Chapter Two: Into the Mountains to Hunt Wolves

The night passed in silence. At dawn the next day, Li Wenyuan washed up under Qiu Niang’s attentive care and dressed as she handed him his clothes. To say she served him as he dressed was hardly accurate, for she merely passed him the garments, and he donned them himself—after all, modern attire was designed for a person to put on unaided.

Once he was properly attired, Li Wenyuan pushed open the door and was surprised to find Xue Rengao and Xue Renyue already waiting outside. The two were no longer dressed in yesterday’s casual scholar’s robes, which lent them a touch of bookish frailty; instead, they wore the short, tight-fitting outfits of martial practitioners. Though they still retained boyish features, the outfits set off their heroic bearing, lending them a natural air of authority. Li Wenyuan couldn’t help but admire them inwardly—truly, a tiger’s cubs are never dogs.

The three mounted their horses and rode to the training grounds on the outskirts of the city. The grounds were vast, featuring a racecourse for mounted archery, a target range for foot archery, paulownia stakes for short weapons, a field for long weapons, and even a bluestone ring for matches. The Sui dynasty valued martial prowess; every great house maintained its own retainers, and often invited renowned generals to instruct their sons in the arts of war. From founding elders like Zhang Xutuo to local strongmen, the options for instruction were plentiful.

The Xue family, though not as deeply rooted as the most illustrious clans, counted among the leading families of Longxi, where the old aristocracy had waned. They had the means to build such a training ground, and Xue Ju himself delighted in befriending heroes from all walks of life. Many exiled generals and nobles from the previous dynasty had, through his influence, been allowed to remain nearby—if not treated as honored guests, then at least living with a certain freedom, far better than enduring the hardships of a frontier posting.

These men practiced their arts daily, for mastery in any skill required endless repetition. Longxi, bordering the Eastern and Western Turks, had always been a land where Han and Hu mingled, its people fierce and martial, the love of arms even stronger than in the Central Plains. As soon as Li Wenyuan entered the training ground, he drew the attention of all present—his attire was simply too unusual.

Li Wenyuan ignored their stares, dismounted, and handed his horse to a servant. Perhaps it was the aura all transmigrators shared, but after a good night’s sleep, he felt his eyesight keener, his body brimming with inexhaustible strength. He went to the archery range, took down a bow, and examined its make—a strongbow of hardwood. He drew an arrow, nocked it, and, with a measured pull, let fly; the arrow struck dead center on the target sixty paces away.

Bows were measured in “dou”—the force required to draw them. The standard issue for Sui soldiers was a five-dou bow, with a range a little over sixty paces; ten dou equaled one stone, about 120 modern pounds. Bows under five dou were ordinary, five to ten dou were elite, and above ten dou were considered strongbows.

Li Wenyuan wielded a six-dou bow—not the highly efficient composite bows of later ages, but sufficient for the robust physiques of this era, far hardier than the pampered generations to come. For a beginner’s instruction, it was more than adequate.

This thought brought a moment of confusion. The Sui-Tang era was a tumultuous age of heroes, which had always fascinated him. In his favorite romance, “Legends of the Sui and Tang,” Yuwen Chengdu could draw a three-stone bow on horseback—surely he could draw even stronger bows on foot.

A servant returned the arrows to Li Wenyuan, snapping him out of his reverie. He replaced the bow, turned to Xue Rengao, and asked, “Young Master, have you ever used a bow before?”

Xue Rengao shook his head. “Father never allowed us in the training ground, only hired a master to teach me swordsmanship in the inner residence. I’ve never used a bow.”

That was a relief for Li Wenyuan. He didn’t know how archery was taught in this era, but a blank slate was always preferable to an ill-trained one. Besides, he was confident that the methods honed by countless archers in later ages would be more effective than anything ancient archery instruction could offer.

He handed the hardwood bow to Xue Rengao, positioning him on a straight line, body facing the right of the target. Xue Rengao gripped the bow in his left hand, took an arrow, nocked it, and tried to draw a full moon, imitating Li Wenyuan. But before he could aim, his strength gave out, and the arrow loosed, missing the target and striking the earthen wall behind.

