Angry? Yes, he was angry. If the schemer hadn’t been so ruthless—killing someone and taking the chain—would he have ended up in this predicament?
Jiang Lian felt he had stumbled into a complete mess: the mirage pearl was destroyed, he was implicated in a murder case, his companions were being held hostage, and he was at someone else’s mercy, forced to help find a chain…
He raised his right hand, turning it back and forth as he examined it twice, like an elder scolding an unfilial descendant: “How worthless can you be?”
Of all the things he could have taken, he had to grab Meng Qianzi’s chain. One careless snatch had created an eternal grudge, offending a woman with both significant status and a petty disposition.
Though the back mountain was close to Ba Hang Village, villagers rarely ventured there. The village had been established by carving out a space in the mountain hollow, essentially placing homes at the edge of tigers’ and wolves’ jaws. The back mountain led to deep wilderness without human tracks. In the old days, during winter when heavy snow made food scarce, starving tigers and wolves would often approach the village through this path to attack people, forcing villagers to set traps around the settlement and patrol the perimeter regularly with hoes and chopping knives.
In the early years after Liberation, consecutive periods of war and banditry occurred, and these beasts joined in the chaos. Reports of tiger and wolf attacks were especially numerous in each county. After these incidents were reported, the 47th Army of the People’s Liberation Army, which was responsible for bandit suppression in Western Hunan, happened to be equipped with fast horses, quick guns, and excellent equipment. They simultaneously eliminated tigers and wolves, even employing 60mm mortars. This was far more efficient than the Meishan Tiger Craftsmen, and after a thorough purge, the beasts were said to be nearly extinct.
But Western Hunan had many mountains and dense forests, so it was impossible to say whether some survivors might be hiding there, reproducing. Therefore, local people taking their goods to market or traveling would only use the major and minor mountain paths where many people went, and rarely would anyone be inspired to blaze new trails.
When Jiang Lian first entered the village, Old Ga had repeatedly emphasized the dangers of the forest, which was why he carried wolf spray when entering the mountains on rainy nights. The forest was the tigers’ habitat, and as an outsider, his activities there were already disturbing their territory. If he also brought weapons like knives or guns to deal with them, it would be too domineering.
The mountain path was covered with messy footprints, likely left by the Mountain Ghosts during their investigation. These people didn’t work carelessly—the areas they had carefully sifted through probably wouldn’t have anything overlooked.
Jiang Lian wasn’t satisfied and continued deeper into the forest.
The path ahead was strewn with loose rocks and piles of rotting branches and fallen leaves, becoming increasingly difficult to traverse. But this wasn’t a problem for him. First, his movements were excellent and his steps light, allowing him to leap and gain momentum at any time, making his pace at least one or two times faster than ordinary people. Second, from his several trips in and out on rainy nights, he was quite familiar with the conditions of the path—the difficulty was that the flame of his torch was growing weaker. After all, it wasn’t an oil-soaked torch but a hastily grabbed stick from under the cooking pot. Its burning endurance was limited, and the flame was gradually diminishing, flickering like a will-o’-the-wisp that could extinguish at any moment.
Without adequate lighting, going further would be futile. As Jiang Lian was hesitating whether to turn back, from some unknown direction came a faint, strange howling.
The sound was whimpering yet shrill, like an immature dog straining its voice in wild barking, creating an inexplicable discomfort and unease in one’s heart.
Jiang Lian’s hair stood on end in an instant.
During his previous mountain trips, probably because of strong winds and heavy rain, wild beasts were unwilling to leave their lairs, so he had never encountered any. When passing through forests and crossing ridges, he had never felt afraid. Yet now, with no wind or rain, everything silent, and even a faint sliver of moonlight hanging in the sky—a time that could be described as tranquil and peaceful—he felt as if he stood in a windstorm, his whole body chilled.
Jiang Lian stopped his steps and turned to leave, when his gaze caught something that sparked his curiosity.
About ten steps ahead, at the base of an old pine tree several arm spans in circumference, there were white streaks crisscrossing in all directions, as if someone had randomly smeared it with plaster powder.
Strange—with such noticeable coloring, how had he never seen it before? Could it be freshly applied?
With the torch still providing some light, Jiang Lian’s curiosity got the better of him, and he went closer to look.
In the torchlight, he saw clearly: those so-called white streaks were claw marks. The scratching force had been so great that the outer bark had peeled off, exposing the lighter-colored inner phloem.
