Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Zhao Shanhe went out, pulling on two leather ropes.

Last night, he made sure that Heilong didn't get a single bite of the braised pork; he only fed him a handful of broken corn mixed with bran.

Black Dragon kept its head down the whole way, and the soft flesh under its belly trembled as it walked, looking just like a wronged little wife.

The Azure Dragon, however, walked on the snowy mud with its claws landing very lightly, its cold, eerie eyes always fixed on the depths of the forest.

At the entrance of Old Sun's dugout, most of the snow had melted, and the mud smelled strongly of fish.

Before Zhao Shanhe could lift the curtain, a cough came from inside:

"Since you've decided to come in, then get inside. Don't just stand there blocking the wind."

Zhao Shanhe lifted the heavy curtain, and two dark figures followed him inside.

As soon as Qinglong entered the room, it first wagged the tip of its tail at Old Sun on the kang (a heated brick bed), and then obediently squatted in the corner.

That was a dog that Old Sun had raised himself. Even though it had been with Zhao Shanhe for half a year, the respect it had for its old master had not changed.

Old Sun sat cross-legged on the kang (a heated brick bed), squinting his eyes. He first tenderly stroked Qinglong's head, then snorted coldly:

"He's my son after all, he's got a strong foundation. After a couple of wild nights out there, and a bit of bloodshed, that murderous glint in his eyes will come back."

Having said that, his cloudy yet sharp eyes suddenly turned and fixed on the black dragon.

As soon as Black Dragon met Old Sun's gaze, all the black fur on its body stood up, and its rear end instinctively shrank back—an instinctive fear stemming from the scolding it had received from Old Sun in the past.

"Is this the goods you brought back?"

Old Sun's voice deepened as he pointed at the black dragon's drooping belly, laughing in exasperation:

"Zhao Shanhe, are you going deep into the mountains to hunt tigers, or are you having a picnic in the woods? Are you raising a hunting dog, or a promiscuous stag? Look at that belly, that ass, this isn't a dog, it's clearly that black pig from the village that's being bred!"

Zhao Shanhe stood at the door, touched his nose, and didn't dare to say anything back.

Old Sun was cursing so hard that he got off the kang (a heated brick bed), dragged his tattered leather boots, and walked up to Black Dragon.

Black Dragon tried to dodge, but Old Sun's glare froze him in place.

The old man squatted down, his movements surprisingly fast for an elderly person. His hands, like withered tree bark, suddenly reached towards the black dragon's hindquarters, tracing his spine all the way to his tailbone.

An old hunter, when petting a dog, doesn't look at the flesh, but at the bone structure and that tiny bit of wildness that hasn't been extinguished.

He pinched the tip of the black dragon's tailbone hard with his fingers, the most sensitive spot for the hound and the easiest place to arouse its ferocity.

"Awoo!"

The black dragon's previously droopy ears suddenly snapped open, and it felt a piercing pain on the tip of its tail. Its subconscious wildness instantly overwhelmed its fear.

It suddenly turned its head, its previously docile eyes instantly turning bloodshot, and a roar like muffled thunder came from its throat. Its white canine teeth went straight for Old Sun's wrist.

"Stop talking!"

Zhao Shanhe's heart skipped a beat, and he was about to reach out and grab him.

Old Sun didn't dodge. Instead, he chuckled, flicked his wrist nimbly, and dodged the black dragon's teeth. He then flicked the black dragon's forehead with a loud thud.

"Ouch!"

Old Sun shook his sore fingers, not annoyed at all, but with a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"Not bad, not bad at all. My teeth aren't completely ruined yet, and that bit of indomitable spirit is still hidden beneath my fat."

He looked up at Zhao Shanhe, his expression turning serious again:

"It can be saved. But the method I'm about to use might make you feel bad. For the next two weeks, you'll have to leave this dog to me. Whether I can wear it down from a domestic dog to a wolf depends on this."

Zhao Shanhe glanced at the black dragon.

Black Dragon, having been flicked on the forehead, leaned toward him, looking aggrieved. But the ferocity that had been stirred up earlier hadn't completely dissipated, and there was still a trace of bloodshot in his eyes.

Zhao Shanhe remained silent for a moment. Although a trace of reluctance arose in his heart, his eyes hardened again when he thought of the mountain king he was about to face.

"It's yours to keep."

The black dragon seemed to understand something. The tip of its tail trembled, then it stopped completely, looked up at Zhao Shanhe, and let out a low growl, like a plea before parting.

Old Sun sneered:

"Don't play the victim here. You could have done that to your kids at home yesterday, but it won't work here today."

As he spoke, he turned to look at the Azure Dragon in the corner of the wall.

Qinglong still kept his eyes half-closed, his composure like a nail driven into ice. Old Sun's expression softened slightly:

"Qinglong doesn't need to be toughened up too much. This dog has a solid foundation and knows the rules of the mountains. Let it go out and run a couple of times, see some blood, and the spirit in its bones will naturally awaken. But Heilong is different. The fire in its heart is still there, but its drive has dissipated; its courage is still there, but its sense of discipline is gone. This kind of dog is most likely to cause trouble when it goes deep into the mountains."

