Zhao Yi and his mates all spread out for the hunt, and by evening they had bagged a few roe, deer, rabbits and things of this sort, and divided them up fairly. Suddenly, as they were about to return, a pack of badgers scurried out of a nearby ravine. The gang of hunters shouted out in surprise.

"Well," exclaimed one, we've all boasted about out kills, now let's have a go at those badgers, and cheers to the first man to get one!"

"Right you are!" answered Zhao Yi. After telling a few novices to guard the falcons and dogs, Zhao Yi picked up a forked steel shaft and leapt away, as did five or six other stout men bearing spears and staffs. The pack of badgers were almost caught up with when they scattered, and the hunters split up in individual pursuit. Zhao Yi set his sight on a very large animal and chased it with all his strength, but after two or three li the beast was already out of sight. But he wouldn't quit, and when he scurried up some high ground for a look he saw that the badger was in the wild grass at the foot of the next hill, scampering about seeking some hole to dive into. Zhao again went all out in pursuit, but after chasing around several hillocks he found that the beast was gone. There was only a deer with large antlers eating wild grass in a hollow, and when it spotted a man it ran away.

"Well," thought Zhao, "I couldn't get the badger but if I can bag this deer I can still have something to show and conceal this embarrassment!" He hurriedly tore off his jacket, tied it around his waist and tore off up the hill in pursuit, but the deer was not to be found. There was only the burbling of a small brook, and, his throat dry after the chase, he really wanted a drink. Searching for the site of the small creek, he found some brackish water in a small clearing. So following the direction of the sound's source he climbed and searched, again traveling a short distance before arriving at an exhilaratingly pure cold stream in the midst of a mountain ravine, that poured forth a beaded curtain of sparkling drops like pearls. To one side was a deep pool, and it was entirely lined with stones; its sparkling purity ran deep. Zhao Yi cast down his forked staff and cupped his hands, then scooped up and quaffed a few mouthfuls of water, finally satisfying himself. Then, his weary eyes seeing that the sky had taken on the appearance of dusk, he picked up his hunting staff, turned and left. But he hadn't realized that he had covered over twenty li in this chase, and, this being the eight day of the ninth lunar month, the light of day was now receding and a crescent moon was already visible.

And so having come on an impulse he left on a note of disappointment, plodding on wearily. But before he had trudged a couple of li he spotted some moving shadows in the moonlight, far off in a grove. And when he stood on his toes for a better look he saw that it was really a fox, wearing the skull of a man on its head and kowtowing continuously under the moon!

"How strange," whispered Zhao, "I've often heard folks say that the fox can transform itself....perhaps this is how the vile beast does it! I'll watch and see what happens..." And so he looked on while the fox bowed in worship several times, and, by and by, he witnessed the form of a handsome young man, no different from the Xiucai he had previously met. "So it is!" exclaimed Zhao Yi. And, without any great hatred, he lightly cast down his grappling staff, picked up his bow and dressed it with an arrow. Pulled back to the bow's limit, the shaft flew off with great velocity, and seeing it streaking right toward its prey Zhao cried: "zhaaa....!" As usual, an ambush proved more effective than a fair fight in the clear; our hunter Zhao had indeed struck the demon's left leg! The creature let out a cry, cast off the skull, changed back into a fox and ran off with the arrow embedded in its haunch. Now Zhao Yi, because it was late and due to his understandable fright, shook with cold shivers and didn't dare give chase. He shouldered his bow, flung out his cloth jacket and put it on, lifted his hunting spear and flew off, returning along his original path.

By now the other hunters had gone into the village, bought some wine, cooked their game and sat in a circle in a mat shelter at the foot of the mountain, awaiting news of Zhao Yi.

"Old Zhao is certainly capable of a fine chase," said one, "I'm sure he's bagged one!"

"Hah," laughed another, "two legs chasing four, it ain't all that certain!"

"Zhao the Eldest has always been a first class hunter," shouted one of them.

"But this time he hasn't come back!" exclaimed yet another; "perhaps it turned out that he couldn't catch the badger and got himself lost, or even that the tables were turned and he himself is right now being chased around the countryside by the little beast!" At this point they all had a good laugh. Then in the flash of an eye one of them pointed and the circle fell silent; "isn't that him coming now?" he asked in expectation. The entire gang came forth from the shanty to greet him, but they saw only an empty-handed and ashen-faced Zhao the Eldest returning.

"We've managed to bag two of the badgers and we've already cooked them up!" they shouted; how is it that you, brother Zhao, have been out so long?"

