The Badger's Plea: A Dream of Deliverance

Today’s story is called "The Badger’s Dream." It happened to the cousin of one of my coworkers. Let’s call this cousin Chef Ke, a man in his forties who ran a restaurant in Fengyang, Anhui. Thanks to his exceptional culinary skills and affordable prices, locals frequented his establishment for banquets, casual gatherings, and family celebrations. Within a few years, he became a well-known chef in the area, earning a comfortable income.

This incident occurred five years ago. One gloomy afternoon, the restaurant was quiet after the lunch rush. The staff had finished their break, and Chef Ke sat alone at the counter, legs crossed, reading a newspaper—a rare moment of relaxation. But he hadn’t read long before a customer walked in. Chef Ke glanced up and recognized the man, who carried a large iron cage filled with half-grown badgers. Their fur was grayish-white, with unusually long, bristly coats. One badger, older and stouter than the others, lay motionless in the cage, its small black eyes glaring at Chef Ke with unmistakable hatred, as if sensing its impending doom.

“Ah, welcome! What would you like today?” Chef Ke greeted him warmly.

“Hmph, I won’t be dining here today,” the customer replied. “But I’m here to book a banquet. My boss’s father is turning ninety tomorrow. He’s heard great things about your cooking and wants a family feast for fifty or sixty people. If you impress him, the boss will reward you handsomely. Oh, and—” he added, gesturing to the cage, “handle this badger. The boss caught it specially for the old man. Make it into something extraordinary.”

“No problem!” Chef Ke agreed eagerly, though a flicker of unease crept in as he studied the badger’s piercing gaze. He’d cooked countless ingredients over the years but never a badger. Its stare unsettled him.

“Don’t let the boss down tomorrow,” the customer warned before leaving. Chef Ke placed the cage near the kitchen. To him, the badger was just meat destined for the pot. Though pity flickered in his mind, he brushed it off.

That evening, Chef Ke and his staff worked late prepping for the banquet. Exhausted but excited about the lucrative opportunity, he finally retired to his upstairs room. “Sleep well—tomorrow’s a big day,” he told himself. Yet sleep eluded him.

The night deepened, silence blanketing the town. Just as Chef Ke drifted off, a faint cough startled him awake. He sat bolt upright, scanning the room. The door was shut, but when he turned his head, an elderly man in archaic white robes materialized at his bedside. The man’s wrinkled face glowed eerily in the moonlight, his eyes cold and accusing.

“Wh-who are you? How did you get in?” Chef Ke stammered.

The old man ignored the questions. “I am the White-Robed Immortal,” he intoned. “For a century, I’ve cultivated here, nearing ascension. But you mortals trapped me and now seek to devour my flesh. How dare you?”

Chef Ke froze. “Immortal? I—I don’t understand…”

“Release me before dawn,” the figure warned, “or face eternal regret!” With that, he vanished.

Chef Ke collapsed into unconsciousness. When he awoke hours later, the room was still dark. Was it a dream? Then he noticed a single white bristle—identical to the badger’s fur—piercing his hand.

Panicked, he rushed to the kitchen, grabbed the cage, and fled into the night. He trekked far into the wilderness before opening the cage. “Go, Great Immortal! Forgive my ignorance!” The badger scurried into the undergrowth, disappearing without a trace.

The next day, Chef Ke apologized profusely to the furious customer, offering a lavish complimentary feast. Though the incident cost him short-term profit, he never regretted it. To this day, he believes releasing the badger averted a far greater calamity.

In his heart, Chef Ke remains certain: that night, he spared not just a beast, but a soul on the brink of transcendence.