Volume One: Night of the Demon Fox

Prologue One

Centurion Evelyn Smith awoke from unconsciousness to a bright scene before his eyes. It felt as if a small bird was fluttering its wings in his chest, restlessly yearning to soar into the sky. His body was weak, but his mind was extremely excited, eager to tell others about the miracles he had just witnessed.

But what concerned him most was still that one thing. He took a deep breath, gently grasped the little bird in his chest, turned his gaze to the old servant at home, and, suppressing his excitement, asked in a trembling voice, “How is it?”

The old servant Ethan Sullivan did not answer, shaking his head, wanting to speak but remaining silent. His expression had already given a definite answer.

The little bird in his chest took a heavy blow, losing all its momentum to soar, but Evelyn Smith refused to accept it. He also shook his head, and with even more certainty said, “Impossible.”

Ethan Sullivan’s mouth hung half open, unable to say a word. He had originally felt sorrow and sympathy, but now it had all turned to surprise, with a hint of fear.

“Impossible.” Evelyn Smith repeated, enunciating each word. The little bird in his chest became lively again. “I saw it, clear as day, not a bit of falsehood. I saw it, exactly as Priest Cooper described.”

Ethan Sullivan’s mouth opened wider, letting out a meaningless “ah.” The more fervently his master spoke, the stranger his expression became.

Evelyn Smith realized he was talking to a brick wall, so he struggled to stand up from the mat. His legs were unsteady and his body swayed, but even so, he pushed away the supporting Ethan Sullivan and strode out of the room, the words “impossible” echoing in his mind—this time, for himself.

In the small courtyard, most of the crowd had already dispersed. Only a few Daoists remained, packing up their tools. At the gate, however, a group of people still gathered, and the old Daoist Henry Cooper was speaking to the neighbors.

“So, you see, the most important thing is sincerity.” Henry Cooper stood with his hands behind his back, the horsetail whisk in his right hand hanging to the side like a tail, trembling slightly. His tone was unhurried, tinged with regret and reproach—though not directed at himself. “What are we? We’re like intermediaries, go-betweens, introducing the immortals in the heavens to the mortals on earth. It’s like if any of you wanted to meet a local lord, you’d need someone to introduce you. But whether you actually get to meet the lord, and whether your business gets done after meeting him, depends on your own luck and sincerity. Some people are unlucky, some are unwilling to spend money—can’t blame the go-between, right? Back to seeking the gods, the reason things fail is always because mortals lack sincerity. We’ve done our duty, already invited the immortals right to your doorstep…”

The listeners nodded in agreement, though a few glanced away. Henry Cooper turned and saw the dazed Evelyn Smith, said nothing, turned back, shook his head at the crowd, sighed softly, and suddenly strode away, as if something unclean was chasing him from behind.

The neighbors hurriedly made way, then clustered together again, all eyes turning to the master of the Zhao household.

“Immortal Master.” Evelyn Smith’s voice was hoarse as he hurried after, raising his voice at the gate: “Mr. Cooper!”

Henry Cooper was already gone. A young Daoist blocked the way, holding a bronze chime in his arms, his face half-smiling as he advised, “Let it go, Big Smith. Master had urgent business and left first. Don’t chase him. That’s just how things are—fortune and misfortune are decreed by heaven…”

Evelyn Smith couldn’t listen. He grabbed the young Daoist’s arm. “Impossible. I did everything exactly as Mr. Cooper said, not a single mistake. And… and I saw it, really, exactly like the picture you gave me…”

The young Daoist grimaced in pain, and Evelyn Smith immediately let go, patting himself down, trying to find the picture full of immortals to prove he was telling the truth.

Evelyn Smith had an only son, just over five years old, who had suddenly fallen into a coma a few days ago, barely breathing.

Monks, Daoists, and fortune-tellers had all been invited, but the boy’s condition did not improve. Over thirty years old, Evelyn Smith had only this one son, treasured him more than his own life, and was willing to spend everything to save him. He called on many friends and relatives, spent several hundred taels of silver, and finally managed to invite the renowned Henry Cooper—Immortal Master Cooper—from Lingji Temple.

Henry Cooper and his disciples set up their altar and performed rituals, while requiring Evelyn Smith and his wife to sit in silent meditation in separate rooms, praying for divine assistance. Especially as the head of the household, if Evelyn Smith could see the image of an immortal during meditation, it would be a great omen.

At that time, Evelyn Smith knelt on the ground, devoutly accepting a piece of paper depicting two immortals and many attendants. He sat in the room for a whole day and night, without eating, drinking, or moving, until he fainted. But in the midst of the blur, he believed he had seen a deity.

But the result was not “great fortune.”