Heaven's Dimensional Descendance: Black Snow Wolf King

On the thirteenth day of the blizzard, the tranquility of Old Bald Ridge was shattered.

People from outside the mountains have arrived.

They weren't refugees, nor were they from this village; they were three men who genuinely made their living as hunters. They drove a nearly broken-down hand tractor, churning through the snow, and entered Kaoshantun. The leader, Zhang Laogui, was in his forties, his face covered in scars. He had hunted bears in the Greater Khingan Mountains in his younger days. He clutched a double-barreled shotgun, its barrel gleaming and rifling sharpened, and a boning knife was tucked into his belt.

They didn't come to rescue people.

They heard that the people in this mountain area were starving, and the wolves were too thin to run. They wanted to kill the wolves, skin them, and sell them for money. A complete wolf pelt from Northeast China could be exchanged for half a bag of flour outside the mountains, enough for a family to survive the winter.

The tractor had just stopped at the village entrance when Old Zhang kicked open the broken door of the old Party Secretary's house, poked the muzzle of his gun at the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), and his booming voice shook the entire village:

"Old man, where are the wolves in these mountains? I'll help you rid them of this menace!"

The old Party Secretary huddled in the corner of the kang (a heated brick bed), his face as white as snow, not daring to utter a single word.

Everyone in the village knew that revealing the wolf's whereabouts wasn't eliminating a menace, but breaking the pact—breaking the survival rules established by the Black Snow Wolf King. Once the pact was broken, the wolf would leave no way out, and the dozen or so people in Kaoshantun would be devoured to the bone overnight.

But Old Zhang has a gun, he's ruthless and black-hearted, and he's the kind of guy who would kill even if he were starving.

The stalemate lasted until dark, and the old Party Secretary didn't utter a single word.

Old Zhang sneered, and with two of his men, he moved into the village office and seized the remaining half-sack of potatoes and half-bundle of firewood. He then declared:

"If I don't find any wolves when I go into the mountains first thing tomorrow morning, I'll burn this dilapidated village down."

The entire Kaoshantun village was gripped by a fear more terrifying than starvation.

All of this did not escape the notice of a pair of eyes.

The Black Snow Wolf King squatted on that withered elm tree outside the village for the entire night.

It can smell the murderous intent, greed, and bloodlust on a person, and see through the dirtiest desires in their heart.

It knew that these were not the starving villagers, but butchers who had come to steal its life, disrupt its order, and destroy its stability.

This was the first time she had encountered a true rival since becoming queen.

It wasn't hunger, it wasn't the bitter cold, it was a human hunter with a gun, experience, and the courage to kill.

As dawn broke, Zhang Laogui and his two companions carried their guns and went into the mountains.

On the snow, the wolf tracks were clearly visible, leading deep into the black pine forest.

Old Zhang grinned: "They're starving, they can't even hide their footprints anymore. We've hit the jackpot today."

He didn't know that those footprints were left intentionally by the wolf king.

It's not about leading him to the wolf pack's den, it's about leading him into a deadly trap.

What the wolf king needs to do is never to fight head-on.

Zhenshan's motto is etched in his very bones: never waste energy, never engage in direct combat, never gamble with one's life, but only scheme, lure, wear down, and counterattack.

It chose an extremely dangerous route:

First, you cross the deep snow gully, then climb the steep slope ridge, and finally crawl into the airtight wooden circle—it's full of broken trees, dead branches, and jumbled rocks. If you go in and turn around three times, you'll get lost. You can't raise your gun or take a step. It's a natural cage for trapped animals.

The three men, Zhang Laogui, became increasingly panicked as they walked.

The snow was up to my thighs, and every step was exhausting. The cold wind felt like knives cutting into my neck, and the gun in my hand grew heavier and heavier. I followed for two hours, but I didn't hear a wolf, not even a howl. All I heard was the footprints behind me, which were gradually filled in by the wind.

"Something's not right." Old Zhang suddenly stopped. "This wolf is deliberately leading us here."

As soon as he finished speaking, a clump of snow suddenly fell from a pine branch above him and hit him on the head.

In the instant he looked up, he saw it.

On the tallest dead tree in the black pine forest, perched the legendary Black Snow Wolf King.

With jet-black fur, broad shoulders, and a muscular build, its eyes were as cold as ice. Without the slightest panic, it looked down at him as if he were prey that had fallen into a trap.

