It is said:

　　The moon is heaven’s own light; the smoke, the hearth-fire of mankind.

　　If you would ask the traveler where I lie, the green hills wrap me fast in mist.

　　Through rolling red dust they vanish, as startled swans that flash and pass.

　　A single drop of longing stains the ink-black page—this body, ever but a guest.

　　In the age when the Investiture of the Gods (Fēngshén, 封神) first unfolded, in the eastern reaches of the Divine Land (Shénzhōu, 神州) some three hundred li stood a realm called Qīngqiū (青丘).

　　On its sunny slopes the earth gleamed with jade, while its shaded valleys lay wrapped in teal-blue mists.

　　This was a gathering-place of heaven and earth’s spirit qi, formed when the pure and the turbid were sundered in the primeval chaos (Hóngméng, 鸿蒙).

　　As the old verses proclaim:

　　“Split skies reveal the misty marshes; unveiling, one beholds the boundless stream.

　　Eight Gui Mountains glow like painted scenes; three Mulberry isles drift as if afloat.

　　Where mists dissipate lies the rare Red River; beneath the distant moon, one gazes on Qīngqiū (青丘).”

　　In the realm of Qīngqiū, there were foxes of all kinds. They knew the laws of the world and understood the spirits in all things, and all people revered them. Each fox toiled diligently in cultivation, hoping someday to achieve the final fruition of immortality. Among these foxes there was one spirit fox of unsurpassed beauty—her form was exquisite beyond compare, a national wonder of a creature. Her true name was forgotten; she was known simply as the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox (Jiǔwěi Línghú, 九尾灵狐).

　　One day by chance the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox befriended two neighboring fox-spirits: the Jade Stone Pipa Spirit (Yùshí Pípá Jīng, 玉石琵琶精) and the Nine-Headed Pheasant Spirit (Jiǔtóu Zhījī Jīng, 九头雉鸡精). The three demons found themselves very much alike in temperament and purpose, and they soon became sworn sisters. In the years that followed, the three sisters lived in each other’s company, devoting themselves to cultivation. In their free time they wandered the mountains and rivers together, enjoying a carefree life.

　　At that time, Emperor Dìxīn (帝辛) of Shang was entering the final years of his reign, marked by indulgence and neglect. The court saw many joyous evenings in the capital Zhāogē (朝歌), and Dìxīn increasingly ignored state affairs. The Heavenly Realm, wishing to supplant the tyrant and restore harmony, sent the Divine Empress Nǚwā Niángniáng (女娲娘娘) to Qīngqiū. She summoned the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox and commanded her:

　　Nǚwā Niángniáng: “You shall take human form in the palace and ensnare the king’s heart. When the task is complete, you shall attain your true fruition.”

　　The Nine-Tailed Fox nearly laughed at the notion of succeeding alone. She bowed and replied, “Your Highness, a single fox like me fears it is beyond my power. May I bring my two elder sisters with me: the Jade Stone Pipa Spirit and the Nine-Headed Pheasant Spirit?” Nǚwā granted the request and said, “Very well. You shall all carry out your orders together, and when the mission succeeds, all three of you shall obtain your true fruition.” Soon thereafter, the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox set out for Zhāogē (朝歌) accompanied by the Jade Stone Pipa Spirit and the Nine-Headed Pheasant Spirit.

　　Zhāogē was ablaze with nightly revelry, and Emperor Dìxīn grew ever more distant from governance. In time the sage Jiāng Shàng (姜尚) led a rebellion against Shang, overthrowing it and establishing the Zhou dynasty. At the time of the Investiture of the Gods, Jiāng Shàng proclaimed to the three fox-spirits:

　　Jiāng Shàng: “The Divine Empress Nǚwā sent you to destroy the Yin and usher in a new Mandate of Heaven—this was Heaven’s destined plan. Yet you have needlessly created karma, slaughtering innocents and loyal souls alike, poisoning heroes with cruelty that defies even Heaven’s mercy. Today your sins overflow; justice demands you be punished.”

　　With these words, Jiāng Shàng stripped the three fox-spirits of their powers and cast them onto the Demon-Slaying Terrace (Zhǎn Yāotái, 斩妖台). On that terrace, the executioner raised his axe and brought it down: the Jade Stone Pipa Spirit and the Nine-Headed Pheasant Spirit had their souls severed from the world of the living. When the executioner approached the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox, the sky suddenly darkened. Black clouds blotted out the sun and all things lost their color; yin and yang were upended, and a moon appeared in the daytime sky. This moon was round and of an unfamiliar shade—a faint cherry-red—and all the gods gazed upon it, perplexed and heads tilted.

