The Fox Woman

I already know you’ll ask: “Does such a thing really happen?” Everything happens in a fairy tale. Think, use your brain, and you’ll understand the meaning hidden in this tale.

Long ago, there lived a young man nicknamed Da-zhuang. He lived with his mother in a small house right by the mountain. In both cold and heat, he would go to the mountains to chop firewood, and that’s how he made a living. Da-zhuang grew up in poverty, but he grew into a strong, broad-shouldered, tall, and remarkably simple-hearted man. In the old days, everything was decided by the parents: who to marry their daughter off to, who to marry their son to—it wasn’t clear whether it was a wedding or a trade. Often, they would drive their child to the brink of death. And it didn’t matter to them whether the young couple loved each other or not. As long as they could marry their child into a wealthy family—that was enough. In a rich man’s house, there were three women’s chambers, or even four concubines at once; while a poor man would live his whole life as a bachelor.

I’ve gone off on a tangent, but that’s not what this story is about. So, Da-zhuang grew up, and it was time for him to marry, but he remained alone. He understood that his mother wasn’t to blame for this, so he never said a harsh word to her or expressed his resentment. Heat gave way to cold, autumn to spring, and year after year passed. Da-zhuang remained silent, but he had already lost hope for anything, and life had become unbearable for him.

But then one day, the spring sun warmed the earth, flowers bloomed, covering the mountain like a colorful carpet. The pines grew even greener, the water in the springs even clearer. The streams rang out in all their voices. A gentle breeze blew, and the birds sang and chirped. It was almost noon, but Da-zhuang kept chopping firewood, having forgotten everything else. Suddenly, he heard someone laugh—loudly and joyfully. He turned around—what a wonder! Standing under a tall stone cliff were two girls—like two birds, laughing their hearts out. They stood almost next to the young man. And he could see everything. One girl was dressed in green; her face was like a duck’s egg, her eyes narrow, her eyebrows thin. A beauty, no doubt! The other girl was dressed in red. Her face was round, her eyes large, her cheeks rosy, and her teeth white.

A wild plum tree grew on top of the cliff, covered in red flowers. The girl in red jumped, grabbed onto a pine tree, and easily climbed to the very top. In an instant, she reached the middle of the sheer cliff, so skillfully, as if the wind had carried her there. Even though Da-zhuang was used to climbing mountains, he was amazed. She climbed to the top of the cliff, bent down, and picked a full armful of plum blossoms. She straightened up, saw the young man staring at her, laughed, and threw a flower at him. And here’s the wonder: the flower didn’t fall to the right, or to the left, or forward, or backward—it landed straight on the young man’s head. The young man was flustered and blushed. But the girl just rolled with laughter.

Her sister said to her:

“You’re not joking, you’re just being mean. Let’s go home. If Father sees you, it won’t be a laughing matter.”

The girls turned and disappeared behind the stone cliff. The young man began to think and wonder. “Whose daughters are these, who’ve wandered here by chance?” But then he decided, “It’s none of my business,” and went back to chopping firewood.

The next day, Da-zhuang went to the mountains as usual. He was chopping firewood when suddenly—thud—a small stone fell right in front of him. The young man turned around—a flash of red dress appeared between the pines. A ringing laugh scattered like beads. The young man’s heart started pounding and wouldn’t calm down.

On the third day, the girl in red came out to meet Da-zhuang with an armful of firewood, laughing her heart out. Her eyes were even brighter, her cheeks even rosier.

The young man said:

“You…”—and couldn’t say anything else.

The girl threw down the firewood, laughed, and ran away. The young man was filled with frustration. He scolded himself: “My mouth is wooden, my tongue disobedient.” He forgot about everything else, only thinking about the girl. He barely made it through the day. The next morning, he came and saw the girl sitting on the grass by the river. The young man gathered his courage, thinking, “I’ll go up to the beauty.” But the beauty covered her mouth with her hand and burst out laughing. The young man felt embarrassed, stopped, and didn’t dare go any further. But the girl nodded her head, calling him over. He approached. He didn’t know her name, so he asked:

“Where are you from?”

