Snow Mountain.
The cold winds howled relentlessly.
Her mountaineering pole lay buried in the snow, and Ji Yingran’s upper body had sunk deep into the white drifts. She no longer had the strength to stand.
Snowflakes danced wildly before her eyes, her long lashes crusted with ice that blurred her vision.
Aside from the unceasing roar of the blizzard, her ears caught no other sound—only a profound, deathly silence.
Was this it? Was she going to die?
She had set out with five experienced companions, but a sudden avalanche followed by the storm had separated her from the group. Now she was lost alone amid the endless snowfields.
For twenty-eight years, she had lived by the rules, her one act of “rebellion” nothing more than a desire to climb to the peak of an Arctic snow mountain and see scenery she had never beheld before.
But clearly, she had underestimated the dangers and unpredictability of mountaineering—and overestimated her ability to survive a disaster.
This misjudgment would cost her her life.
Ji Yingran fell back into the snow, unable even to make out the outline of the sky. Only the ceaseless swirling snow mist remained, like a vast white net that smothered all light.
The blizzard hurled ice particles against her face, one after another, numbing her skin with pain.
She stopped struggling and accepted the inevitable death.
Wearily, she closed her eyes.
Crunch.
It was the muffled sound of footsteps pressing into the snow.
Ji Yingran’s eyes snapped open. With her last ounce of strength, she propped herself up slightly and looked toward the noise, hope flickering within her.
The storm limited visibility to less than a meter, but she was certain someone—or something—was approaching.
A teammate? A rescue team?
Hope ignited in her heart. Instinct drove her to wave and shout, but then she made out the approaching figure through the wind and snow.
A white wolf, enormous in size.
Ji Yingran’s pupils dilated. Her cry caught in her throat, her waving arm frozen midair.
She wasn’t even sure it was a wolf. It was at least twice the size of any ordinary one, roughly two meters long from nose to tail and over a meter at the shoulder.
She had never seen a snow wolf so massive; its build rivaled that of a tiger.
But in her current state, whether it was a wolf or some other beast hardly mattered.
Her final burst of strength ebbed away, and she collapsed back into the snow. Her body sank once more, enveloped by the drifts—and by terror.
She had thought the worst fate would be freezing to death on the mountain. She hadn’t imagined something even more gruesome: being torn apart and devoured alive by a wild animal.
Crunch, crunch…
The sound of wolf paws on the snow grew closer. Ji Yingran’s body trembled uncontrollably.
She wanted to run, but her frozen limbs wouldn’t even let her stand. She could only lie there, resigned to whatever came next, awaiting the fate of being eaten.
In desperation, she squeezed her eyes shut, her lashes quivering.
One second, two, three…
Time stretched into an eternity.
Rip.
The sound of fabric tearing, from a short distance away.
Puzzled, Ji Yingran cracked her eyes open and turned her head. Half a meter away, her mountaineering pack—dropped in the snow—had been pawed open by the snow wolf.
The wolf effortlessly tore a gash in the pack, lowered her head to sniff, and her eyes lit up as if she had caught a promising scent. She plunged her head inside.
Then came the crunching of chewing.
Ji Yingran blinked in confusion. Was that wolf eating the contents of her pack?
For mid-climb energy boosts, she had packed some food: packets of compressed biscuits and bars of chocolate.
The snow wolf’s entire head was buried in the pack. Though Ji Yingran couldn’t see exactly what she was devouring, the rhythmic crunching made it clear—it had to be the biscuits.
Soon, the chewing stopped, and the wolf finally withdrew her head.
Still licking her lips with evident relish, unsatisfied, she pawed at the pack again.
She dumped everything out: emergency medicines, climbing rope, spare cold-weather clothes, all scattered in a chaotic mess.
At the bottom, nothing appetizing remained. Losing interest, the wolf turned her head—and her gaze met Ji Yingran’s.
Golden wolf eyes gleamed with chilling menace amid the storm.
Ji Yingran’s heart lurched. She hastily averted her eyes, not daring to meet that stare.
In the eyes of most animals, direct eye contact was a challenge. In this situation, she couldn’t risk it. She had to bow her head in submission to avoid attack.
Ji Yingran kept her head down, eyes tightly shut.
Humans might not be on her menu. Avoiding conflict could give her a chance to survive.
Clinging to that slim hope, Ji Yingran prayed the wolf would leave soon.
Freezing to death lost in the storm was preferable to being devoured—at least the former left a whole corpse and less suffering.
With her eyes closed, her hearing sharpened. She caught the howl of the gale, the rustle of ice particles against her clothes, and the crunch of paws on snow.
Though she couldn’t see, she felt the snow wolf’s gaze upon her.
Watching. Assessing. Probing. Curious.
She even sensed the wolf’s warm breath, inches away.