　　In that moment, a beam of cherry-colored light shot forth and struck down the executioner. The light then entered and possessed the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox, and in an instant it drove back the assembled gods. Thus empowered, the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox fled swiftly westward.

　　She fled far, weary and in pain. Days later, her body so exhausted that it no longer obeyed her will, she found herself still on the move. Realizing something was amiss, the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox gathered her spirit and stood still. She spoke out, “O Benefactor who saved my life, why do you not show yourself? Why do you dwell within me?” No one appeared, but a voice answered, “How can that which has no form show itself?” The fox was puzzled and asked, “Good sir, what do you mean?” The voice continued, “All things have spirits; by this the world is made beautiful, yet none admit that they harbor grievances or resentments. Both deities and mortals pursue the Great Way, and call greed, anger, ignorance, pride, and doubt the poisons of the world, and obstacles, coverings, breaking, ruin, decline, and sloth the darkness of the world. Yet yin and yang must coexist; good and evil abide together. Outside the Great Way, suffering gave birth to me. If you will it, call me Tiānshā (天煞), the calamity born of the Way.”

　　The Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox gasped in shock, then sighed, “So you, too, Benefactor, are a creature abandoned by gods and men, just as I am.” Tiānshā replied, “We share the same fate, yet you still have a body. I was born of the primordial spirit; though I wield supreme divine power, I have no physical form. I am forced to wander Heaven and Earth, drifting everywhere.” The fox had intended to banish this voice, but pity arose in her heart. She said, “You saved my life, and I have no way to repay you. If you will not abandon me, then let us share this body together.” Thus the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox and Tiānshā made common cause, temporarily sharing one flesh.

　　Putting these events aside, the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox fled west in despair, resolved to spend the rest of her days living among ordinary mortals. One day along a provincial road she came upon a remote inn. Before it lay the highway, behind it curved a stream and green hills, wisps of smoke curling from its chimneys, shade on all sides—it was truly a place of good fortune. The fox entered and offered herself as a servant, serving tea and pouring water, working each day from dawn to dusk, gradually forgetting the turmoil of the world.

　　Time passed, and the innkeeper showed her great kindness. Over days and months, love grew between them, and they were soon wed. On their wedding day Tiānshā asked gently, “Do you truly wish to spend your life in such peace?” The fox answered, “If the years ahead are to be like this—humble and ordinary—what is wrong with that?” Tiānshā heard her heart’s contentment and said no more.

　　Yet the fox’s beauty was still too remarkable to remain hidden. Each day travelers passed by the secluded inn just to catch a glimpse of her face. Word spread until all of Mójiétuó Guó (摩竭佗国) knew of this beauty, and people came in droves to see the famed fox in the inn.

　　Then one day a detachment of soldiers hurried in, demanding to see the Nine-Tailed Fox. A commanding officer announced, “By order of Crown Prince Bān (Bān Tàizǐ, 斑太子), the beauty of this place is summoned to the palace to serve as a consort.” The inn’s steward was informed and brought the Nine-Tailed Fox forth. She firmly refused and said, “I am but a humble servant and know little of ceremony; I am unfit to be a royal consort. Besides, I already have a husband. Please, good sir, carry my reply to His Highness and beg him to excuse me.”

　　The guards returned with her refusal. Prince Bān, whose pride had been wounded by such a refusal, muttered to himself, “Interesting… truly interesting. Beneath Heaven, someone dares to refuse me. If this beauty is not mine, then where is the authority of this Prince?” In his pique he ordered the summons to be sent daily—first once a month, then thrice a day—yet each time the Nine-Tailed Fox rejected it.

　　Unable to obtain his sought-after beauty, the prince grew restless. Finally a court minister devised a scheme and brought it to Prince Bān: “Your Highness, this lady refuses only because she has a husband. If Your Highness were to accuse that man of illicit treason—a crime so grave that only the prince may handle it—then decree that no other courtier may hear the case. The issue would become Your Highness’s alone to judge. The lady would surely come to plead with Your Highness, and then you could speak of making her your consort.” The prince was pleased and exclaimed, “Excellent, my loyal minister! A clever plan indeed!”

