White Crane and Red Fox by Chezza Lee
3300 words, ~16 minutes reading time
Issue 7 (Spring 2025)
Dinners with the White Crane clan always wore on my nerves. It wasn’t that I disliked the array of seed-based dishes and snail noodles, nor the long, detailed poetry readings and lectures my uncle entertained us with after dinner. It wasn’t the studied elegance of the rest of the family, or the fact my grandfather never bothered to make an appearance.
It was the invisible line my father’s family drew between us, the imperceptible yet tangible distinction between the White Crane clan and my mother, the Red Fox.
And me, a disappointing hybrid of the two.
“Li’er, pour your Guzhang some wine,” said Gugu, my father’s older sister. Stifling a sigh, I poured the plum blossom wine into a small jade cup, then held it out to her husband with both hands, my head bowed. We were taught from birth to respect our elders; even when it felt like nails dragging across my skin, I was forced to temper my stubborn personality around my White Crane family, lest the blame be cast to my parents.
For the White Cranes, demure modesty was the most important trait in a woman. They sneered at my mother’s boldness, at the fire that lived in her soul. At the other end of the table, Gugu waved her arms wildly, shouting at my younger cousins to behave, and my stomach roiled in distaste. White Cranes also weren’t known for their self awareness.
“Your Gugu shouldn’t have to tell you these things,” scolded Guzhang, taking the cup from my hands with a flick of his wide sleeve. “Aren’t you learning how to respect your elders at home?” Both my parents silently shifted in their seats, feigning ignorance of the hissed whispers coming from around the marble table. He often asked me these questions, expecting no answer, and so the fake smile remained on my face as I bowed once again. Guzhang dismissed me with a wave of his hand.
“The Red Fox clan teaches their children differently,” continued Gugu. She cast a tight smile at my mother. “My sister-in-law must have her own way of doing things, I’m sure.”
“My husband and I have both had a hand in Jiali’s education all these years,” said my mother. “And she has learned well from both families.” She inclined her head respectfully. Her rhythmic, husky voice caused the rest of the table to still, except for my two youngest cousins. They had turned into their crane forms and were having a mock swordfight with their beaks at the children’s table. A plate of seeds was upturned in the commotion, and I hid a smile at the offended looks of the elders.
“Let’s hope she didn’t learn too well from the Red Fox clan,” scoffed my Guzhang. “No offense intended, of course,” he said, one eyebrow raised. Shushu and Shenshen, my father’s younger brother and his wife, silently laughed behind their sleeves, my cousins’ antics forgotten. They would not intervene in the discipline of Gugu’s children, but they looked on hungrily when the discipline turned in my direction.
The snail noodles in my stomach refused to remain still, threatening to make a reappearance. But my mother was silent, the smile on her face as fixed as my own, and my father sat in quiet resignation. I never understood their forced calm, their unwillingness to question father’s family.
Gugue finally stormed over to my cousins, grabbing them both by the beaks as they hissed in alarm. “You are shaming our family with your behaviour,” she said, her voice cold, towering over them with stern reprimand. Guzhang, unperturbed by the actions of his own family, stood and clapped his hands.
“I shall read to you from the Book of Odes tonight,” he said. “I hope my sister-in-law will not find it too boring.”
“Not at all,” said mother with a polite smile.
The White Crane clan prided itself on being the wisest in the beast realm, the emblem of longevity and elegance. When they took their beast forms, they were the sleek, pearlescent figures slicing through the skies, their heads held high, their impressive wings stretched to the limit. White Cranes were second in status only to the Fenghuang, ruler of all birds. They revelled in order, discipline, and quiet study. At least, that was the image they desperately cultivated.
And twenty years ago, when my father had announced his betrothal to a woman from the Red Fox clan, my Gugu had fainted for lack of a more imaginative response.
The Red Foxes were a mischievous group, graced with divine beauty and a thorough lack of inhibitions. They were known for their mortal realm dalliances—a fact my uncle made sure to point out at least once per dinner. Mama told me Gugu had urged my father against marrying her, insisting there were plenty of eligible women in other White Crane clan families, but nothing would sway him.
