That night, a northwest wind rose over the forest farm. Its wailing moan drifted and circled through the sea of trees like ghosts weeping and wolves howling.
Lian Youming lay on the heated kang with his head pillowed on his arms. He looked asleep, but his mind was replaying the portraits on the brocade silk, especially the meridians marked on them.
With a shift of thought, he imagined himself as a little fish swimming into his own body, picturing those meridians as great rivers and seas he could roam freely. Unbound and unrestrained, he let his wild, sky-soaring fancies run loose, as if only this could soothe the ache throughout his body.
But for some reason, all his imaginings suddenly scattered like mist.
Into Lian Youming's mind rose, without warning, the fight on the train.
Fists and feet clashing, figures crossing in a blur.
But it was quickly driven away.
After all, plainness was the norm—the life ordinary people ought to live.
That other world, the one that did not belong to him, was only a fleeting dream, a startling glimpse.
Once the brief thrill of danger passed, the dream should end too.
In a place where thrown water froze before it hit the ground and breath turned to frost, Lian Youming could summon no desires beyond eating his fill, staying warm, and sleeping; even with money, there was nowhere to spend it.
Fortunately, Platoon Leader Yang had said that once winter set in, they could use their idle time to put on performances and read books.
Outside, the cold moon hung high. Its pale, ghastly light seeped through the sea of trees and through the rattling window paper into the dormitory.
At that point Lian Youming scrambled up and took two roast ducks, still warm, from under the bedding on the heated kang.
The forest farm was simply too cold, so he had not been in a hurry to eat; the two ducks had been left untouched. The others also brought out what they had, wrapped themselves in blankets, and gathered around the heated kang—partly to socialize, partly to warm their friendship.
But just when the food was ready to eat, Liu Dabiao, who had gone out to relieve himself, still had not returned.
Yu Wen grew anxious. "He hasn't fallen into the pit, has he? How does a piss take this long?"
Lian Youming, meanwhile, was drowsy. These days, following Xie Laosan, he had pretty much learned the terrain around the forest farm. Out alone from morning to night, he also had to break in donkeys and haul timber—it had worn him out.
"Why don't we go take a look?" someone said.
"In this cold? Not me."
They were still trading remarks when a strange sound suddenly came from outside the window.
"Waa-oooh!"
"In the middle of the night, who the hell is howling out there?"
Yu Wu, being a lively sort, cursed without thinking.
But as soon as he finished cursing, his expression changed.
That did not sound like anything a human could make.
It sounded like some kind of wild beast.
"Not good!"
Lian Youming's eyes snapped wide. Without another word he sprang from the bed, threw on his heavy coat, snatched up the rifle beside him, and rushed out.
"Lock the doors and windows. Whatever you do, don't come out."
Outside, the cold wind poured into his chest. Feeling the overwhelming cold strike him head-on, Lian Youming tucked in his collar, gripped his rifle tightly, and without a second thought made for the latrine, as single-minded as a soldier sent to blow up a bunker.
Besides the ammunition he regularly drew from Platoon Leader Yang, his rifle held one spare round for emergencies.
Liu Dabiao's delay, together with that beast's roar, meant the man had almost certainly run into danger.
He couldn't really be that unlucky, could he?
He held his breath and, treading in the bright moonlight, crouched low and hurried forward. Soon he reached the latrine.
Voices came on the night wind. The militia guarding the forest farm must have heard the beast's roar as well, but for the moment they could not tell which direction it had come from.
"Liu Dabiao?"
Desperate to save him, Lian did not spare much thought for anything else. He slipped into the latrine and called softly.
But his voice sank away without a trace, meeting no reply at all.
By the moonlight he swiftly scanned every corner of the latrine, until he saw a patch of crimson on the ground. His heart sank at once.
"Blood?"
Just as Lian Youming was caught in alarm and doubt, a faint cry for help came from the latrine pit.
"Lian Youming, I'm over here! Help me!"
