I do not know how much time had passed, but when consciousness returned:
Gu Chengyan found himself lying in a small wooden hut. His clothes were tattered, but he was covered by a thick, heavy bear pelt.
Although he still had a slight fever, the pain had subsided, and he was able to prop himself up to move.
The wooden hut was small, six feet square. One side had a square window and a small door; the remaining three sides were solid walls.
Because the window was covered with a curtain made from the hide of some unknown animal, the interior was plunged into dimness.
Gu Chengyan could only make out a fire pit in the center of the room, over which hung an iron pot that had rusted through at the bottom.
A light breeze stirred the leather curtain, and faint light seeped through the gaps.
It seemed… it was already dawn outside.
Gu Chengyan rubbed his forehead, unsure of how long he had been unconscious.
Pulling the bear pelt up to drape over his shoulders, Gu Chengyan lowered his head to inspect the injuries on his legs:
The several bloody gashes from the withered branches had already scabbed over. His sprained left ankle, untreated, had swollen to the size of a steamed bun.
Glancing around the hut, he found nothing that could help him treat the sprain. With a sigh, Gu Chengyan decided to leave it be for now, rising to support himself against the wall as he slowly shuffled toward the window.
The air in the wooden hut smelled heavily of dust, as if it hadn’t been inhabited for a long time.
He pulled the leather curtain, hoping to let the outside light in, but a large amount of dust fell from the curtain, choking him and forcing him to retreat.
Once his eyes adapted to the brightness, Gu Chengyan realized this was likely a hunter’s cabin:
Beneath the square window was a wooden crate, more than half of which had shattered, revealing a few bowls and dishes inside. Hanging on the wall where he had been lying were a deer’s head and a piece of pelt made from woven animal tails.
The remaining two walls were hung with rain capes, fishing rods, bows and arrows, hunting knives, and several other implements Gu Chengyan couldn’t even name.
With light, Gu Chengyan was even more certain the hut had been abandoned for a long time, as dust had settled on everything he could see.
But…
When he first lost consciousness last night, Gu Chengyan had indeed fainted from pain, but he had suffered constant major and minor injuries over the years; his tolerance for pain was exceptional, and it was unlikely he would have blacked out entirely.
Therefore, in his hazy state, he actually retained impressions of some details:
For instance, he remembered someone saving him in the snow and then carrying him horizontally the entire way.
Such a somewhat shameful posture was not something he would forget.
For instance, when he was freezing, in pain, and shivering, he seemed to recall someone leaning down, slowly pulling him into their arms.
Then, he felt as if he had been wrapped in a ball of fire; the intense heat caused him to sweat continuously, and his body gradually stopped feeling so miserable.
When one is in the early stages of rapid hypothermia, one instinctively presses close to the only heat source nearby, so Gu Chengyan also remembered:
The chest he buried his head in was broad and thick; the muscles on it were firm and full but not overly hard. The waist he circled was narrow, and the back was broad, feeling both resilient and springy to the touch.
It was just a pity—
Gu Chengyan helplessly pinched the bridge of his nose. That he could remember so clearly was entirely because the other party had been completely unclothed.
The men of the grasslands, truly, were wild indeed.
However…
Looking at the fire pit in the center of the room, which even had spider webs on it, Gu Chengyan felt that perhaps his recollection was a delusion.
How would an ordinary person not build a fire, but instead hold him to warm him up?
Gu Chengyan rubbed his nose, and not knowing what he was thinking, the tips of his ears burned hot.
But if it was an illusion, what kind of wild beast would know how to skin a bear and open a wooden door?
Gu Chengyan’s gaze fell on the door bolt. If that were a wild beast, it would have to be a supernatural creature…
Thinking that the house had been abandoned for a long time and was covered in dust, Gu Chengyan lowered his head to look for footprints.
But after searching for a long time, he only saw his own footprints and a drag mark extending from where he had been lying to the doorway—as if someone had specifically swept it clean.
Gu Chengyan frowned in thought, but before he could make sense of it, the sound of a horse neighing came from outside the door.
He was startled, and looking out through the window, discovered it was the white horse.
The big white horse looked very bedraggled, with several wounds on its chest and hind hooves, but upon seeing him, it still happily kicked its front hooves.
Gu Chengyan pushed open the door and found that this small wooden hut was also on the snow-capped mountain.
It was just located on a relatively hidden and steep northern slope, far from the sunny side. The person who built the hut must have designed it with great care—
About a hundred feet above the wooden hut, a cliff protruded from the mountain wall, its surface acting like a natural umbrella, shielding the hut from wind and snow.
The cliff, the mountain wall, and the flat area of the northern slope formed a relatively stable zone. It was no wonder that while the mountain had unpredictable weather, the wooden hut hadn’t been buried by wind and snow despite being abandoned for so long.
