White Cloud Mountain lay in the northwest of the Chu Kingdom, stretching over three hundred li in a sprawl of folded ridges and layered peaks, an unbroken sea of forest and mist. At the mountain's most precipitous point, a solitary crag rose like an ink brush thrust straight toward the heavens; the locals called it "Sky-Piercing Peak." Midway up the cliff face ran a natural fissure, veiled for a thousand years by tangled vines and never once touched by human feet. Within that crevice lay the White Cloud Grotto, where the white ape had cultivated his art for centuries.
Ever since stealing the Treasure Manual of As-You-Will, the white ape had been sealed in this cavern for over three months.
One morning, without any warning, a great fog rolled in around Sky-Piercing Peak. But this fog was uncanny—it did not rise from the ravines below. Instead, it billowed out from the vine-shrouded crack in the cliff face. Thick as wadded cotton, the fog churned and tumbled, and in less than half a watch it had swallowed the entire mountain whole. The woodcutters and hunters who roamed these slopes had never seen such a queer mist, and they fled downhill in terror, all swearing that some evil fiend had possessed Sky-Piercing Peak.
Inside the White Cloud Grotto, the white ape sat cross-legged on a stone dais, the Treasure Manual spread open before him. Eyes half-closed, he murmured incantations under his breath, and a faint white radiance shimmered around his body. The cavern, once dim, was now lit by the pale golden glow emanating from the bamboo slips of the manual. The ancient seal-script glyphs upon them seemed to come alive, rising from the slips one by one and revolving slowly in midair.
Abruptly, the white ape's eyes snapped open. His right hand formed a magic gesture, pointing toward the cavern entrance. Outside, the vast, roiling fog responded as if to a command—snapping inward, then ballooning outward, three times in succession—before gradually settling calm. The white ape withdrew the gesture and expelled a long breath of stale air. That breath, strangely enough, carried a faint hue of reddish gold and hung coalesced in the air for a long while before finally dissipating.
"A peerless heavenly tome indeed."
The white ape stared down at the manual, his eyes brimming with obsessive rapture. "Just this 'Art of Summoning Fog' alone possesses such potency. If I master all the spells that follow, won't the whole world be mine to wander at will?"
He leafed idly through the bamboo slips. Over the past three months, he had already mastered the spells on the opening pages—summoning wind and rain, riding clouds and treading mist, transformation and invisibility, laying fog and raising vapor. To an ordinary cultivator, these were already remarkable feats, yet within the Treasure Manual they were nothing more than introductory fundamentals. Further in lay far more profound arts: moving mountains and filling seas, commanding gods and dispatching spirits, reversing yin and yang, stealing the sky and swapping the sun… Each page the white ape turned made his heart itch all the more fiercely.
But when he reached the middle section of the manual, he hit a wall.
That particular page was crammed with glyphs—more than all the preceding pages combined, ten times over. Between the runes were annotations in vermilion, written in an archaic seal script of maddening complexity. The white ape recognized most of the characters, but there were always crucial passages that remained half-understood, eluding his grasp. He tried cultivating according to the diagrams and text, yet halfway through channeling his inner breath, his meridians would clog and seize; had he not stopped in time, he would have succumbed to qi deviation.
"How strange."
The white ape scratched his jowls and peered closer at the manual. "The principles of this 'Five Thunders Orthodox Rite' are written plainly enough. Why can't I master it?"
He paced the cavern in agitation, his long arms swinging restlessly. Bunches of wild fruit he'd gathered from the mountain hung on the walls; he plucked one and tossed it into his mouth, chewed twice, then spat it out again, utterly devoid of appetite.
"That's it!"
The white ape halted abruptly and clapped his palms together. "It must be that Mysterious Maiden tampered with the manual. She held back when she taught me swordsmanship—she must have placed a restriction on this heavenly text as well!"
But in this he wronged the Mysterious Maiden. The Treasure Manual of As-You-Will was a scripture born with Heaven and Earth themselves, a text of innate Dao. Only those possessed of great karmic destiny, supreme wisdom, and the highest character could fully plumb its depths. Though the white ape had cultivated for centuries, he was still of beastly origin at his core. His spirit was awakened, true, but his innate capacity was limited. That he had mastered the opening spells at all was thanks to centuries of accumulated power paired with an obsessive single-mindedness. Beyond that, mere diligence and bitter training would not suffice.