My grandfather, Yeye, the clan’s leader and the sole Black Crane, had shown up just twice in the past hundred years: to approve of my parents’ marriage, and to attend my birth. After each time, he disappeared, but not before waving away Gugu’s insistence that he eat before leaving. Black Cranes were the wisest and eldest of them all, so old they no longer needed to eat. Gugu always said so to appease herself, but I wondered if Yeye simply couldn’t stand spending time with his own family. Nobody had seen him since I was born.
At the end of the evening, my mother remained in her seat at the table as Guzhang insisted the White Cranes take their beast forms to the skies. Father took me by the elbow, his eyes shrouded.
“Li’er, we should go.”
“I don’t want to.” I felt small.
“Just for a little bit.” It wasn’t a request.
With a sigh, tingles cascaded over my skin as my nose elongated into a sharp beak, my neck stretching to the sky, while the velvety softness of feathers replaced my skinny arms. I soared upwards to join them, buffeted by the crisp wind, the bright sun doing nothing to dispel my discomfort. Because before me was a sea of white; the picturesque ivory of the White Crane clan filled the skies with purity and grace.
I hovered near the rear of the formation, the detestable scuff on their pristine silk.
Me. The Red Crane.
“If someone asked you what I was, what would you say?” I asked, picking at the sesame-encrusted jian dui on my plate.
“You? You’re Jiali,” laughed Yulan, as she rolled out dough from behind the counter. The room smelled like powdered sugar and red bean, a comforting scent that reminded me of her, my best friend. “A young woman with an insatiable love for anything sweet, who enjoys writing essays and overthinking.”
“Not my personality,” I sighed, but a smile tugged at my lips. “My heritage.”
“This again?” Yulan rolled her eyes and washed her hands, coming to sit at the single small table offered by her bakery. “You’re a White Crane and a Red Fox. You’re both.”
Both, and yet neither. Not enough of a White Crane to fly comfortably in their formation, and not enough of a Red Fox to join in their hunts. The familiar feeling of being adrift filled my soul.
“I don’t know where I belong,” I whispered.
“You belong wherever you want to belong,” said Yulan.
“It’s easy for you to say.” I shook my head. “You’re from the Horse clan. You never have to question who you are.”
“And neither do you,” she said, letting her hand rest lightly on my own. “Nobody in the capital city cares what you are. It’s only your families that make it a big deal.”
She wasn’t entirely correct, but I didn’t feel like telling her about the time I showed up at the academy to register for a new year and was forced to pick my clan’s talisman. One clan, one talisman. I’d chosen White Crane, to avoid offending my father’s side, but I shrank under the judgmental gazes of my Red Fox cousins as they walked by. I didn’t feel like telling her how other bird clan members furrowed their brows at that talisman after I tied it to my hanfu, as if I wasn’t worthy of carrying it at my side. It was easy to say people didn’t care where I came from, and yet society kept trying to force me into one identity over another. And if I happened to choose one, they would judge me for it.
I claimed to be a member of both clans. It didn’t stop me from feeling like an imposter in each.
The Red Foxes were hunting, my cousins yelping and tumbling in the grass, playfully nipping at each other’s heels. I sat on a mound of cushions with my father, trying not to feel left out.
“It’s a shame you can’t join them,” he said, trying his best to placate my mood. The forests were the least maneuverable spaces for our crane wingspans. I could not hunt with the Red Foxes, even if I wanted to.
“Meifu, we will return your wife to you soon,” called the musical voice of San Ayi, my mother’s third sister. My father smiled in acknowledgment, and then the skulk of foxes left, eager to trace the forest’s hidden rabbit burrows.
“Ba,” I said, overcome by my own thoughts. “Does it bother you the way your family speaks to mama? The way they speak about the Red Fox clan?”
“Some clans are set in their ways. They’re resistant to things that are different.”
“Different meaning me and mama.” My eyes narrowed.
“Different meaning anything that diverges from the way they’ve been taught to see the world.”
“Isn’t that cruel? Mama didn’t choose where she was born.”
