Chapter 241: Brandon Stark / Xia Tian

If it were Xia Tian, facing this situation he might have already fled.

But he is not Xia Tian, he is Brandon Stark of Winterfell. His fur is thick enough, his limbs are agile enough, his reactions are fast enough, and his speed is far greater than that of a corpse that shuffles like a lamb—perhaps he could even test the speed of the White Walkers, or even their magic.

White Walkers are a legend—could it be that he is not a legend?

They feed on fear.

He cannot tell the color in the White Walkers' eye sockets with an Arctic wolf's eyes, but inside is the light representing cold, which he can discern, as the outer rim of their eyes is exhaling extreme cold.

Wind and snow almost blocked his vision, but he did not have to rely entirely on his eyes.

He felt the surrounding terrain and the distribution of the wights were clearly presented in his mind; if the White Walkers made any move, he knew which direction to flee, the only problem being the ice spear in his hand.

He was unsure whether his speed and agility could dodge the spear, but as long as he kept his distance and paid attention to the attack.

He bared his teeth, but the cold wind blew, and he felt his teeth aching.

He is not his opponent. He realized it. It was time to retreat.

He could not retreat directly; this was what he had learned in the forest.

He stared fixedly at the White Walker, waiting for the right moment to retreat. The White Walker's gaze shifted from him, looking off into the distance.

"Hoo…" he heard the horn.

They were humans.

Humans should not appear this far north; if the information he heard from the wildlings is correct, they should have all gathered at the edge of the Great Wall.

The blowing snow in the forest swirled with the gusts, the mournful howl almost made him lose track of suspicious creatures nearby, fog enveloped everything, and his vision gradually began to fail.

It doesn't matter. He could break out of the encirclement even with his eyes closed.

"Roar…" a snow bear wight suddenly appeared before him.

He slightly turned his body and flung the snow bear behind him, then leapt to avoid the mountain cat's attack; the mountain cat wight was far clumsier than when it was alive.

At that moment the crows began to caw loudly.

He immediately exerted all his strength, charging outward, and heard the sharp sound of air being torn behind him, then quickly veered to one side.

He saw the ice spear pierce the thick oak ahead, and the whole oak quickly froze, emitting a cracking sound, and soon shattered like an ice block.

This speed exceeded expectations, but it did not make him feel it was hard to challenge.

He forcibly restrained his body's urge to flee.

"They feed on fear," he seemed to hear an old woman say.

He halted, and the White Walker emerged from the ice‑like mist, a phantom hand forming an ice spear slowly; he felt the White Walker despising him.

The huge snow bear lunged again, the crows screamed louder, then a swarm began running toward the snow bear. The snow bear instantly lost direction and went berserk in place.

Good opportunity. He leapt, knocking the slightly clumsy mountain cat that was about to spring to the ground, his huge jaws biting cleanly through its already badly wounded neck. When he looked back at the White Walker in the fog, its ice spear was nearly complete.

He quickly tore open the mountain cat wight's belly, extracted the portion of its liver, and stuffed it into his mouth.

They feed on fear.

He tore off a piece, and under the White Walker's gaze, quickly swallowed it.

The liver does not pulse. After finishing a mouthful, he bared his teeth at the White Walker again, returning all the contempt he had just received, then grabbed the remaining liver and hurried away from the center of the blizzard.

He felt Xia Tian's heart racing wildly, his limbs frozen stiff, his senses dulled.

"Hoo…" the second horn blast. Why would anyone be here? He didn't understand. He was rushing through the forest, and he heard a third horn blast. Only after leaving the blizzard's range, as the forest grew quiet, did he stop.

He felt the flesh in his belly begin to melt, feeling stronger and warmer, as if the continual snowfall outside could not harm him, and the piercing cold began to ease.

He swallowed the rest.

He spent the cold, desolate night on a fallen fir tree, constantly alert to any discordant sounds around him. All night he listened to various screams and the shuffling footsteps of wights treading on snow.

A few wights invaded his shelter, and he had to angrily deal with them.

On his journey north, he might have to eat these ugly, rotting things.

Why go north? He couldn't remember why, but he recalled having a firm reason before. It didn't matter if he couldn't recall; as long as he didn't forget to keep heading north.

The forest grew still again, the sky turned pallid, he swallowed the last bite of foul-smelling wight meat, and set off northward.

When the sun hid behind the clouds at zenith, he already smelled humans.

He followed the scent, trailing behind.

Oh, he saw a giant riding a mammoth, the giant slumped on his mount, leaning on the equally weary elephant's back. Dozens of wildlings clad in heavy pelts followed behind the giant, some riding long‑haired horses, the rest trudging wearily through the snow. Oh, and another person, he rode a huge wild boar.

That wild boar's body might be twice his size.

He also saw the weapons tucked in their waists: steel swords, wooden spears, and some stone flakes.

Some were wounded; he could smell the blood on them—wounds that only a battlefield could leave. Had they fought the White Walkers or the wights?

They were just like the other scattered wildlings he had met along the way.

He did not want to attack humans, especially those wildlings who were like stray dogs. He lost interest.

As he looked back at them for the last time, the wild boar stopped, glanced at him askance, then lowered its head and left.

