Based on my past experience, every time I ran a fever, I would be bedridden for several days, suffering from recurring low-grade fevers, chills, and insomnia. This time, I had prepared myself for a miserable ordeal, but when I opened my eyes the next day, I felt no particular discomfort and had slept all the way until noon.
Even though the fire in the stove had long since gone out, the kang and bedding were still quite warm, and my hands and feet were not cold at all.
I sat up. Could it be that the medicine Lawang gave me had worked miracles?
I draped my clothes over my shoulders, got up, and rekindled the fire. Out of curiosity, I took the two medicinal packets to examine them. As soon as I opened one, the pungent, choking smell made me sneeze repeatedly.
I blinked, put down the packets, and took a large step back. I quickly grabbed a piece of tarpaulin, wrapped the packets in several layers, shoved them to the very bottom of a chest, and weighed them down with two large stones. Only after finishing this did I sniff, turn around with satisfaction, and go to the stove to heat up some Rongdi berries to eat.
After finishing my meal, I pushed open the door and saw a large, fat sheep lying on its side in the snow in the open space behind the courtyard gate.
Brushing away the light dusting of snow covering the animal, I saw it was a Mongolian gazelle that had been dead for quite some time. Judging by the rigidity of its body, it must have been lying there for at least a full night.
Mongolian gazelles, also known as Rongdi antelopes, are unique to the grasslands. They are fast runners with great stamina, thick fur, and robust builds. Unlike other herbivores, they are not picky eaters; they pull up grass by the roots, leading to the saying: “Where gazelles pass, not a blade of grass remains.” Furthermore, they are gregarious creatures; when they travel in large herds, the turf they graze on cannot regrow for three to five years, leaving the land barren and rotting. Because of this, when their numbers become excessive, they become a menace to the grasslands. Herdsmen usually set their dogs on them to drive them away or even hunt them on the spot.
I squatted down to inspect it and found no arrow wounds on the gazelle—only a three-finger-wide mark around its neck. Such a hunting technique, which preserves the pelt perfectly, must have come from a skilled old hunter on the grasslands.
Thinking of how worried Lawang had been when he left, I stood up and crossed my arms. So—was this food specifically provided for me?
But this sheep was far too large; at the very least, it weighed forty or fifty pounds. How long would it take for one person to eat all of this?
Shaking my head with a chuckle, I returned to the house to retrieve charcoal, hot water, and other tools. Once the carcass thawed, I rolled up my sleeves and began to butcher the animal.
I had already made up my mind: the pelt could be used to make hats and hand warmers, the head would be stewed for tonight’s dinner, and the bones would be removed and pickled in an earthenware jar. The remaining mutton would be sliced into strips four fingers wide and a foot long, all strung up with bamboo and rope to be smoked above the stove. As for the organs, which spoil the fastest, I lacked the scallions, ginger, and garlic to cook them properly for the time being, so I could only place them in a large iron basin. The fish in the river were quite fond of rotten meat, so they would come in handy for fishing later.
After processing the sheep, the sky began to darken.
I wiped the sweat from my cheeks, used a shovel to scoop up dirt and snow, and burned some wormwood in the area where the sheep’s blood had spilled. To be safe, I even built a fire, hoping not to attract any wild beasts from the Holy Mountain with overly sensitive noses.
Back inside, the sheep head soup had just finished stewing. As soon as I pushed the door open, the room was filled with the savory, fresh aroma of the soup. Back in the Central Plains, court physicians often advised me to eat more mutton, especially in winter, to nourish my body. Mutton is warm in nature, capable of dispelling cold and warming the entire body—perfect for my condition. However, at that time, my mind was too preoccupied with schemes and calculations to ever consider my own health.
Living a second life, my state of mind was different. Holding the bowl, I took small sips of the piping hot soup, finally thinking: In this world, one should not squander its many flavors in vain.
