Chapter 12

Zhuo Yan returned to the cave without catching his breath. He first placed Bai Mao Zi next to the fire. Earlier, in an effort to conserve firewood, he had added only one log, and now the flames were nearly extinguished. He quickly added two thicker logs to make the fire burn brighter, then hurried to close the door.

The wind and snow outside were ferocious.

Once he finished closing the door, Zhuo Yan looked at Bai Mao Zi lying on the ground and decided to fetch his largest piece of hide—the one that had never been washed. It was perfect for Bai Mao Zi, especially since he was quite dirty himself.

After a bit of fussing around,

the fire in the cave began to grow stronger and warmer.

Zhuo Yan laid Bai Mao Zi on the hide, dragging him to a distance of about twenty centimeters from the fire. Bai Mao Zi was frozen stiff, and Zhuo Yan was worried that being too close to the heat after being so cold would not be good for him.

With everything done, he could finally take a moment to rest. Panting, he felt parched; he wanted some water, but there was none in the stone pot at home. “…My wooden bucket,” he muttered.

He definitely had to take it. The snow was falling heavily, and if he delayed, he might not be able to find it. This was one of the most treasured possessions in his family. Furthermore, Bai Mao Zi—Zhuo Yan looked at the white creature on the hide. Its face was smeared with blood and frost, a horrifying mix that sent shivers down his spine. This poor creature needed warm water to clean its wounds.

There was no time to waste. Zhuo Yan feared he wouldn’t be able to find the water later, so just to be safe, he grabbed a burning log to use as a light source. However, as soon as he opened the door, the howling wind nearly extinguished the flame.

Holding the log to protect the fire, Zhuo Yan quickly closed the door behind him and rushed down to find the water bucket.

Fortunately, it was located at the riverbank where he often went. Despite the heavy snowfall making visibility difficult, he managed to spot it without much trouble. The bucket was covered in a thick layer of snow. Zhuo Yan dumped out the water and filled it again, but the log he had brought along was already doused by the falling snow. Thankfully, he had found the bucket and filled it with water.

“This thing needs to be wrapped in grease to burn well; otherwise, it goes out too easily,” Zhuo Yan muttered to himself as he walked. He thought of ancient torches and compared them to his own, realizing they were not the same. Then he remembered Bai Mao Zi back in the cave. “I originally thought winter would be boring; now I see I have endless tasks ahead.”

Upon returning to the cave, Zhuo Yan placed the water bucket down and swiftly closed the door behind him.

Zhuo Yan walked over to the fire to warm himself. As his hands warmed up, he finally reached out to touch Bai Mao Zi’s chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat from his hands, but he genuinely felt that Bai Mao Zi’s heart area wasn’t as cold and rigid as it had been earlier; it seemed to have a slight warmth to it…

“I’ll take that as a sign that you’re still alive.”

“Hang in there. Let me take a look at your wounds.”

Bai Mao Zi’s once-fluffy fur was now matted and tangled, smeared with what looked like a mix of blood and dirt, emitting a foul odor. Beneath all that fur, it was mostly just bones. The most serious injuries were around its eyes and head. The left eye was glued shut with blood, and the upper part of its head appeared to have a scar, perhaps from being scratched or bitten by something; the fur obscured Zhuo Yan’s view, making it hard to see clearly.

Even with these observations, Zhuo Yan felt his heart sink.

“Stay strong. I’ll help you clean your wounds.” He fetched a stone knife and squatted down beside Bai Mao Zi, carefully trimming away the fur around the wounds. As the injuries were exposed to view, Zhuo Yan’s expression turned grave.

He didn’t know what Bai Mao Zi had gone through in the past few days, but it must have been incredibly tough and painful.

The wounds were too severe. Bai Mao Zi’s head was a bloody mess; although the bleeding had stopped and scabs had formed, the area was blackened. If it weren’t for the cold weather, it would surely have festered and become infected.