Lian looked toward the sound and saw a head barely sticking out of the pit, the voice tearful, hands clawing at the edge, his body smeared with shit and piss.
Seeing the man alive, he did not care about the filth. Without thinking, he was about to reach in and haul him out. But as soon as he bent down, he saw that Liu Dabiao's expression had changed—eyes wide, pupils jumping, staring straight at him.
The corner of Lian Youming's eye twitched. He was about to ask what the hell was wrong with this kid when the back of his neck grew warm, as if something had dripped onto it. Alarm shot through him.
Oh no.
Liu Dabiao had come back to himself and was now terrified out of his wits, frantically signaling with his eyes.
But Lian lowered his gaze to the shadow at his feet. In the darkness under the eaves, something seemed to be crouched high up, half its body showing, looking down at him.
As for the warm, strange substance dripping onto his neck, it was almost certainly this thing's drool.
Something that could leap walls and run along them—could it be a leopard? Or a lynx?
Before he could think further, Lian's pupils contracted. The black shape had already pounced down without a sound, fast as lightning, soaring as if in flight. In that instant a foul wind struck the back of his head; every hair on his body stood on end. He flung himself sideways and rolled.
In the roll, Lian finally saw the creature's true face.
Like a tiger but not a tiger, like a cat but not a cat, it was covered in black and yellow stripes, its eyes glowing green, drool dripping from its mouth.
"A yellow tiger?"
It was a golden cat.
It was what people commonly called a "biao."
Lian Youming was startled, but before he could steady himself, a puff of cotton wadding burst out before him and scattered on the wind.
A gash had been torn open across the chest of his military coat.
What savage claws and fangs this beast has.
Before his shock could settle, his vision blurred and a foul, stinking wind hit him in the face. A sharp claw reached for his throat.
"Go to hell!"
In his alarm and fury, Lian realized it was too late to shoot. He simply let go of the rifle, twisted sideways to avoid the claw, and at the same time flung up his coat to cover the golden cat.
Its sight blocked, the golden cat's claw struck empty air. As it tried to spring away, a straight right leg swept out from under the coat and caught it square in the belly.
In a flash, the two dark shapes passed each other.
Lian tumbled several meters, came to rest on one knee, and slowly pulled off his coat. He narrowed his eyes at the vicious beast crouched in the moonlight, poised to spring. Then he felt something warm trickling on his cheek, and his heart tightened: in the end, he was still not as fast as the beast.
Without giving him time to catch his breath, the golden cat leaped again, its fangs thrusting out, the spines on its scarlet tongue standing erect.
But Lian Youming was no easy mark. He drew a breath, sent strength through his ten fingers, and quietly hooked his right foot. The coat at his feet rose at once in the wind like a great net and dropped over the flying dark shape.
But the beast was quicker than he had expected. Though airborne, it swung its thick tail and changed direction in midair, twisting its waist to avoid the coat.
But behind the coat, a figure advanced instead of retreating, leaping into the air as well.
This time the leap landed squarely.
Man and beast collided, smashing a big hole through the latrine and bursting out into the night.
With one hand Lian Youming seized the beast, using military grappling techniques. His hand opened and closed like an eagle's talon; he meant to clamp the creature's neck. But the two were tangled together, and the vicious animal kept rolling and struggling, making it hard for him to bring his strength to bear.
The two figures rolled and tumbled a good distance.
Seeing the beast under him about to break free, Lian hardened his heart. He threw one arm around the golden cat's neck and clamped it tight, then gathered all his strength into his other fist and smashed it down.
In the savage fight, the two were hopelessly tangled.
The golden cat clawed and bit. Its thick tail lashed like an iron whip, cracking sharply again and again.
Lian Youming was drenched in blood, but he refused to let go.
He was alarmed, furious, and strangely exhilarated. Blood ran down his face and pain stabbed through his body. But the sting of it only made his fists swing faster and harder. Soon his knuckles were dripping with thick blood.
After a full five or six minutes of pounding, the frenzied golden cat finally quieted.