The gazelle had spent its life running in the wild, so the meat was dense and firm. I shaved off pieces from the head and dipped them in a sauce of wild pepper and jujiang. The spicy heat tickled my throat, and the fresh soup warmed my viscera—
I licked my lips: truly, there was no moment more serene than this.
My belly was full and my body felt warm. Sitting in the room with the charcoal fire burning brightly, I was even starting to break a light sweat.
I had been busy processing the sheep today and hadn’t gone out to pasture the horses, and yesterday I had been ill; I hadn’t gone out for two consecutive days. Ah Bai and Xiao Hong must have been stir-crazy. Seeing that the weather outside was clear, with no wind or snow, and the moonlight was bright, I put on my thick cotton coat, draped the felt cloak Tie Zhu had left behind, and went out to lead the two horses for a walk—a post-meal stroll.
I took my hunting knife and sword, but after a moment’s thought, I also shouldered my bow. Better safe than sorry.
I didn’t go far, just leading the two horses around familiar areas near the courtyard. At first, the “Night-Shining White” refused to gallop, walking two steps before turning back to look at me.
I met its round, bright eyes, thinking of its preternaturally clever reactions from before. I blinked and tried to explain, “Go on, I’m better now.”
The horse tilted its head, its round eyes turning as if it were truly sizing me up, before it let out a whinny and finally went off to frolic with the roan horse. I watched them play for a while and, thinking it was about time, whistled to call them back.
It was then I realized how good the soup had been: I had been out for quite a long time, but my body was still warm. Even though the outside of my felt boots was soaked through, my feet were not cold at all.
I shook the snow off my body and looked up at the ink-blue sky filled with starlight—no wonder the Rongdi people called it the “Eternal Heaven.” It protected all living things and blessed the people of the grasslands, granting them such delicious mutton and the freedom to roam the lush green grass and the horizon.
On the way back, despite being able to see the round roof of the main house, the two horses stopped in unison. No matter how much I urged them, they refused to take another step forward. The “Night-Shining White” was even more agitated, pawing at the ground and blowing large clouds of hot air from its nostrils; it even bit my hood to prevent me from walking toward the house.
I had grown accustomed to its reactions.
I pulled back my hood and hid behind a tree to observe from a distance. Sure enough, I found traces of wolves outside the Snow Mountain Villa: three gray-brown grassland wolves.
They circled the courtyard, and the largest one knelt at the gate to act as a stepping stone, allowing the other two to use it as a ladder to jump over the wall. With a snap, the latch on the courtyard gate broke, and the large wolf stood up, wagged its tail, and followed them into the courtyard.
I:
Fine. I suppose I’ll have to get an iron latch in the future.
Since the wolves were already inside, I scanned the environment and found a small snow mound with a large rock that could provide cover. I crouched down, drew my bow, and heard two clang sounds coming from inside the yard.
I chuckled and tapped my head: I had forgotten to bring the basin of organs back inside.
The clanging continued, sounds somewhat out of place in the silent snowfield, and I could even hear the crunch-crunch of wolf fangs crushing frozen meat.
That works, too. I shifted my somewhat numb legs. Once the wolves ate the organs, perhaps they wouldn’t covet my other livestock.
After waiting for a while, the crunching sound disappeared and was replaced by the rustle-rustle of the iron basin sliding across the ground: it seemed the three wolves were not yet satisfied and were fighting over the basin.
I stood up, intending to get a better look, but as soon as I moved, the sound of the sliding basin stopped.
Wolves are truly vigilant.
However, as I had expected, once the three wolves finished the organs, they didn’t even look toward the hut where the livestock were kept; they simply lined up and left the courtyard.
More surprisingly, once they emerged, they didn’t leave immediately but started jumping toward the direction of the gate. The smallest one laid down, stuck its butt in the air, extended its front paws, and began twisting its hind legs in the snow as if it were dancing. The other two wiped their front paws on the snow, laid down, rubbed their long, pointed snouts from side to side to clean their faces and then, in perfect unison, they rolled in the snow and bared their snow-white bellies toward the courtyard.
