Ji Yingran didn’t stop at hugging. She planted a loud smooch right on the wolf’s big face.
This was the third time.
Compared to the shock of the first kiss and the disdain of the second, the wolf seemed far more accepting this time.
She still let out a low, grumpy growl, but Ji Yingran noticed a subtle shift.
The wolf didn’t wash her face. Normally, after every kiss, she would lick her paw and scrub her muzzle, as if the human had dirtied it.
But not this time.
The Snow Wolf might not have realized this tiny change herself, but Ji Yingran had. She declared it proof that the wolf absolutely adored her.
Ji Yingran wasn’t shy about showing it. She formed a huge heart shape with her arms toward the wolf. “I like you too.”
The Snow Wolf had grown used to hearing those two words by now and silently judged in her mind: Frivolous human. Disqualified. Rejected.
Ji Yingran sat down beside the wolf, their shoulders nearly touching as they basked in the sun together. In the distance, layer upon layer of snow-capped mountains rose majestically.
White mists swirled around the higher peaks, lending the scene an ethereal, otherworldly beauty.
“There’s a painting of snow mountains hanging in my living room back home,” she said. “I used to think it was pure fantasy—too mythical, not something real landscapes could match.”
“Then I came here and realized it’s not that these vistas don’t exist in the world. It’s just that I hadn’t seen them, so I assumed they weren’t real.”
“The views here are even more breathtaking and vast than that painting.”
The Snow Wolf inwardly grumbled. Here she goes again, chattering away. How could anyone talk so much? She wasn’t even responding, yet the human kept prattling on.
The Snow Wolf griped endlessly in her head but noticed the human had gone quiet. She glanced over.
Why’d she stop? Gone mute?
“Wolfie, look at that peak—doesn’t it look just like a bicycle seat?”
The Snow Wolf instantly relaxed. Good, not mute after all. As long as she could still talk, it was fine.
Very noisy. Shut up already.
But then the human actually did fall silent. The Snow Wolf eyed her curiously. Mute again?
After being suspected of muteness one too many times, Ji Yingran suddenly stood and stepped on the wolf’s shadow on the ground.
The Snow Wolf gave her a suspicious look.
Ji Yingran explained with perfect timing, “Last time, I saw you playing the shadow-stepping game by yourself. I want to step on your shadow too.”
The Snow Wolf rolled her eyes. Weirdo. Childish. This wolf would never stoop to playing with shadows.
Two minutes later, wolf and human were stepping on shadows together.
Ji Yingran stomped on the Snow Wolf’s shadow, and the Snow Wolf jumped up to stomp on hers in return.
You step on mine; I step on yours.
One human and one wolf played the silly game, their giggles echoing through the snowy mountains.
As they frolicked, Ji Yingran’s gaze softened on the wolf, who was bouncing around with pure delight at shadow-stepping.
Just playing this simple game could make her this happy?
Watching her joyful antics, Ji Yingran thought of a lonely child with no playmates—suddenly gaining a companion and dancing with excitement, her happiness tinged with a heartbreaking poignancy.
She clearly craved company. No one knew how long this lone wolf had lived in solitude on these snow mountains.
The Snow Wolf noticed her pause and looked over quizzically.
What are you spacing out for? Keep stepping. You step, I step—that’s how the game works. If you stop, how can we play?
Ji Yingran shook her head with a smile and resumed, keeping the wolf company in the simple game. She was having a blast.
Ten minutes later, Ji Yingran couldn’t take it anymore. The air was already thin up on the snow mountain, and all this jumping around left her breathless. Exhausted, she plopped down onto the ground.
Seeing her quit, the Snow Wolf grew sulky. She nudged her with a paw. Get up. Let’s keep playing.
Ji Yingran panted, looking at her helplessly. “I’m tired. I can’t play anymore.”
The Snow Wolf eyed her, mouth puckering in a pout. She turned around, presenting her rear to the human.
Annoying. We were just getting into it. Useless human.
“Why are you mad now? Come on, you have to understand—human stamina just isn’t like that,” Ji Yingran said. Unable to resist, she reached out to pat the wolf’s hindquarters.
Just as her hand rose, the Snow Wolf whipped around. Her hand froze midair as their eyes met.
Awkward.
The Snow Wolf’s gaze burned with anger. Trying to pat a wolf’s butt again?
Ji Yingran smoothly withdrew her hand, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear to change the subject. “Wow, this sun is intense.”
She sneaked a peek at the wolf, who promptly swatted her own face with a paw.
She couldn’t dodge that paw after all.
As Ji Yingran sat recovering her strength, the wolf kept pawing at her shadow now and then, then glancing her way with obvious hints.
Ready to play yet? Let’s go.
Ji Yingran chuckled wryly. She’d indulged her once, and now there was no end to it.
On the Snow Wolf’s ninth hinting paw, Ji Yingran relented. She stood and stepped on the wolf’s shadow.
The lounging Snow Wolf sprang up in a flash, excitement lighting her eyes as she promptly stomped back.
Human and wolf launched into another round of you-stomp-me, me-stomp-you.
It ended once more with Ji Yingran running out of steam.
The Snow Wolf still looked unsatisfied, but Ji Yingran truly had no energy left to keep going.