My father didn’t say anything for a long while, his forehead wrinkling as he considered my words. “Perhaps you’re right,” he finally said. “It is cruel.” It was as much as he would admit, unwilling to cause waves between the families. White Cranes were taught to favour order and tradition, and father had already disregarded both in his love for my mother. But what use was such love if he did not have the strength to stand behind it?
San Ayi had left us a dish of tangyuan filled with crushed peanuts, so I ate one to avoid hurting us both with more words, letting the chewy sweetness consume my senses. I preferred the food at the Red Fox clan dinners. They favoured rich sauces and braised meats, without a seed in sight. My cousins also gave me secret sips of wine when my father wasn’t looking.
But even after I swallowed, the words remained heavy on my tongue.
“Ba, I don’t feel like I belong to either clan. Not truly.”
“You’re young,” he said, his gaze resting on the horizon. “You will become more comfortable with it over time.”
I didn’t know if it was hope or delusion that drove his words. Father was always the calm, logical one. Not for the first time, I wished he had some of mother’s fire.
“I’m going to join the hunt,” I said, irritated.
“Be careful, dear.” Lost in thought, he barely noticed when I left.
I soared to the tops of the trees, seeking my family. Alighting on a branch, I peered at the forest below. They were there, slowly creeping up on a group of rabbits at play. But my cousins weren’t being stealthy enough, and the rabbits’ ears pricked, alerted to the sounds of predators. Before the foxes could get close enough, the rabbits began bounding away, their ears folded back in fright.
I was already diving, curling my crimson wings within as I pelted toward the ground, ignoring the whip of branches as I sped through the air.
I landed with a thump, less graceful than a White Crane, less stealthy than a Red Fox. But as I lifted my head, I looked at the foxes in triumph. A single rabbit was held beneath my claws.
My cousins bounded over, squealing happily, jostling me with their haunches. Mama’s eyes glimmered from her narrow face. A thrill ran through me as we returned to my Ayi’s house, the rabbit carcass slung around my slim neck. For the first time, I felt a prickle of belonging.
But with another month came another White Crane clan dinner.
“Tonight, I shall read to you about the virtues of benevolence,” announced Guzhang, his pompous smile giving us no room to refuse. My mother barely hid her groan, the sound of it reaching my ears alone. Her irritation bolstered me; I could not bear another lecture where my uncle spoke of morality while casting sneers at someone I loved. I stood, determined, and a multitude of eyes swivelled in my direction. A new white jade talisman swung from the belt of my hanfu, joining the other I’d taken from the academy, and expressions turned to distaste at the sight of the small fox carving on its face.
“Guzhang, I wonder if I might do a reading, instead.”
Gugu almost fell off her chair. Whispers ran down the table. Guzhang turned to me, his shrewd eyes assessing my face.
“What might the Red Fox clan have to say about virtue?” he scoffed. “It is not in their vocabulary.”
I forced a smile. He would not have the power to cow me today.
“I am of the White Crane clan as well, Guzhang, and I humbly ask to read something I’ve written myself.” I’d spent hours in the bakery that afternoon, reading and rereading it aloud to Yulan until it was perfect.
My uncle’s face struggled, torn between my audacity and his own semblance of politeness. Eventually, manners won out. He inclined his head, an ugly look on his face.
Taking a breath to calm my nerves, I let my words flow freely: of benevolence in the form of acceptance, the importance of character, the follies of prejudice, and the universal nature of the soul that made us one, despite our appearances. “The beast realm lives in peace because we respect our neighbours. Our realm thrives when we care not for status or prestige, but for each other. And it matters not what blood runs through our veins–only that we live in a way that shows we respect others as much as we respect ourselves,” I concluded.
At the end of it, Guzhang and the rest had nothing to say. But Gugu crossed her arms and looked at me with a smirk.
“Your words do not take into account the importance of bloodlines,” she snapped. “The significance of tradition.”
“You’ve always placed too much stock in tradition, Mingxia,” said a deep voice from behind me. I spun around to see that an old man had joined us, his white beard almost as long as the floor. His eyes twinkled with amusement, barely covering the sense of something ancient beneath his gaze.
