Chapter Fifteen: Do Not Misinterpret the Mercy of a True King

After parting ways, Li Xiangyang walked alone deeper into the mountains.

The sky hung heavy and gray, the air thick with a dampness that foretold snow.

Adjusting the hunting rifle strapped to his back, he quickened his pace toward the heart of the mountain.

The snow underfoot was soft and yielding, making each step a labor, but he paid it no mind.

This time, he chose a broad mountainside dense with shrubs—the favored grazing ground of wild sheep.

After about an hour, Li Xiangyang halted behind a massive boulder.

Crouching low, he carefully examined the ground.

Fresh droppings and scattered hoofprints marked the snow, clear signs that a herd had recently passed through.

Following the trail, his steps grew lighter.

He moved slowly, deliberately avoiding any dry twigs that might betray his presence with a snap.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from ahead.

Li Xiangyang immediately lowered himself, concealing behind a sturdy pine.

Through dense branches, he spotted a flock of wild sheep nibbling on the exposed shrubs beyond the snow’s reach.

Strapped with his rifle, he held a handcrafted wooden bow, meticulously inspecting the arrows in his quiver.

Each arrow was a labor of love—tips forged from salvaged iron and shafts carved from fine red pine.

Though armed with a rifle, in these times when bullets were precious, he preferred to hunt with bow and arrow whenever possible.

The mountain was fraught with dangers; should a fierce beast appear, a skilled hunter would save every bullet for the gravest threat.

Though the prey was in sight, he did not rush.

Patience was a hunter’s most vital virtue.

To strike true, many details demanded attention.

Most crucial among them was the wind.

At that moment, a northwest breeze swept the slope, forcing him to make a wide detour.

He needed to position himself downwind, so the sheep would not catch his scent.

The wind here was peculiar; the terrain caused eddies in certain spots, where a careless move could expose him.

Stopping beneath a thick pine, he tested the wind again.

Snowflakes danced in spirals through the air, revealing this spot as a wind vortex.

A faint smile crossed Li Xiangyang’s lips—such terrain was ideal for an ambush.

Beasts instinctively slowed near these wind pockets, heightened in vigilance.

But with enough patience, an opportunity would come.

Despite his utmost caution, his approach still alerted the sheep.

Yet they did not flee, signaling he still had a chance.

Holding his breath, he drew an arrow and slowly pulled back the bowstring.

The distance was about fifty paces—the range he trusted most.

The bowstring stretched to its full arc, the arrow aimed squarely at a ram’s vital spot.

“Whoosh!”

The arrow sliced through the air as the ram, cautious and glancing about, grazed nearby.

It struck true.

But the ram was tougher than expected; it staggered, then limped away in pain toward the forest’s depths.

The other sheep scattered, vanishing amid the thickets.

Li Xiangyang gave chase at once.

Bloodstains marked the snow clearly, making tracking straightforward.

Yet as he pressed deeper, the terrain grew more tangled, and the snow deepened.

He sensed the environment subtly shifting.

Trees thickened, and the light dimmed.

The cold wind whispered mournfully through the branches.

Suddenly, the bushes ahead trembled.

Alert, Li Xiangyang drew his rifle and cautiously advanced.

Parting the foliage, he found the wounded ram curled beside a giant stone, breathing heavily.

Just as he prepared to finish the hunt, a flash of gray caught his peripheral vision.

A massive old wolf silently appeared across the clearing.

Its fur was streaked with gray, eyes gleaming with a chilling intelligence.

Before Li Xiangyang could react, seven or eight more wolves emerged, encircling the clearing from all sides.

Their movements were precise and coordinated, clearly the product of careful planning.

They neither attacked immediately nor retreated, but gradually tightened their ring.

Li Xiangyang’s hand rested on the rifle.

In this situation, the bow was useless.

But he had only five bullets—and at least eight wolves faced him.

If a fight broke out, he knew he stood no chance.

Fortunately, wolves were cunning and ruthless, but also highly intelligent.

They rarely provoked conflict with humans without cause.

The key was to remain calm.

And never to provoke.

The old wolf ignored the rifle leveled at it and let out a low growl.

Instantly, the pack lunged at the weakened ram, tearing into it mercilessly.

The attack was swift and efficient; none of the wolves diverted attention to Li Xiangyang.

Yet he could feel their watchful eyes on his every move.

The old wolf’s gaze burned into him like a warning: do not act rashly.

Holding his breath, Li Xiangyang stood frozen.

He knew that any sudden move now could bring disaster.

The old wolf turned its head, surveying its pack.

The others retreated, forming a semicircle at a respectful distance, eyes sharp on their leader.

With regal poise, the old wolf approached the prey and began to feed.

Its movements were deliberate, radiating an innate kingly aura.

Though hungry, the others dared not overstep, waiting patiently.

Li Xiangyang gripped his rifle tighter, a chill running down his spine.

He had hunted across the globe but never witnessed such strict hierarchy.

Under this old wolf’s rule, the pack exuded a terrifying discipline.

The alpha’s meal was brief—more a confirmation of its privilege.

Once it gracefully withdrew, the others approached in order.

They fed in a secret, orderly hierarchy—no quarrels, no chaos.

Cold sweat drenched Li Xiangyang’s back.

Even his rifle offered no comfort.

Facing such an organized pack, he felt a profound helplessness for the first time.

After the feeding, an astonishing scene unfolded.

The old wolf slowly approached him.

The others tensed immediately, but the alpha merely flicked its tail, and the pack settled.

Li Xiangyang’s finger hovered over the trigger, cold sweat trickling down his brow.

The wolf stopped ten paces away.

It lifted its head slightly, amber eyes locking with his.

In that gaze was both wild pride and an ineffable wisdom.

Their eyes met for several seconds.

In that brief moment, Li Xiangyang seemed to understand: “This time, we share your prey. No desire for conflict. But remember—here in these mountains, we are the true hunters.”

With that, the old wolf turned elegantly and vanished into the dense forest.

The others followed silently, like shadows dissolving into darkness.

Only the bloodstains, scattered bones, and Li Xiangyang’s pounding heart bore witness to what had just transpired.