Baijiu

She curled her tails around her body and sighed. The rain was heavy and clouded her brain. She tried all at once to be both warm and cool. While this was a summer’s storm, the cave in which she laid was chilly. She never was fond of the cold despite her heavy fur. She shifted now, nestling deeper into despondency. She closed her eyes and let the sound of the rain take her to dream.

When the storm stopped a few hours later, the heat began to creep in, creating a slow warm mist filling the cavern. She yawned and began to break from her slumber. Her smile was toothy as she stretched herself languidly. She was hungry. Hearing the cacophony of birds, she brightened. The forest had come alive in this time near dusk.

The sun shone down between the deep green and pink hues of Fujian’s tallest mountain, Huáng Gǎng Shān. Her stomach growled as she jumped from the stone onto the path. Her rich gray fur melded against the stones concealing her. Softly padding, she lept skyward and then down again in one smooth movement. Stunned, she grabbed the rabbits neck and broke it. The poor thing had made little more than a shutter beneath her paws. Now her teeth ripped and tore, careful to avoid the putrid sack.

She licked her lips and headed down to the stream. She saw her amber eyes glowing in the reflection and she felt, rather than saw herself as she must appear. In this form, she was an animal, wild and to most, only a myth.

With the blood cleansed from her face and paws, she turned back to the path leading down into the small village. She heard the men clearing the leaves down below. Tea.

Oh how they love their tea she thought wearily. She stood then on her haunches and shook herself gently. Like the softest petals falling, her fur turned into a silky gown and her flesh, as white as snow, emerged. Only her eyes remained the same.

In her human form, Mèng yáo was exceptionally beautiful. She was taller than average, willowy. Her dark gray hair fell heavy down to her waist. Her face bore no lines of age. She was timeless. She was bored.

Much to the dismay of the older ones, her presence in a village was more bad omen than good. They often told stories of the other jiǔwěihú with little fondness. While it’s true that most of her 7-tailed kin were the mischievous sort, they rarely interfered with humans. She didn’t let their distrust disturb her though. She just kept to herself and tried to enjoy this evening’s market.

“I love this.” Mèng yáo cooed as an old woman shifted a blue silk fabric across her arms. She felt its’ softness and smiled. This would make a wonderful dress indeed. “Old mother, do you have a dress made of this already?” The old woman’s grin was missing a few teeth but it was warm and wide nonetheless.

“I do Miss.” she hurried behind a beautifully embroidered screen and came out with the dress. Mèng yáo drew in her breath and let it out with an absolute pleasure. The dress was perfect. The old woman held it up to her and nodded.

“Yes, this will fit you nicely. Shall I wrap it?” Her eyes all but disappeared in the folds of her wrinkles and she began to gently wrap the dress in thin paper. It was expensive but worth every coin. The old woman shoved a small clay cup into her hand and pointed at a wooden stool.

They drank tea for a bit, Mèng yáo watching as people came and went. The villagers were curious but not alarmed by her. During market days, strangers often came and went. Each person assumed that she came from the other’s village. These days she could be counted as one of them. Her beauty never lent her any anonymity however. But she at least could move freely here and pretend to be a part of their world.

A sudden rush of loneliness overtook her. She looked gratefully at the old woman. She sat down the cup and picked up the parcel. She bowed slightly and left her as she had found her, smiling. She often wished that she had this kind of easy warmth to give the world. She knew she was too wild, too use to her solitude to live as they did. The other jiǔwěihú met each other occasionally but there was little to bond them.

She had once thought herself in love with Bolin, another 7-tail from far North. They had encountered each other in a spring and spent many nights together laughing and snuggling in a warm field near her home in this mountain. But alas, it grew nearer to winter, and Bolin had begun missing snow and the taste of goat on his tongue. He would miss her too, but only barely so. She, on the other hand, missed him many months. And this too made her glad. At least she learned she could not only enjoy the company of someone, but mourn their departure.

As the night grew colder she sat down on a heavy log and watched as the men set the bonfire ablaze. The warmth and light of the fire drew many close and several began to play music and dance. Her smile was wistful in the dark. The people were obviously enjoying it all. She was as well, but somehow differently. Perhaps it was only melancholy. She tried to just be in this moment but something drew her mood inward.

The light from the flames made her eyes glow and she could feel him watching her now. She looked to her left and saw a slender man sitting at the farthest edge of the log. He merely nodded and smiled shyly.

