Is she confessing?
“You broke your word and went back on your promise. Finding compensation elsewhere is perfectly reasonable.”
Ji Yingran silently slipped her hands behind her back, feeling a twinge of guilt—but not much.
“Woo woo!”
The wolf let out a low growl. Her tail slapped against the ground, her golden pupils narrowing into sharp slits as her back arched.
She was bristling.
Ji Yingran took a cautious step back.
She wasn’t afraid of the Snow Wolf’s growls or her tail-thumping, but the bristled fur and vertical pupils gave her pause.
The wolf’s massive frame was imposing in its own right, her presence an unspoken threat. If she truly wanted to end a human life, Ji Yingran wouldn’t stand a chance.
Ji Yingran’s heart began to thump uneasily. Had she been too careless? This was a wild beast, after all, no matter how tsundere or dramatic her personality. She was nothing like the pampered cats and dogs back home. You couldn’t just pet something like her willy-nilly.
“Don’t be so fierce. Calm down,” Ji Yingran coaxed in a soft voice.
It did no good. The Snow Wolf’s bristled stance showed no sign of easing.
Ji Yingran retreated two more steps. “I only touch you because I like you. That’s how humans show affection and fondness—no ill intent, just pure liking.”
She kept her tone as gentle and soothing as possible, trying to placate her.
Ji Yingran hadn’t expected it to work, but the wolf, her back still arched, suddenly relaxed. Her slit pupils softened back to their clear state. She tilted her head, bewilderment flickering in her eyes.
Bewilderment turned to something stranger. The Snow Wolf backed away several steps, staring at Ji Yingran oddly.
Like?
This Two-Legged Beast likes me?
Is she confessing??
No way. This Wolf wouldn’t like such a puny human.
Reject.
Reject, reject!
The wolf shook her head furiously, retreating farther with every shake.
Ji Yingran blinked in confusion. What on earth was she doing?
The Snow Wolf retreated all the way to the corner of the cave. She stole a furtive glance at the human’s face. This Two-Legged Beast might be good-looking, but that changed nothing.
No way, no way.
Ji Yingran tilted her head. “What’s wrong? Why’d you back off so far?”
The Snow Wolf made no reply. She simply huddled in the corner.
Ji Yingran’s lips twitched. In that wary, guarded posture, she almost looked afraid of being molested.
Then again, Ji Yingran supposed she had molested her. The belly was a vulnerable spot for any animal, not something they enjoyed having stroked.
Seeing the Snow Wolf so alert and defensive, Ji Yingran had to fight back a laugh. She cleared her throat. “Don’t be scared. Sure, I like you, but if you don’t like it, I promise I won’t touch you again.”
She didn’t entirely believe her own words. Next time, she’d probably still want to pet her. There was just something irresistible about all that fluffy fur—you saw it, and the urge hit.
Ji Yingran opened her mouth to say more—to explain, or at least make some excuses—but the Snow Wolf stayed wedged in the corner. Get too close, and she growled. Say too much, and she growled some more.
No helping it. Ji Yingran gave up, figuring the wolf just needed time to cool off.
A few belly rubs, and the fallout was this serious…
Silence settled over the mountain cave. With nothing else to do and the Snow Wolf ignoring her, Ji Yingran had to find her own distraction.
Outside, the blizzard raged without end. Inside, there was only the one wolf. Even if she wanted to keep busy, what was there to do?
In the end, she turned to tidying her makeshift kitchen.
“Kitchen” was a generous term. There wasn’t even a stove—just a pot, a gas canister, and bottles of spices scattered on the ground. No matter how she arranged them, it still looked messy.
Ji Yingran shook the now-empty gas canister and winced. She’d only had three to start with, and one was already gone after just a day. Her original plan had been to make them last at least a week.
She glanced at the wolf huddled in the corner, her gaze turning resentful. This promise-breaking wolf.
The Snow Wolf had been sneaking peeks at her. Now she whipped her head away.
