Our ancestor, a woman named Fēn, was working in the fields one day. It was autumntime and the grain was approaching the point of harvest. As she toiled, she heard a soft whine among the stalks.

Searching she found a young fox, seeming just shy of a year old, with their hind legs tangled in twine. The young one had been tugging at it, trying to gnaw it off and had badly cut herself.

Fēn knelt beside them and the fox hissed and cowered. But she waited quietly. Slowly she began to hum a melody to calm the animal.

As time passed, the fox calmed, then accepted her presence. During that time, she was able to see that the fox was female, a young vixen. Hours passed before she spoke in soft tones. “Little One, I wish to help you.” She placed her hand on the ground near the vixen’s nose. The creature sniffed her and flinched. “You are hurt, tangled, and tired.” She gently started to unwind the twine, peeling it away from paws, skin, and fur.

She then reached for her suitou. Pouring water from it into her cupped hand, she offered it to the vixen.

The animal sniffed her hand and then the water. Slowly it lapped at the water. In time she tried to stand, only to whimper in pain.

Dusk had started to gather and Fēn gently gathered her into her arms. The fox squirmed slightly, but our ancestor gently shushed her. “It’s alright Little One. Night is coming and being out in the fields will do neither of us any good.” Humming softly, she stood and walked the long route back to her home.

When she arrived, she set about making a bed for the fox. An old basket, some fresh straw, old cloths and blankets. When she was done, she nestled the fox into it.

The fox blinked and sniffed. Her ears twitched and then she curled into herself, slowly falling asleep.

Fēn then turned to her own needs, eventually falling asleep next to the basket.

Over the next few days, she nursed the vixen back to health.

The young vixen explored the small hut once her legs had mended. Fēn was a little concerned that she stayed there.

One night while sitting on her sleeping mat she looked at the fox. “Why have you stayed, Little One? Surely you have a den of your own. Your place is in the wild rather than a human’s home.”

This repeated a few times over the next few weeks. Then one night, as she again asked that question and gently stroked the top of the fox’s head, a voice answered from the archway that led out of her hut. “She knew someone would come. She knew she just needed someplace safe.”

Fēn looked up to find a well-dressed woman standing in the archway. Well aware of her own peasant clothing, she bowed low without standing. “Good Lady, your pardon. I was not expecting someone of status to visit.”

“Please, there is no need.”

Fēn sat up and looked at the woman. “How would you know what Little One might be thinking?”

The woman sat down across from her. “Because I know what her mother taught her.” She smiled kindly. “And she seems to have taken to you. There are few she lets pet her.”

Fēn replied in respectful tones. “She was in pain and panic when I found her. Her hind legs had been caught in twine.” Her voice softened. “She needed help, and I couldn’t leave her there. She’s been a good guest, yet I worry.”

She paused, tilting her head. She looked at the stranger sitting in front of her. “Strange. I talk to you like you’re an old friend, but you only just entered my life. Who are you?”

“Someone who appreciates kindness, thoughtfulness, and honour in action and deed over word.” She smiled as the fox stood and walked over to her and curled into her lap. “Someone that is grateful that a person of those qualities found and watched over her grandchild.”

Fēn blinked, her voice a whisper on the wind. “‘her grandchild’… huli jing?”

The stranger nodded. “Yes.”

Fēn went quiet, unsure if she was still awake. Then bowed her head knowing that dreaming or not the woman’s words rang true. “Thank you for your kind words.”

The woman smiled and nodded. “I do need to be going, taking this one with me.” She stood, the fox hopping to the ground and standing next to her.

Fēn also stood, her head still bowed. “If I may, for my own peace of mind, what name can I call you by?”

The woman tilted her head. “First, look at me, please.” Fēn did as she asked, catching the faint movement of two fox tails behind the woman. “Call me Jìnyuè. And you?”

“I’m Fēn. And I am grateful to have met you, Jìnyuè.”

Jìnyuè stopped at the archway. “I see something in you, Fēn, something that will follow your first-born daughters through time. Your heart. Your kindness. And someday, someday something more.” And with that, she and the vixen were gone.

Fēn received a reminder of her encounter days later as she returned home from the fields. Beside the entrance to her hut stood a white granite statue of a fox, a folded note tucked under it.

Curious, she freed the note and read it. “Fēn– Reflecting on you, I found myself thinking you deserved something. This guardian spirit will watch over you and your daughters down through the ages. He will be overlooked by most, but you and his charges will know him. –Jìnyuè”