But the white ape refused to accept this truth. He shut the manual with a snap, and a hard glint flashed through his eyes. "If I cannot fathom it alone, then I shall walk the mortal world for a spell. The human realm is full of clever minds. Why not find one to help me decipher this tome? Wouldn't that be better?"
Once this thought took root, he could no longer suppress it. The white ape tucked the Treasure Manual into his robes. With a gesture, he thickened the fog around Sky-Piercing Peak threefold, layering it with bewildering maze-formations—even a cultivator of high attainment would lose their way should they stumble in. Having set his wards, he shook his body and transformed into the guise of a white-haired old man. His arms, however, were still a bit longer than those of ordinary folk, but he tucked his hands into his sleeves, and that much was hidden. Then he summoned a fair wind beneath his feet and soared off toward the southeast.
He flew for about two watches, passing over countless mountains, rivers, towns, and cities, until he noticed a walled city below. Within it stood an expansive compound of sweeping eaves and imposing architecture. Above its main gate hung a plaque bearing three large characters: Academy of Refined Judgments.
The white ape descended from the clouds and alighted on an ancient locust tree. He parted the leaves and peered down. The academy bustled with activity; most of those coming and going were dressed as Confucian scholars, bamboo scrolls and wooden tablets clutched in their hands, their steps brisk and purposeful. Eavesdropping for a moment, the white ape learned that this Academy of Refined Judgments was a special institution of the Chu Kingdom, dedicated solely to reviewing difficult and dubious legal cases. It was presided over by the Prime Minister himself, and any case from the commanderies and counties that local magistrates could not resolve was sent here for retrial.
The white ape was about to depart when he heard a drum roll echo from within the compound. The beats were deep and urgent, one after another, tolling a full nine times. At the sound, the scholars in the courtyard put down their work and flocked toward the main hall.
"Nine beats of the court drum—there's a major case being heard!"
A young scholar whispered to his companion.
"Indeed. I hear today's case is that matter of the South City scholars."
"The South City scholars? The one where two men fought over a single woman? Didn't the woman die?"
"Exactly. Her body was found in a well. Both scholars accuse the other of the murder, but neither can produce proof. The case has bounced around every county seat, with no one able to unravel it. In the end, it was sent here to our academy."
Up in the tree, the white ape heard every word clearly, and his interest was piqued. Being of simian nature, he adored a good spectacle, much less a mysterious murder case. He decided to stay put. Concealing his form among the leaves, he peered through the lattice windows into the main hall.
The main hall of the academy was broad and bright. At the center stood a massive ebony desk, behind which sat an official of about fifty years. His face was lean, and he wore a wispy three-part beard—this was Qu Dou, director of the Academy of Refined Judgments and Prime Minister of Chu. Qu Dou had adjudicated cases for thirty years and was known as the "Iron-Faced Clear Mirror"; under his gavel, no verdict had ever been unjust.
Flanking the hall stood two rows of clerks and scribes. Further in, two young scholars knelt on the floor. The one on the left wore a blue robe; he was pale-complexioned and bore an expression of profound grief. The one on the right wore grey; he was gaunt and shifty-eyed. Between them on the ground lay a stretcher covered with a white cloth. Beneath that cloth, clearly, was the woman's corpse.
Crack!
Qu Dou brought his gavel down hard, and the hall fell deathly silent.
"Zhang Sheng. Li Sheng. Both of you are men of letters and understand that human life is a matter of the highest gravity. I ask you once more: how exactly did the maiden Zhao meet her death?"
The scholar in blue, Zhang Sheng, kowtowed frantically, his voice thick with tears. "Your Excellency sees clearly! I have known Zhao-shi since childhood; our families had a marriage pact. Yet this Li Sheng meddled incessantly, pestering her again and again. She could not bear his harassment and often wept to me about it. That day, I arranged to meet her at the abandoned garden in South City to discuss the wedding date, but she never arrived. I searched and found her beside the well… already…" He broke down, unable to continue.
The scholar in grey, Li Sheng, flared with rage. Forgetting courtroom decorum, he jabbed a finger at Zhang Sheng. "Zhang Sheng! You spew slander with a mouthful of blood! It is you who coveted the Zhao family lands and pestered her! I saw you that day with my own eyes, arguing with Zhao-shi beside the well. You pushed her in! When I rushed forward to stop you, you turned around and falsely accused me!"
