Chapter 194

The Tibetan horse bear differs from other bears in that its face is elongated like a horse's, making it look extremely ugly and ferocious, hence the name. The Tibetan horse bear that fell from above our heads waved its claws in the moonlight, tumbled, and struck a protruding rock on the cliff face.

This Bone-Burying Gully is itself a great fissure split open in Gaiqing Slope, with steep and narrow cliffs on both sides, causing the Tibetan horse bear to strike the rocks here, then change its falling angle and collide with the thorny dead trees growing on the sheer cliff on the other side. The force of its fall, weighing a thousand jin, was immense, instantly snapping the dead tree trunk, and the bear's belly was ripped open by a hard branch. Before it even hit the ground, it had been disemboweled, bringing down a large amount of dead tree debris and rocks, a black mass that crashed down with a boom.

Because this enormous Tibetan horse bear did not fall straight down, those below could not easily judge where it would land, and the scene was so bizarre that many people were stunned into inaction, forgetting they should dodge.

At this critical moment, someone shouted: "Quickly dodge to the rear, press your backs against the wall, absolutely do not move!" Pangzi, Shirley Yang, Peter Huang, and a few others finally reacted, grabbing Ming Shu and several others, as well as several porters whose legs had gone weak from fright, and all scrambled for cover beneath the ancient trees at the edge of the cliff.

Almost simultaneously, the Tibetan horse bear's body crashed onto the gully floor. Shirley Yang and I were still some distance away, but we both felt a strong gust of wind hit our faces. The bear's body was like a heavy bomb, shaking the nearby ground so that it trembled three times. Looking at the Tibetan horse bear, it had already been flattened into a bear meat patty, a bloody, fuzzy mass.

Shortly after, more loose rocks continued to fall from above, just as guide Shirley Yang had previously mentioned: even a pebble the size of a fingernail dropped from a thousand meters high could kill a person. Everyone pressed themselves against the rocks behind several ancient trees, not daring to move a muscle. At this point, there was nowhere left to flee; we could only pray for the Buddha's protection.

Fortunately, the cliff where the Tibetan horse bear jumped was somewhat distant from us, so no one was injured or killed. All the locals had no idea what had just happened—had the ancient legend come true? Or had that sacrificial ritual begun again? But even the "Wheel of Reincarnation Sect" had long been extinct for hundreds of years, no longer existing in this world. This Tibetan horse bear...

By then, the falling rocks from above had gradually lessened. Fortunately, the yaks and horses had not been startled into fleeing; they stared wide-eyed, dazed, possibly because the events had been too sudden, and they were still too shocked to react, unsure what to do.

We thought everything was over when suddenly Pangzi pointed upward and said: "My goodness, the Divine Wind Suicide Squad... is back again!"

Before I could even lift my head to look up, a horned wild beast came crashing down, its horns piercing the back of a horse. Added to the tremendous impact of its fall, both our horse and the beast were snapped and broken, dying instantly. Only then did I clearly see what had fallen: a Kunlun white-necked long-horned goat.

Shortly after, more than a dozen identical long-horned goats fell from the top of the gully. This startled the remaining horses, and since there were no sturdy trees in the gully to tie them to, they were not secured well. Several horses neighed loudly, broke free of their reins, scrambled over the yaks' backs, and fled headlong along the winding Bone-Burying Gully, running blindly ahead.

The yaks, slow to react, finally became agitated at this point, lowering their heads and running after the horses. The sound of yak hooves and horse hooves trampling, along with the livestock's bellowing, faded gradually down the deep gully, leaving only the distant, muffled rumble of echoes.

We could not imagine what had happened above the Bone-Burying Gully, nor did we have time to speculate. Having traveled all day, we were utterly exhausted. Shirley Yang and the others prepared to eat, drink some wine, and then unload the yaks, so some supplies remained on the yaks' backs, not yet unloaded. Most important among them was the ginger juice—without it, we could not chisel ice. Although we also had backup explosives, using explosives on a glacier would be tantamount to suicide.

Moreover, yaks are highly valued by the Tibetans. At that time, Shirley Yang's family was considered relatively well-off locally, owning only three yaks and twenty sheep. Losing ten yaks at once would be a massive loss.

Seeing no more beasts falling from above, we no longer hesitated despite the danger. We split into two teams: I, guide Shirley Yang, and Pangzi grabbed our weapons and immediately set off in pursuit of the herd. The others packed up their belongings and followed behind.