Judging by this setup, was it perhaps some snow-mountain hermit?
Just like those martial arts masters in the Central Plains who avoided the world, always coming and going without a trace, devoted to jumping out of the mortal realm, leaving only their heroic names in the pugilistic world.
Gu Chengyan folded the bear pelt and placed it back in the hut. After stepping outside, he bowed to the hut as a gesture of thanks, and then beckoned to the white horse:
“Abai, come here.”
The stallion neighed and eagerly nuzzled up to him.
Gu Chengyan grasped the saddle, using his right foot to step into the stirrup to mount; his left foot was swollen severely and could only be suspended in the air.
Without the bear pelt, and still running a low fever, the effort left him feeling quite cold.
Shrinking his neck, Gu Chengyan turned back to look at the small wooden hut, making up his mind that when he returned, he would learn hunting from Iron Pillar.
To live on the grasslands in the future, he wanted to get himself a thick pelt, too.
Although the white horse was gluttonous, it was also loyal in protecting its master. After Gu Chengyan mounted, it used its fastest speed to circle out of the northern slope.
After circling twice in the pine forest, it soon found a relatively gentle path down the mountain.
After walking for a distance in the mountains, Gu Chengyan began to run a high fever again.
He sighed helplessly, tightening the reins to bind himself to the horse’s back, then leaned over and patted the horse’s neck. “From here on, it’s up to you…”
The white horse snorted, unsure if it understood, but Gu Chengyan, lying on the horse’s back, indeed felt that the white horse’s stride began to quicken.
Feeling the cold wind whistling past his ears, Gu Chengyan didn’t know if it was his imagination, but he kept vaguely hearing someone calling his name.
At the same time, the galloping white horse suddenly stopped, the jolt causing Gu Chengyan’s internal organs to shift.
He gripped the braided mane on the horse’s neck, weak and listless. “Abai, you… surely you aren’t trying to be the death of me…”
The white horse shook its neck, looking very innocent.
“Mr. Gu—!!” Another sound of hooves stomped through the leaves and forest, coming closer along with Iron Pillar’s shouts.
Gu Chengyan paused, looking up to see a bedraggled, haggard Temurbagen.
“Mr. Gu, are you alright?”
Iron Pillar jumped down from the yellow-dapple horse, stumbling as he landed, his chin covered in blue stubble—God knows how long he had been searching on the mountain!
“Where did you go!”
Iron Pillar’s voice was hoarse, his eyes red and swollen. When he arrived beside the white horse, he looked up at Gu Chengyan, his eyes brimming with tears. “You scared me to death!”
Gu Chengyan smiled, wanting to lift his hand to pat his shoulder to show he was fine, but everything went black before his eyes. He could no longer hold on and fell directly from the horse.
“Mr. Gu!!!”
The person he caught in his arms was burning hot. Temurbagen’s heart missed a beat. He hurriedly wiped his face, bringing Gu Chengyan and the two horses down the mountain.
This trip into the Holy Mountain caused Gu Chengyan to sink into a coma for three to five more days, during which he ran a high fever for two days and even coughed up blood again.
Iron Pillar truly had no other choice and had to lower his pride to seek out the Akinit tribe again.
To his surprise, in the short span of only a few days, the Akinit tribe was preparing to migrate, seemingly to prevent being found by others.
Iron Pillar knew he was unwelcome; after riding his horse closer, he threw himself to his knees, shouting loudly that he had come to beg for someone to save a life.
He described Gu Chengyan’s condition without reservation, only hoping the Akinit tribal leader would feel compassion and send a Shaman with him.
The leader looked at Iron Pillar, feeling quite conflicted.
It wasn’t that he was cold-hearted or unwilling to save a life, but that their tribe had a special situation—they only had one Shaman.
If they lent him out, and something happened on the round trip…
Then their tribe would be practically equivalent to losing a precious doctor, as well as an envoy who could communicate with the Eternal Heaven.
In the end, the leader gritted his teeth and sent the Shaman, but also ordered a warrior from the tribe to escort them.
The Akinit tribe’s Shaman was an old woman with white hair and several missing teeth, so they hitched another cart.
When they returned to the Snow Mountain Villa and saw Gu Chengyan, the Shaman and the warrior realized Iron Pillar hadn’t exaggerated—Gu Chengyan was indeed critically ill.
After the old woman examined him carefully, she boiled herbs for Gu Chengyan. Upon hearing they had experienced a snow avalanche on the Holy Mountain, she kindly performed a bone-divination.
“How is it?” Iron Pillar asked eagerly.
“Don’t worry,” looking at the cracks on the bone fragments, the old woman smiled. “The Holy Mountain’s gods are blessing him; everything will turn misfortune into a blessing.”