The girl laughed and replied:

“Does it matter where I’m from? Let me help you chop firewood instead. Let’s see who can chop more!”

The girl would climb a tree, then jump down. Her hands were nimble, and she was light on her feet. She broke firewood, but she couldn’t keep up with the young man—she broke a little less than he did. She climbed a dry tree and with a crack, broke off the top. Suddenly, a voice came from the forest:

“Er-ni! Stop fooling around, you’re not a child anymore! Come quickly, Father’s here!”

The girl jumped down from the tree, looked at one pile of firewood, then at the other, nodded her head, and said:

“You’ve won, you’ve chopped more firewood than me. But now I have to go. My older sister is calling.”

The girl turned and ran toward the forest. She turned back, laughed, and disappeared.

From then on, the girl often came from the forest. She joked, laughed, and helped the young man gather firewood. She said her name was Er-ni—Second Daughter—and that she was from the Hu family, living beyond the high mountain, and the girl in green was her older sister.

The young man was so happy when the girl came to him that it seemed the sky and the earth rejoiced with him. When the birds chirped, it sounded like a wondrous song to him. When the leaves rustled in the wind, it sounded like her ringing laughter. And the flowers seemed more beautiful, the streams more melodious. Oh, how he wished to marry such a girl. The young man thought this, but he didn’t say anything to the beauty, afraid.

His mother noticed: her son left earlier and returned later. He brought even more firewood. The old woman was glad—her son was hardworking—but she also felt uneasy, sensing something was wrong. Sometimes the young man was cheerful, but then he would suddenly become lost in thought. She couldn’t bear it any longer and asked:

“What’s troubling you, son?”

And her son told her everything, just as it was.

His mother said:

“The mountains are desolate and empty. Where could a girl come from? If you see her again, bring her to me, I’ll take a look at her.”

The next morning, the young man went to the mountains, and the girl was sitting in the same spot—on the very top of the stone cliff. Her head was adorned with flowers. Er-ni took one flower and stuck it in the young man’s hair, laughing heartily.

The young man said:

“We won’t chop firewood today.”

“Why not?” asked the girl.

The young man replied:

“My mother wants to see you.”

The girl was offended and said:

“Oh, you! Do you want your mother to choose a suitable wife for you?”

She said this, shrugged her shoulders, turned around, and ran away.
The young man was flustered, quickly caught up with the girl, and began to speak, stumbling over his words:

"I want to spend my whole life with you, if you don’t mind, please agree."

The girl blushed and said:

"Oh, I was just joking." She spoke and then burst into laughter again.

The young man looked at the girl and laughed too, wiping the sweat from his brow.

The young man brought Er-ni to his home, and she became his wife. And how hardworking Er-ni was! Whatever she set her hand to, everything turned out well. The girl didn’t disdain Da-zhuang’s poverty in the slightest. She chirped and laughed all day long. Even the old mother became more talkative with her around. But soon, the old woman suddenly grew sad and frowned. Er-ni began to ask her what was wrong. And the old woman replied:

"I don’t want to deceive you, my dear, but all our supplies are gone. There’s nothing left to put in the pot."

The young daughter-in-law laughed and said:

"Don’t worry, mother!"

She said this and ran off somewhere. A little time passed, and the mother saw her daughter-in-law return with a whole basket of rice. The old woman couldn’t believe her eyes. She was happy, but her heart ached. And she asked her daughter-in-law:

"Where did you get the rice, my dear?"

Er-ni said nothing, just laughed and set to cooking. The days were long, the nights longer. The old mother soon forgot about the incident.

A year passed. Er-ni gave birth to a boy. The four of them lived together, overjoyed. Before they knew it, the boy had learned to run. But one day, as the sun set behind the mountains, Da-zhuang was walking home with a bundle of firewood when he suddenly saw Er-ni talking to some old man. He wanted to approach and see who the old man was, but before he could react, the old man disappeared. Er-ni was left alone. Da-zhuang ran up to her and saw tears like pearls rolling down her cheeks. The young man was alarmed, trembling all over—he had never seen his wife cry. Before he could even open his mouth, Er-ni said to him:

"Da-zhuang, we must part today."