"Well," explained Zhao Yi, "I couldn't catch up with the badger but I've run into a really bizarre thing that has, oddly enough, taken a big load off of my mind!" Thereupon he told of his shooting the fox demon which had transformed itself by worshipping the moon, and of what all he had seen; his mates were, of course, stunned, not knowing what to think.

"Elder brother dares say he's driven all the evils away from there," said one; "if that's indeed the case we congratulate you!" But among them were skeptics who mumbled on about how Zhao Yi had merely concocted this ghastly story to conceal his not having caught a badger. But there was also an older man among them, who counseled should be believed, at least for the time being, and who refused to dismiss it outright. He led Zhao Yi by the sleeve back into the grass shack, poured a big bowl of wine and gave it to him, coaxing more weird details of the fox story out of him for all outside to hear.

"My arrow," declared the excited Zhao the Eldest, "struck him right in the butt and he whelped and ran off. I think that tomorrow we can all go and track it to its lair, and I reckon there are more than one or two; we'll drag them all out, skin them and make jackets to pass the winter in!"

"If it works out like that," answered the others, "and there is some proof, then there's nothing more to say and we'll all treat you to wine and meat. But if it there is nothing and it turns out you've lied to us, we'll be your guests when you act as host of the century!"

Zhao Yi consented and there in the night had a bite to eat. Then they each took some of the meat and went home.

When Zhao Yi arrived home he told his wife of what had transpired. She gave her spoken consent to the plan, but was still not entirely at ease. Zhao went without sleep all night. Anxiously awaiting the dawn, he jumped to his feet at some sound but heard only wild rustling of wind through the leaves in front of his door. "Today is the ninth of the month," he thought, "the chrysanthemum and mountain climbing festival, and the seasonal wind is starting up." And when he pushed aside the sliding window he saw only curly, dark rainclouds, laden with water like so many twisted, soaked grey rags, waiting for some giant hand to wring them.

"It's going to rain," he said anxiously; "if I take advantage of these last moments before it starts I can lead the entire gang on this hunt and still be back before breakfast!" Then he hurriedly washed and groomed himself, put on a cloth coat and left. But when he got to the homes of his neighbors and knocked on their doors, each was still in bed, tossing about. At one house he waited for a little water to be prepared, at another for his friend to eat a little something, and so on, wasting much time. This all made Zhao Yi even more impatient, until finally the whole sky opened up with rain. At first he hoped it would soon stop. "It won't matter, it won't matter at all," he assured himself. But after awhile it really began to come down, making it impossible for the mission to be completed as planned. The only thing to do was return home, have breakfast and sit there in his thatched straw cottage, staring dumbly at the rainy sky with his hollow eyes. And the rain fell from morning until night even the briefest pause. There is a poem about bitter rain that tells it well:

Now Zhao Yi simply couldn't bear being unable to take a bamboo pole hundreds of thousands of feet in length, push aside the clouds and let the red, round sun shine through! And how he regretted that he couldn't climb up to heaven carrying tens of thousands of rags and wipe up all of the soaking wet clouds in the sky until not a drop remained! His wife was puzzled upon seeing him so listless at dinner so she procured two bottles of fine wine, heated them up and brought them, with their fine, wild aroma, for him to drink. Zhao Yi then became suddenly very drunk, and without removing his shoes or socks fell unconscious onto the kang. It was not until the drumming of the fourth watch, sometime between one and three o'clock in the morning of the next day, that he finally awakened. Raising his head, there was no rain to be heard and he presumed it was clear outside. Then after passing another two-hour watch in bed the window became somewhat illuminated. And when he went to look at the sky it was still dark, but the rain had indeed stopped. "Those sleepy-headed neighbors of mine are certainly still asleep," he thought; "I can eat breakfast and still not miss them." So he hurriedly woke his wife and had her boil water for washing, and told her to arrange breakfast. But after eating and going out of doors he saw that a fine, misty drizzle was falling out of the murky overcast. "This dog-hair drizzle can't even dampen clothes," he thought, optimistically; "what's there to be afraid of?" Walking a few steps and finding it muddy underfoot, he returned to change his socks and put on a pair of waxed shoes. But when he went forth to collect his neighbors from their warm beds, each was unwilling to move.

"What's so important," answered one, "for us to go mucking aimlessly around the countryside? If there's really a wild fox out there that was shot by you, by this time it's got quite a welt! Where could it go in this weather with an arrow in its behind? What's the hurry?"

Realizing that he could not go out, he was sad and edgy throughout the next night. But the third day dawned clear and bright.

"Today," said Zhao, "they'll have no excuse!" So he went to his mates' homes to announce his intentions, and, after returning home for breakfast, set off to drag them out of doors. Now, there were a few old hands who wouldn't go along.

