Chapter 1: What?! My Mother Is a White Fox?
Amidst the ebb and flow of travelers within Jin Ling Prefecture’s high-speed rail station, Chen Yan sat in the waiting hall, his backpack cradled in his arms. His gaze, vacant and unfocused, lingered upon a flashing advertisement screen above. Around him, people hurried past, their own journeys consuming their attention, paying no heed to the lone young man lost in thought.
Earlier this very morning, he had severed his ties with his employer—no, to be precise, he hadn’t even endured long enough to complete his apprenticeship before walking away.
This year’s recruitment season had been particularly ruthless. Although the position he took required the labor of an ox and paid him less than a chicken’s feed, a freshly graduated Chen Yan had little choice but to accept his fate. Three months—three agonizing months—of servitude under the guise of an internship, where he earned only half his due wage. Day after day, he fetched packages, carried bags, and even played errand boy for his department head. When errors arose, as they inevitably did, the title of ‘scapegoat apprentice’ fell upon his shoulders.
And yet, the greatest outrage had not been the drudgery, nor the sleepless nights, but rather the woman who sat at the helm of his suffering—a leader who, quite literally, was not even human.
But then again, in today’s battleground that is the modern workplace, how many leaders still possessed their humanity?
It had all come to a head this morning. He had just returned from purchasing coffee for his superior, a middle-aged woman named Amanda, who, in her eternal thrift, refused to pay for delivery. Just as he was about to enter the office, his phone rang—an unfamiliar number from his hometown. The voice on the other end carried grim tidings: his grandmother, the venerable Old Madam, had fallen ill. If he could, they asked, would he return home to see her?
Chen Yan wasted no time in requesting leave. But Amanda, sipping the very coffee he had fetched, scoffed, “Oh? How convenient. Falling ill right when the month is busiest. Why not earlier? Why not later?”
The patience that had endured three months of silent suffering, of forced smiles, of bowed heads and clenched fists—shattered.
Without hesitation, Chen Yan snatched the cup of ice-cold Americano from her grasp and poured its contents right over her smug, powdered face.
Then, without a word, he turned on his heels and strode back to his desk.
The woman shrieked and chased after him, spewing curses before an audience of more than a dozen colleagues. Eyes wide, ears perked, the office transformed into a theater of scandal.
Chen Yan turned, his expression calm, a soft, almost bashful smile on his face. With impeccable composure, he declared, “Amanda, I truly have no interest in women ten years my senior. Even if you had promised me a promotion, I simply couldn’t accept. My sincerest apologies.”
A collective gasp swept through the room. Every colleague became a spectator to an unfolding legend. Their eyes darted between the boyish features of the fresh-faced intern and the seasoned elegance of Amanda, a woman of thirty-eight years.
Rumors ignited like wildfire.
“Isn’t Amanda’s husband a vice president at the branch office?”
“Damn! She’s got guts!”
Several of the company’s most notorious gossips were already crafting their stories, selecting the perfect recipients for their revelations.
Amanda, red-faced and trembling, barely managed to splutter, “Y-you—slander! Lies!”
But Chen Yan merely bowed slightly, then grabbed his bag and ran—out of the office, into a waiting ride-hailing car, and straight to the high-speed rail station.
This wasn’t some dramatic revolt of the younger generation, no grand declaration of justice against the tyranny of the workplace. No, he was simply a young man who had endured his limit and chose to walk away.
Now, as he sat waiting for his train, the weight of his former job had already faded into irrelevance. Amanda? He barely spared her a thought.
His focus was now solely on one thing: returning home.
His Old Madam, his grandmother, had raised him since he was two. To be more precise—she had found him and taken him in.
How exactly had she come upon him? Well, that was a tale rewritten many times over the years.
At six years old, she told him she found him abandoned in a hospital waste bin.
At eight, the story shifted—she had discovered him beneath a great tree behind an ancient temple in the mountains.
At eleven, the tale grew dramatic—on a snowy night, a desperate young mother, clad in rags, had come to her doorstep, placed a newborn Chen Yan in her arms, left behind two hundred yuan, and vanished into the night.
At fifteen, a darker version surfaced—he had been snatched from the clutches of human traffickers.
But it was the story at eighteen that truly defied logic:
Once more, on a snowy night, a young woman, desperate and beautiful, came seeking refuge. She left behind her child, turned on her heels… and then, before his grandmother’s very eyes, transformed into a snow-white fox and vanished into the mountains.
Was this not absurd?!
Eighteen-year-old Chen Yan had nearly doubled over in laughter. A fox? Really?
Why not say she turned into an Ultraman while you were at it?!
Such was the woman who raised him—a woman of grand stories and even grander mystique. And naturally, she possessed a profession as extraordinary as her personality.
She was the most renowned Oracle Shaman in all the land.
Yes. Exactly as it sounded.
A master of Feng Shui, a seer of yin dwellings, a weaver of talismans, a wielder of peachwood swords—she performed exorcisms, severed misfortune, and even wept at funerals when required.
Should one require a professional mourner, she could collapse before a mourning hall, let loose a wail so gut-wrenching, and move a house full of grieving kin to tears.
Eighty silver per performance.
Not a bad rate for the art of lamentation.
In the words of Old Madam, it was called skill… No, that wasn’t quite right.
It was called—one can never have too much silver!
…
Chen Yan had no idea how Old Madam managed to weave her spells of persuasion, but ever since he could remember, the villagers’ assessment of her had remained unchanged:
“This old lady… she’s a character!”
