Volume One, Chapter Six: Dig Deep, Store Plenty!

"Zhang San!"

In the local dialect of Northeast China, a wolf is often referred to as "Zhang San." This is partly due to the superstitious avoidance of naming the predator directly, but it also stems from a lesser-known tale.

Legend has it that in the old days, there lived a bandit on a certain mountain known as Zhang San, as he was the third son in his family. This Zhang San was a wicked man with a perverse and overbearing nature. He had a particular penchant for eating human flesh raw—a trait he shared with the wild wolf, which also prefers fresh, living prey. People feared him too much to speak his name, so they began using the term "wolf" to refer to him.

After Zhang San died, the moniker became inextricably linked with the wolf. The elders believed that one should never speak of wolves, for the more you talked about them, the more likely they were to appear. Thus, "Zhang San" became the euphemism for a wolf. There even circulated a folk aphorism: "Zhang San doesn't eat dead children—it's because he’s spoiled by the living."

From the moment he caught sight of those glowing green eyes, Wang Dong’s mind spun out of his control. A deluge of thoughts flooded his brain, yet not a single one offered a way to drive the beast away.

Wolves fear fire, noise, and tiger skin. Wang Dong had no tiger skin, but he did have fire and a voice.

Clutching an axe in one hand and a half-burned log in the other, Wang Dong summoned his courage and stood up. He brandished the log, scattering embers into the air, and let out a roar:

"Oi! Awoo! Ah! Hey! Go! Get the hell out of here!"

However, something even more terrifying happened.

The pair of green eyes seemed to recoil in fear, retreating a few paces. But before he could celebrate, two more pairs of green eyes ignited right beside the first.

It wasn't just one.

*It’s over. A pack!*

Wang Dong’s blood ran cold. If an ordinary man struggled to handle a single wolf, what chance was there against a pack?

Wang Dong had no time for regret. Only one thought hammered in his brain: no matter what, he had to survive. He hadn't seen the person he needed to see, he hadn't finished the tasks he set out to do, he hadn't made those who looked down on him regret their arrogance, and he had yet to reach the pinnacle of this world!

"Hoo! Hah! Get out, damn you! Get out!"

The three pairs of eyes tilted left, then right, and finally, they vanished into the darkness.

Whether these creatures actually understood his words or were simply startled by his desperate display of bravado, they retreated. In that instant, Wang Dong felt as if his soul had been drained from his body; every muscle and sinew went slack, leaving only his skeleton to hold him upright.

Yet, he could not sleep.

A wolf pack’s hunt often lasts a long time. This retreat might simply be a ploy to exhaust him.

He was not yet truly safe.

*Don’t sleep, don’t sleep, don’t sleep...*

However, he could only hold out for an hour or two before his resolve crumbled. His eyelids grew heavy, his body went limp, and, most dangerously, the chill of the night began to seep into his bones.

*It’s already the dead of night...*

The day had been too exhausting. He only meant to lean against the fire to catch his breath, but as soon as he closed his eyes, he drifted into a deep sleep.

***

When Wang Dong opened his eyes again, the sun was already high in the sky.

Seeing that it was nearly noon, he let out a long, shaky breath. He had survived.

It seemed likely that the wolves were just passing through. After all, the mountains were teeming with prey at this time of year; there was no shortage of food. It wasn't worth the risk for them to attack a creature one or two times their size for a meager meal.

Still, the encounter served as a grave warning. His current lean-to was fine for a temporary shelter, but its drafty, flimsy structure offered no real protection. It couldn't hold back a tiger or a bear, nor could it stop a pack of wolves.

He needed to expand the shelter. But, with his limited tools, it was a daunting task.

After a moment of deliberation, Wang Dong slammed his hand against the ground. Building upward was unrealistic; without a saw or hammer, crafting proper joinery was nearly impossible. If he couldn't build up, he would build down.

He would dig an earthen cellar.

Once he had a plan, he wasted no time. The first step was to dig a pit. He lacked proper shovels, but fortunately, the riverbank soil was soft—a mix of black loam and yellow clay. First, he hollowed out the space beneath the lean-to.

The upper half would serve as his living area during the day, while the lower section would be for storage and sleeping at night. The pit wasn't massive—less than two meters deep and about eight or nine square meters—but it was enough to house him and his belongings.

Even this small project took him two and a half days. During this time, Wang Dong would wake at dawn, rinse his mouth in the creek, and head into the mountains with his slingshot. No matter how much game he caught, he would return by noon to spend the afternoon digging. By the third day, with a decent stock of food and the excavation nearly complete, he stayed behind to finish the work.

By midday, the cellar was ready. The only flaw was that the opening was too wide. The soft soil was a double-edged sword: it made digging easy, but it meant the roof couldn't support any heavy overhead weight.

Wang Dong, however, found a solution. He used the leftover scraps of wood as a frame and plastered a roof over it using a mixture of dried grass and yellow mud. He used the remaining mud to patch the cracks in the walls of the original lean-to.

By sunset, the shelter and the cellar were finally complete.

Sitting inside the lean-to, facing the fire pit, Wang Dong sipped some hot water and felt a wave of relief. Over the last few days, he had occasionally heard distant howls, but no wolves had come to harass him again.

In two days of hunting, he had bagged ten ground squirrels, one pheasant, and one rabbit. He realized that while his clay pellets lacked power, they were effective if he struck the head, knocking the smaller game unconscious—though his aim still left much to be desired.

Looking at the jerky hanging from the roof, the rabbit roasting over the fire, and his own calloused, weary hands, Wang Dong felt a sense of satisfaction, tempered by a new resolve.

The sheer exhaustion caused by building a simple lean-to and cellar proved that he couldn't keep living like this. He needed new tools. Plus, it was time to head out, sell these furs, and trade them for some grain.

He had roasted ten ground squirrels but only ate two, saving the remaining eight as rations for the next day. Tomorrow, he would head to the nearby cooperative to see what he could find.