Weasel Captain Lesser Yaoguais
Location
Encountered close to the Windseal Gate shrine in the Yellow Wind Formation area.
Description
Ever since the strange winds stirred again at Yellow Wind Ridge, life had grown harsh for the lesser guais. 
Tiger Vanguard and the King of Flowing Sands fought for dominance, troubling the weasel kin caught between the two powers.
One day, the 
Weasel Captain sat by the sandfield, brooding over years of humiliation. Thoughts of death took hold in him, and he found a withered tree. He hung his belt, stepped on a pile of stones, and slipped his head through the noose. Regret came as he kicked away the stones. In agony and dizziness, he struggled, but freedom eluded him.
Just then, someone held his feet, and a gleaming sickle sliced through the air, cutting the noose. The Weasel Captain collapsed, gasping for air, and saw a gaunt crone with a medicine basket. “If you loathe to die, live well,” she said, and left, unbothered by his nature.
Transforming into a weasel, the Weasel Captain followed her home-a dwelling with crumbling walls and an empty barn. She lived alone after the death of her husband and son, foraging for herbs to trade in order to survive. The Captain, moved by their shared misfortunes, decided to stay and help.
Disguised as an old man fleeing famine, he claimed to be alone and found shelter with the crone. By day, he hunted in Yellow Wind Ridge; by night, he enlisted stone sprites to mend the house. Together, they thrived, much to the villagers’ envy.
One day, two villagers trailed the Captain, curious about his hunting prowess. Little did they know, as they watched him, that he would suddenly transform back into his original form-a clothed weasel guai, with a gleaming curved blade at his waist. Feeling threatened by a non-human, the villagers spread their tale, and a Daoist was summoned to slay the Weasel Captain. Not long after the weasel guai was killed, the crone passed away. The villagers, deeming the house cursed, divided the hides and herbs before setting the place ablaze.
Poetry
Wise in the guais’ wayward hearts,
Yet shuns the lonely monkish arts.
On the yellow ridge of desolation,
Ends a tale by separation.
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