The young man looked at Er-ni, his eyes wide open. He couldn’t have imagined such a thing even in his dreams. He thought he might have misheard. But his wife spoke again, softly this time:

"My father has been searching for me, and he has finally found me. Now he wants to take me with him."

Da-zhuang understood what had happened, and his heart ached. He asked:

"So, you’re leaving me?"

"It’s not my will; my father is forcing me. Forget about me, as if nothing ever happened between us. We will never see each other again." She spoke these words and wept bitterly.

Da-zhuang couldn’t bear it; a tear fell from his eye, and he said:

"We can’t part like this!"

Er-ni didn’t respond to this. Then she said:

"My father has decided to go to distant lands. You must return home now. And later, if you don’t forget me, go southwest. Walk a thousand miles, and you’ll see an old acacia tree. It’s ten thousand years old. Beneath that tree, there’s a cave a hundred miles long. That’s where you’ll find me."

Da-zhuang nodded in agreement. Suddenly, Er-ni tilted her head, spat out something red and shiny, placed it in the young man’s hand, and said:

"If you have nothing to eat, ask the pearl. Say, 'Pearl, pearl, give me food!'"

Da-zhuang looked at the pearl, which was the size of a bean. When he looked up, Er-ni was gone. At his feet sat a fiery-red fox on its hind legs, tears dripping from its eyes. Da-zhuang crouched down and said:

"Take your treasure back, Er-ni. You’ve turned into a creature, but without you, I’ll never know happiness."

The fox shook its head. Da-zhuang wanted to pick it up, but suddenly he heard someone cough behind him. He turned around—no one was there. When he looked back, the fox was gone. The young man nearly lost his mind, searching everywhere, but there was no trace of the fox, not even a shadow. Night fell. There was nothing else to do; he had to return home.

Day and night, Da-zhuang thought of Er-ni, unable to eat. His son cried from morning till night, and his mother searched for her. The old woman missed her daughter-in-law, pitied her grandson, and wept as she watched the little child cry. There were enough tears to fill a pond. Joy had turned to sorrow. Time passed. Finally, Da-zhuang decided to set out on a journey to find Er-ni. His mother urged him to take the pearl with him. She was willing to endure any hardship—hunger, poverty—just so her son could find Er-ni and bring her home. The old woman prepared her son for the journey, packing him dry flatbreads, but that’s not the point.

The young man set off. The wind pierced him through, frost, rain, and dew soaked him, fair weather alternated with storms. I don’t know how many days and nights he walked—a whole year, maybe more. Finally, he saw the acacia tree. It was no wonder it was ten thousand years old—it would take ten men to encircle it. Beneath the tree was a cave, deep and bottomless. Da-zhuang was overjoyed, but also frightened. "Well," he thought, "whatever happens, happens." And he began to descend. The path was steep and dark. The young man had to feel his way.

He walked for a day, a night, another day, another night, and suddenly it grew light. A little further, and he saw a high arch and large gates in the distance. The gates were covered in black lacquer. The young man approached the gates, tugged on the ring, and they swung open. Inside, he saw a girl in a green dress—the very one Er-ni had called her elder sister. The girl looked at Da-zhuang, unable to believe her eyes, overcome with worry, and asked:

"How did you get here? If Father returns, it won’t go well for you."

"Whatever happens, I must see Er-ni."

The girl sighed, locked the gates, and said:

"Follow me."

The courtyard was spacious, with a house in the middle, and wings on each side—all built of uniform bricks and roofed with tiles. The girl led Da-zhuang to the eastern wing, pointed to a room, and said:

"There she is, Er-ni."
Da-zhuang looked and saw a fox lying there. His heart grew heavy. In an instant, he pulled out a magical pearl from his bag. As soon as the fox saw the young man, it rushed toward him. It opened its mouth but couldn’t utter a word. The young man placed the pearl into the fox’s mouth, and the fox tumbled over. When Da-zhuang looked again, Er-ni stood before him once more. At first, Da-zhuang was overjoyed, but then his heart ached. Er-ni had grown thinner and seemed older. Yet, she took his hand and laughed. She laughed and laughed, then suddenly burst into tears! Just then, a voice was heard at the gate. The elder sister, frightened, said:

— Hide quickly! Father has returned.

