Dong, styled Xiasi, was a man of the western border of Qingzhou. One winter evening, having spread his bedding on the couch and lit charcoal for warmth, he was about to light his lamp when a friend invited him to drink, and he locked the door and left. At his friend's house sat a physician skilled in the art of the Taichu pulse, who examined all the guests in turn. At last he turned to the two young scholars, Wang Jiusi and Dong, and said, "I have read many pulses, but none so strange as yours two. You have noble pulses with humble omens, and long-life pulses with signs of early death—this I dare not decide. But Master Dong's is the gravest of all." All were alarmed and asked him to explain. He said, "My art fails me here; I cannot rashly pronounce. I only ask you both to take good care of yourselves." At first the two were frightened, but taking his words for evasive hedging, they soon thought no more of them.
When Dong returned at midnight, finding the study door ajar he was much puzzled. Half-drunk, he thought that he must have been in too great a hurry on leaving and so had forgotten to lock it. Entering, before he troubled to light the fire he thrust his hand into the bedding to see if it was warm. The moment his hand went in it touched something greasy—a person lying there. Startled, he snatched his hand back and hurriedly lit the lamp, and found a beautiful girl, fresh-faced and young, hardly different from a fairy. Mad with joy, he teasingly felt lower down, and touched a long furry tail. Greatly frightened, he would have fled, but the girl, now awake, put out a hand and seized his arm. "Where are you going?" she asked. Dong, the more afraid, trembled and begged for mercy. She laughed. "What have you seen that makes you fear me?" "I fear not your head," said Dong, "but your tail." She laughed again. "You are mistaken. Where is any tail?" Drawing his hand, she forced him to feel again, and he found the flesh of her thigh smooth as lard, her rump clean and bare. "What of it?" she smiled. "In your drunken confusion you knew not who I was, and slandered me so." Dong had been charmed by her beauty; now he was only the more enchanted, blaming himself for his mistaken alarm, though still wondering how she could have come without cause. "Do you not recall the yellow-haired girl of the eastern neighbor?" she said. "It is full ten years since she moved away. At that time I was not yet grown and you were a boy with trailing locks." Dong suddenly remembered. "Are you not the A Suo of the Zhou family?" "I am," she replied. "Now that you speak of it," said Dong, "I seem to remember you. Ten years unseen, and you have grown so slender. But how came you here so suddenly?" "I was married to a foolish fellow for four or five years," she said, "and his father and mother died one after the other, and then, unluckily, I was left a widow. There remained only myself, alone and with no one to lean on. Remembering that of my childhood acquaintances you alone were left, I came to seek you. When I entered, evening was falling, and just then your host came to invite you out, so I hid myself to wait for your return. I waited long, till my feet froze and my flesh crept, and so I borrowed your coverlet to warm myself. Do not suspect me." Delighted, Dong undressed and slept with her, well content. After a month he began to grow thin and wasted. His family asked him wonderingly, but he said he did not know. In time his face became more and more haggard; at last, in fear, he went again to the physician who read pulses. "This is the pulse of an enchantment," said the doctor. "The omen of death I saw the other day has come true. The malady cannot be cured." Dong wept bitterly and would not leave, so the physician, helpless, needled his hand and cauterized his navel and gave him medicine, charging him, "If you encounter that thing again, break with it utterly." Dong was himself afraid. When he came home the girl smiled and coaxed him, but he said angrily, "Do not entangle me more—I am going to my death!" and turned away. She was greatly shamed and retorted angrily, "Then you would still live?" That night, having taken his medicine, Dong slept alone; no sooner had he closed his eyes than he dreamed of coupling with her, and woke to find he had had a pollution. The more frightened, he moved his bed within, his wife and son guarding him on either side. He dreamed as before, and when he looked, the girl was gone. After some days Dong vomited more than a peck of blood and died.
In his study Wang Jiusi saw a woman come in and, charmed by her beauty, took her as his mistress. Asked whence she came, she said, "I am Xiasi's neighbor. He and I were once on good terms, but to my sorrow he was bewitched to death by a fox. Such creatures have a terrible influence; a scholar should guard against them." Wang, admiring her the more, received her with delight. After some days he grew languid and ill, and suddenly dreamed that Dong came and said, "She who is kind to you is a fox. It killed me and would now kill my friend. I have already appealed to the nether court to vent this hidden wrong. On the night of the seventh day set incense in your room and do not forget." Wang woke, thinking it strange, and said to the girl, "I am very ill and fear I am near death. Some advise me to abstain from women." "If your fate gives you long life," said she, "even with a wife you will live; if not, even without one you will die." Sitting and jesting with her, Wang could not control himself and lay with her again, regretting it afterwards yet unable to break off. In the evening he planted incense in his door, but the girl came and plucked it away. That night he dreamed Dong came to chide him for disobeying. The next night he secretly charged his household to set incense outside after he had gone to sleep. On the bed the girl suddenly started up, crying, "Incense is set again!" Wang said he knew nothing of it. She rose hastily, found the incense, and crushed it out. Coming in, she demanded, "Who told you to do this?" Wang answered, "Perhaps my people, troubled for my health, have been listening to some sorceress's devices." The girl grew uneasy and unhappy. The family, watching secretly, saw the incense put out and lit it again. At last she sighed, "Your good fortune is deep indeed. I wrongfully killed Xiasi and then threw myself on you—truly it was my fault. I will go and face him before the nether court. If you remember our old love, do not destroy my body." Slowly she got down from the bed and fell dead upon the floor. By candlelight they saw she was a fox. Fearing she might revive, they hurriedly called the household, stripped off her skin, and hung it up. Wang, gravely ill, saw the fox come and say, "I have appealed to the judge. He said Master Dong, being moved by your beauty, died as he deserved; but blaming me for bewitching you, he has taken back the golden elixir and ordered me to bring him to life again. Where is my body?" "The household did not know," answered Wang, "and have already flayed it off." The fox said sadly, "I have killed many people. It is not too late for me to die now, but how cruel you are!" and went away full of rancor. Wang's illness was critical for a time; only after half a year did he recover.