Ji Yingran shook her head. Hiding in the corner and ignoring her, yet slyly stealing glances anyway. Who knew what was going on in that wolfish head of hers.
She set the empty canister aside in the corner. A canister a day wasn’t even the real problem. The real issue was her week’s worth of food, devoured clean by the wolf in a single day.
From well-stocked to destitute once more.
The gas canisters could be replaced—she had the Snow Wolf’s body heat, after all. But no food? That was a serious problem.
When they’d eaten the fish, the Snow Wolf had promised to fetch her backpack. She’d conveniently “forgotten” afterward. Ji Yingran wondered if she’d cooperate now if asked to bring back some food.
“Wolfie,” Ji Yingran called softly.
The Snow Wolf in the corner sat up straight at once. She still wouldn’t look, but her ears perked right up.
“The fish is gone. We’ll have no food tomorrow. Are you going hunting?”
The Snow Wolf’s ears twitched, but she said nothing.
“If you head out for food tomorrow, could you bring some back for me too?”
Still, just ear twitches.
Ji Yingran sighed. Things were getting tricky. Stranded in this frozen wasteland, she had no way to procure food on her own. She had to rely on the Snow Wolf.
But this wolf… she was a little unreliable.
The unreliable wolf padded out from her corner.
Ji Yingran’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she smiled. “Finally coming over? No more hiding from me? Does that mean you forgive me for touching you earlier?”
The Snow Wolf shot her a sidelong glance but ignored the question. She strode right past Ji Yingran, heading for the cave mouth.
Ji Yingran hurried after her in a jog. “Are you going out? The snow out there’s brutal.”
Halfway through the sentence, realization dawned. “Wait—you’re going to find food?”
She’d just mentioned the food shortage, and now the Snow Wolf was bolting for the exit. It was hard not to connect the dots.
The Snow Wolf let out a dismissive “hmph,” which counted as her reply.
“You’re really going for food?” Ji Yingran’s face lit up with relief. But they reached the cave mouth, and a blast of icy wind laced with snow particles slammed into her, snuffing out her cheer in an instant.
“No, wait—don’t! The snow’s too heavy. Wait until it lets up. No rush. I’m not even hungry yet; we just ate that fish.”
The Snow Wolf paid her no mind. She kept walking.
Ji Yingran wanted to block her path, but the wolf wasn’t listening. In her panic, old habits kicked in. She stepped forward—and pinned the wolf’s long, trailing tail underfoot.
The Snow Wolf whipped around. Her gaze dropped, and her eyes narrowed dangerously.
Ji Yingran yanked her foot back. “You wouldn’t listen, so I panicked. I know a little snow like this is nothing to you.”
After all, yesterday she’d braved the blizzard to bring back a tuna. Ji Yingran still found the whole thing absurd. A sea fish, caught on a snow mountain? Even now that it was gone, the idea boggled her mind.
“To you, a blizzard’s no big deal. Foraging won’t put you in danger. But… it’s dangerous for me.”
Ji Yingran rubbed her nose, a touch embarrassed. Truth be told, she was more worried about herself than the wolf’s safety.
Without the Snow Wolf here, the cave’s temperature would plummet. On a clear day, she might hold out if the wolf was gone a while. But in this blizzard? If she came back even a little late, Ji Yingran would freeze solid.
She’d nearly died from the cold the one time she’d tested it. The fear made her instinctively resist letting the wolf leave in such weather.
“There are still two canisters left. I could use them for heat, but they burn through fast. Can’t you wait for a clear day?”
The Snow Wolf flicked a glance her way, utterly unmoved. She pressed on without so much as looking back.
Ji Yingran wanted to plead more, but she knew her place. As a human dependent on the wolf for survival, she had no real say in her decisions.
The words caught in her throat and came out as, “Then go quick and come back quick!”
The Snow Wolf’s figure gradually vanished into the blizzard until not a trace remained.
Ji Yingran stared out at the swirling snow, her brows knitting in worry.