“Just wait for me, Bai Mao Zi. Hang in there.”

Zhuo Yan quickly cleaned the stone pot, placing it in the center of the fire. He filled it halfway with cold water, washed the stone knife, and then took a piece of the cleaned hide from the stone bed to use for cleaning Bai Mao Zi’s wounds.

There was no other way; this was all he could do.

The stone pot transferred heat slowly. As Zhuo Yan looked at Bai Mao Zi’s wounds, he added a few more sticks of firewood, making the flames blaze hotter. Soon, the water in the pot was bubbling and boiling.

Zhuo Yan dipped the hide into the boiling water, wiped down the stone knife, and warmed it over the flames. He then began to use the hide, soaked in the hot water, to gently clean Bai Mao Zi’s wounds.

Bai Mao Zi remained motionless, showing no reaction whatsoever.

“I—I’ll be slower and gentler,” Zhuo Yan murmured as he began to carefully wipe the wound. Upon seeing the injury, he felt a wave of dread wash over him, making his scalp tingle. “Fortunately, the bones aren’t shattered.”

If they were, he would truly be at a loss as to what to do.

The wound was extensive, a result of both bites and claw marks from some animal.

In certain areas, the hide was not effective for cleaning, requiring water instead. Zhuo Yan rinsed the wound with cold water, being cautious not to rub too harshly; the surrounding flesh looked particularly tender and vulnerable—

Zhuo Yan felt a surge of fear at the thought.

“Let’s leave the head for now. I’ll check it again tomorrow. For now, let’s see about the eyes.”

The area around the eye was matted and caked with a mixture of blood, mud, and ice. Zhuo Yan couldn’t tell if Bai Mao Zi had gone blind, if the eyeball was injured, or if something else was wrong. He began by carefully cleaning the grime around the eye socket, and when he finally spotted a wound on the eyelid, he couldn’t help but exhale in relief.

It seemed the scratches on Bai Mao Zi’s head had extended down to the eyelid, but fortunately, it wasn’t too deep.

If Bai Mao Zi had kept his eyes closed, he might have avoided further injury, so perhaps the eye was fine after all—though he couldn’t be sure. After a moment’s consideration, he gently peeled back Bai Mao Zi’s injured eyelid. The eye was severely swollen and bloodshot, but—

“Thank goodness, the eyeball is still intact.”

After completing this task, he looked into the stone pot, which was now filled with dirty, murky water.

Zhuo Yan muttered to himself, “I definitely need to make a wash basin tomorrow!”

Bai Mao Zi’s fur also needs some grooming; it’s quite dirty. However, with the cold weather, it’s best to leave it thicker for warmth. Zhuo Yan decides to just detangle the messy areas. He pulls out the stone pot, placing a hide around its edge so that it can cool a bit before he pours the water outside.

Using a stone knife, he begins to trim Bai Mao Zi’s fur. Although leopard fur isn’t very long, Bai Mao Zi isn’t a pure leopard; its fur is slightly longer, resembling that of a long-haired cat. Zhuo Yan carefully cuts away the tangled and dirty fur, effectively transforming it from a long-haired to a short-haired cat.

After doing a rough trim, Zhuo Yan gazes at Bai Mao Zi and silently sighs. Describing it as “a pile of bones” isn’t an exaggeration; it’s an accurate portrayal. Bai Mao Zi has a slender body, appearing as if it’s just skin stretched over bones, with its ribs distinctly visible. There are also scars on its abdomen, and since the fur there is short, Zhuo Yan avoids disturbing it too much, only giving it a gentle wipe.

Once that’s done, he takes the stone pot outside to wash it. After cleaning, he brings it back in and heats the water again, ready to clean Bai Mao Zi once more.

As for the fur that’s fallen to the ground, it needs to be discarded, and the water in the bucket is finished. However, it’s dark and cold outside, and Zhuo Yan is hesitant to go out. He places the bucket outside the door, planning to collect some snow to melt for washing purposes.

