The Road Lord (Part 1)

The Wolf Demon crouched in the snowdrift, squinting down the mountain.

It had been lying motionless behind this rock for nearly half an hour.

Snow fell on it, piling up thick, blending its gray-white fur with the mountain stone.

The hemp robe it had stripped from a corpse was wrapped haphazardly around it, long since soaked through by snowmelt, stiff and icy, making it deeply uncomfortable.

But it couldn't bear to take it off.

Because this was human clothing. Wearing it, it felt a little more like those two-legged things.

A person came walking along the mountain path.

Its clouded left eye twitched.

It was a man, his skin blindingly pale, like a shelled wild pheasant egg.

A low growl rumbled from the Wolf Demon's throat.

It didn't know what a Daoist robe was. It only knew meat.

That fair-skinned man, even from this far away, it felt like it could already smell the fragrance beneath his skin.

Not the sour stench of woodcutters, nor the fishy reek of hunters—it was a clean, warm scent, like a fawn that hadn't yet opened its eyes.

It must taste wonderful.

It swallowed its saliva, and its lame old leg unconsciously pushed back.

The Wolf Demon sank into memory.

Decades ago, it had been a young wolf, running with the pack on the other side of the mountain.

Back then, its legs were nimble, faster than anyone, and no hare it caught ever broke free.

Then one day, it fought another wolf over a bone, and that beast bit down on its hind leg.

The bone shattered. The sinew snapped.

It went lame.

The pack had no use for a cripple.

The day it was driven out, the snow fell even heavier than now.

It limped for half a month, crossing over a dozen mountains, before finding this territory.

Back then, there was nothing in these mountains.

No Tiger, no wolf pack—only stupid wild chickens and roe deer that didn't even run when they saw it.

Though its leg was lame, it never went hungry.

Later, it found a rock.

That rock was on the ridge, big and flat, and when the moon came out at night, it shone right on it.

It didn't know why, but it loved lying on it, letting the moonlight soak through its whole body.

It would lie there all night, and it kept doing that for decades.

It didn't know this was called cultivation.

It only knew that the longer it lay there, the clearer its mind became, the lighter its body felt, and that lame leg didn't hurt as much anymore.

Until not long ago, a Tiger came to the mountain.

That Tiger was bigger than it, stronger than it, and could crush a roe deer's skull with one bite.

The first time the Wolf Demon saw it, it tucked its tail and hid for three days, too scared to come out.

But that Tiger didn't eat it. The Tiger had little interest in the mountain's beasts; it just liked to bite things for fun.

It would kill a roe deer, leave it there, then go bite the next one.

The people down the mountain took the chance to pick up those dead deer.

The Wolf Demon lay on its rock, watching from afar as those people carried the deer away. Though it couldn't understand what they were doing, it found those two-legged standing things fascinating.

Then the Tiger started eating people.

First, it killed a hunter who came up the mountain, bit off one of his arms, and dragged him into the woods to eat clean.

The Wolf Demon lay on the ridge, smelling that bloody scent, and something stirred inside it.

It didn't dare get close, only watched from a distance.

It saw that after the Tiger ate a person, its eyes grew brighter, its fur glossier, and even its roar was louder than before.

Blood food.

Those two words surfaced in its heart for no reason.

Later, the people from below came up with spears and rattan shields.

There were many of them, their shouts shaking the sky, chasing the Tiger all over the mountain.

The Wolf Demon hid in a crevice, watching those two-legged things hunt the Tiger across the peaks, and that something inside it stirred again.

It didn't seem that formidable.

They... didn't seem that formidable either.

The Tiger was driven off and never came back.

The Wolf Demon crawled out from the crevice in the rocks, circled the mountain once to confirm that beast was truly gone, and only then dared to lie back down on that boulder.

But it realized it couldn't stay still anymore.

It kept remembering the way the Tiger ate people.

It kept remembering those two-legged things—standing upright, walking, talking, using fire to cook food.

It wanted to try too.

The thought made its heart ache with longing.

So it would eat.

The first one it ate was an infant.

That day, it hid behind a bush and watched a young couple come up the mountain. The woman placed the baby in a basket, covered it with clothes, and then went to pick mushrooms with the man. The baby slept deeply, its little mouth sucking and smacking.

The Wolf Demon lay there, watching for a long time.

It knew it shouldn't do this.

It knew that once it ate this thing, it might never turn back.

But a voice in its head kept saying: The Tiger could eat them, so why can't you?

So it went.

It still remembered the taste of that infant to this day.

Tender, soft—biting into it was like sinking teeth into a warm, greasy lump of fat.

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It trembled all over as it ate. After finishing, it lay in the snow, unable to move for a long time.

When it finally stood up again, it felt as if the sky had brightened.

