Chapter Three: Gaining Wolf Bejo

Zhou Yi rose to his feet, his whole body aching and weak, his mouth parched and dry. He grabbed a handful of snow and stuffed it into his mouth; as the snow melted, it eased the thirst in his throat.

This movement startled Zhou Da Jiang and Baozi awake. Seeing Zhou Yi conscious again, their faces lit up with joy.

“Yi, you scared us half to death. We wanted to carry you home, but we couldn’t even get close to your corpse,” Baozi blurted out, his words as blunt and unguarded as always.

Zhou Yi smacked Baozi on the back of his head. “Corpse?” he snapped, his narrow eyes flashing in feigned anger.

Realizing his slip of the tongue, Baozi spat repeatedly to ward off bad luck, making a comical sight.

Zhou Da Jiang saw that Zhou Yi was all right and said nothing further, hoisting the roe deer onto his shoulder and heading down the mountain. Zhou Yi and Baozi, long accustomed to Zhou Da Jiang’s temperament, followed silently, carrying the body of the alpha wolf behind him.

“Baozi, how long was I out?” Zhou Yi asked as they walked down the mountain.

“A whole day and night. Did you really kill that wolf?” Baozi responded offhandedly.

Zhou Yi smiled and nodded, saying nothing more. In his dream, the teachings had seemed but a moment, yet outside, a day and night had passed. It was truly remarkable. He glanced back at the mountain cave, unchanged in its appearance. He resolved to return someday and uncover the identity of that mysterious teacher.

Baozi saw Zhou Yi lost in thought and called him twice. Zhou Yi came back to himself and replied, “I want the wolf’s pelt. You can take the meat home to eat.”

Baozi scoffed, “Forget it. If I eat this wolf, I’ll never dare go hunting again. Wolves are cunning creatures—best not to provoke them.”

Back in the village, Zhou Yi skinned the alpha wolf, hanging its pelt outside to dry, then buried its body with Baozi in the rear hills.

The main reason for bringing the wolf’s body down from the mountain was for its pelt. In a hunter’s household, a wolfskin was a symbol of courage—a source of pride. Hunting a wolf was no easy feat; wolves are pack animals, rarely hunted by a lone man. If several hunters worked together, it was manageable, but with too few, the wolves’ fierce instincts could spell danger. Zhou Yi had slain the alpha wolf alone, which was all the more extraordinary.

On their return from the hills, Zhou Yi noticed a snow-white wolf pup trailing behind them. The little wolf kept its distance, neither approaching nor fleeing. At first, Zhou Yi thought it was someone’s dog. He crouched down, making clicking sounds to call it over.

The wolf pup stopped, wary, sitting twenty meters away and watching Zhou Yi. Amused, Zhou Yi ran forward a few steps; the pup followed swiftly. When Zhou Yi stopped, the pup retreated a few steps.

“Whose dog is this, following me?” Zhou Yi wondered aloud.

Baozi glanced back and grinned, “That’s not a dog—it’s a wolf pup. You’re in real trouble now.”

Zhou Yi was startled. “A wolf? Why’s it following me?”

Baozi laughed mischievously, “You killed its alpha, maybe even its father. It’s probably looking for a chance to avenge him. You’re doomed!”

Zhou Yi’s mouth twitched. “It’s so small—what harm could it do? I’ll fetch my rifle and settle this.” He turned to go home, Baozi hurrying after him.

Once home, Zhou Yi grabbed the rifle hanging on the wall and stepped outside. The wolf pup sat beneath a small tree not far from the Zhou house, its eyes fixed on the door. When Zhou Yi emerged, it ran a few steps further, then crouched again, still watching.

Zhou Yi loaded the rifle, raised it, and aimed at the pup. The wolf began to whimper, a desperate sound that must have been a plea for food.

Hearing the pup’s cries, Zhou Yi’s heart softened. He hid the rifle behind his back and approached slowly, wary of a sudden attack. The rifle was kept out of sight, ready for defense.

This time, the wolf did not flee but remained crouched, watching Zhou Yi in guarded silence. When he was just a meter away, Zhou Yi squatted down and extended his left hand, inviting the pup to approach. Gradually, the wolf relaxed and came closer.

Zhou Yi’s right hand gripped the rifle tightly, his knuckles pale with tension. He was nervous; despite its size, a wolf is a wolf, and its wild nature makes it wary of humans. If the pup lashed out at close range, Zhou Yi wasn’t sure he could dodge.

Fortunately, the wolf began to sniff Zhou Yi’s hand, its suspicion melting away little by little. Zhou Yi set the rifle aside and reached out to scratch the pup’s head. The wolf rolled onto its back, belly exposed, whimpering softly.

Only then did Zhou Yi truly relax. Animals’ bellies are their most vulnerable spot; exposing them means trust and submission. Zhou Yi laughed, scratching the pup’s belly as he did.

In my analysis, Zhou Yi’s taming of the wolf pup was due to two main reasons.

First: Zhou Yi had drunk the blood of the alpha wolf, so his scent carried that of the slain leader. The pup, likely its offspring, recognized the scent and felt no hostility toward him.

Second: The pup was too young, probably separated from its pack and unable to fend for itself. It had followed the alpha’s body all the way here, and after Zhou Yi buried it, its animosity faded, prompting it to seek him out.

Baozi watched all this in silent amazement. There were many lone wolves in the hills; when he and Zhou Yi were eighteen, they caught one, hoping to raise it. But the lone wolf howled at the moon every night, refused food, and starved itself to death.

“Haha, maybe I’ll catch a wolf pup myself and raise it. Imagine hunting with a wolf by your side—how impressive!” Baozi was envious of Zhou Yi’s success and wanted to try his luck.

Zhou Yi scoffed, “Catch a wolf pup, and you might end up as wolf food. If you’re going, go alone—I’m not joining.”

As it turned out, two years later, the pair did catch another wolf pup in the hills, but it was so fierce that it dashed itself against the wall and died. But that’s another story.

Back at home, Zhou Yi tossed the roe deer’s entrails to the wolf pup, which, ravenous, dragged them off to eat.

“Let’s give this pup a name,” Baozi suggested.

Zhou Yi stroked his clean-shaven chin in thought, then said, “All white as snow—let’s call it Beiqiao.” And so the name was settled. In the Manchu language, Beiqiao means ‘white wolf,’ with a diminutive ending. Its pronunciation is ‘banen qun en,’ but for convenience, we’ll call it Beiqiao.