17. The Fox Spirit
Chapter seventeen
The Fox Spirit
Moni
Groggy and disoriented, I opened my eyes.
My lashes fluttered against the golden sunlight streaming through the window of the tent, casting long, shifting beams of light across the fabric walls. The air was crisp and cool, with a faint trace of pine and damp earth.
I blinked a few times, trying to decipher my sluggish thoughts. It felt like I was rising from a deep, endless dream.
Where am I?
The thought whispered through my foggy mind as I tried to orient myself.
Slowly, the scene around me began to sharpen.
The tent’s walls were a deep, luxurious navy, edged with silver embroidery in swirling, elegant patterns that reminded me of dragon scales.
The ceiling arched high above and was supported by poles wrapped in silk ribbons that twisted like climbing vines.
Where the fuck is this?
In the far corner, a lacquered wooden table stood, and the polish shined like a mirror. On it rested a tray with delicate porcelain cups and a teapot. Steam still curled from the spout.
The scent of jasmine tea mingled with the mountain air.
A small oil lamp sat beside it. The glass was etched with lotus flowers.
I shifted beneath the covers and realized I was lying on a bed—not just any bed, but one draped in thick quilts of velvet and fur, layered so luxuriously I felt cocooned in softness.
A bed this extravagant seemed out of place in the rugged setting, but then again, nothing about this tent seemed typical. It wasn’t just shelter—it was a masterpiece of wealth and refinement brought to the wilderness.
My gaze wandered to the window; an opening trimmed with fine netting to keep out insects.
Beyond it, I could see jagged mountain peaks stretching into the distance, their snow-dusted tips gleaming under the afternoon sun.
The sky was a flawless canvas of blue, painted with streaks of white clouds that seemed to hover just close enough to touch.
That’s right. I’m on Mount Utopia and. . .
I stared at the jagged peaks.
The memory of last night came crashing back to me.
I killed people.
And not accidentally.
And certainly not as someone else’s pawn, although I could make an argument for it.
Still. . .I made the decision myself; I couldn’t even blame Leo.
I pulled the trigger.
I ended lives.
A chill crept over me, deeper than the mountain air seeping through the tent’s fabric walls.
I am a. . .monster now.
I gripped the edge of the fur-lined quilt, holding it tight against my chest as if that could anchor me in a world that suddenly felt. . .different.
Something had shifted.
I closed my eyes and rubbed them, hoping the clarity I felt was just fatigue, a trick of sleep.
But when I opened my eyes again, the world looked sharper—crisper.
It was as if someone had handed me glasses and for the first time, I could see every edge, every detail, every flaw.
The mountains weren’t just beautiful.
They were commanding.
Terrifying.
The sunlight gleaming off their snow-dusted peaks was almost too bright.
Too vivid.
Even the embroidered dragons on the tent walls seemed alive, their scales shimmering as though they might rise from the fabric and slither into the room.
Is this what killing does to you? Or am I just losing it?
I swore I could hear better—the rustle of silk ribbons brushing against the tent poles, the soft, rhythmic beat of my own pulse pounding in my ears.
Or was that something else?
I closed my eyes and focused, listening deeper.
I swore I could hear the mountain itself, the way the wind danced over the peaks and whistled through the valleys.
The subtle hum of life surrounded me—an insect buzzing near the netting, the distant call of a bird, even the faint scrape of boots on rock far beyond the tent.
Am I imagining this? Or am I becoming something else entirely. . .due to killing?
I flexed my fingers in front of my face and stared at them as though they belonged to someone else.
These hands. . .
They’d been hands that had once been soft, untainted.
Now, they were a killer’s hands.
I had blood on them last night. Someone washed my hands while I was sleeping?
More important, I wondered if the blood that had been washed off hours ago had truly gone or if it had seeped into me, burrowing deep into my skin, into my soul.
Something about me was different now.
No, not just different.
Permanent.
This is who I am now?
A deep voice sounded behind me. “Good. You’re awake.”
Who is that?
Slowly, I turned around.
