“Wolfie, Mu Ci, where are you?”
Ji Yingran called out for her while circling the house in search.
In the blink of an eye, the wolf had vanished again who-knows-where. She pulled disappearing acts all day long—at least four or five times by conservative estimate.
Ji Yingran fished her phone out of her pocket to call the smartwatch. She was just about to hit dial when her gaze swept toward the living room and halted.
A big white wolf with fluffy fur sat perfectly upright, her head slightly raised as she faced a wall, her front paws neatly placed in front of her.
What in the world was the wolf doing, sitting so primly in front of a wall?
Ji Yingran set her phone aside and approached curiously to investigate.
Following the wolf’s line of sight to the wall, she saw a painting hanging there: an ancient depiction of a snowy mountain wonderland.
This painting had adorned the living room for as long as Ji Yingran could remember—decades now. The house’s furniture had been replaced many times over the years, but this one piece had never been swapped out.
It captured the majesty of Snow Mountain with vivid strokes, though one corner was damaged and incomplete.
It wasn’t some priceless treasure, and its origins were murky at best. All anyone knew was that it had hung in that exact spot for decades.
Ji Yingran walked over and squatted down beside the wolf, joining her on the floor as she peered up at the painting.
“Wolfie, do you like this painting?”
The wolf said nothing, studying it with intense focus. Her head tilted left, then right.
Ji Yingran tore her eyes from the canvas and glanced sideways at the fluffy, absorbed wolf. A suspicion bloomed in her mind.
Was the wolf homesick?
The sight of Snow Mountain in the painting had probably stirred up longing—a sudden wave of nostalgia, a desire to return home.
Mu Ci had been away from Snow Mountain for quite some time. She had arrived in late autumn, and now it was deep winter. For a creature who dwelled on that mountain year-round, a touch of homesickness was only natural.
No matter how vibrant and fascinating the human world might seem, it paled in comparison to her Snow Mountain. And truth be told, the wolf might not find the human world fascinating at all.
Ji Yingran’s lips pressed into a thin line. Sure, she often found this wolf exasperating, clingy, and worrisome—but if she truly wanted to leave, to go back to Snow Mountain?
Frankly, she’d hate to see her go.
Ji Yingran parted her lips, then hesitated. She wanted to ask if the wolf was missing home, but what would come after?
If the answer was yes, would she try to talk her out of it?
Ji Yingran lowered her gaze and sighed inwardly, a sour feeling twisting in her chest.
If the wolf really wanted to go home, then she should let her. As much as it stung, she couldn’t selfishly force her to stay. Ji Yingran wouldn’t stoop to that.
She drew in a deep breath. “If you’re homesick, then you should go ba—”
The wolf cut her off. “Where did this painting come from?”
Ji Yingran blinked in astonishment and replied on reflex. “I have no idea. It’s been up there since I was a kid. I asked my mom about it once—she thought it came from some antique market, but that was ages ago, so who knows.”
Wolfie nodded, glancing between the painting and the human, a thoughtful look in her eyes.
Suddenly unsure, Ji Yingran ventured, “You’re not looking at it because you’re homesick?”
Mu Ci shot her a baffled glance. “What home? My home is right here.”
Ji Yingran froze for a moment. Then realization dawned, lifting a weight from her heart as a bubble of delight welled up inside.
So Wolfie thought of this place as home.
“Right, of course. This is your home too. Wolfie and I—we’re family.”
“It’s my home, not yours. I’m kicking you out.”
Ji Yingran: “…”
This girl couldn’t go two sentences without picking a fight.
The wolf rolled her eyes in irritation, whipped her head back around, and resumed staring at the ancient painting. She tilted her head now and then, the picture of rapt concentration.
Anyone unfamiliar might mistake her for a painting connoisseur.
“You really like this one, don’t you? I do too,” Ji Yingran said. Her legs had tired from squatting, so she crossed them and settled onto the floor. “I loved it as a kid, but it’s a shame about that missing corner.”
“I used to wonder all the time what was supposed to be there. Judging by the composition, I figured it might be a qilin or a phoenix, or…”
“Me,” the wolf declared with absolute certainty.
Ji Yingran paused, then burst out laughing. “You think a snow wolf would fit right there, huh? When I first spotted you on Snow Mountain, this painting was the first thing that came to mind. A wolf in that corner would be perfect.”
The wolf stared at her like she was a complete dimwit. What is she going on about, chattering away? ‘It’d be perfect to paint a wolf there’? That corner originally had This Wolf painted in it. What a stupid two-legged beast—she couldn’t even understand plain words.
Talking about the painting loosened Ji Yingran’s tongue. The wolf’s silence didn’t deter her. “You know, this painting was a huge reason I decided to go explore Snow Mountain in the first place.”
“I know,” said the wolf.
Ji Yingran chuckled. “Oh yeah? What do you know? You’re just making stuff up.”
“I know,” the wolf insisted firmly.
Ji Yingran didn’t bother arguing and nodded along. “Sure, sure. You know.”
As if. She’d never breathed a word of that to anyone.
Perhaps it was the painting’s constant presence that had subconsciously fueled her curiosity over the years: Was the real Snow Mountain as ethereal as the one depicted, a true immortal paradise?
