A certain resident of Changshan, living in leisure, was frequently visited by a short man whose origins remained a mystery, causing the resident considerable unease.

One day, the dwarf declared, "In three days, I shall move into this vicinity. From then on, we shall be neighbors."

Four or five days later, the dwarf added, "Now that our residences are not far apart, I can call upon Young Master daily to seek instruction."

The host inquired, "Congratulations on your move; might I ask where your new home is situated?" The dwarf answered vaguely, merely pointing a hand toward the north.

From then on, the dwarf visited daily, occasionally borrowing items from the neighbors. If anyone refused, their furniture would vanish without a trace.

The villagers began to suspect amongst themselves: "Could this dwarf not be human, but rather a fox spirit?"

North of the village lay an ancient, unfathomable burial mound. The villagers surmised the fox spirit likely resided there, and they agreed upon a plan to arm themselves and march to destroy it.

The crowd lay concealed in the tall grass, listening intently, but for a long time, there was silence. It was not until the very end of the first watch (around 9 PM) that they suddenly heard a hissing sound emanating from the tomb, like hundreds of people whispering secrets.

Everyone held their breath, afraid to move.

Not long after, small figures, each about a foot long, emerged sequentially from the tomb, linked head to tail, their numbers seemingly countless.

The villagers erupted in noise and rushed forward to trap them. Wooden staves struck the little figures, and with every blow, a spark flew out. In an instant, the dwarfs scattered in all directions.

Only one very young, small dwarf remained, beaten to death. The corpse fell to the ground, no larger than a walnut, clad in a gauze robe stitched with gold thread. When someone dared to approach and smell it, the stench was overpowering.

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