Several feet away, Song sat on a carved chair near the entrance of the tent. There, he held a delicate porcelain cup in his hand, sipping tea as though he were in a palace instead of a tent on a mountaintop.
He tipped his head at me and smiled. “Good afternoon, Mountain Mistress.”
“Did I sleep most of the day away?”
“You did.”
“No. I wanted to get up early and—”
“It’s fine. You were up all night defining your legacy. And then there was the Dragon Pulse Leo put into your tea.”
“The what?” My heart quickened.
“Dragon Pulse. A rare tea blend meant to embolden the spirit. It gives you courage, confidence, and occasionally brings hallucinations.”
I thought about last night. “Does it. . .does it make you see really crazy things?”
The images came back to me now—the dead men, their lifeless eyes suddenly alive, their bodies rising and then lumbering toward me.
My chest tightened.
Song nodded slowly. “It can. What matters is whether you continue to see them after the effect wears off.”
My breath hitched. “I don’t want to be crazy.”
A genuine chuckle escaped him, though it carried no warmth. “If you can live in the East and not be a little crazy, then I salute you. But. . .I’m afraid it’s inevitable.”
I blinked. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get dressed for the feast.” He set the cup down on the table next to him with a soft clink.
The feast. . .
It wasn’t just a meal. It was a gathering, a prelude to the battle that would decide everything. A place where everyone would watch, waiting, whispering, building tension until it snapped under the pressure of bloodshed.
Dear God…
The feast wasn’t for celebration—it was for farewell. We just didn’t know who we would be saying goodbye to.
My stomach twisted into stressful knots.
Don’t worry. Lei will kill Leo. He has to.
Somehow, I had to be ready to watch it all unfold.
I swallowed hard and turned my gaze back to the mountains outside the tent. The peaks seemed sharper now, cutting into the horizon like jagged knives.
I thought of Lei, his unrelenting strength, his rage barely kept in check.
This battle was the moment his entire life had been leading to, the culmination of all the pain, manipulation, and training Leo had inflicted on him.
This fight to the death was inevitable.
Everyone knew it and had been waiting for it since the day I met the Four Aces.
But knowing didn’t make it easier to accept.
I closed my eyes and let the chill of the mountain air brush over my skin, trying to steady my breathing.
The image of Leo flashed in my mind—his calculating eyes, the wicked smirk that never quite reached them, the way he moved through life as though the world were a 3D chessboard, and he was always ten moves ahead.
He’d built the Four Aces but it was more than that. He was the East. His name was whispered with fear, and his presence cast a long shadow over everything it touched.
Leo was a legend.
A monster.
And monsters didn’t die easily.
And his son, Lei knew that better than anyone. My baby carried the burden of those facts on his shoulders. I could see this in the tension of Lei’s jaw when he thought no one was watching.
And it might have been just me, but. . .I didn’t think Lei wanted to kill his father, not truly.
I believed there was a part of Lei that still hoped that the man who had raised him, molded him, could be reasoned with, could be redeemed.
Or. . .maybe his mind has changed since Leo has kidnapped me. . .
My mind surely had changed.
After last night, I wanted Leo dead.
I opened my eyes and flexed my fingers, staring at them again.
These hands that had taken lives. It wasn’t just the act of killing that lingered—it was the understanding. I’d seen something in Leo that terrified me more than his violence or his manipulation.
He wasn’t just dangerous.
It was the fact that he would never relent, never step down, not unless someone forced him.
And that someone had to be Lei.
A chill ran down my spine, but it wasn’t from the air. It was from the knowledge that everything rested on my baby.
On what would happen tonight.
This wasn’t just a fight between a father and son—it was the battle for the soul of the East.
For what the Four Aces would become.
For whether the legacy Leo had built would consume us all.
“Monique.” Song’s voice broke through my thoughts. “You’re thinking too much.”
I turned to him. “Is that a bad thing?”
“It is if it makes you hesitate from doing what needs to be done.”
“And what do I need to do?”
He stood, moved with a predator’s grace, and crossed the room to pour another cup of tea. Steam curled up in front of him. “You’ll need to be clear-headed for Lei.”