Not until she made the climb herself, not until she stood immersed in its midst, did she realize the painting hadn’t exaggerated at all.
If anything, the actual vistas surpassed it by far.
No artwork, however masterful or faithful, could rival the living scene.
But beholding such beauty came at a steep price. Ji Yingran glanced at the wolf beside her. Without her, that single glimpse might have cost her life.
My lifesaving Wolfie. A little prickliness was easy to forgive. Ji Yingran reached out to stroke her head.
Patting the head naturally led to the temptation of petting elsewhere—so fluffy, everywhere begged to be ruffled.
But she caught herself quickly.
No. This wolf kept score. Head, tail, ears, belly—every spot tallied with precision.
Ji Yingran quelled the itch to pet her and reluctantly pulled her hand back. The wolf was still fixated on the painting, so Ji Yingran gazed at it too.
“This painting is lovely, but the real thing is even more breathtaking—so grand and expansive. It’s been over six months now, and I can still vividly recall that sense of awe…”
Ji Yingran kept chattering on, oblivious as the wolf turned her head to stare.
Her gaze burned hot.
Only belatedly did Ji Yingran notice, confusion creasing her brow. “What? Tired of the painting and looking at me instead? Am I too chatty?”
The wolf’s eyes smoldered, locked on a single point: the human’s soft, pink lips.
She had no clue what was being said—only that those lips kept opening and closing, babbling nonstop.
Without warning, the wolf lunged forward and planted a loud smack right on her mouth.
Then she sprang back a full meter.
Ji Yingran touched her lips, dazed.
The wolf tossed her head arrogantly. “Not fun to kiss. The texture’s mediocre—totally mediocre. Trash.”
Ji Yingran’s eye twitched. “Not fun? Trash? Then why kiss me?”
“Because it’s not fun. Totally unqualified.”
Ji Yingran huffed a laugh. “Fine, unqualified. Don’t kiss me again.”
The wolf leaped to her paws. “Nope!”
Ji Yingran laughed outright now, deliberately goading her. “What, not unqualified? Not trash? What’s so tough about swearing off kisses?”
The wolf fell silent for a long beat before blurting, “You’re the stubborn one!”
“Who is?”
“You, stupid human! Stubborn as hell. Negative score!”
From unqualified straight to negative points.
Ji Yingran shook her head—and halfway through the motion, the fluffy muzzle darted in for another kiss.
Smack. Then back a meter.
Ji Yingran: “…”
“What are you doing?” Ji Yingran demanded, equal parts exasperated and amused.
“Not fun to kiss. Negative score.” The wolf licked her lips with her pink tongue, looking wistful.
Ji Yingran put on her serious face. “You can’t just go around kissing people willy-nilly.”
She meant to deliver a stern lecture, but confronting this bundle of fluff in wolf form? Impossible to stay grave.
A wolf-form smooch struck her as utterly endearing, like a housecat stealing a kiss—heart-meltingly cute.
In human form, she’d have laid down the law properly. But like this? Her words carried no weight.
The predictable result: the wolf scooted forward for another smack, then retreated a meter.
Bouncing to and fro.
Had she forgotten her aloof image? All this hopping around demolished it.
Evidently so. After landing three kisses, she bounced ecstatically in place.
Her four paws launching her upward again and again.
Thrilled. Elated.
Crack.
The wooden floor splintered beneath her paws, leaving four neat holes.
Her claws were lodged in the floorboards. She yanked and tugged before finally wrenching them free.
Once extricated, she sneaked a guilty peek at the human.
Know she was wrong? Feeling guilty? Fat chance.
She had stolen a glance at her because, taking advantage of her inattention, she had planted another kiss on her cheek before darting away. Then she delivered her verdict: “Not fun to kiss, doesn’t pass muster. This Wolf won’t like you. Doesn’t like—I don’t like you at all, This Wolf.”
Ji Yingran was at a loss with her. Helplessly, she asked, “What exactly do you like about me?”
The wolf froze for a moment, then stamped her paw on the floor. “Who said This Wolf likes you? I said I don’t like you.”
Ji Yingran replied, “I don’t think there’s anything special about me. It can’t be that you like me just because I have no malicious intent on me, right?”
The wolf grew agitated. “I said I don’t like you! Don’t like, don’t like, don’t like, don’t like…”
She kept repeating it over and over.
Ji Yingran gazed at her with complicated eyes. What difference did this make from endlessly repeating “I like you”?
None at all.
As the wolf muttered on and on about not liking her, Ji Yingran’s mind wandered to something else entirely. Did this silly wolf even understand the true meaning of liking someone?
Liking someone was a gravely serious matter. Love was singular, unique. Once both parties committed, in Ji Yingran’s view, it became a vow to stay together for life.
It was a promise—and a responsibility.
The wolf was a demon, full of otherworldly traits and endless uncertainties.
Ji Yingran didn’t care for such unpredictable existences.
She didn’t even believe the wolf would stick around for long, just like how she would vanish without a trace at the drop of a hat. When she disappeared, no one could find her. When she left, no one could track her.
She came and went as she pleased, with no one able to restrain her—not even Ji Yingran.
She was free. Far too free.
So free that Ji Yingran dared not take her professed liking at face value.
If it wasn’t the promise of eternal companionship, then Ji Yingran would rather do without it altogether.