Zhao Shanhe asked:

"How do we grind it?"

Old Sun slammed his pipe heavily against the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), sending sparks flying.

"First, it must be hungry; then it must run; then it must see blood. It must be able to smell the blood, track it down, and call it back. If it can't overcome these three things, it doesn't deserve to follow you into Laoyagou to its death."

He paused, his voice deepening, his cloudy eyes fixed intently on Zhao Shanhe:

"And you too. You haven't seriously gone into the mountains for half a year. Killing someone and killing a tiger are not the same thing. Killing someone relies on calculation and a sense of pride, while killing a tiger relies on fate and the intuition of the mountains. You need to rediscover your feel for the mountains first."

After listening, Zhao Shanhe's expression gradually turned serious.

Zhao Shanhe didn't refute it. Because he knew Old Sun was right.

He hasn't seriously ventured into the deep mountains for more than half a year.

In the past six months, he has been collecting leather, running around factories, fighting with people, and dealing with the Russians. He hasn't become more nimble with his gun or more courageous, but the feeling of walking close to the mountains has definitely faded.

If it were a deer or roe deer, he could handle it with his years of experience.

Look for footprints, discern wind direction, find animal trails, listen to the sounds in the forest—these things are etched into your bones and will never be completely lost.

But the Siberian tiger is different.

That's the king of the mountains. Not an ordinary wild animal.

Hunting deer is dangerous because deer are afraid of people.

When you hunt roe deer, they get startled and run away.

But if a tiger sets its sights on you, it might not run away.

It might be waiting for you in the shadows.

Wait until your steps falter for a moment, wait until you misstep in the wind, wait until you lower your gun barrel by just a tiny bit.

In those situations, it's not about how accurate the gun is. It's about the intuition you develop over years of living in the mountains.

Zhao Shanhe glanced down at the black dragon, then at the green dragon crouching in the corner, and slowly nodded: "I'll listen to you."

Old Sun snorted coldly: "Now you know to listen?"

"You didn't sleep a wink last night, and you still dare to come here asking me about Siberian tigers? I thought you really thought you were made of iron."

Zhao Shanhe remained silent.

Seeing that he had calmed down, Old Sun slowly moved from the head of the kang (a heated brick bed) to the back wall. Behind a wooden box blackened by smoke, he rummaged through a pile of dry grass and dragged out a heavy, long wooden box.

The box was made of old red pine wood, unpainted, but glistened with sweat from my hands.

Old Sun reached out and gently patted the box lid, his eyes becoming somewhat complicated:

"I've kept this at the bottom of a box for almost ten years. I originally planned to take it to my coffin, but since you insist on stroking the tiger's whiskers, you can borrow this thing."

Zhao Shanhe was taken aback as he watched Old Sun hand the box to him.

"Open it and take a look."

Zhao Shanhe reached out and pried open the copper clasp, and the wooden box emitted a dull, teeth-grinding sound.

As soon as the box was opened, a strong smell of aged pork fat mixed with a bone-chilling cold wafted out. Inside lay a hunting knife more than half a foot long, with a thick blade and an astonishingly heavy spine, covered with fine forging patterns. The most striking feature was the handle, which was actually made from old deer antler.

The blade wasn't sharpened, yet it exuded a chilling aura.

"This knife is called 'Spine Breaker'."

Old Sun's voice was deep and heavy. "Back then, when I took it into the deep mountains, I skinned and gutted countless animals. If you aim the knife right, even if a tiger pounces right in front of you, you can use that momentum to rip open its belly. Besides this knife, you should also wear those other items below."

Zhao Shanhe pushed aside the knife and saw a gray, stiff vest pressed under the box.

He reached out and lifted it; it was surprisingly heavy.

It was sewn from cooked wild boar skin, with a layer of fine cast iron mesh inside, and soaked in Old Sun's secret medicine.

Wearing this thing, even if a tiger's teeth bite through your skin, they won't be able to break your bones.

Looking at the knife and touching the "life-saving armor," Zhao Shanhe's eyes suddenly felt a surge of heat.

To the hunters, this thing wasn't just iron and hide; it was another life in the mountains.

Don't pretend to be all sentimental with me.

Old Sun glared at him. "I'm lending you the stuff, but you have to bring the person back alive. We're going to the south slope today, so wear this heavy gear first. If Black Dragon can't catch that roe deer, you can forget about lunch; you'll go hungry with the dogs. When we go into the mountains to hunt tigers, it's not just the dogs that need to be ground down; you'll have to be ground down to iron as well."

Without wasting words, Zhao Shanhe put the cold pigskin vest over his military overcoat in front of Old Sun, and then tucked the "Broken Spine" into his lower back.

He picked up the Azure Dragon Spear again, and in that instant, the fatigue that had been weighing on his shoulders seemed to be smashed away by the heavy equipment.

"Walk."

Zhao Shanhe gave a low shout and led the black dragon, who was still sniffling, into the frigid south slope.