Perhaps the snow wolf was right in front of her face, staring intently.
A torrent of terrifying images flashed through her mind, but no matter what, Ji Yingran dared not open her eyes. She feared facing those fangs the moment she did.
Time passed—minutes, or maybe hours—until the sensation of being watched finally faded.
Hesitantly, Ji Yingran cracked one eye open.
Through the blinding blizzard, she saw the massive snow wolf receding into the distance, leaving only a hazy silhouette.
She opened her other eye, and her suspended heart settled.
She was gone… Heaven had spared her after all. At least she wouldn’t be eaten—a small mercy amid misfortune.
Ji Yingran let out a long breath, the vapor mingling with the frosty air. Even as she confirmed her frozen doom was sealed, a strange calm washed over her.
Yet regret lingered in her heart.
The three cats and one dog at home—she had promised to return soon. Now she would break that vow. Would they miss their owner?
The flowers and plants in the garden, without her careful tending—would they all wither?
Worst of all, her parents would grieve. At their age, they would have to endure the heartbreak of parents burying their child.
She had always toed the line, only for her late-blooming rebellious streak to strike near thirty, dragging her to the Arctic for adventure—and losing her life in the process.
Her mother, Lady Ou, was a notorious crybaby who often needed consoling from her own daughter. What would Lady Ou do when she heard the news of her child’s death…
At the thought, Ji Yingran’s nose stung, her heart aching with a thousand regrets.
So many people, so many things she couldn’t bear to leave behind. But in this moment, they amounted to nothing more than a helpless sigh.
Amid all her reluctance and longing, she finally slipped into boundless darkness, consciousness fading entirely.
She had a long dream, of returning home and standing before the ancient painting of a snowy mountain paradise hanging in the living room.
The painting was missing a corner—a lucky find from Lady Ou’s work. It had adorned the central wall since Ji Yingran was small.
As a child, little Ji Yingran would stand before it, wondering what had been depicted in that missing section.
Pondering, imagining… until she awoke.
When her eyes opened, no blizzard swirled before her—only pitch blackness.
Where was this? Was she still alive?
Ji Yingran pushed herself up, slowly rising from the ground. She squinted, straining to make out her surroundings in the dim light.
The space was too dark for details, but she discerned a rough outline. It seemed to be a mountain cave.
Her hand pressed against the cave wall—dry, cool, and uneven with stone.
Groping along the wall, she found the cave small. A quick turn led to a narrow passage.
At the passage’s end gleamed a sliver of light, dazzling to the eye.
Ji Yingran froze, staring at the glow. That must be the exit.
Unsure of the situation, she hesitated, brow furrowed. Finally, steeling herself, she moved toward the light.
The passage was short; a dozen seconds brought her to the source. Cautiously, she peered out.
Blinding white forced her to raise a hand to shield her eyes.
Transitioning from darkness to light made them ache, temporarily blinding her.
After a moment’s adjustment, she lowered her hand and squinted at the scene.
Endless white, ridge after ridge of peaks—mountains and snow as far as the eye could see.
Ji Yingran glanced back at the narrow cave passage, then at the glaring white outside. Doubt stirred in her.
No one around. Who had brought her into this cave?
Had it all been a dying hallucination, imagining shelter from the storm?
As puzzlement gripped her, a nearby mound of thick snow—bulging oddly—stirred.
Instinctively, Ji Yingran stepped back, her face alert with caution.
“Who’s there?” Ji Yingran fixed her gaze on the shifting snow.
The mound heaved more violently, accompanied by crunching sounds. Something was buried beneath, about to emerge…
Ji Yingran clenched her fists, swallowing nervously.
In the next instant, a fluffy head popped out from the snow with a whoosh.
It was a wolf!
The Snow Wolf stretched her forelimbs and lazily shook herself out. She flicked her head, sending snowflakes tumbling from her snowy-white, fluffy fur like scattered diamonds cascading downward.
The wind and snow had ceased, and the sunlight was perfect. Bathed in light and shadow, the Snow Wolf appeared ethereal and dreamlike.
Ji Yingran stared in a daze, her mind inexplicably drifting to that ancient painting hanging in her living room—one missing a corner.
She had wondered countless times what that stunning immortal landscape might depict in its absent section. Perhaps a mythical qilin from legend, or a pixiu, a dragon, a phoenix—something fantastical like that.
All her wild guesses crumbled in this moment, upon laying eyes on the Snow Wolf before her.
That missing corner had held the Snow Wolf herself—a creature of such breathtaking beauty that she could only exist in an immortal realm.
She was so beautiful that Ji Yingran wondered if she had already perished in the blizzard, and everything before her was nothing more than a final hallucination before death.
At that moment, the Snow Wolf sensed something. She halted her shaking and turned her head to look.
One person and one wolf met each other’s gaze.