As we advanced along the winding Bone-Burying Gully, the trampled ground bore the tracks of yak and horse hooves, churning up many half-buried, withered bones. These remains had long since rotted, though occasionally one could still glimpse a flicker of ghostly green phosphorescence, like will-o'-the-wisps. One could imagine that long ago, when night fell in this gully, piles of white bones lay scattered everywhere, with ghostly fires flickering in all directions—a terrifying sight. The weeds growing thickly on both sides were over half a person's tall, interspersed with dead tree stumps and broken vines, adding to the desolate, chilling atmosphere.

We had traveled a considerable distance forward, with no movement ahead or behind—we could neither hear the running of yak and horse hooves nor see the lights of the rear team's illumination tools. So we stopped first to catch our breath. Shirley Yang took out his wine skin, and the three of us each took several large gulps to steady our nerves. Pangzi then produced a cigarette and passed it around.

I asked Shirley Yang how it came to be that the Tibetan horse bear and those long-horned goats had committed suicide by jumping off the cliff—something that had not happened in many years—why had we happened to arrive just as this strange event occurred?

Shirley Yang shook his head: "I haven't entered the Bone-Burying Gully in nearly ten years. Others have come even less. Before, aside from ancient legends, no one had actually witnessed it firsthand. I can't understand why, the moment we arrived, we suddenly encountered this strange phenomenon."

After a brief discussion, we decided to follow the gully's course forward in search of the yaks and horses. At this point, we knew we couldn't catch up in the short term, and the group behind us was too far behind—if anything changed, we wouldn't be able to respond in time. So we had no choice but to slow our pace and continue forward.

Along the road ahead, the weeds grew denser. Guide Shirley Yang suddenly became alert, pointing to the weeds beside the path and saying to me and Pangzi: "There's a strange smell in these grass clumps—like rotting corpse mixed with a wild animal's musky stench, a foul, irritating odor."

Pangzi held a sporting rifle, I held a Remington shotgun, and Shirley Yang held his usual hunting rifle. At this moment, we all entered combat readiness, preparing to push aside the tangled tall grass to see what lay within.

But before we could even get close, a she-wolf suddenly burst from the grass, lunging into the air and diving straight at us. This sudden, violent attack was both swift and vicious. Shirley Yang, standing at the front, reacted even faster—without firing a shot, he drew his Tibetan knife and brought it down in a overhead chop. With a "swish," he split the she-wolf's head along the nasal ridge, leaving it half in two, dead on the spot.

I and Pangzi couldn't help but cheer—what a fast and precise knife!

Shirley Yang laughed heartily. Back then, as captain of the Kalamir Wolf-Hunting Team, he hadn't attained that position easily. This wolf had thought it could ambush us, but today it was the one who was unlucky.

Shirley Yang suddenly stopped speaking, raised his hunting rifle, and from his expression, I understood there were more wolves behind the grass. We raised our guns and pushed aside the large tangle of grass, revealing a mountain wall behind it with a large cave opening. Inside lay countless fuzzy creatures. The grass covering the cave entrance was pushed aside, and dim moonlight streamed in—revealing a large den of wolf cubs, exposed to the light, all huddled together and trembling with fear. Perhaps the mother wolf had also been startled by the fleeing cattle herd, and seeing someone approach again, she lunged out to protect her cubs, intending to harm anyone who came near. This was a wolf den,

Shirley Yang never parts with his barley wine, and at this moment the wine's effect kicked in, his murderous intent surged. He once again drew his Tibetan knife, intending to crawl into the den and stab all the wolf cubs to death.

When the mother wolf attacked earlier, Pangzi hadn't had a chance to show his skill, but now he was eager to take the spotlight. He stopped Shirley Yang, saying: "Good steel belongs on the blade, good wine belongs at a state banquet—there's no need to go to such trouble over these little wolf cubs. You all look at me, Pangzi Ye." As he spoke, he pulled out a set of three detonators from his pocket, lit the fuse on the cigarette he was holding, shook his hand, and tossed it into the wolf den.

We quickly flung ourselves to the side. Not long after, we heard an explosion from within the den, followed by a plume of thick smoke.

After the smoke cleared completely, we entered the wolf den for a final sweep, dispatching any survivors with a knife thrust. The space inside this mountain cave was astonishingly large, and there were even many fragments of bronze artifacts. It appeared to be a very secluded site within the Bone-Burying Gully where rituals were once held, but later, after being occupied by these wolves, many objects and markings were destroyed, rendering them unrecognizable. In this cave we discovered a large quantity of animal remains, some not yet fully gnawed. Only then did it dawn on us: the unique topography of the Bone-Burying Gully had been exploited by these wolves. Since wolves are not adapted to running in high-altitude mountain regions and find it difficult to chase prey, they devised a method to drive their prey up to the top of Gaiqing Slope's gully. Without prior knowledge, it would be hard to spot from afar where the mountainside had split open into a deep gully. By the time one reached the edge and tried to stop, it would already be too late—driven from the grasslands into the mountains by wolf packs, they would have nowhere left to go, cornered. I never imagined they would have survived by relying on the remnants of this ancient sacrificial gully.

