Volume One: At the Foot of Mount Zhongnan Chapter Four: The Tigress Entrusts Her Cubs

The tigress and the bear, locked in a savage struggle, tumbled out of the cave, biting and clawing as they went. The tigress landed atop the bear, her jaws clamped onto its shoulder, refusing to let go, while all four of her claws raked furiously at its chest and belly. The bear seized the tigress with both paws, intending to rip her apart, but lying on its back with its feet in the air, it was unable to bring its brute strength to bear.

Though the tigress’s claws were not as long as the bear’s, they were sharp enough to shred rawhide with a single swipe. Now, with the bear’s belly exposed, the tigress kicked and clawed with her hind legs, tearing a gaping wound the size of a palm in the bear’s abdomen, so that a tangle of multicolored intestines spilled out.

Howling in agony, the bear summoned all its strength and flung the tigress away! She flew five or six yards before crashing into an ancient tree. Though the tree was as thick as a barrel, the impact set it quivering, sending leaves and snow cascading down. Black blood seeped from the tigress’s eyes and nostrils. She struggled to rise, but the blow had wounded her organs; after several attempts, she could only lie there and whimper in misery.

The bear, having hurled the tigress, had torn its wound still further with the effort; a length of steaming entrails dangled from its belly. Using its forepaws, it stuffed the intestines back inside, then scooped up a lump of muddy earth and smeared it over the wound.

The winter ground was covered in thick snow, but the fighting, their body heat, and the bear’s hot blood had melted much of it, turning the earth to sticky mud—perfect for plugging its injury.

Once the wound was tended, the bear struggled upright, howling in fury, its pain driving it mad; it turned to finish off the tigress.

At that moment, a man appeared, following the trail of blood. He was about eighteen or nineteen, with sword-like brows and bright eyes, strikingly handsome. Though dressed in the simple garb of a mountain hunter, there was an innate air of authority about him—clearly no ordinary soul.

The sounds Li Ming had heard earlier in the cave had come from this young man. He now cried, “Wicked beast, bringing ruin and death wherever you go! Today I shall rid the world of your scourge!” With that, he drew his hunting bow from his back, nocked an arrow and loosed it in one smooth motion. A flash of cold light flew straight into the bear’s neck!

The bear, about to end the tigress, was caught off guard. The arrow flew too fast for it to dodge and struck home. Howling in rage, it swatted the arrow aside and abandoned the tigress to charge the young man.

Seeing the bear’s thunderous advance, the youth drew another arrow from his quiver and shouted, “Take this!” Without even aiming, he fired again—a perfect shot, straight into the bear’s left eye!

The bear, blinded in one eye, let out a tortured roar, snapping off the arrow with its paw and pressing on with undiminished ferocity. It was already driven mad by its wounds and would not rest until its foe was annihilated.

All mountain hunters knew the old saying: “Wild boar first, bear second, tiger third.” This was not to say that tigers were less formidable than boars or bears, but from a hunter’s perspective, tigers were wily and cautious, seldom clashing with humans. Even when encountered, a tiger would rarely fight unless certain it could do so without injury. Boars and bears, by contrast, were foolish and blunt, charging blindly and, when wounded, fighting to the death—even with their guts hanging out, they would not relent until their enemy was slain.

The young man silently lamented his choice of weapons; he had brought only an ordinary hunting bow into the mountains, and its power was insufficient—neither arrow had killed the bear outright, only blinded it in one eye. Had he carried his usual strong bow, a shot to the eye would have pierced the brain and ended the beast instantly.

While he pondered, the bear was upon him, swinging its paws with mountainous force. The youth called out, “Come then!” Stepping aside at the last instant, he drew the saber at his waist with a metallic ring. With two swift slashes, blood sprayed and two crossed wounds opened on the bear’s body.

Enraged by fresh pain, the bear cared for nothing but killing its foe, roaring and striking with all its might. The youth dared not take it lightly and focused all his attention on dodging, knowing that a single graze from those paws would break his bones and, if unlucky, take his life.

