"Hey, hunter, you're not allowed into the mountains here. There's no game in these mountains that you want, either."
When Wang Wu, carrying a bow and arrows on his back and a spear in hand, truly huffed and puffed his way up a small hill on one side of Snow Wolf Valley like some mortal hunter, he heard a rough voice coming from beneath a large tree.
Heh, it was Little Mountain Pig. No, now it was Uncle Pig—Old Pig.
The old bastard had an eight-month belly sticking out. Transformed into a hulking, dim-witted man, it lounged in the shade with roast chicken in its left hand and liquor in its right. If not for the fact that half its hair had gone gray, one might have thought it was some wandering hero who had seen through the ways of the world.
"Big brother, don't joke around. I come here all the time. Don't tell me bandits have taken over this place and there's a mountain king now?" Wang Wu deliberately teased it.
"Hey! You bastard, why are you so full of nonsense? Scram! Can't you see I'm a demon? Keep yapping and I'll bite your head off to go with my drink!" Old Pig was extremely irritable.
"Ha! You big black lump, call you fat and you start wheezing! Let me tell you straight: my nickname is Little Wu Song. See these fists? They've beaten tigers to death!"
"And look at these legs of mine! They're called the Whirlwind Invincible Overlord Leg. I could beat a dozen or so bandits until they scattered like fallen flowers and flowing water!"
"You loafer who came running from who knows where, you want to claim our mountains and forests and become some mountain king? You'll have to ask these fists of mine