This time, there is no white gauze or mist.
Only a mountain ablaze.
The flames surged like a tide, consuming the night.
The wind carried the sound of clear yet mournful bells.
He saw countless figures kneeling at the base of the mountain, murmuring ancient prayers. Though he had never learned that language, he understood its meaning.
"May the mountain god's wrath be appeased. May the fox spirit return to its place, exchanging blood for years of peace."
He froze in place as waves of pain surged from his chest.
This pain was real, not a dream, but the memory of an old wound.
A silver flash pierced the mist.
He saw himself—no longer human, but a colossal silver fox.
Nine tails unfurled like drifting clouds, and golden flames blazed in his eyes.
Tongues of fire licked the earth as he roared within the inferno, his voice tearing through the valley.
The crowd knelt, chanting: "Bai Qi! Bai Qi!"
That was his name, belonging to a deity, not a mortal.
For a thousand years, he had guarded this mountain, protecting the land and the bloodline of its sacrifices.
Now, however, he watched as people pushed a young girl toward the pyre.
Her white robe shone like fresh snow, and her wrist was bound by a red cord.
The firelight softened her features—it was the girl from his dreams.
He charged through the flames, roaring, "Stop!"
His voice turned to wind, but no one heard.
It was memory, not reality.
He could only watch his past life—the fox named Bai Qi—break through the altar and plunge into the crowd.
Flames reflected her shock.
He wrapped his tail around her, shielding her in his embrace.
The crowd gasped, "The Mountain God has defied the heavens! He has defied the heavens!"
He heard himself whisper, "She is my vow."
The flames grew fiercer and the earth trembled.
The Mountain God's wrath descended from the heavens, and lightning split the sky.
He shielded her with his body.
As blood spilled and his silver fur burned to ash,
He lifted his head to see the girl weeping.
She reached out and gently touched his face. "Bai Qi, don't forget me."
He gasped, his voice as low as the wind. "I won't."
Trembling, she tied a red cord around his neck.
Engraved on it was a talisman sealing life and death.
She said, "If there is a next life, please remember me."
He smiled, the light in his eyes slowly fading.
The flames consumed him.
Only the red cord remained, falling to the ground.
———
He jolted awake from the dream.
Sweat soaked his pillow and his chest still burned as if he had been struck by lightning.
He touched his neck, tracing a faint line with his fingers.
It wasn't a dream.
A pale red line marked his skin, like the imprint of a cord.
He looked out the window. The full, cold moon hung in the sky, its light piercing.
A voice echoed in his mind—her voice.
"Bai Qi, if there is a next life, please remember me."
Suddenly, he remembered the woman he worked with.
She had an extremely faint red mark on her wrist, too.
He had first noticed the mark weeks ago when she rolled up her sleeves to organize documents.
At the time, he had only found it odd. Only now did he realize that the mark was identical in shape to the red rope in his dream.
He took a deep breath, his fingertips trembling slightly.
Time seemed to begin overlapping—The flames of her dreams, the lights of reality, her laughter, her tears.
They slowly wove together along an invisible thread of fate.
He recalled her playful remark: "Have we met somewhere before?"
So it was true—a past life.
That night, he couldn't sleep.
He sat at his desk, opened his notebook, and started writing down everything he could remember from his dream.
His handwriting was shaky and sloppy.
He wrote about mountains, altars, and fire. He wrote her name, but he still couldn't recall it.
On the last page, he stopped writing.
Unintentionally, his hand moved on its own.
Slowly, it traced two characters onto the paper:
"Moon Prayer."
The handwriting felt both unfamiliar and strangely familiar.
He stared blankly at the words, tears falling silently.
So that was her name.
He and she, White Prayer and Moon Prayer—
Two halves of a vow.
He lifted his gaze to the moon outside the window.
In that moment, the moonlight fell upon his shoulders, silver-white like fox fur.
In the reflection, he seemed to see a fox tilting its head and smiling gently.
———
Late at night.
The notebook on the desk suddenly fluttered open in the breeze, the pages turning until it settled on the first page.
On that page, only one sentence remained:
"If there is a next life, let me see you in white once more."
The ink was blurred, as if smudged by tears.
He closed the notebook and murmured, "I will remember."
The moon outside the window shone quietly upon him.
Silver light spilled down like the echo of an ancient vow.
Once again, that invisible red thread wound itself around his destiny.