Chapter 2: The White Fox's Offerings
The fortune-teller, Sun Banzian, declared I was born under a cursed fate, an "avatar of calamity" destined to bring misfortune to my family. He insisted that the only way to ensure my survival was for me to become his disciple and train in the esoteric arts. Even so, he warned that my trials were far from over, with the first of three major disasters looming at age nine. Surviving this would be key to altering my doomed path.
After much deliberation, my father and grandfather reluctantly agreed. They thought it better for me to have a slim chance at life than none at all. Sun Banzian wasted no time. He scooped me up and left our home in haste, as if fearing my family might change their minds. But fate had other plans. Before he could even leave the village, his lifeless body was discovered, blood streaming from his seven orifices. His face, frozen in terror, suggested he had been scared to death. Yet there I was, unharmed and lying quietly beside him.
With no other choice, my father carried me back home. Sun Banzian's family came demanding compensation, accusing us of being the cause of his death. Though the fault was not ours, my father still paid them off. This plunged our already struggling family into deeper financial woes.
Later, my future master would reveal that Sun Banzian met his end due to his greed and malicious intent toward me. But that's a story for another time.
After Sun Banzian's death, my family was at a loss. Was his ominous prophecy about me true? His sudden demise made everyone, including my parents, more wary of me. Meanwhile, rumors spread throughout the village that I was a cursed child—a harbinger of misfortune.
To make matters worse, I refused to drink milk or eat solid food. Only blood could quell my cries of hunger. My father and grandfather, stricken with despair, could neither eat nor sleep, while my mother quietly wept, overwhelmed by fear and sadness.
That night, as my father went outside to relieve himself, he heard faint rustling in the yard. Following the sound, he saw several white foxes prowling in the moonlight, their eyes glinting eerily in the darkness. Among them was a particularly large fox perched on the windowsill, peering into the house. Startled and angered, my father grabbed a brick and hurled it at the intruder. The brick struck the large fox squarely, and it let out a bone-chilling scream before baring its sharp fangs and glaring at him with a look that sent shivers down his spine.
Hearing the commotion, my grandfather rushed out, wielding a gleaming machete. Despite his advanced age, his imposing presence—honed during his days as a soldier—was enough to send the creatures scurrying. Yet, as they fled, my grandfather noticed something odd near the doorway: a cluster of plump, barely-breathing wild rabbits. Upon closer inspection, he saw fresh bite marks on their necks, as if they had been killed by predators.
"Where did these come from?" my grandfather wondered aloud.
"Could it be… those foxes and weasels brought them here?" my father speculated, incredulous.
My grandfather, grim-faced, nodded. "It's possible. This child… there's something about him that's drawn these creatures to us. Since they've left these offerings, we might as well use them. Drain the blood for the boy and cook the meat for ourselves."
Thus, the foxes' and weasels' mysterious offerings became my sustenance. From that night on, my family's meals were rich with meat, a rarity in those times of scarcity. Our once meager diet was replaced with game delivered nightly by our peculiar benefactors. The villagers, struggling to make ends meet, could only watch in envy as our fortunes inexplicably improved.
My father stopped trying to chase the creatures away. Instead, he grew accustomed to their nightly visits. They would silently drop off their offerings—a hare, a pheasant, or even fish—and disappear into the darkness without so much as a glance back.
This strange arrangement continued for three years. The foxes and weasels ensured we were well-fed, and I grew stronger. Apart from my unrelenting need for blood, I began to look and act like any other child. The white fur covering my body shed as I grew, and my once fox-like face gradually softened into a delicate, almost angelic appearance. However, my family's relief was overshadowed by dread as I approached my third birthday. They couldn't forget Sun Banzian's warning: my cursed fate decreed a calamity every three years.
Sure enough, tragedy struck on the day I turned three. A villager was found dead under mysterious circumstances, and the entire village pointed their fingers at me. "That cursed child is to blame!" they whispered. "He's brought doom upon us all!"