Chapter Three: The White-Furred Wolf King

For the first time, Li Wenyuan felt his hands tremble. The pack of wolves before him was clearly led by an alpha. If he failed to kill with one strike, the wolves, under the alpha’s command, would surely surround and attack. Even perched in the tree, who could guarantee that the white-furred wolf king wouldn’t simply lay siege until he starved to death beneath the branches? To have crossed time, only to die nameless in these remote mountains—such an end seemed hardly worthwhile.

Though these thoughts seemed lengthy, in truth they flashed through Li Wenyuan’s mind in an instant. With only a moment’s hesitation, he let the bamboo arrow fly. Yet, as soon as the arrow left the string, he regretted it. At that very moment, the white wolf king turned its head toward him, its gaze filled with disdain and mockery. The wolf king leaped aside, evading the fatal arrow, which instead landed in the bear carcass, startling the white wolves feasting upon it.

Seeing the wolf king dodge his shot, Li Wenyuan’s heart skipped a beat. But he was now at a place where retreat was impossible. If he were to climb down from the tree, the wolves would hunt him down in the deep snow. He steeled himself—since he had been discovered, it was kill or be killed. He drew three bamboo arrows from his quiver, holding two in his mouth and nocking the third, aiming at a startled white wolf.

Clearly, only the wolf king possessed such keen senses; the startled wolf failed to sense the looming danger, its fangs still dripping with steaming bear blood. Before it could react to the hiss of the arrow, it took a shaft through the eye, the arrowhead piercing its brain.

Wolf blood spurted through the hollow bamboo, spraying another white wolf and dyeing its silver fur crimson. The doused wolf, angered, raised its head in fury, only to be struck in the neck by another arrow. It staggered, struggled to stand, then collapsed, hot breath escaping from its nostrils in rapid bursts. Almost simultaneously, another wolf fell not far away, an arrow through its side. In an instant, three white wolves lay dead. This rapid triple-shot was the peak of Li Wenyuan’s three years of arduous practice, halving the time needed to shoot.

The white wolf king, seeing three of its pack slain in the blink of an eye, howled in rage and charged straight for Li Wenyuan’s tree. The other wolves, following their king’s command, abandoned the bear carcass and surged forward.

Though Li Wenyuan had anticipated this, he had not expected the wolf king to dodge his fatal arrow. But with the bow already drawn, there was no turning back—he must do all he could to kill as many white wolves as possible.

Over twenty bamboo arrows flew from his quiver in rapid succession, like bolts from a repeating crossbow, toward the charging wolves. Many wolves fell, unable to evade in time. In the short distance of seventy or eighty paces, twenty white wolves dropped, most still alive but quickly bleeding out. According to hunters, one should swiftly end the suffering of such wounded beasts lest their prolonged agony anger the mountain spirits. Li Wenyuan, not one to put stock in superstition, had no time for such thoughts—nearly ten massive wolves still prowled beneath the tree.

His bow was not the one he had brought from his own time, nor a military-issue weapon, but a common bow purchased from hunters for his mountain journey. In the tension of battle, he had snapped the string. Without arrows, a bow was useless, but having one in hand was still better than none. Now, his hopes rested on the traps he had set within ten paces of the tree.

Remembering this, Li Wenyuan reached into a hollow in the trunk, retrieving a small iron pellet. The hollow, once a squirrel’s winter larder, reminded him of the tastelessness of the squirrel he had eaten—perhaps it was the lack of salt or other seasonings. But there was no time to ponder such things; matters of life and death pressed.

He knew the fight was not yet hopeless; he still had strength to struggle. From his coat, he drew a slingshot—the most popular ranged weapon among common folk besides the bow. Unlike the typical slingshots, which used a single thick tendon for tension, his was crafted with several thinner tendons, not tied off, and the pouch had four holes instead of two, making for greater stability—knowledge gleaned from a hobby back home. Such a slingshot far surpassed anything available in the Sui dynasty. He had tested it himself: it could deliver a force of about ten catties, enough to pierce animal hide within ten paces.

Gripping the slingshot in one hand, he loaded an iron pellet with the other, aimed at a white-furred wolf, and released. The pellet struck the wolf’s hind leg, causing it to yelp and limp away. Just as the wolf tried to flee, its leg tightened in a noose, activating a trap that flung it into the air before it crashed to the ground, fate uncertain.

Li Wenyuan marveled at the hunters’ ingenious traps—though time-consuming to set, they worked wonders. A single strike had hurled a vicious wolf twenty paces. If only all the wolves would step into his traps, he mused as he searched for his next target.

But the wolves below seemed almost preternaturally clever now. Of more than a dozen pellets, only two or three hit their marks; most shots missed, burying themselves in the snow. The six remaining white wolves hid behind trees, careful to avoid the trapped areas.

This was becoming troublesome. With only a handful of pellets left, Li Wenyuan kept his eyes on the wolf king, contemplating how he might skin a wolf and escape alive with the pack encircling him. Suddenly, a vicious gust swept from behind. Instincts honed by years of riding took over—he ducked low, seeing a white shadow flash by in his peripheral vision. It was indeed a white wolf. Glancing back, he saw that several wolves had formed a living ladder, clambering up the tree’s branches.

Damn! Li Wenyuan, who hadn’t cursed in three years, swore under his breath. Had these white wolves become demons, working together to climb? Was the wolf king’s behavior earlier merely a distraction to buy time for its packmates? He’d heard tales of wolves and dogs understanding human intention, but this was almost supernatural.