I swallowed hard. “He’ll win. He has to.”
Song’s gaze darkened, and for a moment, I saw the man beneath the veneer of control—the soldier, the survivor, the one who had seen more than he ever let on. “Lei will win. But it won’t be easy. Leo’s prepared for this. He’s been waiting for it much longer, before Lei ever knew there would be a battle, long before Leo killed Chanel.”
“But Leo is ready to die.”
“I hope so.”
“You hope so?”
“Never underestimate what a man will do when his own legacy is at stake. . .and. . .”
“What?”
“And when his own happiness is at stake too.”
“What does that mean?”
Song’s gaze dropped to the steaming cup he was holding. “It means Lei isn’t just fighting Leo for the East, for power or his place in history. He’s fighting for you .”
“He already has me.”
Song turned his view my way. “If he is alive, he has you.”
Fuck this. I’ll kill Leo myself.
I scanned the side tables next to me. “Where are my guns?”
Song smirked. “You will not need them tonight.”
“I know but I still want to have them next to me when I go to the feast.”
“Monique, Lei must fight this alone.”
I clenched my hands into fists, trying to quell the tremor that threatened to betray me. “I don’t want him to fight alone. I want to help.”
Song’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “You’ve already done your part, Mountain Mistress. More than you realize.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Do you want tea?”
“No. I want answers.”
“Answers often come easier with tea.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my gaze at him but before I could respond, he picked up the teapot and began pouring my cup. “Let me tell you a story.”
I raised my eyebrows.
The fragrant brew rose in the tent.
He set the pot down and then got a small jar of tea. “It’s an old tale—one of love, power, and a fox spirit.”
“A fox spirit?”
“Yes.” Song placed honey into my cup and then stirred the tea. “The fox spirit was ancient, clever, and feared by all. It lived in the mountains, shifting shapes, tricking travelers, and stealing treasures. Its power was unmatched, or so it thought.”
Song put the spoon back in the honey jar. “One day, this fox encountered a woman. She was not beautiful by the standards of the time, nor was she particularly remarkable. She had no power, no wealth, no great name to speak of. And yet. . .”
He picked up the new cup of tea and carried it over to me.
I watched him. “And yet what?”
“And yet, the fox fell in love with her.” He handed me the cup of tea.
I took it. “Thank you.”
Nodding, he headed off, grabbed his cup, and returned to his chair. “At first, the fox resisted. It told itself that love was a weakness, a vulnerability. But the more it resisted, the stronger the love grew. The woman, in turn, loved the fox without fear. And in that love, something extraordinary happened.”
Song took a sip. “The fox became more powerful than it had ever been. Its tricks became sharper , its treasures greater , its enemies fewer . Not because it had gained new abilities, but because it finally had something worth protecting. Something that made every risk worth taking.”
I stared at him, waiting for the rest of the story, but Song just went back to sipping his tea. “So. . .what happened to the fox and the woman?”
He shrugged. “That depends on who tells the story. Some say the woman died, and the fox went mad with grief. Others say the fox gave up its spirit to live as a man by her side. And then there are those who believe the fox simply. . .disappeared, taking her with him to a magical place where neither could be harmed.”
I frowned. “And you’re telling me this because?”
“Because you remind me of the woman, although you are much more beautiful than her,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair. “And Lei reminds me of the fox spirit.”
I gripped the teacup tighter. “You’re saying I’ve made Lei stronger?”
“More powerful than he even realizes. Love does that to people. It sharpens their focus. It gives them something to fight for that’s more than just survival or ambition. Lei would fight for his place in the East regardless, but you. . .” He gestured toward me with his cup. “You’ve made him fight for something greater.”
The heat of the teacup warmed my palms. “And what about Leo?”
“Your love with Lei has now made Leo weak.”
“How?”
Song’s jaw tightened, and his mask of calm slipped just enough for me to catch the flicker of something—contempt, maybe, or pity. “That. . .is not for me to explain.”
“Why not?”