"Silence!"
Qu Dou's gavel cracked down again. "You will speak when spoken to. Li Sheng, you say you witnessed Zhang Sheng push Zhao-shi into the well. Is there any other witness?"
Li Sheng faltered. "At that moment… I was the only one present."
"What time did you arrive at the abandoned garden? And for what purpose?"
"I… I happened to be passing by…"
"Happened to be passing by?" Qu Dou's gaze was piercing. "The abandoned garden lies in a remote corner of South City, surrounded by desolate graves. You, a scholar, just 'happened' to pass by there at dusk?"
Beads of sweat appeared on Li Sheng's forehead. He stammered, unable to answer.
Seizing the opening, Zhang Sheng kowtowed again. "Your Excellency! Li Sheng's words are evasive—clearly, his conscience is guilty!"
Qu Dou frowned slightly and gestured. "Coroner, present the autopsy report."
An old coroner, carrying a bamboo slip in both hands, stepped forward and said respectfully, "Reporting to Your Excellency, this humble servant has examined the body of Zhao-shi. The deceased died by drowning; there is well-mud in her mouth and nose, and algae under her fingernails—she was indeed alive when she entered the water. However, there is a blunt-force wound on the back of her skull. While not fatal in itself, it would have been sufficient to render her unconscious. This humble servant deduces that Zhao-shi was first struck insensible, then thrown into the well."
Qu Dou nodded, his gaze moving slowly between Zhang Sheng's and Li Sheng's faces. Both men kept their heads lowered, their expressions unreadable.
Just then, a strange gust of wind blew in from outside.
The wind spiraled through the doorway and swept across the hall, sending papers rustling and candle flames guttering. Everyone raised their sleeves to shield their faces. When the wind settled, there was one more person in the hall: a white-haired old man. No one had seen him enter. He stood right beside the stretcher, his hands tucked into his sleeves, smiling genially up at Qu Dou on the dais.
"Who goes there!"
The bailiffs shouted in alarm and reached for their blades.
The transformed white ape—Old Yuan—merely waved a hand, laughing. "No need for alarm. An old man was merely passing through and found this case interesting. I came in to listen."
Qu Dou studied the old man carefully. Though his clothes were plain, his bearing was exceptional, and his eyes held a deep, contained light that marked him as anything but ordinary. With thirty years of judging human nature, Qu Dou knew at once that this was no common fellow. He waved off the bailiffs and cupped his hands in salute. "Since you are here, elder, you are a guest. However, this is a court of law, and a capital case is under review. If you have no urgent business, I must ask you to step outside."
Old Yuan chuckled. "There's no need for Your Excellency to chase me off so hastily. This old man may lack other talents, but his eyes still serve him well. I listened at the door for a moment. This case… is not so hard to judge."
A murmur rippled through the hall. Both Zhang Sheng and Li Sheng raised their heads to stare at this strange old man who had appeared from nowhere.
Qu Dou, however, showed no irritation. Instead, a flicker of interest crossed his face. "Oh? What insight does the elder have?"
Old Yuan walked over to the stretcher, glanced down at the shrouded corpse, then looked up and swept his gaze over the two scholars. Suddenly, he pointed at Li Sheng. "You, scholar. What is it you're hiding in your sleeve?"
Li Sheng's face turned ashen. Instinctively, he clutched his right sleeve. The bailiffs, sharp-eyed, rushed forward and extracted from his sleeve a jade pendant—pure green all the way through, engraved with the character "Zhao."
Seeing the pendant, Zhang Sheng cried out, "That is Zhao-shi's personal jade! It was my family's betrothal gift when we were engaged!"
Li Sheng's face went the color of dirt. His lips quivered, but no words came out.
Qu Dou took the pendant and examined it briefly. His voice was heavy. "Li Sheng. Why is this jade pendant in your possession?"
Li Sheng collapsed to the ground with a thud. After a long moment, he finally managed to tremble out, "Your Excellency… mercy… That day, I encountered Zhao-shi in the abandoned garden. She… she said she wanted to break off our engagement and marry Zhang Sheng. I was momentarily enraged and quarreled with her. I shoved her accidentally, and her head struck the edge of the well curb… I panicked. She wasn't moving. I thought she was dead, so I… I pushed her into the well… The pendant fell when she collapsed. I was greedy and picked it up…"
A profound silence filled the hall. Zhang Sheng, overwhelmed by grief and fury, lunged at Li Sheng to beat him, but the bailiffs held him back.
