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Dao Boyi of Xiping, an inspector of the northern district, was about thirty years old, a man of considerable ability and resolve, and a grandson of Dao Ruozhang, the governor of Changsha. Late one afternoon, he arrived at a wayside lodge and ordered his guides to halt. “It is still early,” said the clerk of records. “We could reach the next lodge.” “I wish to prepare some documents,” he replied, and stayed. The officers and attendants were terrified and urged that they should leave. Then word came down: “The inspector wishes to look out from the upper room. Sweep it at once.” Before long, he went upstairs. Before darkness fell, a lamp was set at the foot of the stairs, and there were other lights as well. He ordered, “I am meditating on the Way and must not see any light. Put them out.” The attendants, certain that something would happen and that they would need to rush up with a light, merely hid one in a jar. Once night had fallen, Boyi straightened his robes and sat down. He recited the Six Jia invocations, the Classic of Filial Piety, and the text of the Book of Changes, then lay down. After a while, he turned to face east, bound his feet together with a cloth, and put on his headcloth and cap. In secret, he drew his sword and loosened his belt. During the night, something pitch-black, four or five feet tall, rose slowly into view, scrambled up a pillar into the room, and threw itself upon him. Boyi caught it beneath his quilt, but its bare feet kept slipping free, and he nearly lost his hold. Again and again he struck the creature’s legs with his sword and belt, shouting to those below to bring up a light. When they looked, they saw an old fox, red all over and almost entirely hairless. They carried it downstairs and burned it to death. The next morning, they opened up the upper room’s roof and found more than a hundred topknots shorn from human heads. From then on, the hauntings ceased.