Chapter Nineteen: The Legend of the Wolf Hunter

"Alright, you save it for now. When there’s time, I’ll find a few people to rebuild the roof for us, or maybe buy some meat..." Zhang Tiejun pondered for a long while, unsure how to spend the money, and finally forced a bitter smile. "Mother, you’d better keep an eye on this money."

Though deeply moved, Zhang’s mother’s expression quickly shifted to one of concern.

"Tiejun, though we are poor, we have pride. There are some things we absolutely must not do..."

Zhang Tiejun was taken aback but quickly nodded. "Mother, what are you thinking? This money is honest earnings. Please don’t worry."

Lowering his voice, he added, "Mother, come next spring, I’ll start reclaiming some wasteland. Whatever you want to eat, I’ll get it for you."

"Really?" Zhang’s mother looked deeply moved.

"You mustn’t tell anyone about this yet—I haven’t planned it all out," he said, slinging his basket onto his back.

"You’re going out again? The weather’s about to turn snowy. Are you sure your health can take it?"

"It’s nothing. You just stay home and rest."

Pushing open the gate, Zhang Tiejun’s sole purpose in descending the mountain this time was to reassure his mother and hand her the money.

She grasped the broom with one hand, watching her son’s broadening frame with a mixture of pride and worry.

Raising a son to rely on in old age—he was still a child, yet already carrying the weight of the household on his shoulders.

Zhang Tiejun made a trip to Zhao’s village to return the wheelbarrow and took the chance to recount the incident with the white fox to Zhao Ningning.

"Here, take this," Zhao Youde said, pulling a tightly wrapped package of brown paper from the kang bed.

"Wolves are very territorial. Inside are some bait lures. Go to the spot I told you about and spread these evenly over the traps. It should work fine."

Just as Zhang prepared to leave, Zhao Ningning called out to him.

He stopped instinctively as she hurried over.

"I just made this meat pie. It’s still warm—eat it on your journey." Though shy, Zhao Ningning pulled open the cotton jacket on Zhang’s back and tucked the meat pie inside.

The cold, tender hand holding the warm meat pie—though separated by a layer of wool—Zhang could still sense an unfamiliar emotion.

Seeing he did not resist, Zhao Ningning blushed deeply, lowering her gaze like a child who had done something wrong, her twin braids falling naturally, her fingers nervously twisting in front of her stomach.

"Thank you," Zhang Tiejun smiled faintly, his tall figure casting a shadow that shaded the sunlight.

"N-no need to thank me," Zhao Ningning murmured, flustered.

These years of hardship that felt like joy—simply put—were the essence of youth.

In life’s unknown warmth and chill, enduring wind and rain, only a beloved beauty’s delicate hands, icy skin, and fragrant scent offer solace. Subtle fragrance stirs few souls; lovers depart beneath the blazing sun; lonely branches await spring’s return. Dreams twist and turn a thousand times, but awakening reveals only empty rooms.

Following the map marked on the brown paper, Zhang Tiejun arrived at a mountain hollow called Camel’s Slope—two rising hills with a dip between, shaped like a camel’s back.

This sheltered spot was free from wind and rain—a suitable place for a pack to gather.

A wolf pack generally numbered between twenty and thirty, with clear roles: the alpha wolf commanded; strong males hunted; females cared for the young.

At first, Zhang’s wolf traps went untriggered for three days straight, forcing him to relocate.

Canines and felines have long been the two dominant forces in nature; while wolves fall slightly short in burst speed and power compared to felines, their survival hinged on a strict pack hierarchy and cunning beyond that of cats.

Having prepared the hunting ground, Zhang lay in a snow nest he dug atop the hill, covering the entrance with grass.

The brief sunlight was a final flourish before dark clouds rolled in, heavy as if the city itself might collapse. In the mountains of the northeast, rain was rare; subzero temperatures quickly turned droplets to snow.

Unpredictable weather was the norm here—a blizzard arrived in an instant.

For Zhang, the storm was timely: the heavy snow would conceal his tracks and mask his scent.

Facing an entire wolf pack alone was obviously unwise; a dozen or more wolves attacking at once could tear a man apart in moments.

His task was to wait for the traps to catch some, then seize any stragglers—just enough to report back.

The Ula grass he discovered last night proved useful now, tightly covering the area to block the biting cold.

Everything was ready—only the east wind was missing.

Zhao Youde’s hunting expertise was undeniable. The pungent, foul-smelling bait—composed of unidentifiable substances—was so potent it spread far even in the blizzard.

With food scarce, any nearby wolves would be drawn in quickly.

Waiting without purpose was agonizing, but patience was one of Zhang’s few virtues. He had once lain in a grass nest for three days and two nights to complete a mission.

Soon the cold wind obscured his vision, and within hours a thick blanket of snow covered his hideout.

Diligence was rewarded: a wolf’s howl jolted Zhang to full alert.

"You bastards, you finally took the bait," he muttered, a straw clenched between his teeth as he steadied his breath, aiming at the approaching wolves.

The howls grew nearer—contrary to his expectations, this was no small group but a large pack of dozens.

They frolicked eagerly in the snow, and Zhang roughly counted around twenty.

Though playful, their formation remained disciplined, like a special forces squad in a three-three formation divided into four echelons.

Several old, ailing wolves led slowly at the front—these seasoned veterans guided and steered the pack. The second echelon consisted of prime adult wolves, the main fighting force responsible for the pack’s security in emergencies. The youngest wolves and females, the most protected members, followed without pressure, simply ensuring they didn’t fall behind. The fourth echelon wolves were noticeably larger—elite hunters.

At the rear marched a massive male wolf, imposing and fierce, bearing a vicious scar at the corner of its eye.