Qu Dou's gavel slammed down. "Li Sheng! You too have read the books of the sages, yet for selfish lust you took a life and then slandered an innocent man! Guards, take Li Sheng to the dungeon to await sentencing. I shall memorialize the throne and see justice done!"
The bailiffs dragged the limp, trembling Li Sheng out of the hall. Zhang Sheng knelt by the stretcher, weeping over the body—a scene that moved all who witnessed it to pity.
Qu Dou turned to Old Yuan, his expression grave and respectful as he cupped his hands. "Elder, your keen sight has helped this official solve the case. May I ask your esteemed name and where you hail from?"
Old Yuan stroked his beard and smiled. "This old man's surname is Yuan—just a rustic from the hills. But, Your Excellency, this case is not yet concluded."
Qu Dou blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Old Yuan walked to the stretcher and bent down, lifting a corner of the white cloth to reveal the face of the maiden Zhao. She appeared no older than seventeen or eighteen, and though she had been dead for days, her features were still strikingly lifelike—save for an extremely faint wisp of black qi between her brows.
"Look here, Your Excellency." Old Yuan pointed at the black vapor. "This woman's forehead shows traces of demonic qi corruption. If this old man's eyes do not deceive him, the reason Li Sheng encountered Zhao-shi in that garden, and the reason she spoke those provocative words to enrage him—none of it was coincidence. A malevolent creature was pulling strings in the shadows."
Qu Dou's expression shifted. He leaned closer and indeed saw the black qi flickering in and out of visibility. In thirty years of judging cases, he had encountered a few uncanny incidents. He knew Old Yuan spoke the truth.
"In the elder's opinion, what sort of creature was at work here?"
Old Yuan narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the maiden's face as if searching for something. After a moment, he suddenly extended a single finger and tapped lightly between Zhao-shi's brows. To ordinary eyes, nothing happened, but the moment Old Yuan's fingertip touched the black qi, a thread of crimson red—so fine it was barely perceptible—detached from the black vapor and wound itself up Old Yuan's finger before dissipating into the air.
Old Yuan withdrew his finger, his expression turning solemn.
"Fox qi," he said slowly. "This woman was subjected to a fox-spirit's mind-bewildering art. The fox first addled Zhao-shi's senses, sent her to the garden to meet Li Sheng, and made her say precisely those words to provoke him. Her death, which appears on the surface to be Li Sheng's accidental crime, was from start to finish orchestrated by that fox-spirit behind the scenes."
Qu Dou drew a sharp breath. "Why would a fox-spirit do such a thing?"
Old Yuan shook his head. "This old man cannot say for certain. Perhaps the fox had a grudge against the Zhao family. Perhaps it was merely indulging a whim, casually toying with mortal karma. The fox lineage is the most inscrutable of all."
What he did not say was this: in that instant the crimson thread coiled around his fingertip, he had perceived far more from that wisp of fox qi. That fox-spirit's cultivation was not shallow—at least two or three centuries deep. And the method it cultivated… faintly resembled the teachings of the Treasure Manual of As-You-Will that lay hidden against his chest.
This discovery sent a jolt through Old Yuan's heart.
He thought to himself: The Mysterious Maiden's heavenly tome was kept securely in her grotto. I stole it barely three months ago. There's no way its arts could have leaked into the world so quickly. That leaves only one possibility—before the tome was stored away by the Mysterious Maiden, some creature in the mortal world had already obtained a portion of its teachings.
If that were so, then he, Old Yuan, was not the only one in the world who knew spells from that manual.
At that thought, the restless fire in Old Yuan's heart blazed up again. He had believed that acquiring the manual was a unique stroke of karmic fortune. Now he discovered that its arts might already have been learned by other spirits. This made him frantic with envy and impatience. He wanted nothing more than to return to the White Cloud Grotto immediately and spare no effort to penetrate every last one of those advanced spells in the manual.
Steadying himself, he cupped his hands toward Qu Dou. "Your Excellency, the mortal crime has been adjudged. Matters of the demonic realm are not for ordinary men to meddle in. This old man has pressing business elsewhere. I take my leave."
Qu Dou hastily tried to detain him. "Elder, wait! If a demonic creature is at work, how can I simply sit idle? Please, grant me some guidance on how to proceed!"