I: ???
The three gray wolves aired their bellies for a while, and the smallest one began running around the courtyard, its four paws digging a deep circle outside the wall. The two larger ones rubbed against the wall from different directions, leaving as much of their fur as possible on the stones.
Before leaving, the smallest wolf let out a howl. Seeing there was no room left for it to leave its mark on the wall, it trotted to the back of the house and raised its hind leg to take a leak.
I: …
Suddenly, a whinny from the white horse behind me caused the three wolves to jerk their heads around. I was about to scold the horse, but in the moment I turned, a gust of wind lunged at me. Having lost my internal strength, my reaction was sluggish, and I only felt a heavy weight press down on me, followed by a pungent, heavy, animalistic stench.
A giant white wolf nearly as tall as I was had lunged over, pressing me into the snow with ease. Its front paws were planted on my shoulders, its sharp claws instantly tearing through my felt cloak and digging deep into my flesh. I hissed in pain and reached for my hunting knife, but the wolf noticed and pinned my hand down with another paw.
The white wolf was immensely strong, and I felt as though my forearm were about to snap. Seeing the white wolf open its gaping maw, I could smell the sour, rancid odor that came from years of eating raw meat, I pulled my legs in, intending to use a burst of strength to flip the wolf over. But the white wolf was clearly an experienced hunter; as I pulled my legs in, it cunningly loosened its paw and leaped to the side.
While I was still reeling from kicking at empty air, it suddenly attacked again, pouncing on me from behind. This time, it used its entire body weight at least 160 pounds to pin me down. I let out a muffled grunt, my vision going dark for a moment.
The white wolf howled at the sky twice, then lowered its head, preparing to snap my neck. I couldn’t move; in that split second between life and death, I saw the three grassland wolves rushing toward us.
However, the white wolf’s sharp teeth stopped abruptly just an inch from my throat.
Its wet, black nose twitched, and a trace of hesitation flickered in its murderous eyes. At the same time, the three grassland wolves reached us. Although the three of them combined were not as large as this snow wolf, they had a clear division of labor: the smallest one pushed the white wolf’s mouth open from the front, while the other two bit its tail and squeezed its body.
I only felt the chaotic sound of wolf howls in my ears, and then a giant wolf head was shoved into my shoulder area, the white wolf sniffing deeply into my clothes.
And then, the white wolf recoiled violently leaping back as if it had stepped on a thorn or had its tail set on fire.
The three gray wolves couldn’t dodge in time and were knocked over; the smallest one even rolled comically down the small hill.
I coughed and slowly climbed up. Before I could figure out what had happened, the white wolf behind me let out a low, whimpering moan. It laid down, pushed its giant head toward me, tucked its tail between its legs with its ears drooping backward, and cast furtive, shifty glances in my direction.
I: …??
The giant white wolf whimpered twice, while the other three small wolves stood behind me and kept howling at it. It sounded… a bit like they were scolding the wolf…
However, seeing the white wolf act this way, I clutched my injured shoulder and slowly sat up—it didn’t seem to have any desire to attack… right?
I glanced at it, and the wolf immediately offered an eager nudge with its head. Once I stood up, it even signaled for me to climb onto its back. I didn’t trust it at first, but my legs were genuinely weak, and the two horses had fled far away there was no way they would come to carry me.
With no choice, I half-believed it and climbed onto its back, carried by it and escorted by the three gray wolves back to the villa. The white wolf ran steadily, its movements when coming to a stop were gentle, and it didn’t even wait for me to jump off it simply laid down on the ground obediently.
“…” I clutched my shoulder; this change in attitude was far too abrupt.
The white wolf turned its head, cautiously peeking at the tattered remains of my cloak. The shirt beneath the cloak was also torn, with spots of crimson blood seeping through. It whimpered, its ears drooping even lower, and it gently rubbed its head against the side of my foot.
Watching it act like this, I finally couldn’t help but laugh:
How can this wolf be so… dog-like?