A few days later, in the rural outskirts of Beijing, passersby on the road couldn’t help but be drawn to the sight before them—a vehicle unlike anything they had ever seen.

  It was a wooden cart, slightly smaller than a horse-drawn carriage, but it moved without the help of oxen or horses. Instead, it was powered by two people at the front, who pedaled as gears and chains transferred the force to the rear wheels.

  The ones pedaling were a boy wearing a gray square kerchief made of silk, a matching gray silk-collared robe, and black cloth shoes, and another boy wearing a beige right-fastening tunic and a Liuhe-yitong cap with ear flaps.

  They were CHIANG, SHUN-JEN and LI, SHIH-LIANG.

  CHIANG, SHUN-JEN was clearly out of breath from the long ride, while LI, SHIH-LIANG showed no signs of exhaustion—only some awkwardness from the growing stares around them.

  After entering the capital, now known as Beijing, they settled at the Minnan Guild Hall within the city.

  At first, CHIANG felt uneasy about this decision, considering what had happened in Jining. But LI, SHIH-LIANG reasoned that the Luoyang Guild likely already had a foothold in the city and wouldn’t be crowding into someone else’s territory. So, with that logic, they decided to stay.

  The moment they stepped into the main entrance of the guild hall, CHIANG saw several familiar faces—young scholars, just a few years older than him.

  As soon as they recognized CHIANG, they enthusiastically came forward to greet the pair.

  “YUNG-JEN, long time no see! Why did you arrive only now? You left a few weeks before us, didn’t you?” said one of them, wearing a beige collared robe and the same square kerchief.

  His name was LIN, CHANG-YU, styled CHANG-PING.

  “I ran into a few complications during the journey,” CHIANG replied.

  “I heard you visited the Temple of Confucius in Qufu. What was it like?” LIN asked.

  “Magnificent. It truly lives up to the name of the great sage,” CHIANG answered.

  “No surprise, coming from the top prodigy of Minnan—leaving early to enjoy the sights,” said another scholar in a blue right-fastening tunic and a square kerchief.

  His name was CHEN, YU-HSIANG, styled YU-JEN.

  “You flatter me, Master YU-JEN. I was simply a bit too curious, that’s all,” CHIANG said with a humble smile.

  “You’re really well-known,” LI, SHIH-LIANG teased. “You never told me you were so famous.”

  “Well, YUNG-JEN passed the county-level exam at age nine,” LIN said. “And may I ask who you are?”

  CHIANG quickly introduced him. “This boy is named LI, SHIH-LIANG. I hired him to carry my luggage. SHIH-LIANG, these gentlemen are my fellow scholars from Minnan.”

  LI bowed. “Hello. I’ve been traveling with Master YUNG-JEN on the way here.”

  “To think our YUNG-JEN knows how to look after himself now,” CHEN said with a chuckle. “When you left, your mother was quite worried about you traveling alone.”

  “If she could see me now, I think she’d be at ease,” CHIANG replied.

  As the group fell into lively conversation, LI found himself on the sidelines. Seeing CHIANG chatting with his fellow countrymen, he quietly slipped away to the rooms at the guild hall to settle their belongings.

  On the night before the palace examination, CHIANG, SHUN-JEN sat down with his fellow scholars to review the Collected Commentaries on the Four Books, since it was part of the official exam syllabus.

  LI, SHIH-LIANG, meanwhile, lay resting on the bed.

  The next day, the group set off together toward the examination site, leaving LI alone at the guild hall to tidy up their belongings.

  When CHIANG and the other examinees returned, LI noticed that CHIANG looked pale.

  He stepped forward and asked, “How did the exam go?”

  CHIANG, SHUN-JEN shook his head weakly.

  “I don’t think I did well. When I saw the questions, I couldn’t write anything up to standard,” he said in a dejected tone.

  CHEN, YU-HSIANG, who stood beside him, tried to offer comfort.

  “YUNG-JEN, you’re being too hard on yourself. Even I found this round unusually difficult, and I think your answers were among the best of us.”

  CHIANG forced a faint smile, then flopped down on the bed.

  LI didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t a scholar, and he didn’t understand the world of examinations. Anything he said would probably sound hollow.

  Maybe… a snack would help. Something to reward the effort.

  So LI left the guild hall, wandered into the marketplace, and bought two sticks of tanghulu—a local treat made of hawthorn berries glazed in syrup.