“If you had been paying attention, you would have already known the answer, Mountain Mistress.”
“I’ve been paying attention, but Leo is all over the damn place and sometimes inside of my mind. So. . .please explain to me how Leo is weaker now?”
Song checked his watch. “Drink your tea, Monique. The feast awaits, and you’ll need your strength.”
I wanted to press him further, to dig deeper into what he wasn’t saying, but something in his eyes stopped me.
In fact. . .I felt like he wasn’t just telling a story.
He was warning me.
I lifted the cup to my lips, and the scent of jasmine filled my senses. The tea was smooth and warm, but it felt heavier somehow, like I was swallowing more than just liquid. I was swallowing the weight of the night to come.
The decisions.
The danger.
The battle.
And as much as I hated to admit it, Song was right.
I needed my strength.
“You still look worried, Mountain Mistress.”
“Because I have a brain.”
“You’ve given Lei something his father never could. Hope. A reason to fight that isn’t built on rage or revenge. Lei will win as long as you don’t end that hope.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
Hope.
The word echoed in my mind.
Thinking that word seemed like a luxury, something I hadn’t dared to hold onto in so long.
But maybe Song was right.
Perhaps, Lei needed more than strength to defeat Leo. Maybe he needed to believe in something beyond this endless cycle of violence.
I exhaled slowly, finished the tea, and then put my view on the window.
Outside, the sun had dipped lower, painting the mountains in shades of amber and crimson.
The sky looked like it was bleeding.
I murmured, more to myself than to Song. “I slept the whole damn day.”
“You needed the rest.”
“Did I?”
“You had been up all night solidifying your own legacy.”
I put my view back on him. “I’m a killer now.”
“Welcome to the family.”
I set the now empty cup on the end table near me. My fingers trembled the whole time. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Kill.” The word lodged in my throat. “How do you live with it? How do you. . .cope?”
“That depends on what you mean by cope .” He studied me. “Do you want to know how I handle the act of killing, or how I deal with the person I’ve become because of it?”
“Both.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckled softly. “I’ve been killing since I was a teenager.”
My whole body stiffened.
“I barely remember what it feels like to not have blood on my hands. So if you’re asking for some profound insight into the person I was before. . .I can’t give you that. He’s gone.”
I swallowed hard. “Gone?”
“The first time you kill, it’s like a door opens inside you. A door you can never close again. You walk through it, and the person you were stays on the other side.”
I shivered as the truth of his words settled deep in my bones. “So, what happens then? When you become. . .this new person?”
“You adapt. You learn to control it. To harness it. Killing changes you. It sharpens your instincts, heightens your senses. It makes you an apex predator.”
I parted my lips.
“I’m sure you feel the changes. At least your body knows it now, even if your mind is still catching up. Your vision is clearer, your hearing sharper, your reflexes faster. You’re no longer just a person—you’re a threa t. And when you walk among others, the world will respond to you as such before you even say a word.”
I let his words sink in.
He was right—I could feel it when I woke up. The way the world seemed more vivid, more alive. The way I noticed every sound, every movement, every shift in the air around me.
“But being a predator comes with responsibilities; you can’t be a monster to the people you love. That’s where most killers fail.”
“How do I do that?”
Song exhaled. “You have to compartmentalize. You kill when it’s necessary—when it’s a tool to achieve something greater. But you leave it behind when you step into the lives of the people who matter to you. You don’t bring it into your home. Never.”
“But what if it’s always there? What if it changes how they see me?”
Song’s eyes softened. “It will change how they see you. But it doesn’t have to define you. You’re still Monique. You’re still a sister, a lover, a survivor with a big heart. Killing is just a part of you now, but it’s not all of you.”
Tension gathered in my shoulders.
I didn’t want to be like Leo and lose myself in the darkness.
I will never let this consume me.
I looked at Song. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Answering my questions and helping me.”
“You’re now officially the Mountain Mistress.” Although sitting, he gave me a small bow. “I now serve you.”
And then he let out a loud whistle.
What the fuck? Why did he do that? Who is he signaling?