　　That very day, Prince Bān put the plan into motion. The innkeeper was seized and thrown into the dungeon. The Nine-Tailed Fox, her powers still sealed by Jiāng Shàng, could do nothing but plead her case. The officials, under the prince’s decree, declared that only the Crown Prince himself could hear this matter; any appeal of injustice must be brought before the prince. With no other recourse, the Nine-Tailed Fox obeyed the summons and went to the palace.

　　She was escorted to the royal court, and before long stood in the presence of Crown Prince Bān. The first time he beheld her, he was as if struck by enchantment. Her peerless beauty held his gaze fixed for a long while. As one chronicler put it:

　　“Her beauty is beyond compare, surpassing all of old;

　　At sight’s first glance she is perfection.

　　She could overturn a nation and enchant a city—

　　A wonder to all the world.”

　　Prince Bān recovered his senses and said, “The beauty has finally come to me; I am truly delighted.” The fox prepared to perform the proper ceremony of greeting and was given a mat by an attendant. She opened her hands and knelt in respect, saying, “Your servant knows her guilt. Yet my husband is but a good man; he could never have committed treason for an enemy kingdom. There must be some mistake. I beg Your Highness to examine the matter clearly and restore justice for my husband.”

　　Prince Bān himself lifted her to her feet, then summoned attendants who brought forth the “evidence” already prepared in advance. He said, “There is no need for such ceremony. The evidence against your husband is irrefutable. Were it not for you, my lady, he would already have been put to death.” The Nine-Tailed Fox sensed his cunning scheme. In her heart she thought, How can I save my husband? Am I to beg once more from my benefactor? Before she could decide, Prince Bān continued, “If you truly wish to save your husband, a way is at hand. Enter the palace as my consort, and consider your husband as the matchmaker for our union: by giving a beauty to me, the merit of delivering such a woman to the prince will be credited to him. This way his merit will balance his crime, and he can be spared.” The fox was stunned by this proposal. She took a step back, placed her left hand lightly at her hip and her right hand over it, and bowed again as she said, “This is a grave matter. May I have the night to consider it?” Seeing his chance, Prince Bān agreed.

　　The Nine-Tailed Fox left the palace and secured lodging at a tavern. Yet as soon as she arrived, Prince Bān ordered his guards to encircle the tavern day and night; the place was sealed like an impenetrable fortress.

　　That night was deep and quiet. A bright moon hung high, its gentle beams spilling through the windows upon the wooden floors and brick walls. The silver light washed over the room and fell upon the Nine-Tailed Fox’s cheeks. Lying there alone, her mind in turmoil, all she could picture was her husband receiving punishment. In her heart she whispered mournfully:

　　“Our time together was all too brief,

　　And now we stand in separate lands.

　　Night by night I await your homecoming,

　　Longing for your return.

　　I do not resent the ache of longing,

　　Only that our meeting was denied.

　　Day by day my heart clings to you—

　　Hoping for fate to bring you back.”

　　Tiānshā, sensing her distress, appeared beside her. He spoke calmly, “If you surrender your mortal body to me, I will save your husband’s life. You two may then wander the world together, free.” The Nine-Tailed Fox snapped in anger, “Tiānshā! If I hand over my body, I shall disperse into dust—how could we wander then? You saved my life once; I owe you a word of thanks, and nothing more. Do not overstep!” Tiānshā, having no physical form to beg with, fell silent and withdrew for the night.

　　The next day, still without a solution, the Nine-Tailed Fox resigned herself. She gazed into a mirror, applied her makeup with care, and dressed herself well. Descending to the front, she said to the palace guards, “You may now escort me to see the Crown Prince.” Obediently, she entered the royal court. As Prince Bān had promised, she was made his consort. He bestowed upon her the court name Huáyáng Tiān (华阳天). In keeping with his word, Prince Bān then released the fox’s husband and sent him home, claiming his merit for presenting the beauty.