…
A few months ago, when Chen Yan graduated from university, he found himself adrift, unable to secure a job. That was when Old Madam called, summoning him home.
Her intent was clear—she wanted him to inherit her legacy.
Since the bustling city refused to acknowledge his worth, why not return to the countryside and embark on a future filled with limitless possibilities… as a Spirit Shaman!
Truth be told, at the time, Chen Yan had seriously considered it.
No joke.
Finding a job nowadays was harder than seeking enlightenment. During the autumn recruitment season, even a position offering a mere four thousand yuan a month was being fought over by graduates from top-tier universities.
Chen Yan, being self-aware, knew his worth.
Aside from possessing a face he believed rivaled that of a young Gu Tian Le or peak Wu Yan Zu (purely his own opinion), he was just a graduate from an unremarkable university—hardly competitive in the job market.
His personality was rather carefree, one who accepted life as it came. Nothing ever truly weighed on his heart. At most, he had a slightly twisted sense of humor.
For example, when watching TV dramas, if a character died, he’d always rewind to check if the actor playing the corpse accidentally blinked or breathed.
When dealing with others, he abided by the principle of kindness—unless someone stepped on his bottom line, forcing his hand.
And Old Madam was precisely that bottom line—untouchable.
In his twenty-two years of life, Chen Yan had only ever fought once. It was years ago, when he was just a child, playing with the village brats near the entrance.
Someone, running their mouth, sneered that Old Madam, when performing her exorcisms, donned wild robes and unkempt hair, looking like an “old demon woman.”
Chen Yan had seen red.
Normally cheerful and easygoing, he had swung his fists, leaving two boys—each half a head taller than him—crying for their mothers. One had even been kicked straight into the river.
So, when Old Madam expressed her desire for him to return and take up the mantle of a Spirit Shaman, Chen Yan wasn’t against it.
However… there was a catch.
Word had it that if he returned, the village matchmaker would promptly knock on his door to arrange marriage meetings!
In the countryside, marriages happened young. At twenty-two, many men his age were already fathers. Being pushed into marriage was entirely expected.
Chen Yan had already experienced two such meetings during the previous summer.
The most attractive of the two was a young woman who had arrived with her father.
Her father was a formidable man—tanned skin, broad shoulders, a chest like a war drum, with arms thick enough for a horse to gallop across!
Then, Chen Yan looked at the daughter…
Ho—! (In the dramatic tone of Boss Guo)
She was a spitting image of her father.
…
Yet, despite her… imposing resemblance, she was only a junior college graduate, working as an unregistered teacher at a county elementary school. And somehow, she saw herself as a celestial being among mortals!
Her demands?
A dowry of 188,000 yuan, full surrender of his salary to her, and a house in the city with her name on the deed.
Chen Yan had almost bowed out on the spot.
The matchmaker, however, had continued her persuasion:
“Oh, being a teacher is wonderful! Two long breaks a year! And when you have children, she can educate them herself!”
Children?
No, thank you!
Looking at her, Chen Yan felt not the slightest inclination to engage in the process of creating children.
Even a stray dog wouldn’t agree to this marriage!
In the end, it was Old Madam who had dragged Chen Yan away and, right then and there, pointed at the matchmaker’s nose and scolded her into submission!
…
Two and a half hours by high-speed rail.
Another hour on a long-distance bus.
And finally, a three-mile walk.
When Chen Yan reached the familiar village entrance…
Stepping onto the worn stone path, past the rustic village houses, dodging the unbothered chickens and mongrels weaving through the streets, he felt a peculiar anxiety creeping up his spine.
Sigh… That mysterious, mischievous, trickster of an old woman…
What had become of her?
Surely, she could no longer sit cross-legged, telling him the old tales of Zhong Kui, the demon catcher.
Surely, she could no longer chant spirit-summoning incantations with her robust voice, dancing through the night like an ageless priestess.
What awaited him?
A frail old woman, lying on her bed, face pale, withering with age?
As he stepped into the courtyard of his ancestral home, Chen Yan slowed his pace.
His eyes felt hot.
Suddenly, all the warmth of Old Madam surged through his mind.
The stir-fried green soybeans with pork she used to make for him.
The summers when she’d fan away the mosquitoes while he slept.
The way she’d smile as he took the sweetest, ripest bite of watermelon.
His hand pressed against the wooden door of his family home. His ears were buzzing—probably an illusion.
Taking a deep breath, just as his eyes brimmed with tears, he gently pushed open the door.
And then…
He froze.
…
Inside the hall, an old New Year’s painting still clung to the wall—one he had bought last year and never taken down. It depicted a plump dragon boy and girl holding gold ingots, flanking a benevolent yet solemn portrait of the dynasty’s founding emperor.
A tattered straw hat sat by the door, a half-filled sack of corn beside it.
And at the center…
A square mahjong table, draped in red cloth.
Four elders locked in fierce battle!
At the head of the table, Old Madam, full of vigor, silver hair coiled in a high bun, feet clad in thousand-layer cloth shoes, a long-stemmed pipe in one hand and a mahjong tile in the other. Her eyes narrowed as if channeling the very essence of the heavens and the earth.
Then, with a flick of her wrist, she threw the tile onto the table’s center.
“Eight Bams!”
Then, with a victorious shove of her tiles—
“Self-drawn win! I win, I win! Pay up, you lot! Finally caught a big hand!”
Her grin stretched from ear to ear.
Thud.
Chen Yan’s backpack hit the floor.
Serious illness?
His first thought—I’ve been played?!
“Old Madam, restrain your divine powers already!”
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation