Chapter Seven: The White Spirit Hound

"Master, let's run!"
"Hold steady, don't be afraid!"

White Steamed Bun saw the wild wolf as well, his face turning deathly pale in an instant. In a panic, he was about to flee when Li Zhao stopped him with a firm grip.

Experienced hunters know that if you encounter a wolf in the wild, running is useless—humans can't outrun wolves. In fact, fleeing only exhausts your strength, sealing your fate. In contrast, holding your ground and fighting for your life offers a slim chance of survival.

Li Zhao gripped his bamboo spear tightly and slowly edged toward the thicket, searching for an opportunity to strike first. White Steamed Bun, though terrified, gritted his teeth, picked up his hatchet, and followed along... Twenty paces... Fifteen... Ten... At last, they saw clearly: lying in the grass wasn't a wolf, but a large white dog—more accurately, a white hound!

Some might ask, aren't dogs and hounds the same? Not quite. There's a difference: dogs are smaller and gentler in temperament, while hounds are larger and wilder. Also, dogs have eighteen toes, while hounds have twenty—the extra two on the hind legs are called "wolf fangs." Any hound with these has wolf blood in its veins.

This white hound was imposing, with sharp fangs and piercing eyes. Its coat was as white as snow, save for a golden vertical stripe on its forehead, as if wearing a golden crown—clearly no ordinary creature.

But the hound bore several wounds, one hind leg was especially bloodied and mangled, making it clear the animal was badly hurt and unable to move.

"Master, doesn't it look familiar?"

"Yes, it does. Where have I seen it before?"

"The wanted notice!"

Li Zhao and White Steamed Bun exchanged glances and remembered: wasn't this the white spirit hound with a bounty on its head from the authorities?

Hunters from Qianlong Ridge and nearby villages had been searching for months without success, believing it had escaped deep into the mountains. They continued their pursuit, laying traps everywhere.

Who could have guessed—the white spirit hound hadn't fled to the wilds but had hidden near Black Dragon Spring, separated from human settlements by just one hill. No wonder the hunters couldn't find it. Clever, truly worthy of the title "King of Hounds," understanding the art of hiding in plain sight.

"Roar! Roar!"

Sensing humans near, the white spirit hound let out furious growls, but after a few attempts, it couldn't stand. It was utterly spent.

Understandable, for it must have paid a great price to break through the encirclement of a thousand hunters.

"Master, it's exhausted. Let's capture it and claim the reward?"

"Don't go near. Step back."

"Why?"

"A true man does not take ill-gotten gains. Let's set it free."

The authorities had posted a notice: anyone who captures the white spirit hound alive will receive a reward of one thousand strings of cash—a fortune, enough to make anyone envious. But after a moment's thought, Li Zhao gave up the opportunity. In the hound's steadfast gaze, he saw a message: "Better die than live without freedom!"

This was a free spirit. To cage it and make it a plaything for the powerful would be too cruel.

Thinking thus, Li Zhao put down his bamboo spear and, taking White Steamed Bun with him, backed away several yards. Then, he tossed over the last few pieces of roasted fish.

"Woof! Woof!"

The white spirit hound, wounded and unable to hunt, was already ravenous. It sniffed the fish, found nothing amiss, and devoured it greedily. When the fish was gone, it continued to watch Li Zhao and White Steamed Bun, but its gaze had softened—it sensed these two meant no harm.

"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. Let me see your wounds." Li Zhao approached again, carefully, his face full of gentle intent.

The hound growled softly but did not resist. It had chosen to trust—or else it knew resistance was futile and left its fate to the heavens.

After checking the injuries, Li Zhao saw they were deep, likely torn open during escape, but not yet infected.

He fetched some spring water to clean the wounds, then selected several wild herbs with properties to stop bleeding, reduce inflammation, and ease pain. He ground them into a paste with a stone and applied them carefully, finally tearing his own robe into strips to bandage the wounds.

Still, though the medicine was applied, the hound was in poor shape. Unable to hunt or run, it would need time to recover.

What to do? Bring it back to the shrine?

This was an imperial tribute hound. If discovered, not only would the hound be doomed, but Li Zhao, White Steamed Bun, and Aunt Qing would likely lose their heads as well.

Leave it by Black Dragon Spring? If another beast came to drink, the hound would be finished—or if someone else happened by, it would be captured for sure.

No, if you're going to do a good deed, see it through to the end. He would make the hound a shelter.

Li Zhao searched the area around Black Dragon Spring and found the perfect spot—a grove of wild cypress trees, dense and leafy, blocking out the sun.

One ancient cypress stood over twenty meters tall, four or five people would be needed to encircle its trunk, with branches thick as a man's waist. Li Zhao swiftly climbed the tree, chose the branch with the most forks, and, after some trimming, built a nest five or six feet across—big enough for two or three adults to sit inside.

The location was perfect, hidden by foliage on all sides—even standing at the base of the tree, one wouldn't see the nest above.

With White Steamed Bun's help, Li Zhao hoisted the white spirit hound up with vines and settled it into the nest. He then caught a dozen fish at the lake for its food, carved wild gourds into bowls for water, and placed them by the hound—leaving nothing to chance.

The nest was at least ten meters up; no large beast could climb that high. As for humans, who would think to look for a hound in a tree?

"Stay here and heal. Don't move or make noise. I'll come check on you in a few days." He stroked the hound's head and gave careful instructions before climbing down with White Steamed Bun and leaving the mountain.

After walking some distance, he turned back—the hound remained quietly in the nest, not moving or barking, a truly intelligent creature.

On their way down, they checked the traps they'd set earlier, and sure enough, it was a bountiful harvest: four wild rabbits, three pheasants, and one pig badger—a creature with a large head, thick neck, small eyes, and a sharp snout. This was a prize: its meat was delicious, and the rendered fat had medicinal value for treating burns.

Pig badger is a protected species? Not in the Tang Dynasty. There was no wildlife conservation law—if you could kill a badger, tiger, black bear, or leopard, you ate it. Otherwise, you'd be the one eaten.

This successful foray into the mountains delighted White Steamed Bun, but amidst his happiness, he began to look at Li Zhao differently...

He'd grown up with Li Zhao and knew his young master's disposition: timid, weak, self-effacing, indecisive. Apart from reading and writing, he could do nothing—not even basic self-care.

How had one serious illness transformed him so completely? Now he was clever and brave, setting traps, catching fish, gathering herbs... Who had taught him all this?

On the way home, White Steamed Bun kept glancing at him suspiciously, wondering if his young master had been possessed by a spirit or if someone else was wearing his skin in disguise.

He found an opportunity to touch him secretly a few times—the skin was tight, not like a disguise...

Of course, these little actions didn't escape Li Zhao's notice. He also realized that his behavior was now worlds apart from the old Li Zhao, enough to arouse suspicion.

In this era, there was no scientific research institute to dissect him, but there were Taoist priests and monks—if he were mistaken for a demon, a splash of black dog blood and a pyre could spell disaster.

He needed a solid explanation for his transformation.

"White Steamed Bun, I'll tell you a secret. You must never breathe a word of it."

"What secret?"

"Remember when I fell into the well and was unconscious for three days and nights? During that time, my soul left my body and drifted into the sky. There, I met an immortal—he wore rainbow robes and carried a feather fan. Though male, his beauty was breathtaking. He called himself the Sage of Seven Killings—Sha Qianmo.

He took my soul and soared through heaven and earth, traversed the seas, visited Taibai Sect, Tianshan Sect, Shu Mountain, Changliu, the Seven Killings Hall. I saw countless wonders and learned many skills..."

"So, all your abilities now were taught by the Sage of Seven Killings?"

"Exactly. You're my closest companion, like a brother to me. That's why I'm telling you this secret. You must never tell anyone!"

"Master, you trust me so much—I'd rather die than reveal your secret... But what if Aunt Qing asks?"

"Aunt Qing is an exception. She may know."

White Steamed Bun was loyal and clever, but like everyone of this era, he deeply believed in spirits and deities.

So, with this little tale, Li Zhao neatly resolved all doubts.

Of course, though the story was made up, one thing was true: he truly regarded White Steamed Bun as a real brother, and in the future, they would share life and fortune together.