  What LI didn’t notice, in the busy crowds of Beijing, was that he had been followed from the moment he left the Minnan Guild Hall.

  When he returned, he called out to CHIANG and handed him the candied fruit.

  CHIANG looked up with reddened eyes, lifted his body slowly, took one skewer, and took a bite.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “I’ve never had tanghulu before… It’s oddly fun to eat,” he said.

  LI smiled and offered encouragement.

  “Your countrymen call you the greatest prodigy of Minnan. Don’t look down on yourself. If you don’t pass this time, you can always try again next year. I’ll be here with you.”

  “I’m more worried about you,” CHIANG said quietly. “My plan was to pass the exam, become a local gentryman, and hire you as my page. That way, the village would accept you. But if I fail… how will I ever get them to accept an outsider like you?”

  LI answered, “I’m pretty capable, you know. Just last week I helped CHING-I with his crafts. I’ve picked up a few skills as a handyman. I’m sure your family would be happy to hire me.”

  “I hope so,” CHIANG said, chewing the tanghulu. “Thanks for the treat. I feel much better now. I think I’ll face the results with a bit more confidence.”

  On the day of the results, CHIANG, SHUN-JEN went with his fellow scholars to check the announcement board, his heart heavy with worry.

  LI, SHIH-LIANG, concerned about how things might turn out, headed back to the market to buy four more sticks of tanghulu—thinking that if CHIANG failed, at least he could cheer him up with a sweet treat.

  Soon after, LI heard the sound of quick footsteps in the hall and looked up.

  CHIAN burst into the room with a joy on his face that LI had never seen before.

  “I did it! I passed!” CHIANG shouted, rushing forward to hug LI.

  The tanghulu in LI’s hands got squished between their clothes during the embrace.

  “Oh, sorry,” CHIANG said sheepishly, pulling back.

  “I told you you’d make it!” LI grinned, stuffing the skewers into CHIANG’s hands. “As a reward, I got three more for you.”

  “Thanks!” CHIANG beamed, eagerly biting into the syrupy fruit.

  “By the way, where are your scholar friends?” LI asked.

  “They passed too. I think they’re all celebrating at the wine hall right now,” CHIANG replied. “But I was so excited, I had to come tell you first.”

  The two of them happily munched on tanghulu while discussing plans for their return journey. Neither of them noticed the slow, deliberate footsteps approaching the room.

  They both turned toward the door.

  Standing in the doorway was LIN, CHANG-YU. His eyes were vacant, his expression blank.

  Staring directly at LI, SHIH-LIANG, he said, “Listen, wolf-boy. Your companions are all at the Luoyang Guild Hall. If you want them to stay safe, follow the fox at the door—now.”

  As soon as he finished speaking, LIN collapsed to the ground.

  A chill pierced the air like a blade.

  “Hey! You two, come out now!” a voice shouted from outside.

  CHIAN stood up quickly, but LI grabbed his arm.

  “We have to run,” LI said. “The Luoyang foxes don’t keep promises. If we go, everyone will die.”

  “I need to check on Brother CHANG-PING first!” CHIANG broke free from LI’s grip and rushed to LIN’s side.

  What he saw made his blood run cold—LIN’s eyes were shut tight, blood streamed from his mouth, and the stump of his tongue jutted from a pool of red.

  CHIANG’s hands trembled as he tried to stop the bleeding.

  But it was too late.

  A hand grabbed him from behind and slammed him to the floor.

  “You took too long. I’m getting tired of waiting,” said the man who pinned him down.

  LI, SHIH-LIANG saw the situation spiral out of control. He couldn't save CHIANG alone. Not like this.

  There was no other choice.

  They would have to go to the Luoyang Guild Hall.

  Outside the Luoyang Guild Hall, the two of them were marched in with their hands bound by their captors.

  Beyond the gate, the walls were engraved with totemic motifs from the Shang dynasty, casting a somber and ceremonial atmosphere throughout the hall. CHIANG and LI were forced forward by two fox-faced men toward the basement.

  The basement, too, was arranged like a grand dining room, its interior exuding a kind of oppressive elegance.

  In the center stood a large round table.

  Seated around it were CHIANG’s fellow scholars, their faces vacant and pale. Plates of elaborate food were laid before them. A loaded crossbow sat ominously in the center of the table.