Without thinking, he fired at the lowest wolf on the ladder. At such close range, the iron pellet tore into flesh, drawing a cry of pain. Yet the wounded wolf clung to the tree, supporting the living ladder. The wolf that had missed its initial pounce was already scrambling back up. In desperation, Li Wenyuan fired again, aiming for the bottom wolf’s other leg. But another wolf threw itself in the way; unlucky, the pellet slipped between its ribs and struck its racing heart, killing it instantly.

Another white wolf fell dead, but Li Wenyuan felt no joy. The carcass blocked his shot at the lowest wolf’s sound leg. Meanwhile, the wolf that had missed its leap, aided by its companions’ sacrifice, was back on the branch, baring its teeth, preparing to lunge.

Of the six remaining wolves, three were on the living ladder, one was poised to attack, another had just died, and the wolf king circled in wait. Before Li Wenyuan could ready his slingshot again, the wolf on the branch leaped. Knowing he could not evade, he dropped the slingshot, drew his short dagger, and braced himself, grappling the wolf as it landed. Dodging its jaws, he stabbed the dagger into its belly, slicing downward to gut the beast. The impact carried both of them from the tree into the snow below.

Hitting the ground, Li Wenyuan ignored the pain. He kicked aside the dying wolf and backed quickly toward the nearest tree, pressing his back to the trunk for safety. He’d heard enough tales of wolves attacking from behind to know he had no defense but to avoid such a fate.

The wolf king howled again. The remaining four wolves closed in, circling, growling, searching for an opening to attack. Li Wenyuan faced them with his dagger in one hand, while the other removed a tendon-tied bag from his belt—meant for storing wolf pelts. One impatient wolf leaped first. Li Wenyuan stabbed his dagger into the tree trunk, opened the bag, and, as the wolf lunged, trapped its head in the sack. Letting go, the tendons cinched tight, trapping the wolf. Confused and panicked, the wolf pawed at the bag, stumbling about until it triggered a snare. The trap yanked it upward, tightening the noose around its neck. Hanging helpless, it whimpered for help, but without the wolf king’s order, none dared approach. One wolf tried to help, but the alpha bit its neck, tearing away a chunk of flesh.

Li Wenyuan was chilled—such cruelty toward its own kind boded ill for any human that fell into its clutches. Eyes locked on the king, he reached for his dagger, only to feel something furry. Looking down, he saw the maimed wolf, its jaws clamped on the dagger, trying to drag it away.

Cursing the clever beast, Li Wenyuan gouged at its eyes. The wolf recoiled, exposing the dagger’s hilt. In a flash, he retrieved his weapon. The pain drove the crippled wolf into a frenzy—it lunged and bit into Li Wenyuan’s arm, driving him to the ground. Li Wenyuan, now on his back, twisted the dagger into the wolf’s chest and gave it a savage turn. Blood gushed from its jaws, drenching Li Wenyuan’s face, but the wolf refused to release its grip.

Seeing the life fade from the wolf’s eyes but still feeling its jaws locked, Li Wenyuan shoved the dagger in further, slicing off the lower jaw. Pushing the corpse aside, he tried to rise, only to feel a heavy paw on his shoulder and hot, fetid breath on his neck. Sweat turned cold on his skin—he knew the wolf king had come for him.

The so-called “wolf on the shoulder” was a hunting tactic: when direct attack failed, a wolf would leap from behind, placing its forepaws on the victim’s shoulders. The startled human would instinctively turn to look, and in that instant, the wolf would seize the throat, killing with a single bite.

Trapped, Li Wenyuan heard the whistle of arrows. Two wolves fell dead, granting him a reprieve. He rolled to his feet, dagger ready, eyes searching for the source.

A man in nomad’s garb rode slowly from the woods. “Judging by your clothes, you’re Han?” he called.

Li Wenyuan, surprised that the man in barbarian attire spoke fluent Han, replied, “Yes. Thank you for saving my life. I have nothing else to offer except these twenty white wolf pelts as a token of gratitude.”

“I am Zhong Lisu, chieftain of the Minshan Qiang,” the man said. “Each autumn and winter, I hunt in these mountains to honor my ancestors. Passing by, I saw you alone, facing so many fierce wolves. I was impressed and intervened at the crucial moment.” Hearing the name Zhong Lisu, Li Wenyuan smiled inwardly. With figures like Zhai Changsung, Zhong Lisu, and perhaps soon Zong Luo or Xue Ju’s other able ministers, the cast of characters was nearly complete.

Marvelling at fate, Li Wenyuan clasped his hands in salute. “So it is Brother Zhong! I have long heard of your unmatched archery. Today’s display truly proves your reputation.”

Flattery, as ever, did not miss the mark. Zhong Lisu, pleased, dismounted and helped Li Wenyuan skin the wolves. They washed the pelts in nearby snow and packed them away. As Zhong Lisu prepared to mount his horse, Li Wenyuan’s thoughts turned. “Brother Zhong, I serve as a retainer to Captain Xue Ju of Jincheng. General Xue is a friend to all heroes. Would you be willing to visit Jincheng with me?”

Zhong Lisu laughed. “I have long heard of Xue Ju’s reputation. But I have pressing matters today and cannot accept your invitation. Once I am free, I will certainly visit your household. The green hills shall not change, nor the flowing waters; we shall meet again.” With that, he spurred his horse and disappeared into the depths of the forest, not giving Li Wenyuan a chance to reply.

Watching Zhong Lisu’s retreating figure, Li Wenyuan shook his head with a smile. Others who crossed time gathered followers with ease—why did he lack such charisma? And today, he had nearly gotten himself killed. Lost in these thoughts, he tended his wounds, slung the bag of wolf pelts over his shoulder, and made his way down the mountain along the path he had come.