Chapter Fourteen: Three Years Ago

Many years later, or rather, for many years thereafter, I traveled to many places.

Changbai Mountain, Yinshan, Kunlun Mountains, Qinling... even the Himalayas.

In these places, I encountered many unusual people and witnessed many strange occurrences.

Yet whenever I recalled what Master Chen once told me in the Greater Khingan Range, a fresh insight would always arise.

Especially his final words... People are like animals; it has been so since long ago.

...

We sat silently facing each other by the riverbank, smoking. After finishing a cigarette, I suddenly felt an unusual discomfort in my body.

But Master Chen seemed to be growing more addicted to the smoke.

After finishing one cigarette without satisfaction, he pulled out another from his pocket and lit it up again, puffing steadily.

“Master Chen!” I opened my mouth, about to speak.

But with a cigarette clenched between his teeth, he interrupted me: “Enough, Sanqi. Go to the room and bring me a jug of wine!”

“Alright! Right away!”

At that moment, I felt no resentment at being cut off and quickly walked toward the room.

Because, by now, I had come to understand something.

Though I had spent two or three years learning in the hunting grounds, deep down I was still just a sapling.

No matter how solid my theoretical knowledge was, applying it in the forest remained...

somewhat difficult to accept.

Returning to the room, I immediately noticed three large wine jars behind the door, each covered with a thick lid.

Approaching them, I gazed at the jars and thought to myself, this Duifang House truly is a fine place deep in the old forest.

Not just for hunters.

Even villagers or tourists lost in the wilderness could seek aid here.

After all, in such a desolate place,

a shelter from wind and rain, food and drink to spare—

with these two things, a person cannot perish.

I picked up a wine gourd hanging on the wall, opened the jar lid, and a strong aroma of wine swept into my nostrils.

“Good wine!” I muttered instinctively.

...

I know little about wine, but sometimes a simple sniff tells you all you need to know.

I filled the gourd to the brim and cut off a large piece of cured meat from the wall with a knife.

Coming out, Master Chen took the wine, gulped down a large mouthful, and then said lightly, “Sanqi, tonight we’ll start spreading poisoned bait!”

I nodded. “Yes, that works!”

There are many details to spreading poisoned bait at night.

First, one must find places where wolf packs and foxes pass.

And when spreading the bait, never use bare hands—gloves are necessary, and if possible, smear some bird droppings on the bait.

Wolves and foxes are clever! Their noses are extremely sensitive. If they detect human scent on the food,

they won’t touch it at all.

The reason for spreading bait at night is that during the day, the targets are more alert; if they detect human presence,

they won’t return for at least three days.

In short, the animals of the old forest are quite smart!

...

Perhaps because there was still a long time before nightfall, we had idle time.

I chatted casually with Master Chen.

I was the first to ask, “Master Chen, why were you so tense when I said there was a person beneath the birch tree just now, but when you confirmed it was a fox disguised as a human, you weren’t as nervous?”

Master Chen took a long drink of wine, his eyes reddening as he gulped it down.

Finally, with a hoarse voice and thick breath of alcohol, he said, “Sanqi! Do you remember the year you entered the hunting grounds?”

I was startled.

“Of course I remember!”

Master Chen gave a strange smile: “In the old forest, no matter how cunning, fierce, or sinister an animal is, when compared to humans, I think the scariest of all is still man!”

I fell silent.

Because I recalled the scene three years ago when my uncle from the same village beat me severely.

Though three years had passed, I still remembered clearly how quickly my uncle’s expression changed from dazed, to disbelief, to calm, to anger.

It was as if he had removed a heavy mask.

Seeing that I remained quiet, perhaps drunk, Master Chen suddenly told me an old story from three years ago.

“An old incident from three years ago?” My heart skipped a beat.

Master Chen nodded, took a hearty bite of cured meat, then washed it down with another swig of wine.

He began to recount a winter night three years prior.

...

That night, he was in the northeast, drinking homemade sorghum liquor with his fellow hunters and eating slowly stewed longhorn meat.

Outside, the temperature had plunged below minus ten degrees, but inside the room, the atmosphere was warm and cheerful.

The old companions played finger-guessing games, bragged, talked about women, drank... thoroughly enjoying themselves.

But then, suddenly, the door opened.

Master Chen said the landlady was a young woman just turned twenty, dressed in a thick fur coat and military boots. Ice crystals clung to her, showing she had been outside for a long time.

She stared fixedly at them from the doorway, and the seven or eight old hunters in the room were stunned into silence.

Finally, Master Chen hurriedly got off the kang (heated bed) and helped her up onto it.

He said she was so frozen she was nearly unconscious, so he gave her a large bowl of corn wine and two bowls of longhorn meat.

Before long,

the woman’s body began to emit steam and warmed up.

The other hunters watched silently, while Master Chen was the first to ask what had happened and why she suddenly appeared here.

She pursed her lips, pondering a long moment, then said there was an urgent hunting mission requiring their participation and that they had to set out immediately.

Hearing this, everyone in the room was dumbfounded.

It was November, and these fellows were already on holiday, as the new year was just three months away.

Besides, hunting is seasonal.

Among hunters, there’s a saying: “Yellow sheep in September, wolves in October, wild foxes in September, blind pheasants in snow, flying foxes chase rabbits, wolves unseen, pheasants hiding in grass, rabbits resting in fields, quail falling into muddy ponds, yellow sheep running hilltops.”

This speaks of hunting skills passed down through generations, gleaned from experience.

Indeed, some hunters told me the saying originated from the Hunting Classic.

The Hunting Classic is said to grant those who read it the power to hunt at will, with unlimited prowess.

But it carries a rule: hunt in order and you will meet a good end; hunt for profit and you will be cursed by heaven.

Thus, most hunters who have read the classic deny it.

After all, many hunt for profit.

“So, did you go?” I asked curiously.

“We went,” Master Chen replied coldly.

“Where did you go?” I asked again.

He looked up at me, his gaze sharp, and said simply: “Xinjiang!”