Da-zhuang’s eyes widened in anger. He lunged forward, but Er-ni’s sister gently pushed him back with her hand. Then she left, locking the door behind her.

Er-ni said:

— When Father offers you food, don’t take a single crumb.

As soon as she said this, an old fox entered the courtyard, sniffing the air:

— I smell human. I smell human!

The elder daughter replied:

— How could there be a human smell here? You’ve been wandering and brought the scent of foreign lands on your feet.

The old fox answered:

— It’s not from me. A stranger has come. I smell human! I smell human!

— No stranger has come; it’s Er-ni’s husband who has arrived.

Da-zhuang had already thought everything through. If the old fox wouldn’t give Er-ni back, he would fight him to the death. Just then, the old fox’s laughter echoed in the courtyard. He laughed and then shouted:

— Let Er-ni’s husband come out to me at once! I want to see him!

The elder daughter unlocked the door. Da-zhuan stepped out and saw a pale-faced old man standing before him, wearing a satin jacket. When the old man saw the youth, he beckoned him with his hand and called:

— Come up quickly to the northern room. You must be hungry! I’ll treat you to a grand feast!

The young man followed the old man into the room. Inside, there was a table covered with lacquer, gleaming brightly. On the table was an abundance of dishes: ten plates and eight bowls. There was everything—chicken, fish—the aroma filling the air. Da-zhuang’s stomach growled; he hadn’t eaten all day. But he firmly remembered what Er-ni had warned him. No matter how the old man urged and coaxed him, the young man didn’t touch a single crumb.

The old man said:

— If you don’t want vegetables, try some noodles.

But the young man stood his ground and didn’t touch the food. The old man himself handed the young man a bowl of noodle broth, saying:

— If you don’t want noodles, at least drink the broth.

The young man’s mouth was parched, his heart burning with thirst, and he thought: “Er-ni only told me not to eat, but she didn’t say anything about drinking. I’ll drink a little; maybe it’ll be fine.” The young man took the bowl of broth from the old man and began to drink. He drank and drank, not noticing when a small noodle slipped into his mouth.

The young man returned to the side room and began to feel a pain in his stomach.

Er-ni asked:

— Did you eat when Father offered you food?

— I didn’t eat, but I drank the noodle broth, and I didn’t notice when a small noodle slipped into my mouth.

Er-ni scolded him:

— Why did you drink the broth? It wasn’t a noodle that slipped into your mouth; it was a venomous snake. It will destroy you.

The young man jumped in fright, and Er-ni said:

— To protect yourself from the snake’s venom, you must obtain a white pearl. The old man keeps that pearl in his mouth. I’ll give you a jug of wine; take it, and we’ll go to Father together.

They went to the northern room, where the old man was just about to sleep.

Er-ni said to him:

— Father, my husband has come from afar. He brought nothing with him except a jug of fine wine to show his respect. This wine is infused with cinnamon flowers.

As Er-ni spoke, she removed the lid from the jug. Such an aroma filled the room that it was impossible to describe. When the old man saw the wine, he forgot everything, grabbed the jug with both hands, and began to drink.

He drank every last drop—became drunk and pliable like clay. Then Er-ni pulled the white pearl from his mouth. The old man didn’t notice as he turned back into a fox. Er-ni took the pearl, threw it into a cup of water, and told Da-zhuang to drink it. The young man’s stomach churned, and the pain ceased.

Er-ni took the pearl from the cup, placed it in her mouth, took Da-zhuang’s hand, and they ran. They ran so fast they barely felt the ground beneath them. They escaped the cave. Not even a day had passed, and they had already returned. And so, the four of them lived together again in joy and contentment.

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The Fox Woman

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