Chapter 106 – Shearing the Fleece

Chapter 106 - Shearing the Fleece

Unaware of the events transpiring below, Wei Datiger was deep in the mountains.

After his father and wife descended the mountain that day, he had breakfast and cooked a large pot of rice. He bundled it up into a ball, wrapped it in leaves, placed it in a cloth bag, and set off with his hunting gear, donning a tattered cloak for the hunt.

Taking the same path as before, the snowy mountains were a vast expanse of white. The footprints, big and small, on the snow made it easier to track wild beasts compared to other seasons.

Along the way, Wei Datiger encountered deer, wild boars, and even a pack of wolves. He didn't engage with them, either hiding or running away, not really caring and unwilling to tangle with them. After two days of trudging through the snow-covered wilderness, he finally reached the flatland he had seen from above during his previous trip.

Without much effort, he found the flock of sheep upon arrival – a huge group of them, densely packed by the lake, digging through the snow in search of green grass. He couldn't identify their breed – thick-fleeced with curved horns, they were large and plump, unlike any sheep he had caught before.

Wei Datiger didn't care about their breed; as long as they had wool, they were good to eat. With so many sheep and such abundant wool, he had already prepared his sack. He could shear a few and earn some profit. Initially, he planned to catch a couple to raise at home, fattening them up for a year, so he could shear their wool again the following year.

But then he thought, wouldn't raising sheep be laborious? Why bother raising them when there were plenty in the mountains? Let them fend for themselves, and he could return next year to shear them again. After all, he knew how to find the spot. Even if he became too old to hunt in the future, he could get his daughter or son to do it. Since he would become a father next year, raising sheep seemed less appealing than having more children.

Didn't his hunting skills need to be passed down from generation to generation?

Once they had children, the wool from these mountains would all belong to the Wei family!

No need to raise them!

Finding the herd, Wei Datiger was no longer in a rush. He didn't alert the sheep and instead happily memorized their location before quietly turning away without making a sound.

That night, he crouched several hundred meters away from the flock, munching on dry cold rice balls.

The night was deep, and on the snow-covered ground, a fox that blended seamlessly with its surroundings suddenly emerged.

It cautiously surveyed its surroundings, hesitantly eyeing the wild chicken flapping about in the snow ahead. Starving as it was, it didn't pounce immediately but instead sized up the area around it.

A few meters in front of it, a bloodied wild chicken frantically struggled in the snow. It seemed to have been bitten by something, with its wings and body bleeding profusely. As it struggled, the pristine white ground turned crimson.

Silence reigned around them, save for the wind and the dying gasps of the wounded chicken, along with the ravenous white fox.

The fox was cautious, waiting until the chicken could no longer flutter and lay motionless on the ground. Even then, it waited a while longer for complete stillness before swiftly dashing over, ready to carry the bird away in its mouth.

But just as its mouth was about to touch the wild chicken, a pair of large hands abruptly shot out from the snow, tightly gripping the struggling creature.

A small snow mound suddenly rose, revealing an immense giant slowly standing up – it was none other than Wei Datiger, who had been patiently waiting like a hunter by a tree for an unknown amount of time.

He held his prey in hand, bent down to pick up the wild chicken from the snow, spitting out the snow that had entered his mouth and nostrils. From head to toe, he looked like a snowman, even his hair damp with moisture.

That night, using the same method, he hunted four fox pelts, one pure and three mixed. It wasn't a bountiful harvest, but still decent.

Attaching the four fox pelts and six rabbit skins to his waist, Wei Datiger leisurely made his way to the small lake. The herd of sheep obediently waited for him, causing him no trouble at all. After several days in the mountains, Wei Datiger was quite filthy; his beard was untrimmed, his hair encrusted with ice, his lips chapped, his nose red, and his clothes were disgustingly dirty.

With the main catch secured, he wasn't in a rush. He took a stroll in the forest, adding two more rabbits to his collection. The rice balls he brought into the mountains were long gone. To hunt the foxes, he had lain in the snow for two nights straight. Despite his fiery temperament, hunger eventually wore him down.

In no time, a fire was blazing, and two additional rabbit skins adorned his waist.

The sheep were far more foolish than he had imagined. As he carried the rabbit to the lake to wash off the blood, they leisurely made way for him, showing no intention of running. Wei Datiger found this amusing. In his years of hunting, it was always a chase, so it was no wonder scholars spoke of "lambs to the slaughter." Apparently, these creatures were truly that naive, even allowing the butcher to pass while the knife was at their necks.

The aroma of roasted meat wafted far and wide. Sitting on a stone, Wei Datiger tore into the scorching rabbit meat with fierce bites.

Delicious!

Without any coarse salt, the roasted rabbit lacked flavor, but on a snowy day, the satisfaction of eating piping hot food was unparalleled. Starving, Wei Datiger devoured large chunks, leaving only a skeletal frame of the rabbit's hindquarters.

Not even half-satiated, the two rabbits provided only warmth in his belly and strength in his limbs.

