The Entire Mountain Is My Hunting Ground

Chapter 264: Chapter 227: An Alliance of the Strong

"Big Claw" and "Mountain God" are what the mountain folk call it. They’re talking about the Tiger.

Hearing this, Zhao Jun, who was sitting nearby, immediately perked up his ears.

In his past life, while digging for Ginseng in the deep, old-growth forests of the Far East in Rakshasa Country, he had once glimpsed the distant shadow of a Tiger.

But here, on his home mountain, he had never seen a Tiger in two lifetimes.

As he listened to the uncle and nephew talk, Hu Dahai asked Song Dong where he had encountered the Tiger.

Song Dong said, "Over at the back of Lingxi on Old Ghost Head Ridge, on top of Chicken Crown Cliff."

Hu Dahai’s face darkened at his words. "Didn’t I tell you?" he snapped. "You’re not supposed to go to Old Ghost Head Ridge! I lost two dogs there a decade or so ago. Didn’t I tell you there was a Tiger there?"

He had lost seven of his eight dogs. The grief in Song Dong’s heart was palpable. Now, being scolded by Hu Dahai, his eyes instantly reddened, and he lowered his head in silence.

Seeing this, Zhao Jun quickly said to Song Dong, "Hey, big brother, it must have been a cold journey. Come on up on the kang and warm yourself up."

At Zhao Jun’s words, Hu Dahai remembered they had a guest. His expression softened a bit. "This is Xiaozhao," he said to Song Dong, "the new inspector assigned to our Logging Camp." As he spoke, Hu Dahai scooted over to make room for Song Dong. "Go on, sit. You haven’t eaten yet, have you?"

"Yeah, Third Uncle, I haven’t eaten yet."

Hu Dahai sighed, climbed off the kang, and poured Song Dong a mug of warm water. He handed it to him, saying, "Dong, warm up a little before you drink this. Have some water, then we’ll eat. I steamed some buns today. You’ll eat here."

"Yeah, yeah." Song Dong took the mug, cradling it in his hands and nodding.

Hu Dahai climbed back onto the kang and asked Song Dong, "What were you two hunting? How did you end up running into the Mountain God?"

Song Dong set the mug on the low table on the kang. "Yesterday, the others spotted a hunched Black Bear," he explained. "My brother-in-law and I went after it today, and... the dogs never came back."

"So did you see the Mountain God?" Hu Dahai pressed.

Song Dong shook his head silently.

Hu Dahai frowned. "Then how do you know it was the Mountain God?"

Song Dong sighed and began his story. "We picked up the trail and followed it to the west of Old Ghost Head Ridge. The lead dog, Er Hei, ran ahead. A moment later, we heard him bark—’WOOF, WOOF’—just twice, and then nothing. But as soon as he barked, the other dogs all went rushing after him."

"My brother-in-law and I gave chase. Halfway there, we heard two more barks, and then silence again. I knew something was wrong. When we ran a little farther, we saw Big Elder Hei coming back."

At this point, Song Dong shook his head. "I saw Big Elder Hei with his tail between his legs, piss trickling down from under him. We tried to get him to go forward, but he wouldn’t budge. By the time I found Er Hei, his head was buried in the snow. I pulled him out and saw... four holes in his skull."

In his previous life, Zhao Jun had gone hunting with Song Dong and had even met that dog, Big Elder Hei. By then, Big Elder Hei was already nine years old, too old to go into the mountains, so Song Dong just kept him at home.

’By my count, Big Elder Hei must be six years old now,’ Zhao Jun thought. ’That’s an old dog.’

It was important to understand that Hu Dahai and Song Dong came from a long line of master hunters. The hounds they trained wouldn’t back down even from a Xiong Ba.

’To scare an old dog into pissing itself and refusing to fight... in these mountains, only one animal could do that.’

Hu Dahai seemed to understand now, but he still asked Song Dong, "Did you see any paw prints?"

"I did." Song Dong held out his hands and formed a circle in front of him, about the size of a regular rice bowl.

After making the gesture, Song Dong said, "About this big. Perfectly round."

Those were the paw prints of a feline.

But Hu Dahai frowned, puzzled. "That’s not much bigger than a dog’s print. If it were the Mountain God, the paws wouldn’t be that small, would they? Could it be a Large Lynx? Or a stone tiger?"

Both Asia and Europe have lynx, but the ones from the Northeast are the largest.

They have long legs and stand taller than a dog, though they aren’t as long. An adult generally weighs sixty to seventy jin, with the heaviest reaching up to one hundred jin.

As for the name "stone tiger," it’s used in many places, but it doesn’t always refer to the same kind of animal.

In these mountains, a "stone tiger" means a Little Tiger, one that isn’t fully grown.

Since the paw print Song Dong described didn’t seem to belong to an adult Tiger, Hu Dahai guessed it was either a Large Lynx or a stone tiger.

But then the old man reconsidered, muttering, "But a Large Lynx couldn’t have terrified the dogs that much."

"Exactly," Song Dong added. "Eight dogs, and only four barks in total."

’What more needed to be said?’

Even against a Lynx, as long as a dog wasn’t dead or incapacitated, it would keep barking nonstop, even if it was losing the fight.

"Then it has to be a stone tiger." A glint appeared in Hu Dahai’s eyes. Just as he was about to speak, Zhao Jun, who had been listening, interjected, "Sir, the snow is deep on the back of the mountain, and it’s still soft."

"Well, I’ll be!" At Zhao Jun’s words, Hu Dahai exclaimed in surprise, looking at him with wide eyes. "You’re absolutely right! If you hadn’t said something, Xiaozhao, I would’ve completely forgotten about that."

What the mountain folk called the "back of the mountain" was its edge—a sheer cliff face with no path or slope.

These areas were often a maze of boulders, or a Jumping Stone Pond, the kind of place Lynx and Tigers liked to live.

Furthermore, the temperature on the back of the mountain was lower, so the snow there didn’t melt.

The "soft" snow Zhao Jun had mentioned was a term from the Northeast dialect; it meant the snow was loose and fluffy.

In snow like that, when a person or animal stepped and then lifted their foot, the surrounding soft snow would automatically collapse into the depression, making the resulting print seem much smaller than it actually was.

That meant a paw print the size Song Dong had described could have been left by a beast that, had it passed by the hut where they now sat, would have left a print as large as a soup tureen.