Upon returning to Cheongju, Gerel worked with Emperor Tokhung to draft a letter requesting a diplomatic meeting with the Ryukoku emperor. The letter hinted at the essence of their proposal but kept the details vague.

The messenger returned with a positive response — Emperor Yukinari agreed to receive their delegation. However, that alone meant very little.

Gerel began preparing for the journey to Ryukoku. He intended to go in person; he knew it was dangerous, but he needed to see the land they were either going to war with — or making peace with — through his own eyes. Not that he held much hope the meeting would end in success.

Princess Iljeon, the emperor's eldest daughter, did not object to the idea of marriage. However, before giving her final consent, she wanted to learn more about Ryukoku. Apparently, rumors about the harsh treatment of women in that land had reached her ears as well.

A few days before the planned departure, a servant approached Gerel. Bowing deeply, he announced:

"Sir, a man wishes to speak with you. A soldier from the border fortress of Namdo."

"What does he want?"

"He swears on his life that he and his comrades encountered a hu jing — a fox spirit."

"Did the Great Tiger descend from the heavens to greet them as well?" Gerel replied indifferently. He had heard so many stories like this over the years that he'd lost count.

"Forgive me, sir, but he didn't seem like a liar or a fool. He looked as though he carried something important. And he traveled a great distance."

"Why wouldn't he, if he hopes for a reward?" Gerel muttered. Emperor Tokhung's peculiar fascination with the supernatural was infamous. Yet, despite himself, Gerel's curiosity was piqued.

The soldier was waiting for him by the gates. He didn't look insane, but Gerel wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't lying.

The man stared at him with a mix of fear and curiosity, his mouth hanging slightly open. Gerel, long accustomed to such reactions to his appearance, waited patiently for the soldier to remember his manners. At last, the man did — falling to his knees and pressing his forehead to the ground.

"Well? Tell me what you saw," Gerel said.

"We were patrolling the southern border. Near Wolf's Ridge, we found a wounded fox. It crawled right up to us, like it was begging for help — I swear, sir, I'm not lying. There was so much blood, it left a trail behind it. One of our boys took pity on it... he's young, softhearted. As for me, well... shame to admit it, but I wanted to finish it off and use its fur for a collar. But in the end, we brought it to Namdo. Figured it would recover; we even left a bowl of water for it. Then we came back to check on it, and the fox was gone. In its place... there was a girl. About twelve years old. And she had wounds in the same spots the fox did. Her face..."

The soldier dared to look up again, meeting Gerel's gaze.

"I... I didn't think you'd look like this," he stammered. "They say you're... well, you know... one of them. The Strangers. I thought you'd be like her. But she's different. At first glance, she looks ordinary — like me. You know, black hair, normal skin..." He gestured along his face with his hand. "She looks human. But at the same time... she doesn't."

The soldier hung his head, defeated by his inability to articulate the difference.

Something stirred in Gerel's chest, like the echo of a half-forgotten memory he had spent years trying to bury.

"And what does she look like?" Gerel asked impatiently.

"I don't know how to explain... Sometimes, she's so beautiful it's like she belongs in the emperor's harem. But then, a moment later, looking at her makes your skin crawl — and not because she's covered in blood and sweat or anything like that. She's just... different, you see? Her eyes are huge — like this!" He gestured wildly. "And her ears... they're kind of pointed. And she doesn't have a navel. Her stomach is smooth as a board. I swear, she's no human! I'm not lying, I swear on the Great Tiger—"

Gerel didn't need to see the pale face and trembling knees of the soldier to know what he was thinking: What nonsense am I spouting? Why did I even come here? Best case, they'll send me back in shame. Worst case, I won't live to see home again...

"Why would you think this interests me?" Gerel wanted to say, but the words that left his mouth were entirely different:

"What happened to her?"

"What happened? Well, she's still in Namdo. We called for a doctor, but he said she probably wouldn't survive... didn't want to bother with her. When I left, she was still alive, mumbling something under her breath..."

"I'll go to Namdo with you. You'll show me."

The soldier looked at him warily, as if unsure whether Gerel was serious.

When they arrived in Namdo, the hu jing was already dead.

Gerel lifted the edge of the cloth covering the girl's body and confirmed that the soldier had told no lies. The hu jing had black hair and a flat face, bearing no trace of mixed blood. Yet her features — fine and delicate, as though drawn by an artist, with a smooth, high brow, elongated eyes slanting almost to her temples, and faintly pointed ears — left no doubt: she was one of those they called the Strangers.