"Bolou Qu, what did your pet find?" the wildling beside him asked.

"Nothing, keep going," said the man seated on the wild boar, who looked as strong as his boar at a glance.

He almost wanted to howl again.

He gave up the idea of following those wildlings; their goal was clearly east, while his was north.

He crossed two streams, passed several bald hills, and only after hunting down a lone little wild boar did he return his body to Xia Tian.

The weather was so fair, his body so refreshed; if not for the deep snow, everything would be perfect. At noon he dozed off again, yielding his body to Xia Tian. Xia Tian would like this weather, but he disliked such dull travel.

Xia Tian immediately let out a howl. He only heard the beginning before sinking into darkness. He looked forward to Xia Tian returning his body so he could face another interesting challenge.

He felt he had waited a long time before opening his eyes again.

Before him was total darkness; through the branches overhead he could see only a tiny speck of swollen, whitish night sky.

The snow continued to fall, growing colder.

He didn't know why Xia Tian let go of the body at this time.

The term 'Xia Tian' appears; it could be a name. In context, 'Xia Tian' means 'summer' but might also be a person's name. The line: 'He didn't know why summer let go of the body at this time.' Actually 'Xia Tian' likely refers to a character named 'Xia Tian' (Summer). Later, 'Xia Tian lets me decide whether to continue north?' So 'Xia Tian' is a person speaking? In line 64, 'Xia Tian asks me to decide whether to go on north—is this his destination? He doesn't know.' So 'Xia Tian' is a person (maybe a name). We need to treat 'Xia Tian' as a character name, using Hanyu Pinyin: 'Xia Tian'.

He shook his body, feeling it grow larger and stronger.

No names.

He pricked up his ears; this place felt like a lost world, a frozen moment where no life existed—except for the faint quiver of leaves falling from branches and hitting another leaf, and the slight rustle of branches swaying in the wind. He heard no other sound: no crow cries, no restless squirrels, not even the scurrying of small animals under the snow.

No names.

Xia Tian asks me to decide whether to go on north—is this his destination? He doesn't know.

Again 'Xia Tian'—already noted.

The air grew even colder; each breath caused him pain, his whole head throbbing. He was not human… Xia Tian was not human either; it couldn't even cover its face with a coat… Moreover, that would impair its sense of smell.

Again 'Xia Tian'—already noted.

Sense of smell. The forest here gave off an ancient, desolate odor; leaves buried deep in the snow slowly decayed, emitting a faint moldy smell… What was that smell? He carefully distinguished it—oh, a faint campfire scent.

No names.

There are humans.

No.

It's too dangerous. Even Brandon knows that humans doing this is dangerous. Starving animals will take this as a sign of food presence, and something even more terrifying than humans.

He set off following a faint smell of campfire. If this is a sign, he cannot pretend he didn't see it.

His limbs were stronger, but there was no path on the snow, no trace of animals having passed; he felt each step required pushing aside the snow ahead, which consumed more stamina, yet he felt he now had endless stamina.

Am I a direwolf, or … from Winterfell… what is my name? Oh, I am Brandon Stark, he thought for a while.

I must not forget my name; at least that much I cannot.

He trudged forward through the snow, the smell of the campfire growing stronger. He knew it would also become more dangerous, so he slowed his pace, pausing behind each large tree to wait and stay until he confirmed the next move would be safe.

Summer will come, I'm slowly learning it too, right?

His caution paid off. He smelled the rotting stench of the wights, heard the flapping of crows' wings. The forest came alive again.

The wights and their masters dislike creatures with fresh blood, dislike heat, and especially dislike fire. Fire always draws them out. If humans can still survive here, how could they not know this simple truth?

They were humans. He heard their voices speaking, but the sound trembled in the wind, and he couldn't make out what they were saying. He decided to move closer.

"It will come over, sister." As he drew near, he heard a boy's voice say, "It will eventually come. This is the moment of the final battle."

"The final battle? I don't want you to fight anyone in it." This was a female voice, which he found somewhat familiar.

He continued to move closer, listening from downwind.

It had been too long since he'd heard human voices, too long since he'd pondered their meaning. He felt human speech had become somewhat obscure and hard to understand.

"Of course not me. I have no right to fight them." the boy said.

"Then why did the green seer bring you into the cave…"

"I've said it before. I am the bait."

"We've traveled thousands of miles just to become bait?"

"I am the one who became bait." The boy said flatly, "In fact, he himself is too, and also Aduo—no, is Aduo bait? He is a prison…"

"Aduo!" another person replied.

"Why?" the girl said, on the verge of tears, "I don't understand—what bait, what prison—tell me…"

"This is my fate, and theirs as well, sister." Brandon felt these voices growing more familiar, but he couldn't recall who they were. He could hear the sorrow and detachment in the boy's tone: "I dreamed you returned to Winterfell, returned to Greywater Watch; I dreamed of your children. I also dreamed your children became warriors, and even became the nation's prime minister, becoming the right and left hand of the Wolf King."

"Tell me, tell me in detail…"

"It's too late, sister."

"What?"

"It has already arrived."

"Who, the Night King?"

"And also the sea crow."