“Baba,” choked Gugu, rushing to her feet. The rest of the table mirrored her action, their mouths agape.
“Yeye,” I said, bowing to my grandfather for the first time. His aura was immense, and it brushed up against mine with the heavy weight of responsibility.
“Jiali.” He stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders, looking at me with a smile. “You write like your father.” He turned to my parents. “Let me borrow her for a while.”
My father agreed; my mother, on the other hand, was struggling to hide her amusement at the sight of Gugu’s distraught expression. I loved seeing the mischievous fox sparkle in my mother’s eyes, but I so rarely saw it at a White Crane clan dinner.
Together, Yeye and I soared into the sky, black and red wings casting shadows on the green grass below. I followed him to the top of a mountainous peak, the entire beast realm spread before us. The vibrancy of our world’s colours wove together like effervescent embroidery.
“You are the first of your kind, Jiali,” he said, turning back into human form and resting with his feet dangling from the edge of the cliff. “But I hope you won’t be the last. I’m sorry if it has been rough on you.”
“It hasn’t been that bad,” I said, feeling the need to reassure. I sat down next to him, marvelling at the lush beauty of the lands below.
“I felt the same,” he sighed, his hands in his lap. “When I grew so old I became the clan’s only Black Crane. Standing out in a field of white—they don’t let you forget it, even if they’re forced to pay their respects.”
“You’re the head of the clan, though,” I said, amused. “You’re important.”
He closed his eyes, letting the sunlight’s last rays warm his face. “All of us are important. You represent what the beast realm is at its core. There is beauty in the freedom to love, and in the paths we choose for ourselves. You are one with both cultures, Jiali. It doesn’t make you less.”
“It can be difficult to reconcile the two.” It was all I could say, not wanting to expose the insecurities, the way I felt like a feather buffeted by endless wind, unable to find a place to settle.
“Only you can do that for yourself. It is not up to others to decide who you are.”
A lump filled my throat, and I looked away from my Yeye as the backs of my eyes burned.
“They keep trying to decide for me.”
He laughed, a deep rumble reverberating from his chest.
“You do not need to let them. Your identity is your own.”
We sat in comfortable silence, being grandfather and granddaughter for the first time in my life. Nothing he told me was any different from what others had said, and yet I felt strengthened anew. The Black Crane understood what it meant to be different in a world that was both diverse and yet tightly divided. My identity was important to nobody but myself; why should I let others make the decisions for me?
Finally, we flew back to Gugu’s house, where we landed with smiles on our faces.
“Father,” said Gugu, her voice breathless. “Have you returned to restore order to the White Crane clan?”
“No,” he grimaced. “Your brother can see to that. I have faith that his family will lead the clan well.” He smiled at me, then turned back to Gugu with a disapproving glare. “More of a focus on wisdom, Mingxia, and less on prestige. Lest you seek to disappoint me.”
He took to the skies again at once, leaving Gugu stuttering in his wake. Even Guzhang was shocked into silence.
“Did you have a nice talk with your grandfather?” my mother asked, pulling me into a hug and lovingly brushing my hair back from my face. “Are you feeling better?”
I took in her sparkling eyes, the fox-like mischievousness tinged with the depths of love.
“We should not let others decide who we are, mama,” I said. She was thoughtful for a moment, then cast a knowing look at my father, who straightened his shoulders. He walked to the table and picked up two jade cups of wine, passing one to my mother.
“A toast,” he said, raising his cup. “To our family. To the White Crane clan and the Red Fox clan.”
Gugu’s face twisted, and Guzhang stepped forward in outrage, but my father silenced him with a look.
“White Cranes are not known for disrespecting their clan leader,” he said, mildly. “Will you be the first to disrupt our reputation, Feng?”
I delighted in the way Guzhang struggled between prejudice and duty. With a grimace, he finally picked up his cup, and Gugu begrudgingly followed suit.
In the distance, the black silhouette flew into the horizon, and my heart said a fond farewell. As if he heard me, grandfather’s immense wings stretched out to line the dusky sky, unashamed and triumphant.
