The Fox Wedding

There was a youth called A-Qing, who lived in a ruined court on the west of the village and was of a curious nature. As the last month of the year was ending, one moonless evening A-Qing rose in the night to relieve himself and leaned by the wall to look abroad. Suddenly he saw a flickering light at the lane's mouth, drawing near by degrees. It was a procession: two red lanterns led the way, several paper horses were mounted, a faint music wheezed, and in the midst was borne a painted bridal chair, its curtain hanging embroidered, faintly breathing the scent of powder. The attendants were all clad in ancient dress, stepping without sound, faces white as paper, lit only by the swaying red of the lanterns. A-Qing hid in the wall's shadow and peeped. As the chair passed beneath the wall, a gust lifted the curtain a little, and he saw the bride seated upright, her pins and ornaments gleaming, her head bent over a handkerchief; she gave a shy glance, eyes like autumn water. A-Qing's heart stirred and he leaned out unaware. An attendant turned his head, eyes burning upon him; A-Qing cowered in fright. Soon the lights drew away and the music faded, leaving only the clop of hooves that entered the hills. At dawn he found beneath the wall a red kerchief, its corner embroidered with twin butterflies. A-Qing took it up; the scent still lingered. Thenceforth, whenever the moon was dark, a lantern's shadow would pass the lane's mouth, but he never dared peep again. An old man of the neighborhood said: these are the fox-folk, who come forth but once in decades; those who meet them are often blessed, yet one must never call their names. The Chronicler of the Strange remarks: That foxes should marry their daughters is, like the world of men, with red lanterns and painted chairs, and a fear of being watched. Yet men's weddings are vaunted among neighbors, while the fox-folk keep their rite hid in the dark of night. Is the difference between the visible and the unseen, then, not in ritual but in fear? A-Qing's single glimpse near brought him to peril—a warning, surely, against the vice of prying.