Chapter Ten: The Little White Fox

At noon and in the evening, Yu Luoli prepared many delicious dishes for Jia Ping’an. Hu Buyun was truly filial and deeply grateful to Jia Ping’an for curing his own mother’s cough. The gifts he sent were of good quality, including plenty of meat.

With all these tasty foods, their meals improved greatly, to the point that Jia Rongrong kept exclaiming how full her little belly felt, a sight that was quite endearing.

After dinner, in this era with hardly any nightlife, everyone went to bed early. Jia Ping’an returned to his room, and when he was sure no one was paying attention, he moved his mind and slipped into his spatial realm.

The three wild ginseng plants he had planted that morning had grown considerably, much to Jia Ping’an’s delight. This confirmed his suspicion that the Spirit Spring water could indeed accelerate plant growth, which was excellent. Soon, he would harvest mature wild ginseng and truly make a fortune.

Inside the grass hut in his space, Jia Ping’an slept soundly and awoke feeling refreshed.

He sensed significant changes in his body; his five senses, strength, and overall vigor had all been enhanced considerably.

“Good stuff,” he murmured with satisfaction, then stepped out of his space. After putting on his outer robe, he came out to find Yu Luoli already awake and breakfast prepared.

“Let’s not go to the mountain today,” Yu Luoli suggested with concern during the meal. Jia Fanghao hadn’t appeared, and though his body was better, his mind seemed trapped in a struggle.

“How can we not go? Though I earned some silver from the medical treatment, father’s health isn’t fully restored, and Rongrong is growing. Since there’s nothing pressing, I might as well try my luck on the mountain again,” Jia Ping’an replied with a gentle smile but firm resolve.

Yu Luoli saw that Jia Ping’an had grown up and was no longer the fledgling needing their protection.

It was ironic—after such a calamity, the elders had grown weary and downhearted, while the younger ones had become independent.

Seeing Jia Ping’an’s maturity and knowing nothing could stop him, Yu Luoli stopped insisting and only reminded him to be careful.

“Big brother, Rongrong wants meat buns,” the younger Jia Rongrong pleaded as Jia Ping’an finished breakfast and prepared to leave.

Yu Luoli could cook but wasn’t quite adept at making meat buns. Back in Changdu Prefecture, servants handled cooking, and suddenly doing everything themselves left many needs unmet.

“All right, big brother will bring some back for you,” Jia Ping’an said fondly to his four-years-younger sister. Her big eyes, chubby cheeks, rosy lips, and sweet voice made her impossible to resist.

“Mm, big brother is the best,” Rongrong beamed happily, pleased to have her request acknowledged.

After breakfast, Jia Ping’an left the Jia residence. Unlike yesterday, he now wore a sheepskin cloak—a gift from the general who had thanked him for curing his mother’s illness.

Though slightly oversized, the cloak was very warm.

Equipped anew, Jia Ping’an headed confidently toward the mountain. With yesterday’s experience, he no longer needed to ask for directions and quickly found a wild ginseng root weighing two qian.

But his luck seemed to run out. After another hour’s walk, he found nothing more. Seeing it was still early, he decided to venture deeper into the mountain to try his luck.

He chose a path with no footprints and walked forward.

Skill breeds courage, and with his spatial realm, ordinary dangers could no longer restrain him. At worst, he could vanish inside his space, and no fierce beast could harm him.

At first, he remained visible, but the dry branches slowed him down severely. So he became invisible within his space, which proved advantageous—his footsteps left no prints, yet he still advanced.

Marveling at the power of his space, Jia Ping’an’s pace quickened until he had covered five or six miles.

Yet, no wild ginseng sprouts appeared. Instead, a faint squeaking sound caught his attention.

Since he was hidden in his space and undetectable, his courage swelled as he moved toward the source of the noise.

There, an injured little white fox was pitifully crying out in pain.

White foxes are typically very alert, making them difficult to catch. But this one, relying on its sharp senses, failed to notice Jia Ping’an’s presence and kept crying out.

Its reckless howling drew Jia Ping’an closer, yet the little fox remained unaware.

“A white fox wounded by an arrow?” As he approached, he realized the truth.

Someone must have shot the little fox—like Jia Ping’an seeking ginseng, others hunted animals for food in the mountains.

Big predators like tigers, leopards, bears, and wolves are easier to find and can be subdued by skilled hunters working together. But clever creatures like white foxes, small and agile, are much harder to catch.

This little fox had only a slight injury—a bit of blood on its snowy fur. Such a wound would heal quickly even without treatment.

Still, the fox kept crying, so sensitive to pain it must be quite delicate.

Perhaps its cries were venting anger or a way to distract from the pain. Ironically, its voice drew Jia Ping’an near.

Standing five paces away, Jia Ping’an thought if he brought the fox to Rongrong, she would be delighted. So he carefully moved closer.

Last time, when he approached Ren Qinghu within his space, heavy breathing gave him away. This time, he held his breath and proceeded cautiously.

Yet, even with such care, when they were only three steps apart, the fox sensed something and sprang up, dashing six or seven steps away.

From that distance, the fox stared back in confusion. Though it still couldn’t see him, it had clearly felt the presence of a human.

This is one of an animal’s instincts, often sharper than even some martial artists’ awareness. Without such abilities, they couldn’t survive in the harsh laws of the wild.

The fox moved, but Jia Ping’an did not pursue, standing still instead.

His soul, aged over forty years, gave him ample patience.

About five or six minutes passed. Even inside his space, Jia Ping’an remained motionless. The fox’s attention finally shifted; it no longer stared at him but lay down again, squeaking in pain.

Clearly, judging by its agile reactions, the injury was minor and posed no real threat to its safety. The cries were for comfort, an expression of frustration.

Finding the fox amusing, Jia Ping’an inched forward to get closer.

Despite his utmost caution—breath held and hidden in his space—the fox detected him again when they were three steps apart. It flipped over and ran several steps away.

Stopping, it turned its head to look at Jia Ping’an, its eyes filled with more confusion.

It could not understand why it sensed danger when nothing was visible.

Had the injury weakened its senses? Was its perception off?

The fox was puzzled, and Jia Ping’an could only smile wryly. Such heightened vigilance made catching it without effort nearly impossible. Well, some investment was necessary.

With that thought, Jia Ping’an took out a water pouch infused with Spirit Spring water and, with a thought, let a drop fall onto the soil outside his space.

Seemingly ordinary, the drop vanished instantly upon touching the earth. At least to Jia Ping’an, nothing appeared different.

But to the fox’s eyes, it caused its mouth to water immediately.

Just as it sensed Jia Ping’an’s approach, it could also sense the Spirit Spring water—a miraculous substance capable of healing all things.

Though it had never seen the water before, the fox somehow felt that consuming it would greatly benefit itself.

Its problem now was understanding how this substance appeared and the source of the earlier danger.

Danger meant it should stay away.

But delicious food? That it could not bear to leave.

Inside his space, Jia Ping’an saw a nearly human-like struggle flicker across the fox’s face.

This inner conflict lasted two or three minutes. In the end, greed won over reason, and the little white fox tentatively began to approach Jia Ping’an.