Liu cast a long shadow.
The three-year cycle of calamity, demanding a life – mine or someone else's – felt like a chilling curse.
Following the incident with Ma's wife, the nightly offerings of game from foxes and yellow weasels decreased, mirroring my fading bloodlust.
As I turned six, life took on a semblance of normalcy.
I was, for all appearances, like any other child: robust and healthy. Yet, I remained an outcast, shunned by the village children, deepening my loneliness.
The years flew by. By six, I was a responsible child, helping my family with chores.
I craved blood no longer, eating regular meals like everyone else.
My parents, their anxieties easing, would often take me to the fields, finding comfort in my presence.
It was during these trips that I'd find myself surrounded by foxes and yellow weasels.
These creatures, often feared and revered in our village for their spiritual nature, were drawn to me.
I felt an inexplicable kinship with them. They wouldn't shy away, allowing me to pet and play with them.
Even if accidentally hurt, they wouldn't retaliate, only disappearing upon my parent's return.
They were my sole companions during those solitary years.
Grandpa, however, remained haunted by the prophecy of the three-year curse.
On the eve of my sixth birthday, he journeyed to Sanshili Town to seek Liu's intervention.
Bound by gratitude for saving our family, my parents had ensured Liu, childless and widowed, never felt alone. She was family.
But it seemed trouble had a way of finding us. No sooner had Grandpa left, that the wealthy Zhang family ignited a new crisis.
The youngest Zhang son, seeking to build a new home for his bride, had claimed a portion of our family's land, used for vegetable farming, as his own.
His actions were met with my father's fury, leading to a confrontation that quickly spiraled into violence.
Despite the younger man's physique, he was no match for my father, trained in Grandpa's martial arts.
Humiliated and enraged, the youngest Zhang son returned that afternoon with his four brothers, seeking retribution.
They descended upon our courtyard, unleashing a torrent of blows.
Outnumbered, my father was brought to his knees.
The youngest Zhang, wielding his iron shovel with brutal force, seemed intent on maiming him.
My mother's attempts to intervene were met with a shove that sent her sprawling. Tears streamed down her face as she watched helplessly.
Seeing my father bloodied and broken ignited a primal rage within me.
Despite my tender age, I launched myself at the youngest Zhang, sinking my teeth into his leg.
His roar of pain was laced with curses, branding me a freak as he flung me to the ground.
As my cheek throbbed, I noticed movement from the corner of my eye.
A pack of yellow weasels and foxes had materialized on the wall, their gazes locked on the youngest Zhang, mirroring their hostility from the night Ma's wife had struck me.
The sight of me beaten spurred my father into a frenzy.
Scrambling to his feet, he disappeared into the house, emerging moments later, clutching Grandpa's formidable hunting knife.