Chapter One: The Wolf Pack in the Remote Mountains

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Early winter, 1916, the sixth year of the Republic, northern slope of Changbai Mountain, Baishan Village.

Let us introduce the protagonist. Zhou Yi, twenty-two years old, stands at one meter seventy-eight. He wears a sheepskin coat, a dog-fur hat on his head, and a pair of riding boots on his feet. His ears are large and slightly plump, his brows thick, his lips full, and his chin clean-shaven.

His eyes are slender, with very little white showing; what would otherwise be a handsome face takes on a hint of the sinister because of those narrow eyes.

As dusk fell behind the western mountains, Zhou Yi carried a roe deer on his shoulders, following the markers he had set on his way up the mountain. When climbing, Zhou Yi would always prepare some hemp rope, tying it to branches along the path for the sake of retracing his steps. This precaution was necessary; village elders often spoke of people getting lost in the woods, of fox spirits luring men to sleep, so every hunter venturing alone into the mountains would mark their route with rope.

At this season, the roe deer are fat and tender, their meat at its most delicious. The one slung over Zhou Yi’s shoulder weighed more than a hundred jin; once deep winter set in, catching such a plump deer would be nearly impossible. In the past, Zhou Yi usually hunted pheasants or rabbits, but this one deer would be enough meat to last his family half the winter. By now, Zhou Yi was out of breath, his exhaled vapors freezing into white ice crystals on his hat.

The sky darkened, the north wind howled, and snowflakes drifted down. Zhou Yi looked up—night had fallen, the snow wouldn’t stop any time soon, and the wind drove flakes into his face, making it hard to keep his eyes open. Usually, he never ventured too deep into the mountains alone: first, for fear of losing his way; second, because predators roamed after dark, and the mountains at night were perilous. From the forest came a wolf’s howl, echoing in the silent air. Glancing in the direction of the sound, Zhou Yi braced himself and pressed on down the slope.

An hour later, his strength was spent. He found a shallow cave, just large enough to shield himself from the wind. He tossed the roe deer to the ground and grabbed a handful of snow, stuffing it into his mouth. The snow melted, cold water sliding down his throat to give him a measure of renewed energy. He slung the deer’s front legs over his shoulder and pushed on.

He hurried along, exhausting himself, and half an hour later dropped the deer again. Spotting a large tree beside him, Zhou Yi was startled—the hemp rope tied to its roots was the very marker he’d left at his last rest stop, right beside the same cave.

Closing his eyes, Zhou Yi squatted on the ground, hands clasped behind his head. After a moment, he opened his eyes—an old trick passed down by the elders, said to help one regain a sense of direction when lost.

Zhou Yi fixed his eyes on a direction, shouldered the deer, and started down once more. Half an hour later, he found himself in the same place—the tree with the rope, the cave from before. He knew he’d stumbled into the infamous “ghost wall.” In the depths of winter’s snow, a night spent outside was deadly. Now, cold and hungry, Zhou Yi realized that if he kept struggling onward, he’d only grow more exhausted. Many a hunter had died in these mountains, lost, lured in circles by the phantom maze.

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Understanding his predicament, Zhou Yi forced himself to remain calm. He drew his knife from his belt, cut off one hind leg from the roe deer, skinned it, washed it clean with snow, then gathered some dry wood and lit a fire to roast the meat. From inside his sheepskin coat, he pulled out a pouch of salt and sprinkled it over the venison. Zhou Yi was no stranger to roasting meat in the mountains—his skill was second to none. Soon, the aroma of roasting deer filled the air. He took out a flask and gulped down a mouthful of strong spirits.

The liquor was from the village distillery—high-proof, just what every northeastern hunter carried on winter hunts. Warmth spread through his body. The meat soon cooked, and as Zhou Yi ate and drank, he found his spirits lifting; if not for being lost in the mountains, this would almost have been a moment of contentment. The hind leg was quickly devoured.

Midnight came. The snow eased, but the north wind still howled.

Misfortune rarely comes alone. From the distance, another wolf’s howl sounded. Zhou Yi gazed at the slowly approaching green eyes gleaming in the dark, a chill creeping from the crown of his head to his feet. He knew that the scent of blood from butchering the deer’s leg had drawn the wolves. Zhou Yi cursed his carelessness under his breath.

He unstrapped his hunting rifle, loaded a cartridge, and fired into the air. The gun could only hold one round at a time; after firing, the bolt had to be worked to eject the spent shell before reloading. Zhou Yi dared not shoot at the wolves—if he provoked their savage instincts, the whole pack would rush him, and there’d be no hope of survival. The wolves paused at the gunshot but, seeing Zhou Yi remain motionless, began to edge closer once more.

Food was scarce in winter, and these were hungry wolves. Ordinarily, they would never approach a fire—fear of flames was instinctive—but hunger trumped terror, and the pack kept creeping forward.

Zhou Yi thought grimly, “It looks like tonight is my end.” He still had a dozen bullets left. Reloading, he aimed at the wolves. The pack seemed to recognize the weapon; whenever Zhou Yi raised his gun, they’d halt.

Another howl split the night—the lead wolf’s call. The pack responded in unison, then froze, facing off with Zhou Yi. Wolves, second only to humans in intelligence, made survival almost impossible for those who encountered a pack.

The fire began to dwindle. Zhou Yi wanted to add more wood, but dared not move—a sudden action might spur the wolves to attack. Yet if he remained still, the fire would die and the wolves would charge anyway. Sweat trickled down his forehead. How could he break this deadlock?

Clenching his teeth, Zhou Yi decided to risk it all. He grabbed a handful of dry wood and tossed it on the fire. The wolves sprang forward, closing the twenty-meter gap in an instant—but as the wood caught, flames leapt up, startling the wolves back a few meters, where they stopped again.

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Now, only ten meters separated Zhou Yi from the wolves. The lead wolf was nearly two meters long, its fur gray-brown, with silver-white patches on its legs and neck. Its ears stood erect, eyes fixed warily on Zhou Yi. He could even hear the wolf’s breathing, its green eyes glinting in the firelight, sending chills down his spine. After a moment, the lead wolf, judging Zhou Yi was not an immediate threat, inched closer. The pack fanned out in a semicircle, hemming Zhou Yi into the cave.

Eight meters: Zhou Yi could see the fire reflected in the lead wolf’s eyes.

Five meters: he could smell the rank breath from its jaws.

Biting his lip, Zhou Yi raised his rifle and fired straight at the lead wolf’s head. The wolf, ever wary, dodged aside at the flash of the gun, and the shot struck another wolf’s foreleg behind it. The gunshot enraged the leader. With no time for Zhou Yi to reload, the wolf sprang back and then lunged at him.

Zhou Yi dodged to the side; the lead wolf missed him. In the move, Zhou Yi ended up beside the roe deer’s carcass. Another wolf leapt at him—Zhou Yi seized the frozen, heavy deer and hurled it at the beast.

As mentioned before, the deer weighed over a hundred jin and, frozen stiff, became a deadly weapon. The wolf it struck let out a howl of pain. But as soon as Zhou Yi drove one back, four or five others lunged forward. Grabbing a thick, burning branch from the fire, Zhou Yi swung it wildly in front of him.

He had never trained in martial arts; his desperate, chaotic swings left openings. One wolf seized the chance and bit into his sheepskin sleeve. Zhou Yi flung his arm, shaking the wolf loose, but another pounced and knocked him to the ground. Its jaws closed in on his neck.

Inwardly, Zhou Yi thought, “My life ends here.”