After emerging from the wolf den, Pangzi and Shirley Yang engaged in a lively discussion. From this, it seemed the unfortunate Tibetan horse bear had certainly been swept up in the wolves' drive of the long-horned goats, confused and caught in the middle. When the Tibetan horse bear found itself in dire straits, it went mad. Though a dozen or so evil wolves might not have been able to move it, this was when they had nowhere else to go. The Tibetan horse bear likely tried to keep its distance from the wolf pack, but ended up falling into the deep gully, crashing to the bottom and being flattened into a bear meat patty.

I also wanted to interject and chat with them for a few sentences, but then I thought: Oh no, on Gaiqing Slope, the evil wolves encircling the area—unknown in number—will certainly circle back to the Bone-Burying Gully from the direction we came. As Shirley Yang said, the front of the Bone-Burying Gully connects to the Divine Snail Ancient Glacier, where the ice is steep and only this route allows entry. So when the wolf pack returns to drag down the fallen long-horned goats, they cannot come from that front direction.

The yaks and horses that ran ahead should not need to worry about wolf attacks, but the people behind us are completely unprepared. I have previously dealt with the evil wolves of Tibet—those creatures appear and vanish without trace, truly extremely cunning. If Ming Shu and the others were ambushed, we could not rule out casualties. I shared this thought with Pangzi and Shirley Yang, and the three of us immediately turned back to return, after all, human lives are paramount—for now, we cannot worry about those yaks.

I hadn't walked far when I saw lights flickering—Shirley Yang and the others had already caught up. It turned out they had heard the explosion, assumed we were in danger, and rushed over to rendezvous.

When I saw the two groups meet, I finally relaxed—until I noticed Shirley Yang had already raised his gun. In the direction his barrel pointed, several evil wolves appeared. Those creatures merely held their position just beyond weapon range, not advancing further. In the night's darkness, we could only vaguely see their green, glistening eyes and blurred outlines.

Those with weapons raised their guns, preparing to fire. I hurriedly stopped them: "These wolves are testing our firepower. We only have two sporting rifles capable of long-range targets—do not fire lightly. Wait until they draw near, then unleash a volley." Anyway, we outnumber them and have more guns; in the mountains, even if wolves gather, there are at most a few dozen. As long as we take precautions beforehand, there's no need to fear them.

Suddenly, a white shadow appeared in the distance, its fur trembling in the night wind. My heart sank—I immediately recalled that night at the Great Phoenix Temple, when I battled the wolf pack, the scene vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Damn it, enemies don't meet unless they're fated to—who would have thought that after ten years, in the Kunlun Mountains at the junction of Tibet, Qinghai, and Xinjiang, I would encounter that white-furred wolf king again? It was still alive. Just now we had slaughtered so many wolf cubs—our hatred had only deepened.

I whispered to Pangzi: "Can you take this shot with confidence? Capture the thief by first taking the king—bring down the wolf king, and these wolves will pose no threat to us. Best to take it down with a single shot."

Pangzi laughed: "Child's play, Commander Hu—just wait and see me skin this white-furred wolf hide."

As he spoke, he had already raised his sporting rifle, his finger already on the trigger as he aimed. I felt a surge of joy—if we could end it here, it would lift a weight from my heart. But just as Pangzi's sporting rifle moved with the target, about to fire, the white wolf had already darted into the blind spot of our aim, and several other wolves followed, vanishing into the darkness. Pangzi cursed, then had no choice but to lower his gun.

The wolves knew that charging into this narrow gully would mean rushing straight into the gun barrels, so they silently withdrew. But I knew in my heart they certainly hated us, their teeth practically itching with rage. This withdrawal was only temporary—given the chance, they would attack without hesitation.

But there was nothing we could do—we couldn't chase them, so we had to continue forward as a unit, searching for the yaks that had run off. After trekking a long time through the Bone-Burying Gully, everyone felt weary and drowsy. Finally, on a slope at the gully's mouth, we found the yaks—they were all there, grazing.

Guide Shirley Yang and four porters saw the yaks were unharmed, felt overjoyed, forgot their fatigue, and hurriedly ran up the slope. We, meanwhile, walked slowly behind. When I reached the slope, I suddenly froze—this seemed even more bizarre than a Tibetan horse bear falling from the sky. Beside the yaks lay five people fallen, their clothing identifying them as Shirley Yang and the others. They appeared to have suffered a tremendous shock, lying on the ground, their whole bodies trembling violently.