"There!" the subordinate shouted, raising his gun and firing.

"boom--"

The gunshots sent snow flying everywhere, and bullets struck tree trunks, scattering wood chips in all directions.

The wolf king didn't even move.

It calculated the distance perfectly—too far, and it couldn't hit.

It calculated the terrain perfectly—the trees were too tall to climb.

It accurately predicted people's feelings—they panicked, became confused, and lost their composure.

This is the crushing power of higher dimensions:

It stands where you can't hit it, watching people go crazy, watching them run out of bullets, watching them drive themselves to their deaths.

Old Zhang fired three shots in a row, and the gun barrel was empty.

In the snow, six wolves surrounded them from all directions. They didn't charge or pounce, but stood about ten meters away, forming a circle that trapped the three hunters in the middle.

This is not a hunt.

This is Wang Wei.

Old Zhang's hand holding the knife trembled. He had been a hunter all his life and had never seen wolves like this before—they didn't howl, didn't bark, weren't agitated, their formation was impeccable, their eyes were unified, like a well-trained army, and all their movements were based on the commands of the wolf king in the tree.

He finally understood:

I didn't come here to hunt; I was offered up as a sacrifice.

The wolf king in the tree finally moved.

It slowly stood up and gently swayed its tail.

There were no instructions, and no sound.

The encirclement, however, begins to shrink little by little.

One step, two steps, three steps.

The wolf's claws trod on the snow, so light they made no sound, yet it felt as if they were treading on the hearts of the three hunters.

Old Zhang has completely collapsed.

He knelt down in the snow with a thud, threw his double-barreled shotgun onto the snow, raised his hands above his head, aimed at the wolf king in the tree, and his voice trembled uncontrollably:

"Lord Wolf... I was wrong... I won't fight anymore... I'm going down the mountain... I'll never come back..."

The wolf king continued to look at him.

There was no anger, no pleasure in his eyes, only absolute scrutiny.

It is waiting for an answer:

Did the person really leave?

Is it true that people are afraid to touch its mountain again?

Do people really recognize it as their king?

Old Zhang didn't dare lift his head, kowtowing frantically until his forehead slammed against the frozen snow, drawing blood.

"I'm leaving! I'm leaving right now! I'm telling everyone outside the mountain, this mountain is guarded by the Wolf King, nobody's allowed to come!"

The wolf king remained silent for ten breaths.

Suddenly, it raised its head to the sky and let out a deep, majestic wolf howl that pierced through the entire Old Bald Ridge.

The howl subsided.

The encirclement broke apart instantly.

The six wolves retreated, making way for a path down the mountain.

Old Zhang stumbled and crawled, taking his two henchmen with him. They didn't even dare to pick up their guns, and ran down the mountain like madmen. They didn't even want their hand tractor anymore, wishing they had two more legs.

They ran back to Kaoshantun and, without stopping for a moment, clung to the snow-covered path to escape out of the mountains. From then on, they never dared to approach Laotuling again.

The wolf king jumped down from the tree and landed silently.

It walked up to the discarded double-barreled shotgun, gently touched the cold barrel with its nose, and then pushed it away with a paw.

Guns are a person's courage.

If your gallbladder is ruptured, you're ruined.

It did not chase, kill, or exterminate them.

What it does is never bloodlust.

It is about establishing authority, setting rules, and maintaining order.

It's to remind everything that dares to offend us of one rule:

This mountain, this snow, this desolate place—it has the final say.

As the sun set, it dyed the snow-covered ground blood red.

The wolf king turned and walked into the depths of the black pine forest.

The wolves followed quietly behind it, in perfect order.

The dozen or so people from Kaoshantun all knelt at their doorsteps, bowing their heads deeply in the direction the wolf king had left.

They finally understood completely:

This black snow wolf king is not a wild beast.

It is the sky over this dead land.

The wind and snow rose again, covering all the footprints, the gunshots, and the traces of the greedy.

Old Bald Ridge has returned to its own rules.

The wolf king lay on the highest snow-covered hill, gazing into the endless night.

It is not afraid of hunters, not afraid of provocations, and not afraid of anything that disrupts the order.

It only guards one thing:

Where there is a rule, there is a rule.

As long as it exists, there is a way to survive on this mountain.