Li Wenyuan handed him another arrow. “Young Master, though you are gifted with strength, archery—on foot or horseback—relies on skillful force. You drew the bow only about seventy percent, and your eye was on the left while the arrow was on the right.”

This time, Xue Rengao drew the bow slowly, found the target, pushed with the lead hand, released with the rear, and the arrow landed firmly in the target. “Young Master, you are exceptionally gifted. If you shoot a hundred arrows a day, in three years you will surely be able to hit a scent pouch a hundred paces away by night.”

He left Xue Rengao to practice and turned to Xue Renyue. “Young Master, have you ever studied the martial arts?”

Before Xue Renyue could answer, a man in Hu garb nearby spoke up. “My nephew has always been quiet by nature, more devoted to poetry and books than to martial pursuits.”

Li Wenyuan turned at the voice, puzzled—why did this Hu-dressed man speak so courteously? He cupped his hands and bowed. “Forgive my ignorance, sir. May I ask your name?”

“My apologies for the intrusion. I am Zhai Changsun. I recently returned from the Western Turkic camp with this year’s cattle and sheep, hence my attire. Hearing General Xue had invited a martial instructor to teach his sons archery, I was curious to witness this first. After all, it’s never happened before.” Zhai Changsun returned the bow with a smile.

Zhai Changsun! He was here! In history, there were scant records of this capable minister under Li Shimin. In his youth, he served Xue Ju; after Xue Ju’s death and Xue Rengao’s cruel rule, he turned to Li Shimin and, with Zhang Shigui, formed the famed Black Armored Army. He died before the Tang unified the realm, so the chronicles recorded little more of him.

“Ah, so it’s Lord Zhai. I’ve long heard of your reputation, but never had the chance to pay my respects. Meeting you today is my great fortune,” said Li Wenyuan, who had always admired Zhai’s historical character.

“Sir, you flatter me. Official duties call me to report at the prefecture. If time permits, I will call on you another day,” Zhai Changsun replied, exchanging name cards with Li Wenyuan before riding off.

After Zhai had left, Li Wenyuan asked with curiosity, “Young Master, you love poetry and books? In these troubled times, banditry is still rife. Without a practical skill, is it safe?”

Xue Renyue smiled faintly, his voice youthful. “Sir, I must disagree. Though I lack the strength to bind a chicken, strategy can win battles from a thousand miles away. Martial men may exhaust themselves for a hundred paces of valor, but how can one claim scholars are useless?”

Li Wenyuan listened with growing interest. This second son of Xue Ju, so little noted in the histories, already harbored such ambition at a young age. Inspired by his talent, Li Wenyuan said, “If the young master is willing, would you like to study the art of war? I do not claim to be a master, but I have some insights. In chaotic times, it is at least more practical than empty rhetoric.”

And so, their daily schedule was set: every three days, Li Wenyuan taught Xue Rengao and Xue Renyue strategy; the rest of the time, he trained in martial skills with Xue Ju, learning to use the horse lance. In Xue Ju’s words, fighting at all ranges was about playing to one’s strengths and striking at the enemy’s weakness—there were no special tricks. Though Li Wenyuan had missed the prime age for foundational training, his physique was inexplicably as robust as those who had started young under expert tutelage. The two of them practiced lance techniques in the mud until late at night. Afterwards, back in his room, he would soak in a medicinal bath prepared by Qiu Niang and fall into a deep sleep. After three years, he had achieved some mastery; as Xue Ju said, he had entered the bottleneck stage. If he could break through, he would have the valor of ten thousand men; if not, he might remain at this level for life, at best becoming a low-ranking officer.

After three years, Li Wenyuan finally understood why the aristocratic clans of the Sui were so powerful. Ordinary families spent their lives just trying to get enough to eat; only the sons of great houses had the resources for both scholarly and martial education. In three years, Li Wenyuan had broken over a hundred lances from sheer effort. His appetite was legendary—he could have made a living as a food streamer in later times—yet he never gained a pound, only growing stronger, thanks to Xue Ju’s medicines and techniques.