  They had clearly been bewitched by fox magic.

  CHIANG was shoved into a seat.

  The moment he sat down, a wave of weakness overcame him. His hand, as if no longer his own, reached for the crossbow.

  Somewhere in the haze, his mind screamed, trying to resist—but his body wouldn’t obey.

  He turned toward LI, SHIH-LIANG, who was tied to a chair under the watch of a fox spirit.

  “Welcome to the banquet, wolf-boy,” said one of the fox spirits standing at the door. “Did you really think we’d just let you go after you slaughtered our people in Jining?”

  The fox sneered.

  “But thanks to Lord Zhang’s mercy, he says if you cooperate, you might live.”

  “What do you want me to do?” LI asked coldly.

  He didn’t believe them, not for a second. But bound as he was, there was no fighting back.

  One of the foxes barked an order. CHIANG stood up, crossbow in hand, his aim now set on LI’s chest.

  “And just so you know,” the fox spirit said, “the food at this table has been laced with arsenic. Anyone who eats it—dies.”

  He walked around the table and leaned in toward LI.

  “I’ll get straight to the point. Tell me—how is the elixir made?”

  LI’s face stiffened. He clenched his jaw.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know,” he said finally. “Just don’t hurt him.”

  The fox gestured for him to begin.

  LI spoke. “As you already know, the elixir is made from Polygonum orientale—red smartweed. Based on what I read in my village’s books, the herb must be dry-roasted and fermented first. Then, a fungus is added—one that glows with a faint blue light. It’s usually grown indoors. You grind both into powder, mix them into a pot, and simmer the mixture. That’s all I know.”

  The fox’s face twisted in frustration.

  “That’s it?”

  He snapped his fingers.

  One of the mesmerized scholars—CHEN, YU-HSIANG—was forced to pick up a piece of food and eat it.

  Moments later, CHEN clutched his throat, convulsed, and collapsed onto the table, dead.

  CHIANG wanted to scream, but his mouth wouldn't move.

  All he could do was stare, helpless, as LI frantically tried to remember more.

  Each time LI gave another detail, the foxes made another scholar eat from the poisoned table.

  One by one, they fell.

  Until finally, only CHIANG and LI remained.

  CHIANG’s hand trembled as it aimed the crossbow.

  LI began to cry.

  “Please,” he sobbed. “Let CHIANG go. I’ve told you everything I know!”

  “You told us vague ideas,” the fox growled. “But you haven’t said what the fungus is called, where it’s found, or how much of each ingredient to use.”

  “I’m not an alchemist!” LI shouted. “I only know what I read in old books. That’s all I have!”

  The fox stared at him for a long moment.

  “So that’s all you know…”

  CHIANG realized that this was the end.

  He and LI had no further knowledge to offer. Nothing to bargain with. No leverage to stall.

  The fox spirits had extracted every ounce of information they could.

  Surely, what came next would be death.

  He braced himself for the command to pull the trigger.

  His tears welled up—not from fear of dying, but from the feeling of absolute helplessness. The realization that no matter how much they had tried, the two of them were now cornered by a fate they could no longer escape.

  And then came the fox’s next order—not to kill LI, but to turn the weapon on himself.

  CHIANG’s trembling hands, no longer his own, moved the crossbow beneath his chin.

  His eyes widened in horror.

  “No!!” LI screamed, voice cracking.

  But it was too late.

  The trigger clicked.

  The arrow pierced CHIANG’s skull with a wet crack, and the world went black.

  What entered Chiang’s slowly reopening eyes was the image of the fox spirit who had been speaking. He was saying, “You still have value. Lord Zhang has decided to spare your life,” even as he undid the ropes binding Chiang’s wrists.

  Li, Shih-liang dashed forward, desperate to reach Chiang—but before he could, the speaking fox spirit intercepted him and slammed him to the ground. Li struggled, screaming in anguish, his voice hoarse and cracking with despair, but it was useless. They dragged him away from the underground chamber, his cries echoing behind.

  The fox spirit who remained behind stood silently for a moment.

  His expression was solemn.

  He looked down at Chiang’s lifeless body.

  A flicker of sorrow passed across his face.

  Then he closed his eyes and gave a slow shake of the head.

  He walked to the body.

  And with quiet hands, he gently closed Chiang’s still-open eyes.

  The End.