Out here amid the endless storm, atop this vast snow mountain, she was nothing more than a speck of dust.
Only now did she start to reflect on her mindset when she’d climbed this peak. Knowing full well the dangers, the sky-high death rate, she’d ignored her parents’ and friends’ warnings and come anyway, resolute.
Ji Yingran let out a long sigh.
With the Snow Wolf around—even if she was aloof and standoffish—at least she had company. In the warmth and comfort, with no pressing urgency, Ji Yingran hadn’t dwelled on regrets or second thoughts.
But alone in the cave, with the relentless howl of the wind outside and nothing to distract her, the torment was inevitable.
Anxious, Ji Yingran paced from one end of the cave to the other, back and forth.
She didn’t know how long she walked like that before touching her forehead. Her fingertips came away damp with sweat.
She froze.
She was sweating.
With the wolf gone, the temperature should have dropped. She hadn’t been exerting herself, so she ought to feel cold. Instead, she felt hot—hot enough to sweat.
In her worry, she hadn’t even noticed. The cave wasn’t cooling; it was warming up.
Ji Yingran touched the stone wall. It felt toasty, radiating comforting warmth. If not for the howling wind outside, no one would guess this was a cave high on a snow mountain.
She’d confirmed it before: with the Snow Wolf present, the cave stayed warm; without her, the chill set in fast.
But now she was gone, and the temperature hadn’t fallen.
Could it be that the warmth had nothing to do with the Snow Wolf? Was the cave itself somehow special?
Ji Yingran’s mind was in a whirl. She began circling the mountain cave, searching for the source of the warmth. After making a full lap, she naturally found nothing.
She shook her head. Whatever. There was no point dwelling on it. She’d already been saved by a wolf—one that could understand human speech and even catch a tuna, no less. With so many bizarre and unreasonable things piling up, it hardly mattered anymore whether the heat came from the wolf herself or from the cave.
She didn’t want to think about it any further, but her mind kept churning out one absurd idea after another.
What if the wolf knew magic? The first time she left, she hadn’t realized the human would nearly freeze to death. So the second time, she’d cast a spell to keep the cave at a cozy temperature.
“Haha.” Ji Yingran laughed at herself in exasperation.
She really needed to cut back on those novels. She was getting so fanciful that she actually believed the Snow Wolf could work magic.
If only she could. Then the Snow Wolf could whisk her away with a spell, flying her right out of this godforsaken Snow Mountain.
Could That Wolf fly?
The thoughts just kept spiraling into absurdity.
Ji Yingran rubbed her temples. Even if the Snow Wolf could cast spells and fly, she still had to be willing to help. Ji Yingran had been trying to sweet-talk her into finding the backpack, but she hadn’t succeeded yet.
No, no—she had to find a way to coax her some more. She absolutely had to get That Wolf to help. The backpack had to be found, or Ji Yingran would be stuck here for the rest of her life.
Amid this jumble of thoughts, she kept darting to the cave mouth, peering out into the distance.
Without her phone, she had no idea how long the Snow Wolf had been gone. It could have been mere minutes or hours—she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that this was already her fifth trip back and forth between the cave interior and the entrance.
She would run out to check if the Snow Wolf had returned, only to be driven back inside by the biting cold wind to thaw out. Once she warmed up enough, she’d venture out again to look.
Five round trips, and still no sign of the Snow Wolf coming back.
With every excursion and the relentless uncertainty of time, her underlying unease twisted into outright anxiety.
She started to panic that the Snow Wolf wouldn’t return at all.
Maybe she’d run into danger out there and couldn’t come back. Or maybe the Snow Wolf had simply grown bored of feeding the human and decided not to bother anymore.
Either way, it boiled down to one terrifying possibility: the Snow Wolf might not come back.
“Not coming back.” The words felt like an invisible hand clamped around her throat, squeezing the air from her lungs.
On her sixth check at the cave mouth, no Snow Wolf.
Her tenth: still nothing.
Her twentieth: nothing…
