Chapter Seventeen: The Zhang Family Affair

“Beer, soft drinks, mineral water, peanuts, sunflower seeds, eight-treasure porridge. Also instant noodles and sausages. Come on, passengers in front, please tuck your legs in.” At noon, the attendant pushed the food cart along the aisle, calling out as she went.

“Bro, what do you want to eat? It’s on me,” the chubby fellow said ingratiatingly.

“Moli, do you want something to eat?” Liu Jun ignored the chubby man and stood up to tap the railing of the upper bunk.

“I’m not hungry. You eat,” Moli replied without getting up, still deep in thought.

Seeing Moli had no intention of eating, Liu Jun directly asked the attendant for a pack of instant noodles. They were quite expensive—six yuan.

“Attendant, I’ll have a pack of instant noodles and two sausages,” the chubby man ordered extravagantly. Liu Jun thought to himself that he didn’t even want to add sausages—they cost three yuan each.

“Bro, I’ll get water for you. It’s not easy for you to walk, and there are so many people now. Don’t let them bump into you again,” the chubby man said, looking at Liu Jun. At first, Liu Jun disliked him because he tried to flirt with Moli, but now he didn’t seem so bad.

“Wait a bit. There are too many people now,” Liu Jun hesitated. The aisle was narrow and crowded, and with the chubby man’s size, it would be hard for him to get through.

“Don’t worry, bro, I’ve got a plan,” the chubby man said confidently. He opened the lids of both noodle packs, propped them up in front, and carefully carried them forward.

“Make way, make way! Hot water here, don’t get burned!” he shouted as he walked. People quickly stepped aside when they saw his approach. The chubby man reached the hot water station and poured boiling water into the noodles. Liu Jun was wondering how he would get back.

“Make way, make way! This time there’s really hot water, don’t get burned!” he called out cautiously, carrying the two noodle packs back. People again parted to let him pass. The fellow was clever.

“Here, bro, have a sausage,” he said, handing Liu Jun a sausage along with the noodles. Liu Jun didn’t refuse and thanked him before starting to eat. Three yuan a sausage—might as well take it.

“Bro, where are you getting off?” the chubby man asked while eating.

“Jinzhou,” Liu Jun replied casually. Saying where they got off didn’t mean much; he didn’t really believe the chubby man would follow them off the train.

But as it turned out, it’s unwise to make assumptions—reality slapped him in the face quickly.

“Fatty, why are you following us?” Liu Jun asked, standing at the station exit with a puzzled look.

“Hehe, bro, sis, I want to learn Dao techniques from you,” the chubby man was still persistent.

“No way we’ll teach you anything. We don’t know,” Moli said.

“Then I’ll just follow you,” he insisted.

“Fine, if you can keep up, then follow,” Liu Jun snapped. He didn’t believe that when a wealthy merchant came to pick them up, this guy could keep up.

Following Moli to the roadside, Moli took out his phone and made a call. Soon, a stretch Hummer pulled up, and a well-to-do middle-aged man got out. Judging by his attire and accessories, he must be worth millions. Clearly a wealthy man.

“Are you Master Moli? I’ve heard of you from Master Qingfeng. With you here, my son might have a chance. And this young master is?” The man first complimented Moli, then looked at Liu Jun with curiosity. Qingfeng was the Taoist name of an old fellow everyone called Master Li, a well-known Daoist. The old man’s surname was Li, but outsiders usually only knew his Daoist title.

“He’s Master Qingfeng’s disciple. Please take us to your place first, and you can explain the situation in the car,” Moli said.

With that, Moli got into the car. Liu Jun was about to follow when the chubby man grabbed his clothes. Liu Jun tried to pull away but couldn’t; the guy was surprisingly strong.

“Bro, take me with you. For the sausage I bought you, let me come. I promise I won’t cause trouble,” the chubby man pleaded, gripping Liu Jun’s shirt tighter.

Liu Jun glanced at Moli, who nodded slightly.

“Let him go for now. Just so you know, you’re coming of your own free will. Don’t blame us if anything happens.”

“Okay, thanks bro, thanks sis. I can take care of myself and won’t slow you down,” the chubby man said, raising his hands and getting into the car.

No kidding, rich people sure know how to live. Inside the car were three long leather sofas—one at the back and two on the sides—with a built-in bar in front, stocked with red wine and glasses. The car was spacious, almost as big as Liu Jun’s living room.

The car started moving smoothly. The wealthy man brought over some wine glasses and a bottle of red wine, asking if they wanted some. Only the chubby man accepted a glass; Liu Jun and Moli declined. The rich man began explaining the strange events happening at his home. His surname was Zhang, a very common name, and his given name was Dafu. He had a son named Zhang Ming. The matter concerned Zhang Ming.

Zhang Dafu owned a large mountain villa—or rather, an estate. The entire mountain was his family’s. Zhang Dafu was often busy and rarely at home. His wife had passed away early, so only some servants stayed with Zhang Ming. Zhang Ming rarely socialized and developed a reclusive personality.

Because Zhang Ming had no playmates, he often roamed the back mountain alone, with servants trailing at a distance—not because they didn’t want to watch over him, but because Zhang Ming didn’t like it.

One day, Zhang Ming was studying plants when he suddenly heard a series of sounds—“ah oh oh, wa oh oh”—ahead.

Following the sound, he pushed aside some grass and saw a white fox staring at him with teary eyes, full of wariness. (Hold that thought and don’t get distracted.) The fox’s hind leg was trapped in a wire snare, likely left by hunters. The wire had deeply cut into the fox’s flesh; its snowy fur was stained with blood dripping onto the ground.

Zhang Ming crouched down and reached to untie the snare. Perhaps from pain or mistrust, the fox bit his arm sharply, drawing blood.

Zhang Ming winced but didn’t stop. He continued to free the fox. After a while, the snare came off. Zhang Ming picked up the white fox and headed to his home.

Feeling the snare was gone, the fox relaxed its bite and allowed itself to be carried without struggling.

The servants panicked when they saw Zhang Ming’s bleeding arm and hurried to fetch a doctor. When the doctor arrived with his kit, Zhang Ming was carefully bandaging the fox’s injured leg.

The doctor ignored the fox and quickly tended to Zhang Ming’s wound.

“Doctor, what do foxes eat?” Zhang Ming asked.

“Probably fish and raw meat,” the doctor answered uncertainly. He was not a veterinarian after all.

Thus, Zhang Ming started caring for the white fox. Under his care, the injury gradually healed. They would run and play together on the back mountain, and Zhang Ming’s personality became more cheerful thanks to the fox’s companionship.

Later, Zhang Dafu hosted a master from the Buddhist order. As Zhang Ming carried the white fox downstairs, the master glanced at the animal and suddenly changed expression. He stood abruptly, then sat down again, looking serious as he told Zhang Dafu:

“The white fox your young master is carrying has already awakened its spirit. It’s best not to keep it. If it transforms into a human shape, it could bring ruin and disaster to your family. It’s safer to part ways now.”

Zhang Dafu trusted the master’s words. After the master left, he immediately called Zhang Ming back and sternly forbade him from interacting with the fox. Zhang Ming refused to listen. Zhang Dafu then ordered the servants to drive the fox away and locked Zhang Ming in his room, forbidding him from going out.