"It may not be wet underfoot," said one, "but it sure ain't dry either! We'll let you young ones go."

"We're off with elder brother to catch a fox spirit," said another, "talk to you when we get back!" Walking together were over twenty men, each armed for the hunt. Zhao Yi led the way, winding to and fro, passing quite a few hillocks and making the group impatient, until they finally came upon the grove. Thereupon the entire place was searched and not a half drop of blood was to be found, for it had all been washed away by two day's heavy rain. Zhao the Elder explained it roughly this way too, but the gang were unable to believe him.

"The branches overhead form a cover," said one, "and the rain could never wash it that clean. Even if the bloody trail had been washed away there would still be a burrow nearby, but there isn't a trace of one!" Still, Zhao led them on, nonsensically searching the forest for half a day.

"Phooey!" exclaimed one of the group; "We won't go along any longer on this weird hunt! Let's go back and have you treat us to a feast!"

Angry at fate, Zhao Yi couldn't utter a word. Upon reaching town all broke out into laughs and shouts of "Old Zhao the fibber" and other such abuse, and even I, your narrator couldn't help but chime in with "Old Zhao the reckless liar! In this pure and peaceful world if there's any such fox spirit or ghost it's only Zhao the Elder, the lying ghost!" And to this very day those caught in lies are still called "Ghost Zhao" and "Wild Zhao", referring of course to this fox business. There is this poem for proof:

When Zhao arrived home, all of his fellows were already there waiting for the promised feast. He could do nothing but take some of his wife's clothes and coats and pawn them, and with the little money thus obtained he bought the wine for his guests to drink. Even the village elders were invited and everyone ate away, gnawing and chewing to their hearts' content. And when it came time to leave somebody said: "Since we've troubled Brother Zhao for a feast, after today, should anyone ask, we'll all put out the word that there was a fox spirit out there after all!" Zhao Yi boiled over with rage, and from this point on never again brought up the matter.

Now to digress in our story, the old male fox which has been depicted being shot was born of an old white vixen. Nobody can reckon her exact age and she is vastly capable of transformations. She changed from her own form into that of a beauty, now in maturity called Holy Auntie, who makes her home in a cave beneath Goosegate Mountain. The twin peaks, east and west, of this mountain rise suddenly, high enough to touch the sky. Migrating geese in their formations always fly between the summits, hence the name. This Holy Auntie had two fox offspring, named Hu Chu and Hu Mei; they were brother and sister. Now, most of your five hundred-year-old fox spirits are surnamed Bai or Kang, but your thousand-year-old foxes are usually named Zhao or Zhang; still, most if them usually go by the alias of Hu. On the night when hunter Zhao shot his strange prey, Holy Auntie was with her daughter Mei under the moon, teaching her the mysteries of chanting. Suddenly they saw Chu, limping, wounded in his left leg and trembling with each step, howling as he returned. When he got near the cave he fell to earth, rolled over and let loose a wild scream. The old mother approached for a look, realizing that her son had been shot by an arrow in the left leg. She hurriedly attempted to pull it out but its head was buried too deeply, and her efforts resulted only in more pain, the shaft entirely unmoving. Holy Auntie thought of a plan.

"Bear the pain, son!" she first cried out. She then took a deep breath and held it, clenched the arrow's shaft tightly between her teeth, and used her hands to press down forcefully on the surrounding flesh. Then, with a loud "pop" the shaft was out of his haunch, snatched up and thrown onto the ground; the fox then lost consciousness. Now this arrow had struck right in the hamstring muscle, and the tendon was severed. Struggling back as he did for a such long distance with no thought of the mortal danger of his wound, how did he not die?

Holy Auntie shed her vixen tears and called upon her daughter Mei to help carry him to his earthen bed and lay him there; after about two hours he awakened. This old vixen knew several kinds of herbal medicine and used heated fluids to irrigate the wound, but it was no use. After two days she saw that her son was nearing death. Truly grieving, she then remembered that, in the District of Yizhou there lived an Imperial Physician surnamed Yan, respectfully known as Yan Sandian. This man had skills that could return the dead to life! If she could only beg some of his drugs, what then would there be to worry about? So she ordered Mei to care for her brother, and herself pretending to be a sick old beggar and carrying a cloth bundle on a bamboo stick with a hundred rings she set off for Chengdu. Because of this decision, this old vixen would soon learn many new skills for almost no price at all! And an unlimited number of events would be set into motion. It's really like this:

Now, to see how Imperial Physician Yan uses his medicines and whether or not the young fox is saved, please read on....