Chapter 9: Hunting the Lone Wolf

That night, a mist began to rise in Jiazidong Valley.

Zhang Yang did not rush deeper into the mountains. Instead, he surveyed the terrain along the way, searching for suitable spots to set traps.

Zhao Dong was shivering so fiercely that he looked like a wrinkled little old man, his neck pulled tightly inward and his back hunched over.

“It’s damn cold up here in the mountains!” he complained.

Zhang Yang laughed at him. “Is this your first time here? You’re only just realizing it now? What’s the matter, already thinking of turning back before we’ve even started?”

Zhao Dong immediately denied it. “Not at all! It’s just this weather—it really tests your patience…”

Zhang Yang was too lazy to tease him further.

He took out the machete from his basket and began digging and scraping carefully around the roots of a tree, diligently setting a new trap.

Zhao Dong squatted beside him, watching his work but never stopping his chatter.

“Brother, did you notice those girls at the sent-down youth camp? There’s one named Du Shujun—she’s really beautiful, like one of those women in the magazines.”

“Who? Du who?” Zhang Yang’s mind was fully occupied with the trap he was about to complete. “With so many mouths to feed at home, how could I spare any attention for others?”

“Man, were you a monk in your past life or something?” Zhao Dong was baffled, repeating, “Du Shujun! The fair-skinned girl who always wears two braided pigtails, one of those city kids sent down!”

Zhang Yang gave him a friendly shove. “Keep your voice down! We’re in the mountains! This isn’t your home!”

Zhao Dong, already squatting until his legs were numb, was pushed back like a meatball and fell backward!

Zhang Yang couldn’t help but laugh helplessly.

He quickly reached out to catch him, but just at that moment, from not far behind Zhao Dong, a pair of eerie green eyes emerged!

It was a wolf!

“Get down and don’t move!” Zhang Yang shouted, his hand already reaching for his gun!

Fortunately, he was prepared; while digging the trap, he had kept his gun close by, alert.

He aimed, loaded, and pulled the trigger!

A bullet flew out, followed by a low, guttural howl.

He had hit it—but not killed it!

The darkness was too thick, and with Zhao Dong still lying on the ground, Zhang Yang had no time to help him. Clutching the gun, he ran toward the wolf.

As he approached, Zhang Yang first saw the bloodstains on the snow.

Judging by the amount of blood, he had likely struck a vital spot.

But the beast was fierce—despite its injuries, it ran swiftly.

Zhang Yang followed the blood and footprints, while Zhao Dong, scrambling to his feet behind him, shouted anxiously, “Yangzi, where are you going?! Are you crazy? That was a wolf howl! We’re dealing with wolves!”

“Quiet! I know that!” Zhang Yang replied calmly, blinking rapidly to try and lock onto the wounded wolf in the darkness.

“We can’t let it return alive to the pack… If we anger the wolves, the whole village could be in danger!”

With that, he sprinted forward with all his strength.

The deeper into the mountains they went, the deeper the snow became, each step sinking into a deep hole, making it hard to run fast.

But after a short chase, the injured wolf, exhausted, collapsed onto the ground.

Zhang Yang raised his shotgun, ready to deliver the final blow.

Yet suddenly, the memory of the box that Zhang Minde had given him flashed through his mind.

Bullets were scarce; every shot had to count!

With this in mind, Zhang Yang steeled himself.

He turned the shotgun around and walked straight up to the wounded wolf.

The wolf, not yet completely powerless, struggled to rise when it saw Zhang Yang’s fearless approach, baring its sharp fangs in a snarl.

The gleaming fangs shone coldly in the moonlight, and the foul stench of blood from its gaping maw was enough to frighten anyone else away.

In an instant, Zhang Yang swung the stock of his shotgun with full force against the wolf’s head—one blow, two, three!

Finally, the wolf’s raised head collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, falling heavily into the snow.

A pool of fresh blood stained the pristine snow.

When Zhao Dong hurried over, trembling all over, he gritted his teeth and shot two arrows into the dead wolf.

“Don’t waste them,” Zhang Yang said, panting, blocking him. “It’s already dead. No need to waste arrows.”

Seeing the wolf no longer moving, Zhao Dong finally exhaled deeply.

“Mother of mine! You scared me half to death!” He looked at Zhang Yang’s profile with lingering shock. “Big brother! That was a wolf! A wolf that could bite your leg clean off! A man-eating wolf! How could you think like that—having a gun and not using it, going in close like that?!”

Zhang Yang only smiled without replying.

Mentioning the scarcity of bullets might dampen morale.

Besides, now was not the time for such talk.

He grabbed the scruff of the wolf’s neck and lifted it up, weighing it in his hand.

Though fierce-looking, it wasn’t heavier than a wild roe deer.

But its pelt was a valuable prize.

“Give me your machete,” Zhang Yang said, dropping the wolf and asking Zhao Dong for the tool.

In the sudden encounter with the wolf, he had focused on the gun and discarded his machete; now, he needed it.

Zhao Dong obediently took out his machete from the basket and handed it over, asking curiously, “You said it was dead—why do you need the knife?”

Before he finished, Zhang Yang raised the blade and struck at the wolf’s neck.

The wolf had just died; its blood was still warm.

With the slash, blood sprayed everywhere, splattering Zhang Yang.

Zhao Dong was dumbfounded.

The machete was rather dull, making it difficult to sever the wolf’s head; Zhang Yang struck the wound repeatedly, over a dozen times, before finally chopping the head off.

But that was not the end.

Zhang Yang looked up at the trees, selected a suitably thick branch, and cut it down with the machete.

Holding the branch, he stepped on the severed wolf’s head, adjusted its position, and impaled it onto the branch.

He then thrust the branch with the mounted wolf’s head into the snow.

The lone wolf’s head hung from the bare branch, blood dripping steadily.

Accompanied by the howling wind sweeping through the mountain forest, it seemed almost as if someone were weeping, making the scene eerily chilling.

Zhao Dong wasn’t sure whether he was colder from the cold or from fear.

He stared rigidly at the sight before him, his voice faltering, “Yangzi, isn’t this a bit much? This is terrifying!”

“It’s necessary,” Zhang Yang said coldly.

“The wolf’s howl and all that blood may have already alerted the nearby pack. If we don’t show them some deterrence, they could attack the village at any time.”