Wu Banxian said I was destined to face calamities and would never survive if my family raised me. My only chance of staying alive was to become his apprentice.
He also said that even if I studied the mystic arts under him, it would still be hard to survive the three calamities. In other words, the calamity I faced at nine would be the worst. If I failed to survive it, I would die, but if I made it through, my fortunes would take a dramatic turn.
Grandpa and Father talked it over and decided that being alive was better than being dead. At least there would still be something to hope for, so they agreed.
Wu Banxian promptly carried me away from home, leaving in such a hurry that he seemed afraid my family would change their minds.
But not long after he left the village, someone found Wu Banxian's body. His death was gruesome: blood streamed from all seven openings in his head, his eyes were wide, and terror covered his face. He looked as though he had been scared to death.
I, however, was perfectly fine, lying beside Wu Banxian without crying or fussing.
When my parents heard the news, they had no choice but to bring me home again. Wu Banxian's family came over and caused a huge scene. It really wasn't our fault-Wu Banxian had died on the road himself-but we still paid his family compensation, making life even harder for our already impoverished household.
Later, my master told me that Wu Banxian had died because he harbored evil intentions. He had taken me away because he coveted something I possessed, and he had also intended to kill me.
But that came later, so I'll leave it aside for now.
After Father carried me home, the family began worrying again.
No one knew whether Wu Banxian's words were true, but his sudden, violent death made my family even more wary of me.
Even the villagers called me a jinx, saying I had killed an innocent man the moment I was born.
Feeding me became a problem too. I refused milk and would only drink blood.
Since my birth, I hadn't eaten a single thing and kept wailing with hunger.
Grandpa and Father were so worried they lost their appetites, while Mother wept silently by herself.
Then, when Father went out to the outhouse in the middle of the night, he suddenly heard rustling in the courtyard. Looking toward the sound, he saw several white-furred foxes in the yard, with a few Yellow Weasels following behind them.
Their eyes gleamed in the darkness, and they moved furtively.
One particularly large white fox even crouched on the windowsill and peered into the room.
At first, Father was frightened by the sight, but then his fear turned to anger. Having a freak born into the family was bad enough, and now these beasts were here to cause trouble too. He picked up a brick from the ground and hurled it at them.
The brick struck the white fox crouching on the windowsill. It let out a scream of pain that sounded chilling in the silent night, then turned to glare viciously at Father, baring its sharp fangs. Father was so frightened that he froze on the spot.
Just then, the door suddenly opened, and Grandpa charged out with a large broadsword. Though nearly seventy, he was still strong and fit. He had served as a soldier in his youth and fought the Japanese, and had once been a squad leader in the Big Sword Corps. His fierce glare radiated murderous intent, and the blade in his hand gleamed.
The moment the beasts saw Grandpa, they fled the courtyard with their tails between their legs.
"What happened?" Grandpa asked Father.
"I saw those beasts prowling around the yard. One white fox was even crouching on the windowsill, looking inside," Father said, still shaken.
"When it rains, it pours. All my life, I've done good deeds and defended my country. I've never done anything wicked. Why did something like this have to happen to me in my old age?" Grandpa sighed helplessly.
Then he turned his head and suddenly noticed a dark lump by the doorway. It seemed to be moving.
He crouched down for a look and was immediately puzzled. "Where did these come from?"
Father leaned over to look too and froze for a moment. There, beside our doorway, lay several plump wild rabbits, barely clinging to life.
When they picked up one of the rabbits to examine it, they found several bloody punctures in its neck, as though some wild animal had bitten it.
"Dad, could those foxes and Yellow Weasels have brought these rabbits?" Father asked in disbelief.
Grandpa nodded, his face grave. "Most likely. During the day, hundreds of Yellow Weasels and foxes knelt and bowed toward our house. I don't know what connection our child has with those beasts, but since they've brought these, we'll keep them. Drain the blood for the child, and we'll eat the meat."
The rabbit blood finally filled my belly, and I fell into a deep sleep. The family got a meal of meat out of it too.
What my family hadn't expected was that the foxes and Yellow Weasels wouldn't stop after that one delivery. From then on, they came around almost every night, always leaving something behind. Sometimes it was wild pheasants or rabbits, sometimes a couple of fish. They even brought food twice a day on occasion.
That worked out wonderfully. Our family ate meat every day, giving us a far better standard of living than most households in those days. Ordinary families only ate meat on holidays, but we had it daily. Sometimes there was even more than we could eat, so Father took the excess to the market to sell, leaving many villagers drooling with envy.
Whenever Father saw the Yellow Weasels and foxes in the courtyard again, he no longer tried to chase them away. He simply pretended not to notice them. Sometimes he couldn't avoid meeting them face-to-face, but the beasts weren't afraid of him either. Carrying game in their mouths, they breezed past him, set it down, and left without a backward glance, utterly nonchalant.
Just like that, three years passed in the blink of an eye. The foxes and weasels brought wild game every day. My family ate the meat, and I drank the blood.
With such good living, both my parents put on weight.
Gradually, I grew older. Apart from my habit of drinking blood, I was no different from any normal child.
My family tried feeding me other foods, but I threw them up every time. I simply couldn't swallow them.
When I was first born, my body was covered in white fur and my face looked much like a fox's. But as I grew day by day, the white fur fell away, and my face gradually became normal. My features grew more and more delicate, too.
Yet when I turned three, Grandpa and Father began to worry again. They still remembered what Wu Banxian had said: I was born destined to face calamities, one every three years. Now that I was three, they had no idea what disaster awaited me.
On my third birthday, the calamity came true. Someone in the village died, and all the villagers said I had killed them.
Before you continue