He kicked snow into the half-extinguished fire until not a single spark remained, then rubbed his palms with snow. Pulling out the sack he had deliberately brought along, he extracted a rope and leisurely tied a knot while strolling, swinging it as he walked. As he approached the flock, a couple of wary sheep distanced themselves from him, but the majority remained absorbed in digging through the snow for grass, their actions foolish.

"Whoosh!"

A piercing sound later, a solitary sheep found its neck ensnared. Threatened, the slow-witted creature finally began to struggle. But how could its feeble strength compete with the malicious hunter's? It was like a tug-of-war, where the more the sheep struggled, the deeper its hooves dug into the snow, only to inevitably meet the fate of having its wool sheared.

Wai Dahtu pulled out a sharp knife. Each time the animal resisted, he delivered a punch to its head until it became compliant, unconscious. Then, stepping on the rope, he cheerfully began shearing its wool. He was truly cutting it off, removing thick layers at once. He cherished every strand, unwilling to discard even one, stuffing his bag with each stroke. Stroke by stroke, handful by handful, he shaved the sheep bare before removing the rope from its neck.

Following the same method, he continued ensnaring and shearing sheep.

One capture, one shear. When the sack was filled with dirty, thick wool, he still wasn't satisfied. He stomped on the contents, squeezing out space for two more sheep's worth.

By the time this merciless shearing spectacle ended, many bald sheep had quietly infiltrated the flock.

Yes, he had lost interest in these shorn animals. The sheep he planned to take down the mountain couldn't be without wool. If the sack couldn't hold them all, he'd simply store them at home.

This time, he meticulously chose the two fattest and most wooly sheep. No longer "lamb to the slaughter," these two had fought fiercely against the shameless hunter, their brains pounded until bloodied before they were reluctantly subdued.

Wai Dahu tied the hemp ropes to their horns and led them away from the land they had called home for countless years.

What awaited them beyond their familiar territory? The stinky hunter mused, of course, shearing and the cooking pot.

The journey into the mountains was uneventful, but the descent proved treacherous. Such was the nature of things when one led two sheep through wolf-infested lands. To ensure his prey remained fresh and uncontaminated by wolf scent, Wai Dahu relied on the large bow he'd carried throughout the journey.

A man, two sheep, and a pack of five or six wolves – after exhausting his arrows, Wai Dahu engaged the alpha wolf in a fierce hand-to-hand battle. The conflict ended with the hunter's belt adorned with six wolf pelts and his body bearing several wounds, marking the conclusion of this "sheep-fighting" struggle between man and beast.

The victorious human led the two sheep away, leaving behind a scene of carnage and splattered blood.

After an eternity, a group of wild beasts emerged from behind the trees, cautiously approaching the fallen wolves. With wide mouths and razor-sharp teeth, they savagely tore into the flesh of their fallen foes.

In the ruthless world of survival of the fittest, occasional opportunities for scavenging arose.

...

Wai Dahu didn't return to his old cottage; instead, he continued down the mountain with the sheep in tow.

The mountain path was treacherous, and the goats, frightened by the wolves, were disobedient and moved slowly, constantly stopping to graze on the grass. With wounds on his body and concerns for his wife and father, Wei Datiger's mood was far from good. He vented his frustration with a few punches to their heads before dragging them down the mountain with almost brute force.

By the time he arrived home, it was already dark. Xiao Hu heard the commotion and frantically scratched at the main room's door, barking excitedly.

Plum Blossom was startled awake. She threw off her covers, put on a robe, and slipped into her shoes before getting out of bed. As she stepped outside, her father's room was already illuminated. From Xiao Hu's joyful barks, she sensed that there was no danger.

"Dear, I'm back. Could you open the door for me?" came Wei Datiger's voice from outside, reminiscent of that rainy night. The moment he finished speaking, the main room's door flew open, revealing the face he had longed to see.

"Datiger!" Plum Blossom was surprised to see him return in the middle of the night, a mix of happiness and annoyance evident in her voice. "Why are you back now?" After the old house was rebuilt, it was livable in the mountains. However, with slippery roads due to snow in winter, it was much more perilous to travel at night than in summer or autumn. How could he have ventured down the mountain in the dark?

"It's these two, lingering and refusing to move unless I dragged them along. Without them, I would've been back sooner," Wei Datiger pointed to the yard. Confused, Plum Blossom glanced behind him and caught a glimpse of something moving. Just then, her father emerged with an oil lamp, casting light outside.

She was startled at once. "What... what are these, so huge?"

Indeed, weren't they massive?

In the mountains, they hadn't seemed that big, but now, with her husband as a comparison, Wei Datiger couldn't help but feel that his wife was smaller than these two wild goats.

"Don't be afraid," he reassured his wife, drawing on his experience. "We'll shear their fur tomorrow, and they'll look much smaller."

"Author's Note"

The prey mentioned here is purely fictional; don't attempt it. It's everyone's responsibility to care for animals.