“We… infringed upon the gods,” Iron Pillar whispered. “Will the gods… not send down punishment?”
The old woman shook her head, pointing at Gu Chengyan, and said meaningfully:
“The gods are protecting him. With such a great disaster as a snow avalanche, didn’t the gods still send him down the mountain safely?”
Iron Pillar suddenly understood and thanked the Shaman and the warrior repeatedly, then saw them all the way back, escorting them back to their tribe.
Two more days passed before Gu Chengyan finally improved, waking up and sitting on the bed, finally having regained his consciousness.
Watching his pale face, Iron Pillar couldn’t help but cry another time.
Gu Chengyan was entirely without strength and, seeing him cry like that, truly had no other options, so he could only smile weakly:
“…Stop crying, I don’t know how to swim; I’m going to be drowned.”
Iron Pillar pouted, unable to hold back a laugh, and finally wiped his tears away, bringing the prepared medicine to offer to Gu Chengyan, and telling him about the Akinit tribe’s Shaman.
Listening to this, Gu Chengyan suddenly remembered and asked Iron Pillar again if anyone lived on the Holy Mountain.
Iron Pillar shook his head. “I haven’t asked you yet, how did you get down?”
Actually, Gu Chengyan didn’t know himself, so he could only vaguely say: “Perhaps I was saved by some hidden hermit…”
With this, Iron Pillar believed the old woman’s words even more:
This was the gods’ blessing.
After recuperating for a few more days, Gu Chengyan finally recovered completely; the swelling in his ankle subsided, and he could walk on the ground.
He earnestly learned some grassland life skills from Iron Pillar, such as cutting horse grass, feeding chickens, and drying horse and sheep manure to use as fuel.
However, no matter how he proved that he was truly better and could walk, Iron Pillar sternly rejected his suggestion to go look around in the distance, firmly forbidding him from going.
Even that white horse, which had shared life and death with him, was having a temper; as long as Gu Chengyan came near, it would hiss and dodge backward, not allowing him to ride it at all.
—He didn’t know if it was because it had a sense of spirituality, or if it had been frightened by the snow avalanche.
Watching the big white horse with worry, Gu Chengyan suddenly thought of that day—the white horse had been tied up outside the house; perhaps it had seen the person who saved him.
“So… do you still remember?” Gu Chengyan stroked the horse’s neck and asked tentatively, “Do you know who saved me?”
The white horse’s eyes were light chestnut. After its large, beautiful eyes rolled twice, it suddenly looked as if it had seen a monster, startled, and reared up its front hooves.
Gu Chengyan was given a fright and subconsciously looked behind him, only to find that in the entire small courtyard, besides himself, there was only that big white sheep with the white, soft wool.
To be able to scare a horse like that…
He pursed his lips and crossed his arms, slowly rubbing his chin:
Could it be that the person looked… like a bull’s eye and a horse’s mouth, with a green face and fangs, looking very terrifying?
Or perhaps they were injured, and had scars on their face?
Which is why they wouldn’t light a lamp or build a fire?
Gu Chengyan nodded, feeling that all of this seemed to make sense.
But a moment later, he couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head repeatedly, picking up a handful of purple alfalfa to feed the white horse:
“Why am I getting into a huff with you? You don’t necessarily understand my words…”
Furthermore, it seemed improper for him to guess about his savior in such a reckless manner.
Gu Chengyan sighed helplessly. When the big white horse lowered its head to eat grass, he suddenly noticed its long, swaying tail.
Wait, a tail?
In a flash of lightning, Gu Chengyan suddenly thought of the traces on the floor of the small wooden hut that had been swept away.
Thinking of it this way, this behavior of sweeping away one’s own tracks was very like that of a certain animal one possessing a fluffy, big tail.
For example, a wolf.
But would a wolf open a door?
And could… cough, carry him?
Thinking of this, Gu Chengyan couldn’t help but laugh while pointing his finger at his temple:
He was truly bewitched; what was he thinking about?
The yellow-dapple horse in the distance neighed. Iron Pillar had just returned from hunting, but unlike other days, today he had an additional falcon on his shoulder.
Before he could even speak, Iron Pillar’s eyes reddened.
Gu Chengyan: “…”
Why did he turn into such a crybaby?
Iron Pillar wiped his face, his voice hoarse, “Mr. Gu, there’s a war.”
“A war?”
“The Zhalantai tribe launched a surprise attack on our Qiyan tribe in the night. Many clansmen were killed or captured, and my wife and children… also fell into their hands.”
When saying this, there was hatred in Temurbagen’s eyes, but when he turned to look at Gu Chengyan, his eyes were once again filled with guilt and worry:
“Mr. Gu, I, I must leave…”