Old Yuan waved a hand and shuffled toward the door without looking back. "Since the fox-spirit only stirred up mischief and did not directly take a life with its own claws, it has not violated the greater precepts of Heaven's Way. If Your Excellency wishes to safeguard this region, erect a small shrine to the local Earth God in that abandoned garden, and invite a high monk to chant sutras for seven days. The fox-spirit will naturally depart. Farewell!"
Before his voice had fully faded, another strange wind whipped through the entrance. When the dust settled, Old Yuan had vanished from the hall.
Qu Dou stared at the empty doorway for a long while before finally coming back to himself. He looked down at the now-vanished black qi on Zhao-shi's brow, then at the jade-green pendant in his hand, and sighed deeply.
"Attend me," he commanded in a low voice. "Do as that elder advised: build an Earth God shrine in the South City abandoned garden. Also, summon a high monk from the city to chant sutras for seven days and deliver Zhao-shi's spirit."
He paused, then added, "Have this entire case—its ins and outs—recorded in detail for the Academy's secret archives. In particular, every word and deed of this 'Yuan' elder today. Leave nothing out."
The clerks and scribes bowed and departed to carry out his orders. Qu Dou sat alone behind his desk, gazing out at the gradually thinning mist beyond the hall. In his heart, he sensed that this self-styled "Old Yuan" was no mortal man, and that the strand of fox qi unearthed in Zhao-shi's case was but the harbinger of a far greater tangle of events yet to come.
Meanwhile, Old Yuan left the Academy of Refined Judgments and soared back toward White Cloud Mountain on a summoned wind. His thoughts churned all along the way. The Treasure Manual tucked against his chest felt like a red-hot iron searing his skin.
"The fox lineage also knows spells from the heavenly tome?" he muttered as he flew, scratching his cheeks. "When did they learn it? How much have they learned? How does their attainment compare to mine?"
The more he brooded, the more agitated he grew; the more agitated, the less he could understand. When he finally landed on Sky-Piercing Peak, dispelled his fog-wards, and slipped back into his grotto, the first thing he did was yank out the manual and flip to that damned page on the "Five Thunders Orthodox Rite." Eyes bulging, he bent all his will upon deciphering it.
Yet the archaic glyphs remained as impenetrable as ever. The parts he understood were clear enough; the rest remained shrouded in fog. The white ape scrambled up and down the cavern walls in frustration, scratching his ears and cheeks, and finally slammed a fist into the stone, leaving a deep crater.
"No!" he snarled through gritted teeth. "I will not be outdone by those foxes. If I cannot fathom this alone, then I will find another way. This world is full of remarkable men and hidden talents—surely there's someone who can unlock this tome for me."
He hid the manual away again and sat cross-legged, closing his eyes. He replayed everything he had witnessed at the Academy from beginning to end. The sensation of that crimson fox qi coiling around his fingertip still lingered—a strange, faint familiarity that left him both furious and wary.
"Fox-spirit…"
The white ape murmured to himself, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. "Sooner or later, I will find out exactly how much of that heavenly tome your kind has absorbed. And if you've learned more than I have… then don't blame Old Yuan for being rude."
Outside the grotto, twilight deepened. The clouds and mist around Sky-Piercing Peak gathered once more, thicker and denser than before. The mountain wind moaned through the pines at the summit, a sound like something stirring awake deep within that shroud of vapor.
And a thousand li away, on a desolate hillside, a woman in crimson robes reclined beneath an ancient pine. In her hand, she toyed with a jade pendant—a perfect match for the one Zhao-shi had worn. She watched the last scarlet rays of the sunset fade, and a faint, enigmatic smile curved her lips.
"Interesting," she said softly. Her voice was clear as silver bells, yet carried an indescribable allure. "A monkey, in possession of the Mysterious Maiden's heavenly tome. This is amusing."
She slipped the pendant back into her sleeve and rose to her feet. Her crimson dress billowed in the evening breeze. Behind her, countless pairs of emerald eyes glinted in the depths of the darkening forest—the gathered progeny of her fox lineage.
"Go and find out," she commanded without turning her head. "Everything about that white ape. The more detail, the better."
A rustling sound arose from the forest depths, and countless shadowy forms scattered in all directions, melting into the vast, dark night.
That night, the fog atop White Cloud Mountain was thicker by a full three parts than any night before.