Still, she hated to disappoint her. It was obvious no one had ever played with this wolf before, so her excitement at finally having a playmate was understandable.
Ji Yingran’s eyes landed on a nearby rock—not too big, not too small.
She dug it out of the snow. “Wolfie, I can’t keep playing the shadow-stepping game, but I’ve got an even better one. Want to try?”
The Snow Wolf rolled her eyes. Tch. As if you’re the one entertaining this wolf. Clearly, I’m the one keeping you company.
She wasn’t thrilled, but her ears perked up, waiting for this so-called “better game.”
Ji Yingran jiggled the rock in her hand. “See this stone?”
With that, she tossed it out in a perfect arc. It landed, rolled a few times in the snow, and came to a stop.
“Go on, fetch it.”
The Snow Wolf’s muzzle twitched.
Ji Yingran blinked in confusion. Why wasn’t the wolf going for it? This was how she always played with dogs at home—toss a ball, and they’d happily race off to retrieve it, turning fetch into endless fun.
Assuming she hadn’t understood, Ji Yingran demonstrated again, throwing the stone and picking it up herself.
“Like this. I throw; you fetch. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
A massive paw smacked her face, plunging her into darkness.
You think this wolf’s a dog? Playing fetch like one? Damn two-legged beast. I’ll flatten you.
“…”
“If you don’t want to play, fine. No need to get mad.”
Ji Yingran persisted. “You sure? Fetching stones is pretty fun too.”
The Snow Wolf suddenly bent down and snatched the stone in her jaws.
Ji Yingran perked up. “Changed your mind?”
The Snow Wolf flung the stone ten meters away, then fixed her gaze on the human. Fun, right? Fine, this wolf will play with you. The stone’s thrown—go fetch it.
Ji Yingran blinked, pointing at herself. “Me?”
The Snow Wolf nodded. You.
“…”
That night, before bed, Ji Yingran repeatedly admonished her. “You can’t vanish first thing in the morning like today. When you go hunting, you have to take me with you, got it?”
Unsure if the Snow Wolf had taken it in, Ji Yingran assumed agreement and clutched her tail tightly.
She refused to let go of that tail all night long, gripping it tightly in case the wolf vanished again.
Drowsy and on the verge of sleep, Ji Yingran suddenly remembered one more thing. She opened her eyes and said,
“Wolf, tomorrow, besides hunting for food, you need to gather some firewood too. We’re running low on fuel. You’ve got a full day ahead, so rest well tonight and get to work tomorrow.”
Of course, if the wolf truly headed down the mountain for food, firewood wouldn’t be necessary at all. They’d go straight to the base, and Ji Yingran wouldn’t have to climb back up. Freedom would be hers right then and there.
With the prospect of descending the mountain possibly tomorrow, Ji Yingran felt her spirits lift considerably.
Having laid out the next day’s tasks, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
When she awoke the following morning, the tail had slipped from her grasp at some point, but thankfully, the wolf hadn’t left.
Soon enough, however, Ji Yingran realized the wolf hadn’t stayed put—she had gone out and returned.
A fragrant pig lay at the wolf’s paws.
Ji Yingran tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Didn’t we agree yesterday? You’re supposed to hunt with me. How did you sneak off while I was asleep?”
The snow wolf pressed a paw on the pig, shooting her a dissatisfied glare: What do you mean? Can a puny human like you dictate the head wolf’s movements!
Ji Yingran could only laugh helplessly. “All right, all right. So how do you want to eat this pig today? Like yesterday…?”
For several days in a row, Ji Yingran tried every time to join the wolf on the hunt down the mountain. But each morning, she would wake to find the wolf had already dragged back the prey.
She never once got the chance to go out with her.
During that stretch, Ji Yingran even woke deliberately before dawn, urging the wolf to head out.
The wolf wasn’t having it. The wolf wanted to sleep. With no other choice, Ji Yingran curled up beside her for a quick nap.
The outcome was predictable: when she stirred from that snooze, the wolf had returned with fresh game in her jaws.
Sometimes, this wolf left Ji Yingran so exasperated that she laughed despite herself.
Time flew by in the blink of an eye. It was now the tenth day of her entrapment, seven days since the last contact with the rescue center.
As agreed, they needed to check in every seven days.
Ji Yingran fished the satellite phone from its corner nook. As she powered it on, she glanced at the sky overhead.
The weather had held steady for the past couple of days. Snow and wind came and went, but compared to before, conditions were downright favorable.
She wondered if rescue might arrive early.
The battery read forty percent. She recalled it had been fifty-six when she last powered down.
A week dormant had drained sixteen percent—not excessive. Plenty remained, enough to last fifteen days without issue.
Ji Yingran wasted no time; every idle second burned power. She clambered atop the tallest rock, planted her feet, and thrust the phone skyward.
A single signal bar flickered to life.
Ji Yingran exhaled in relief. She’d feared the signal from last time might be gone for good. Fortunately, it held.
Phone held aloft, she jabbed the emergency dial.
“Beep… beep…”
The ringing tones made her fingers clench tighter around the satellite phone. Her heart leaped into her throat.
“Hello, this is the Emergency Rescue Center…”
A familiar, reassuring female voice emanated from the receiver.