Its mind had never been so clear. Things it hadn't understood for decades suddenly all clicked into place.

It knew what it was called now.

Not wolf—demon.

It knew what it wanted now.

Not pheasants or roe deer—those two-legged humans.

So it started eating woodcutters too.

It discovered that when these people carried firewood on their backs, they walked slowly and turned with difficulty. Pouncing from behind, it never missed.

It also found that rolling stones down from those two ridges could smash people to pulp, without even needing to pounce.

It ate more and more, and its mind grew sharper.

That lame leg didn't seem so lame anymore. The teeth it had lost grew new stubs—gleaming white, sharper than before.

It began to learn how to walk like a human.

At first, it couldn't keep its balance, wobbling like a newborn wolf cub.

Gradually, it could walk. Later, it could even run.

It stripped a linen robe from a crushed woodcutter, threw it on haphazardly, and it rustled loudly as it moved.

It felt incredibly majestic.

Once, staring at its reflection in a mountain stream, it suddenly opened its mouth and spoke.

"I am..."

The voice was hoarse, harsh—like stone grinding against stone. But it understood itself.

It could really speak.

It felt that even if the Tiger came back now, it wouldn't be afraid.

And then, the people from below the mountain came up again.

That day, the Wolf Demon was lying on the boulder, basking in the sun. The warm rays soaked into its bones, making half its body go limp.

It squinted, still savoring the taste of the woodcutter from two days ago.

That fellow was all skin and bones—crunchy when bitten—but far more fragrant than roe deer meat.

Just as it was enjoying itself, it suddenly heard a commotion from the foot of the mountain.

It pricked up its ears, listened for a moment, and its expression shifted.

Voices.

A great many voices.

And the clang of brass gongs, clang clang clang, shaking the snow from the mountain in a steady patter.

The Wolf Demon shot to its feet, its old lame leg nearly giving out beneath it.

It took a few steps forward, crouched behind a large rock, and poked half its head out to look down.

A dense, dark mass of people was coming up the mountain path.

At the front were several men carrying long spears, the tips glinting coldly in the sunlight.

Behind them came a crowd wielding hoes and scythes, along with a few carrying bows and arrows, beating gongs as they walked.

The gong sound shook the heavens, startling the birds in the mountain into a frantic, flapping chaos.

The Wolf Demon recognized the man beating the gong. Just a few days ago, he had come up the mountain searching for his son's corpse, standing on the path and weeping with snot and tears streaming down his face.

This was a revenge party.

It pulled its head back, and all the smug satisfaction in its heart vanished.

If this had been three months ago, it might have considered testing them.

Back then, it had just eaten that infant and felt unstoppable, wanting to lunge and bite at everything it saw.

But over these three months, it had eaten more people and its mind had cleared. It knew what it could do and what it couldn't.

There were too many of those people.

No matter how strong it was, it couldn't withstand dozens of men surrounding it and stabbing with spears and hoes.

It didn't want to get hurt.

It thought of that Tiger again.

That beast was so fierce—one bite from its jaws could crush a man's skull.

But what happened in the end?

Wasn't it chased all over the mountain by people, finally fleeing to some unknown corner?

The Wolf Demon didn't want to end up like that.

It silently retreated from behind the rock, landing on all four paws, and limped deeper into the forest, hobbling along.

That linen robe was cumbersome and in the way. It thought about taking it off, but couldn't bear to part with it, so it just kept it wrapped around itself, stumbling deeper into the mountain, one step shallow, one step deep.

Behind it, the gong sounds grew closer.

"Search! Search thoroughly!"

"That beast must be in this area!"

"Everyone stay sharp! Don't get separated!"

The Wolf Demon listened to these shouts, and somehow, a strange urge to laugh rose in its heart.

These people were really something.

Coming in such a grand procession, searching with gongs and drums, practically announcing to the whole mountain that they had arrived and to run fast.

But it wasn't deaf. Why would it stay and wait to be cornered in its den and stabbed, when it could hear the commotion and flee?

It found a dense patch of forest, slipped inside, and lay down under a clump of bushes.

Thick leaves covered its body, blending it into the surroundings.

It didn't even dare to breathe deeply, just pressed both ears to the ground and listened to the sounds outside.

Footsteps passed nearby.

Someone cursed, "Where did that beast run off to?"

Another voice said, "It must be ahead! Chase it!"

The Wolf Demon didn't move.

It heard those people walking farther and farther away, heard the gong sounds gradually fade, until finally, there was nothing.

It still didn't move. It just lay there, staying until the sun slanted westward, until the sky darkened, and eventually even dozed off for a nap.

Then it slowly climbed to its feet, shook the leaves off its body, licked its paws, licked its old lame leg, and felt hollow inside.