The water in the stone pot had boiled, and he decided to drink some first.

While he waited, Zhuo Yan sat down on a piece of firewood and continued working on the wooden water cup he had started in the afternoon. He spent a while carving out wood shavings, which he dumped onto the fire to help it burn brighter. His gaze unintentionally drifted over to Bai Mao Zi, who was nearby.

“It seems like there’s some rise and fall in his breathing,” Zhuo Yan thought as he focused intently for a long time. Indeed, he noticed Bai Mao Zi’s abdomen slowly moving up and down. A sense of relief washed over him quietly.

Once he finished making the wooden cup, the water in the stone pot was still boiling. The first cup would be his to drink. He moved the pot away from the fire and set it aside to cool for a moment, as it was too hot to touch.

As he blew on the hot water to sip and moisten his throat, he heard some commotion. It reminded him of the chicken, and he was surprised to find it was still alive. He set down the cup and looked at the flapping chicken, which was now staring at him with wide eyes.

“You’re surprisingly resilient,” Zhuo Yan commented, feeling a hint of desire to raise it. “Are you a male or female?” However, he realized he had asked a pointless question. Even if it were a hen, in this freezing weather, he had no hope of finding a rooster, and thus there would be no future for a brood of chicks.

Moreover—

Zhuo Yan glanced at Bai Mao Zi beside him before turning his gaze, filled with pity, to the chicken. “I guess it’s hard on you; you’ll have to add a meal for the two of us.”

The scalding hot water warmed him up, so Zhuo Yan decided to give Bai Mao Zi another wash. He cleaned him thoroughly, making sure he looked neat and tidy. After pouring out the dirty water from the stone pot, he noticed the snowfall outside had lightened up a bit, although there was still plenty of accumulated snow. He filled the stone pot with fresh snow and placed it by the fire. When the water warmed up, he casually wiped his face, hands, and feet.

It was time to go to bed!

Before lying down, Zhuo Yan added a few more logs to the fire and took another look at Bai Mao Zi. His breathing was still slow and steady. If it weren’t for the short fur that allowed him to see clearly, Zhuo Yan would have thought, after staring for a long time, that Bai Mao Zi was no longer breathing.

That night, Zhuo Yan expected to sleep poorly. After all, just a short distance away was a starving Bai Mao Zi. The two were not familiar with each other; they had only met once, and Zhuo Yan had no idea what kind of temperament Bai Mao Zi had. As he lay in bed, he found himself wondering if Bai Mao Zi might get so hungry that he would consider eating him.

Despite these chaotic thoughts, he didn’t feel any regret.

Lost in his thoughts, he eventually fell asleep, and this sleep was deep and restful, without any dreams.

In the middle of the night, the firelight in the cave gradually dimmed. Outside, the cold wind howled, and it seemed to have started snowing again. Inside the cave, however, it was warm and cozy. On the hide beside the fire, Bai Mao Zi, who had been cleaned up and was now nothing but skin and bones, slowly and laboriously opened his eyelids.

Only one eye was open, revealing just a narrow slit.

Through the faint orange glow of the firelight, Bai Mao Zi could see a few meters away on the stone bed—the sub-human.

Is that him?

The sub-human who sang that morning. He said it was a song.

Bai Mao Zi had never heard a song before, but he remembered it.

The sub-human lay on the bed, turned to the side, with the flickering firelight casting gentle illumination on his face, creating a soft halo around him. Bai Mao Zi struggled to keep his eyelids open, and his pupils reflected the figure of the sub-human lying on the bed.

He… isn’t he afraid of me?

Why did he bring me back?

Bai Mao Zi could no longer hold on and slowly closed his eyes.

The cave was silent, and not long after, the firewood crackled loudly. Zhuo Yan, groggy from sleep, put on his straw sandals and walked over to the fire pit. He added two pieces of firewood, and as the flames began to rise slowly, he exclaimed softly.