　　From that day on the palace was filled with beauties, yet Prince Bān devoted himself only to Huáyáng Tiān. But a human and a demon are not truly alike: Prince Bān’s health began to fail, and he lost his taste for governance. The ministers of Mójiétuó Guó observed this decline and petitioned the court, blaming all misfortune on the fox-spirit. One day, a high minister slew countless white foxes and stacked their bodies on the hall’s marble floor, loudly proclaiming, “These foxes have brought disaster upon the realm! I have slain them all to protect our kingdom; no demon shall be allowed!” Turning to Huáyáng Tiān, the minister sneered, “This enchantress’s seduction of the prince is no different from any demon fox. Your Highness should execute her to make justice prevail.” The Nine-Tailed Fox could hear the lies but was horrified as she watched her kin killed. She fainted at the sight. Prince Bān saw this and, believing the minister had spoken against his consort, executed the minister on the spot for insubordination.

　　When the Nine-Tailed Fox awakened, anger roiled within her. She declared, “You have harmed my clan! I swear I will make you pay blood for blood.” Turning to Prince Bān she said calmly, “I have suffered from an illness since childhood. Only by eating a Seven-Aperture Luminous Heart (七窍玲珑心, Qīqiào Línglóng Xīn) can I be cured; otherwise I will surely die.” Prince Bān asked, “Where is one to be found?” The fox replied, “Today, the minister who slew the foxes has one in his chest.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Prince Bān ordered that minister killed. His heart was taken and prepared as a meal for the Nine-Tailed Fox.

　　Not long after, the Nine-Tailed Fox slipped out of the palace and returned to her old inn, yearning to see her husband even for a moment. But when she arrived, she found only a lonely grave and a broken wooden tombstone bearing her husband’s name. A humble steward approached and said, “Madam, after you entered the palace, His Highness had the innkeeper killed. We poor villagers could not enter the city to tell you, so we buried him here.” Overcome by grief, regret, and fury, the Nine-Tailed Fox felt her mind go dark; in an instant she lost all restraint and destroyed everything around her.

　　Tiānshā saw her anguish and said, “I, too, have long resented the injustices of the world. Since men will not let you live in peace, then let this world fall into endless war.” Huáyáng Tiān responded fiercely, “Tiānshā, I want Prince Bān to pay blood for my husband’s blood.” Tiānshā said, “Then you must surrender your soul to me; your body will be mine to command. With my supreme power, in a single moment I can reduce your hated one to ashes.” The Nine-Tailed Fox turned to him, anger in her eyes, and asked, “There are countless living souls in the world—why are you so intent only on me?” Tiānshā answered, “No ordinary body could withstand my supreme divine essence.” Huáyáng Tiān retorted, “Even if you took my body, your divine essence would still return to me. It is unheard of for a guest to surpass the host. If you won’t let me live, I would rather see my body destroyed and die with my enemy than give it to you. You would still wander, a phantom in the world.”

　　For millennia Tiānshā had drifted through heaven and earth in search of a host. If he let the Nine-Tailed Fox go to her death now, it might cost him countless more eons to find another body. In that moment, Tiānshā had no choice but to relent. He withdrew his claim, and his divine essence returned wholly to Huáyáng Tiān.

　　From that day forth the Nine-Tailed Spirit Fox regained her powers, but she was forever changed. Her eyes became heterochromatic—one green, one cherry-red. The next day she returned to the court. Using her magic, she caused the king of Mójiétuó Guó to die under strange circumstances within days, clearing the way for Prince Bān to ascend to the throne. Henceforth, the Nine-Tailed Fox conjured illusions of countless beauties to entertain the king, and Prince Bān sank further into debauchery, neglecting state affairs.

　　Just as she had in Zhāogē, now as queen Huáyáng Tiān she eliminated the loyal and virtuous in the court, and Mójiétuó Guó fell into ruin. Before long the kingdom was destroyed, and all lived in decline. In the passage of years resentment consumed the Nine-Tailed Fox’s heart, while any joy of victory faded away, leaving a hollow emptiness that gnawed at her like ants on her spirit.

　　Her old grudges unresolved, new ones formed within her; Tiānshā’s divine essence began to poison her from within. Huáyáng Tiān could not accept a world at peace, yet having no share in any beauty or happiness. Thus wherever she went, whenever she saw a time of prosperity, she repeated her sorcery: nations fell to ruin and war followed, leaving the western lands drenched in blood. As the old rhyme says:

　　“Grasses at the palace fade at dusk,

　　A lone cloud drifts—on whom does it rely?

　　The mountains and rivers remain unchanged,

　　Yet half the city’s people are gone.

　　Reed-blossoms blanket the ground as people age,

　　The swallows of the old home fly beside whom?

　　From now on, the path back will be left behind,

　　Turned into the bloodstained lament of the cuckoo.”