As for the hu jing — a fox spirit? That was a story, of course. But in death, the girl's face had sharpened, taking on a distinctly inhuman quality. No one now would call her beautiful.

He pushed the cloth further aside, the scent of blood and something sour wafting up — dirty rags, perhaps. Sure enough, the girl had no navel, but that didn't surprise him. Yaoguai were never born of living humans. Every farmer knew that.

Gerel was more interested in her wounds. They resembled arrow injuries, only larger, as though — just as the soldier had said — the small, battered body of a fox had abruptly transformed into this human form. He shook his head. Gerel didn't deny the existence of the Strangers — he'd seen them with his own eyes — but fox spirits? That he did not believe.

Among the odors of blood and death, there was another scent — familiar. Gerel inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. The smell was sweet and painful all at once.

Dark, bitter, and spicy. That was how yaoguai always smelled to him.

Since birth, he'd been accustomed to the faint trace of this aroma that clung to his mother like a veil. The Strangers, the yaoguai, were beings that defied the natural order of the world, bending reality itself. Their presence was felt differently by everyone. To their master, Gerel's mother always seemed to be surrounded by an unearthly glow.

The girl's body was pitifully thin, making it clear she had rarely seen a proper meal. Her short, unevenly cut hair suggested someone had hacked at it with a knife — out of malice or haste. Beyond the open wounds, there were other marks on her body: old scars, ugly despite having healed, and the fresh traces of a beating. Several of her fingernails had been torn out.

Beside her body sat another soldier — probably the one who had insisted on bringing the fox to the fortress. He looked exactly as Gerel imagined a man who had pitied a wounded fox would look: young, no more than fifteen. He stared blankly into the distance, tears running down his face. He made no effort to hide them and didn't even seem to notice them. He paid little attention to Gerel as well.

A second soldier laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, as if to console him, then looked at Gerel.

"We were too late..." he murmured helplessly.

The boy stirred then, seemingly just noticing the stranger's presence. He sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and spoke in a thin, breaking voice, as if justifying himself:

"I'm not crying because it's the first time I've seen someone die. I've seen a lot... But this was different. I don't know how to explain it, and you wouldn't understand anyway. She wasn't anything to me — nobody, really — but when she died, it felt like... like something emptied out of the world. Now it's empty and bitter."

Gerel remembered that feeling. When his mother had died, the first thing he'd felt wasn't anger or pain or loneliness — it was something stranger. As if a lamp had been extinguished, and outside the window, the evening was rainy and cold. As if something important had been taken from the world, though he couldn't quite say what.

"Did she say anything?" Gerel asked.

"Yes. But it was in the language of the southerners. I don't understand it well, and she wasn't making much sense... I think she'd been held captive somewhere and managed to escape. She was asking for help."

"Anything else? Do you remember anything else she said?"

"Something about family. She said she had three brothers."

Gerel stiffened.

"What?"

"She said 'three brothers'," the boy repeated, clearer this time.

A shadow of the past — a wing of impending misfortune.

"That's not family," Gerel said, though he didn't know why. As if this boy could understand. "It's a name. Three mountains."

"That's it!" the young soldier exclaimed. "She said mountains, but I didn't get what she meant... Do you think there might be others like her there? Have you ever seen anyone like her before?"

He fell silent, suddenly realizing whom he was speaking to, and his own boldness frightened him. But curiosity won out, and he asked, more cautiously this time:

"And if you're not like her, my lord, then... what are you?"

He hasn't served in the south long enough to have seen white blood, has he? Then again, perhaps no one has ever seen someone like me, Gerel thought.

"I'm just a man. And as for her — forget her," he said.

That night, Gerel dreamed a strange dream.

There were cliffs and a sea, though both felt blurred — perhaps because he'd never seen the sea in reality. What stayed with him was the feeling of an unseen gaze, following him, unshakable. And a vast, incomprehensible terror that kept him from turning to face his pursuer.

And there was a scent in the dream — not the spicy aroma of yaoguai, but the stench of blood and dirty rags.

Gerel had had dreams like this before. Long ago. The dead fox-girl had stirred memories he thought buried deep within him.

"Look at him," whispered a mocking chorus of unfamiliar voices in the southern nomads' tongue. "He's lost... Lost... No! He's afraid. Doesn't want to be like them. Thinks he does, but he lies to himself. Proud little fool. And he's afraid to become one of us. Afraid, afraid, afraid! Arrogant, stupid boy, and a coward too... Ha-ha-ha-ha!"