Lian still did not dare let go. As they rolled, he grabbed a broken piece of wood and stabbed it hard into the golden cat's belly several times, until the beast in his arms went completely still. Only then did he slump down as if all the fight had drained out of him.
With that one breath let out, Lian felt as though his body had come apart at the joints, a searing pain burning all over him.
He lay in the moonlight, gasping, and looked to the side. The golden cat lay nearby, blood leaking from its nose and mouth, its head smashed into a bloody mess. There were several holes in its belly, and its intestines had spilled out.
But just as he tried to catch his breath, Lian suddenly went cold. His gaze fixed on the fork of an old tree a few paces away.
Two cold, gleaming, cruel eyes were looking down at him from above.
Even with its body hidden in shadow, the outline revealed was much larger than the golden cat's.
By the moonlight, through the faintly showing dappled spots, he made it out, and Lian Youming drew a sharp breath. It was an adult Amur leopard.
"What's going on? Why haven't the militia come yet?"
Lian groaned inwardly. Before he could even struggle, the leopard came shooting down with a swoosh.
But facing life and death, how could Lian Youming resign himself? He gripped the piece of wood and prepared for a last desperate fight.
Yet most of his strength was gone and his body was covered in wounds. Before he could raise his hand, the leopard was in front of him. Its lowered head stared at him with two shining eyes; its great mouth opened and it lunged for the kill.
It was over.
The hot, rank stench filled his nose. Cold spread through Lian Youming and his eyes flew wide with fury.
Yet at this critical instant, just as his throat was about to be torn out and his blood splashed on the spot, a figure suddenly appeared behind the leopard.
The newcomer moved with flying steps, swift as an arrow loosed from a bow, yet made no sound at all. He bounded and flipped like a ghost, and in the instant he leaped, he flashed silently behind the leopard. His right hand reached out, five fingers spread, and pressed down.
He pressed the leopard's lower back.
Lian's eyes widened. He saw the leopard's shining eyes dim visibly, and its body, carried on by its own lunge, flew forward three or four meters like a kite with a snapped string and smashed headfirst into a tree stump.
Just like that, it was dead.
The dark figure landed lightly, still without a sound.
Lian saw clearly that the newcomer was none other than the old man in black.
The old man lowered his eyes and grinned strangely. "The White Lotus Sect's beast-driving technique? I haven't seen that in years."
He was not speaking to Lian Youming. He seemed to be speaking to the night, to the cold wind.
Lian Youming was appalled. From the old man's words, these beasts had been deliberately driven here.
What the hell was the White Lotus Sect?
Wasn't that something that only existed in history books?
As if answering his guess, two gunshots suddenly rang out from the other side of the forest farm—bang, bang—along with several animal roars.
No wonder the militia had not come in time. They must have been tied down.
On this side, as soon as the old man in black finished speaking, his stooped body moved again. He was like a ghost in the moonlight. His steps looked ordinary, yet one step carried him four or five meters. It was truly shocking.
Lian lay on the ground, his hands and feet cold, and saw that the moment the old man's front foot came down, another dark figure appeared in the moonlight behind him, dressed in a night-climber's blacks. Then it drifted away, fleeing without a fight.
So there was another one hidden in the dark.
Lian's heart shook.
But the old man in black did not give chase. He turned and looked back.
Lian jolted and hastily shut his eyes, pretending to have fainted.
The old man was not fooled. He said mildly, "Kid, where did you learn that Eagle Claw? It's complete nonsense—you're ruining what your ancestors handed down."
It turned out that when Lian Youming had grabbed the golden cat earlier, he had instinctively used a move of Eagle Claw. But he had not learned it; he had merely watched someone else use it and secretly worked it out on his own. In his panic just now, he had used it along with his grappling techniques.
Lian's face flushed. He was about to speak, but when he opened his eyes, there was no trace of the old man in the bright moonlight.
"Why do all these people come and go like ghosts?"
He muttered to himself, then suddenly remembered something. He scrambled up from the ground and hurried toward the latrine.
Chapter 6