“Why aren’t you dancing with the others?” she asked him.

“eh, I don’t really know how”, he answered, “I’d hate to trip and fall into the fire.”

Mèng yáo laughed then, a real one. She could picture this man falling over and setting a blaze. Not the most ladylike image to be sure, but the absurdity of it made her laugh harder.

“Well, that certainly cheered you up.” he looked at her oddly then began to smile. He had nice even white teeth and a slight dimple on his left cheek. She suddenly stopped laughing and regarded him seriously. She guessed she was cheered up, her fit of melancholy somehow was lifted and in its’ place a warmth had spread.

“I guess I needed a laugh. Thank you,” she said. He grinned again and turned his gaze to the flames.

“Do you want to tell me your name oh cheered one?” he asked. He raised a cup of baijiu in salute and thew it back, setting his throat aflame.

“I’m Mèng yáo,” she smiled, “it’s nice to meet you.” And she meant it.

“I’m Tianyu, at your service beautiful lady.” He said this with a slightly inebriated grin.

She looked at him in much better spirits. He slid over closer, pouring her a measure of the clear liquid into a wooden cup. She took from his large hands and nodded thanks. He poured himself a bit more and with a lower clink, they both shot it back.

She laughed with fired breath. And he made an exaggerated exhale. She realized she was having fun. Real fun. They sat close together, a mere six or seven inches apart as they watched the other people dance around the warm flames.

There were people on other logs, wooden stools, sitting a bit back on small wagons, and even just blankets laid out. Everyone was drinking, eating fruits, and having a great time. She had relaxed, partly from the third shot, partly from this growing feel of kinship. Tonight she was just a woman, next to a man, having fun at a village bonfire.

With liquid courage, he drew her up into his arms. She found herself twirling about, her head swimming with the strong alcohol and the smell of him. His scent was fire and the sheep he must have been tending earlier in the day. She loved it. The music now grew slower, and the people, all a bit more drunk, began to meld their bodies together. And now, he took her tighter in his arms.

“You’re very beautiful, mysterious, etc...”, he had whispered in her ear. He said all the words a woman wants to hear and it had worked. Mèng yáo’s lips were wet and warm against his. His tongue opened her mouth, slipping itself inside, hungry. His hands held her tight against his erection. She knew he wanted her, could feel that for sure just slightly above that sacred place. She sighed heavily. She wanted him as well. But not here.

“Let’s go,” he said against her mouth and pulled her from the dancing. He grabbed a rough blanket from nearby and her carefully wrapped package. With his hand circling her waist, he led her out into the night. The drink had made her lustful and stupid. She was alone now with a man she did not know.

Although she could still see the orange embers and smoke, they were suddenly too far, too alone for her. Despite his words of love and reassurance, despite her own desires, she was afraid. And that was bad.

He was trying now to lay her down on the blanket. He was touching her hair, her face and raining kisses on her cheeks, her mouth, her neck. His hands were stroking her arms and back as tried to kiss her into lying fully on her back. Her panic rose from the dark and she tried to get up but his hands were gentle but firm. He kissed her again and part of her met his hunger while her heart beat as wild as a hummingbird. She had to stop this.

But it was too late. His hand stroking down her back had found her tails. She was changing out of fear and he had begun to sober with the realization. His hands were now buried in her fur and his eyes, once hungry for her, were wide shock.

“Oh no,” she stammered, stupid, changing, her fox form now complete, small and fearful. He sat back, drunk and yet steady with the truth of it. Mèng yáo whimpered and tried to get out of his grasp which grew firmer.

“Shhhhhhh,” he tried to calm her, “It’s alright. Let me think a moment. Just a moment please don’t run.” he began to pet her gently then.

She stilled at first, afraid to run as he might squeeze her even harder. But he didn’t try to hurt her. He held her steady with one hand and slid his hand down her body, his touch making her fur quiver and she began to calm down.

Drunk as he was, he shook his head and laid down on the blanket. The motion of petting her beginning to make him very very sleepy.

“This can’t be real,” he murmured as he began to drift off. And like that, the lust dissipated, the liquor spread into his limbs, and he slept.

Mèng yáo slipped his grasp. Her heart thumbed wildly as she ran into the deep woods, running towards the safety of her cave. She had almost done the unthinkable, almost. But for years to come Tianyu slide his fingers over a blue silk dress swearing he had made love to a fox. The villagers would laugh at him though, claiming it was only the Baijiu, the maker of legends.