Jiang Lian touched the claw marks with his hand. They felt slightly damp, indicating they were fresh. He stepped back to examine the area around the tree. Sure enough, there were many paw prints in the mud. They weren’t large, looking very much like dog footprints, and there were more than one animal.
Wild dogs?
In Jiang Lian’s impression, trees served dogs mainly as urination aids. Why would so many dogs frantically scratch a tree?
Jiang Lian looked upward.
About seven or eight meters high, on a thick branch growing from the side, something hung limply. At first, Jiang Lian thought it was an old monkey—some monkeys, when they die, hang from branches like kelp drying in the sun.
But he quickly realized it was a person.
And a woman at that.
Old Ga was drinking by the fire pit, his eyes blurry with intoxication, when he suddenly saw Jiang Lian return carrying a blood-covered woman who resembled a gourd. He was so shocked that his mouth hung half-open, frozen in place.
Jiang Lian glared at him. “What are you gawking at? Help save her!”
Oh, right. Old Ga hurriedly got up, bustling into the house in a flurry. He pulled out a straw mat and spread it on the floor, then helped Jiang Lian place the woman on it. Jiang Lian, not bothering to explain further, took a few steps upstairs to get the first aid kit.
When he came back down, he saw Old Ga staring blankly at the woman.
This old man was truly unreliable. Jiang Lian didn’t bother scolding him and quickly rummaged through the first aid kit for scissors, bandages, and gauze. Old Ga finally came to his senses and blurted out: “I recognize this woman.”
“What?”
“I recognize her,” Old Ga was quite certain. “Today, when I was eating in the county town, she was sitting at the table next to mine.”
Jiang Lian was annoyed. “She’s your acquaintance, and you’re just standing there watching?”
Old Ga finally snapped out of his daze. His movements became nimble as he brought over a basin of hot water with a towel. The woman had both scratch wounds and knife wounds. The scratch marks covered her entire body in streaks, tearing her clothes to shreds. The knife wounds were difficult to assess completely, except for the most obvious one on her abdomen—any deeper, and she would have been disemboweled.
Jiang Lian cut open her clothes and first used a wrung-out towel to clean herself. Perhaps his movements aggravated her wounds, for the woman suddenly opened her eyes in extreme pain.
Initially, her gaze was confused, but it quickly turned to extreme terror. With a hoarse voice, she shouted: “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, I was just passing by, just passing through…”
She was already so badly injured; how could she afford to struggle more? Jiang Lian quickly held her shoulders, using strength to steady her body, his tone gentle: “Don’t be afraid, you’re safe now.”
The woman looked at him, trembling. Perhaps seeing that this man had a kind face and meant no harm, she stopped shaking so violently. Then, gradually, her gaze became unfocused, and she fainted again.
Only then could Jiang Lian free his hands to clean and bandage her wounds one by one. Some of the wounds required stitches, but that work was too delicate for him to manage.
Old Ga helped on the side, offering opinions.
“Ma Biaozi—she encountered Ma Biaozi.”
Jiang Lian continued working without pause. “What’s that?”
“Jackals, also called Miao wolves. Even tigers fear them. As the old saying goes, when Ma Biaozi is in the mountains, tigers dare not claim kingship.”
Miao wolves…
Now he remembered. His godfather had mentioned these ferocious beasts, saying they weren’t large, about the size of dogs, with yellow fur and horse-like faces. Their calls were eerie wails like ghost cries, particularly spine-chilling.
A single Miao wolf wasn’t particularly frightening. What made them terrifying was their group activity and coordinated attacks. They were extremely agile, with sharp claws and teeth, and remarkably intelligent. Five or six Ma Biaozi would dare to surround and attack a tiger, employing tactics: usually several would circle and bite, while one would seize an opportunity to jump on the tiger’s back, claw out its eyes, then bite its rear, pulling out intestines through the anus and eating the internal organs. Within minutes, they could devour everything, leaving only bones and skin.
How absurd to think about it—the tiger, king of the jungle with its mighty roar, would tremble in fear at the sight of Ma Biaozi.
These creatures not only dared to provoke tigers but also often massacred wild boars. Killing cattle, horses, and domestic dogs was trivial for them. There hadn’t been reports of them attacking humans, but one couldn’t be sure, after all, they were carnivorous beasts. In the old days, capturing tigers in the Western Hunan mountains wasn’t particularly difficult, but even the most experienced hunters never caught a Ma Biaozi, saying they were “too fast” and “cunning to the point of being supernatural.”