One evening, returning from training, Li Wenyuan undressed with Qiu Niang’s help and sank his weary body into the medicinal bath. After three years, even the finest clothes had worn out, so the skillful Qiu Niang had made him a new set, which fit perfectly.

This time, instead of falling immediately asleep, he said to Qiu Niang, who was reading nearby, “Qiu Niang, is your servitude contract held by General Xue?” Since coming to serve him, Qiu Niang had been in good spirits; Li Wenyuan had little sense of hierarchy between master and servant, treating her as an equal. If not for her insistence, he would have mixed his own medicine, but it was undeniably comfortable to be waited on—no wonder people craved wealth and status.

Qiu Niang paused, put down her book, and her voice sounded as clear as a songbird’s. “Yes, my contract is with General Xue, but according to Great Sui law, the mistress manages the female servants’ contracts.”

Li Wenyuan nodded and fell silent, closing his eyes as he pondered how to obtain Qiu Niang’s contract. She had served him for three years, yet a single word from another could take her away—it irked him.

Seeing him lost in thought, Qiu Niang’s gaze dimmed a little, but she said nothing more, quietly returning to her book.

Li Wenyuan already had a plan. Every winter, snow blanketed the land, the cold biting to the bone. He had heard of the white wolves native to the region, most often seen on the northern Wolf Peak in autumn and winter—ferocious creatures that even striped tigers avoided. Their pelts, however, were famed for their softness and warmth, coveted by noblewomen. Yet hunting them was perilous; every tribute to the emperor cost the lives of many hunters.

Li Wenyuan learned the mountain routes and lairs from local hunters, prepared a hunting bow and specially made hollow bamboo arrows. These arrows, crafted by local artisans after his own modern designs, were made for taking down large game—no matter how fierce, if struck, their blood would drain through the hollow shaft, ensuring death without ruining the valuable pelt.

Over the years, he had tested them on every animal he could find, and the results were promising. Now, he was ready to challenge the most fearsome of all—the white wolf. As the hunters had said, the wolf’s danger lay in its pack, and in winter, they emerged to raid bear dens.

After a recent snowfall, Li Wenyuan, wrapped in a straw raincoat and homemade cotton clothes, crouched downwind beside a tree. Drawing on his memories, he had fashioned winter garments based on modern principles, which alone made the mountain trek possible. Unlike later eras, winters here were deadly cold—freezing to death was no joke. Every winter for three years, he had seen the frozen corpses of the poor on the streets.

Soon, a disturbance came from the bear den he had scouted. Delighted, Li Wenyuan crawled from his hiding hollow, climbed a tree, and, clamping the trunk with his legs, peered into the distance with the skills of a mounted archer.

A pack of wolves had indeed appeared near the den. The largest wolf was digging at the snow in front of the entrance, soon opening a hole big enough for a wolf to enter. The head wolf then stepped aside, and another white-furred wolf crawled inside, while the rest waited in the snow.

A furious roar erupted; something flew from the den and crashed into a tree, knocking down clouds of snow. It was the wolf that had gone in, blood bubbling from its mouth—dead beyond a doubt.

A brown bear, enraged, emerged from the den, shoving its spilled entrails back into its belly as it prepared to vent its wrath on the wolf’s corpse. At that moment, the head wolf howled, and the rest of the pack lunged at the wounded bear, jaws wide.

Though the bear’s hide was thick, it could not withstand the pack’s fangs. In pain, it thrashed, trying to throw off the wolves. A few older wolves were flung off, crashing into rocks and trees, bones snapping, but more white wolves hurled themselves on with reckless abandon.

After about an hour, the blood of the bear had dyed the snow red around the den. At another howl from the head wolf, the pack released their hold and withdrew, licking the blood from their jaws. The head wolf approached the bear, now weak and barely breathing, and with a bite to the throat, ended its suffering.

The wolves swarmed the corpse, feasting in a frenzy of flying blood and flesh. Amid this carnage, Li Wenyuan readied his bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed at the head wolf.