Heaven's Dimensional Descendance: Black Snow Wolf King

The blizzard finally stopped on its twentieth day.

A pale blue sliver of light pierced the sky above Laotuling, sunlight falling on the thick snow, so bright it was blinding. The temperature had quietly risen a little, cracks were appearing on the ice, and water was beginning to seep from beneath the snow—the spring floods were approaching, the predicament was crumbling, and the rules of life and death needed to be rewritten.

The people of Kaoshantun finally dared to step out of their houses.

They neither cheered nor relaxed, but simply kept their heads down, their movements as light as shadows. After more than ten days of agonizing hardship, the pact made in the snow valley, and the crushing defeat of the outsiders, a belief had been etched into the very bones of the entire village: survival was given by the Wolf King; venturing out was permitted by the Wolf King; this land belonged to the wolves, not to the humans.

The old Party Secretary, along with two elderly people who could still walk, silently cleaned up the frozen corpse at the village entrance, digging a pit, burying it in snow, and weighing it down with stones, their movements so quiet they dared not disturb the forest. They dared not burn paper money, dared not wail, dared not make any unnecessary noise, as if disturbing the eyes on the mountaintop would instantly cut off all their chances of survival.

The Black Snow Wolf King stood atop Eagle's Beak Rock, the highest point of the entire mountain.

It wasn't watching people, nor was it guarding food; rather, it was using a higher-dimensional, penetrating perception to measure the awakening rhythm of the entire mountain forest:

The speed of snow melting, the time when rivers thaw, the routes of prey returning to their nests, the boundaries that humans dare to cross, the recovery of the wolf pack's strength, the critical point at which the ecosystem closes again... everything is under its control, without the slightest disorder.

It adheres to the great principles: it establishes its authority in dire straits and maintains order in times of unease, never deviating even an inch or overstepping a step.

The wolf pack no longer huddled together for survival as they had during the dead season. Instead, following the will of their alpha wolf, they split into three groups and roamed along the edge of the forest. They avoided villages, did not provoke humans, and did not hunt useless small animals; they did only one thing—clear the area.

They drove away the wild boars that had wandered into the human activity area, drove away the wild deer that had broken through the snow and gotten stuck in the ditch, and chased all the foxes and weasels that were near the village into the deep forest.

It is leaving a safe zone for people.

It's not about mercy, it's about maintaining order.

People need to be safe to avoid going insane; people need to be safe to avoid picking up guns; and if they don't pick up guns, they won't break the balance that the world has set.

The people of Kaoshantun quickly discovered the strangeness:

They dared to gather firewood from the mountainside;

I dare to repair the water tank that cracked from the freezing.

They even dared to sow a little bit of rapeseed, which had been hidden for who knows how long, on that thin patch of wasteland behind the village where the snow had just melted.

There were no wolves staring, no wolves howling, and no threat whatsoever.

But they knew better than anyone else—

It's not that the wolves are gone; it's that the wolf king allows them to live.

That afternoon, the old Party Secretary made a decision that was tacitly accepted by the entire village.

He took an oilcloth bag from the roof beam of his house and opened it layer by layer—inside were half an ounce of salt, three pieces of dried wild rabbit meat, and a small handful of soybeans. This was the last and most precious grain stored in Kaoshantun, something he would save to save his life and would rather die than touch.

Three elderly people, carrying cloth bags, slowly walked step by step to the old elm tree at the entrance of the village.

They dared not go any further. They simply placed the cloth bundle on the snow, took three steps back, knelt down, and kowtowed three times in the direction of Eagle Beak Rock.

There was no sound, no prayer, only the most humble submission.

This is the offering that humans made to the wolf king.

Half an hour later, the sun began to set.

The Black Snow Wolf King emerged from the forest and came alone to the old elm tree.

It did not immediately bow its head, but stood in front of the cloth bag, quietly scanning the entire village.

All the windows were covered with shadowy figures, and everyone was holding their breath and peeking. No one dared to move, and they even breathed very softly.

It lowered its head, touched the salt with the tip of its nose, and smelled the rabbit meat. It didn't eat it or take it away. Instead, it used its front paws to push the cloth bag towards the tree roots.

Then, they turned around and went back up the mountain.

It didn't want it.

It's not that we look down on it, it's that we've set new rules:

In dire straits, it wants people to recognize it;

When things are loose, it requires people to follow order.

Offerings are unnecessary; your own survival is the best form of obedience.

As long as you don't cross the line, provoke others, or break the contract, it will ensure your safety throughout the winter.

The old Party Secretary looked at the cloth bundle at the tree root, and tears finally fell onto the frozen snow.

Having lived a whole life, this was the first time he understood—this was not a beast, this was God.

Night fell again, and the spring chill remained biting.

The wolf king did not return to the pack, but instead lay alone on the sharpest rock at the top of Eagle Beak Rock, looking down at the faint, small village below that finally had a hint of life.

Perception, deterrence, execution, and influence are all perfectly integrated within it.

It is no longer a wolf, but the very rule of Old Bald Ridge.

The wolves were feeding quietly in the valley, in an orderly fashion, without fighting or scrambling.

Humans lived cautiously in the village, not overstepping boundaries or acting recklessly;

External evils dared not come, wild beasts dared not cause trouble, and heaven and earth slowly returned to their proper state.

The remaining snow is melting, the glaciers are reviving, and the deadly season of hunger is about to pass.

But the Wolf King knew that order would never end.

It is not afraid of the spring floods, the return of prey, the improvement of the environment, or the resurgence of human emotions.

It only guards one thing:

As long as it exists, the order exists;

If it doesn't move, the sky won't collapse;

The mountain, the snow, the people, the wolf—all live within their own order.

The wind swept across the dark, gleaming fur, carrying with it a faint glimmer of life that was about to arrive.

The Black Snow Wolf King closed his eyes, his breathing steady, as silent as heaven and earth.