The battle raged on. The bear’s furious paw-swipes left the young man’s skin smarting and his mind unsettled by its ceaseless roaring. He grew anxious—despite its wounds and blood loss, the bear’s vitality seemed inexhaustible. If he kept fighting defensively, when would the beast finally collapse? Resolving to take a risk, he waited until the bear’s paw came down, then slapped its forepaw with both hands, borrowing its momentum to propel himself backward out of reach.

This was a perilous move, demanding perfect timing and keen judgment. Too early or too late, and the bear’s strength would drag him down. But combining his own force with the bear’s, he leaped more than three yards away, creating a brief separation. Spotting the fallen saber, he sprinted toward it. The bear, unwilling to let him escape, leapt after with a roar, covering the distance in a flash.

The youth could hear the bear’s ragged, foul breath behind him; a moment’s delay would doom him. In three swift strides, he reached the saber, scooping it up as he ran.

Now the bear was upon him, arms wide, paws closing in for a crushing embrace. The infamous “bear hug” was a deadly weapon—if a bear caught its prey thus, it would squeeze with such strength that even an ox would have its ribs shattered and organs crushed.

There was no time to dodge. The youth, bold and skilled, reversed his grip on the saber, braced his legs wide in a horse stance, steadied himself, bent slightly forward, and, watching the bear from the corner of his eye, thrust the blade under his arm straight into the bear’s heart.

The bear, leaning forward for the embrace, took the blade full in the chest. With a final, agonized howl, it toppled forward.

The young man felt resistance through the blade; glancing aside, he saw his desperate move had succeeded. He twisted his wrist, mangling the bear’s heart thoroughly.

The great beast, weighing over a thousand pounds, collapsed atop him. Drawing a deep breath from his core, he braced with his shoulder. He was not crushed, but for the moment, he could not move.

Though the bear’s life was ended, its massive body and surging vitality kept it alive for a moment longer. In a last burst of strength, it clamped its paws onto the youth’s shoulders and lunged to lick his face with its barbed tongue—sharp as iron nails, a single swipe would strip half his face.

Now he was trapped—if he twisted away, he would lose the breath supporting the beast’s weight, and once his strength failed, the bear’s body would pin him and he could not escape. If he didn’t dodge, his face would be ruined—a fate worse than death for one so proud.

Despair gripped him. Was this to be his end?

Just as all hope was lost, a powerful force struck from the side, knocking the bear’s corpse away. The youth felt the sudden relief of pressure and rolled clear. Looking up, he saw it was the same tigress, whom he had thought mortally wounded by the bear’s earlier throw.

The tigress, knowing her end was near, would not die so ignominiously. Watching the battle, she had gathered what strength remained; seeing the bear’s final attack, she hurled herself at it, spending her last energy to collide with her old enemy.

The two beasts tumbled together; the bear’s last surge faded, and it died on the spot. The tigress, having seen her foe fall first, gave a final, defiant roar, then collapsed, breathing her last.

The young man was drenched in cold sweat, but relieved to see the bear dead. He walked to the tigress’s side and said, “I, Li Sanlang, have always considered myself a man of honor, but who would have thought my life would be saved by a mere beast? So be it! I am not one to forget a debt of gratitude. Let me lay you to rest.”

The tigress, eyes closed and near death, suddenly opened them at his words, turning her head toward the cave and whimpering. Following her gaze, Li Sanlang saw two small shapes at the mouth of the den, though the shadows made them indistinct.

He understood at once. “Are you worried for your cubs?” he asked. The tigress seemed to comprehend, nodding faintly.

Li Sanlang considered, then said, “You have saved my life, and I am a man who repays his debts. Rest assured, I will raise your cubs and, when they are grown, return them to the wild.”

Hearing this, the tigress was finally at peace. Tears of blood welled in her eyes as she wailed toward the cave, her voice full of sorrow and farewell. Her cries faded, her head slumped, and she breathed her last.

Li Sanlang was moved—though the tigress was a beast, she knew a mother’s love.

Being a man of his word, he approached the cave to find the cubs and then lay the tigress to rest.

As he drew near, he saw Li Ming and the tiger cub crouched at the entrance and, greatly astonished, exclaimed, “How can it be—a baby and a black cat?”