“Before I fell asleep, was Bai Mao Zi’s head facing the bed?” Zhuo Yan scratched his head, trying to recall but couldn’t quite remember. It should have been, right?

On the other side of the fire, the pearl chicken that had been tied up was crouching next to the fire like a hen.

Zhuo Yan smiled, took a sip of the already cooled water, and went outside to relieve himself. When he returned, he continued to sleep, this time without worrying about the fire pit. He realized that the temperature in the cave was acceptable; after all, it wasn’t possible to burn firewood day and night without stopping—no landlord would have surplus grain!

“Have to save a bit.”

It’s somewhat like a modern cave dwelling—albeit a very simple version, warm in winter and cool in summer. The thick mountain walls offer insulation. Unlike a modern cement house where all four walls are exposed to the harsh weather, only the front entrance here faces the elements.

The next day, the snow stopped.

Zhuo Yan stretched lazily and immediately checked on Bai Mao Zi. “Morning!” There was no response, so he turned his head and spotted… “Where’s my chicken?!”

The chicken he planned to use to help nourish himself and Bai Mao Zi was gone!

Instantly wide awake, Zhuo Yan sprang up, scanning the area. It couldn’t have disappeared on its own. There were no feathers or signs of blood around Bai Mao Zi’s mouth, which ruled him out as the culprit. His eyes drifted around the cave until they landed on the doorway. The entrance to his cave was around 1.78 meters high, with a ventilation gap of about 20–30 centimeters left open at the top to allow light and fresh air in. The mountain’s natural curve shielded it from direct wind and snow, so even with that open space, snow rarely blew in.

Inside the doorway, there were some dried grass remnants from when Zhuo Yan had hastily used them to tie up the chicken yesterday. In a hurry, he opened the door, looked down, and saw the chicken frozen stiff just outside, not far from his front step.

“Oh, come on, what was the point of running off like that? I wasn’t even planning to cook you today. Really now…” Zhuo Yan sighed as he picked up the poor chicken, frozen solid and lifeless, with its eyes still open as if in defiance.

“So injured and still trying to escape—what’s got you so worried?”

He set the chicken beside the woodpile and remarked, “If you really have any kin out there, I might as well go and check today, gather them up, and let you all have a family reunion.”

The chicken, unblinking and unmoved, continued its frozen stare.

Though he said this casually, Zhuo Yan was actually thinking about heading out anyway. Now that he had one more mouth to feed, his responsibilities felt heavier. While the snow had eased up, it seemed like the perfect time to look around and see if he could gather more food supplies.

Early in the morning, Zhuo Yan got a fire going and roasted two large potatoes. He ate one himself and placed the other beside Bai Mao Zi’s paw. Bai Mao Zi still hadn’t woken up, but Zhuo Yan didn’t mind and started speaking aloud as if the creature could hear him.

“You may not be in human form,” he mused, “but you’ve got wolf blood in you. Wolves are omnivores; they can even eat snacks like custard pies. I know things are tough here, and I’m not saying I get meat while you get potatoes. From now on, you’ll eat whatever I eat—just as long as you don’t end up eating me!”

After saying that, Zhuo Yan took a bite of his potato, slung the basket onto his back, grabbed the water bucket, and headed out for the day’s work.

As he walked along, a nagging thought kept him wondering if he’d forgotten something important. He couldn’t shake the feeling, though he didn’t think it was anything critical.

Finally, as he reached the frozen river and stared out over the ice, it hit him.

“Wolves! Bai Mao Zi has wolf blood… I totally forgot that yesterday. Then again, it’s fine. I’m no Mr. Dongguo,” he chuckled to himself, recalling the old tale of the naive man who saved a wolf only to be betrayed. “Neither my mom, grandma, grandpa, nor my granddad have the last name Dongguo.”

Little Zhuo Yan’s beast-folk father and mother weren’t named Dongguo, either.

Nothing to worry about, after all.