Chapter 1: A Young Man and a Fierce Tiger

Yuanzhou lies in the southwest of the Great Tang. The southwest is mountainous, and in the words of the Tang people, this is a land of barren hills and treacherous waters. Were it not for Yuanzhou bordering the southern Zhou Kingdom, the nobles in Chang’an would rarely give Yuanzhou a second thought in a whole year.

The southern Zhou is wealthy, but under the shadow of the invincible Tiger Guards of the Tang, they still must bow their heads. With no threat of border troubles, Yuanzhou’s status has sunk ever lower. The officials sent to serve in Yuanzhou are either those without patronage, or the losers in the political struggles of Chang’an.

The saying “the mountains are high and the emperor is far away” fits Yuanzhou’s officialdom perfectly.

And so, when the wife of Qin Xu, the magistrate of Dingnan County, fell ill, the physicians, after much consultation, prescribed a rare medicine. Qin Xu posted a reward, promising that anything could be discussed for whoever could procure this medicine.

If such a thing happened in Chang’an, the censors would have impeached Qin Xu to dust.

…

“What kind of illness requires the fresh kidney of a tiger?” Zhang Qiyuan, the village head of Xiaohe Village, gazed at the snow-capped summit of Dongyu Mountain in the distance and cursed, “It’s early spring, the tigers and wolves in the mountains have starved all winter, their eyes are green with hunger. At a time like this, is it man hunting tiger, or tiger hunting man? Damn it… who would dare go?”

Behind him stood several sturdy young men. One of them said, “Only Dongyu Mountain nearby has tigers, and in past years, tigers have killed more than one hunter. The southern Zhou also sent experts to hunt them, but those men never returned—most likely they ended up as food for the beasts. Now, at the mere mention of the Dongyu tigers, even the most skilled hunters fall silent.”

“Something’s wrong!” someone called out in alarm behind him. Zhang Qiyuan turned to see a young man running from the village entrance.

“Village head, Yang Sanlang has gone into the mountains.”

Zhang Qiyuan’s face changed dramatically. “That boy is courting death!”

A group of horsemen soon galloped up; as they approached, it became clear they were government soldiers.

From his high seat on horseback, a soldier looked down at Zhang Qiyuan and barked, “Lately, southern Zhou spies have been rampant, preparing to cross Dongyu Mountain. The authorities have ordered every village to be vigilant—if you see anyone suspicious, report immediately…”

The officer behind him had keen eyes and said in a deep voice, “But take note of one thing: do not act rashly in hopes of merit. These spies are skilled in concealment and combat. No matter how many of you go, you’ll only be throwing your lives away. Just report, that’s all.”

The order was as firm as a mountain; Zhang Qiyuan responded loudly and solemnly.

The cavalry rode off.

Zhang Qiyuan cursed, “Tell Yang Ding, Yang Sanlang is as good as gone!”

One of the young men muttered, “Yang Sanlang may be young, but he’s the best hunter in the village.”

Zhang Qiyuan felt his authority challenged, turned to glare at the man, and said each word coldly, “It’s not just the tigers—there are southern Zhou spies in those mountains, far more dangerous than any beast. Unless the Imperial Academy’s occult students are dispatched to hunt them down, even the provincial soldiers are helpless."

But the Imperial Academy is in distant Chang’an—distant water cannot quench immediate thirst.

Zhang Qiyuan fell silent, gazing at the distant snow atop the mountain for a long time before murmuring softly, “Poor child, this is… fate!”

…

In Dongyu Mountain.

The snow was slowly melting, trickling into the streams below.

The water babbled, blending with the crisp chirping of birds in the air.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Heavy footsteps drew closer.

A hunter strode down the left bank of the stream, a massive tiger slung across his back.

He was not tall, so much so that it appeared as if the tiger itself were walking upright, a rather terrifying sight.

A man resting downstream heard the footsteps, quickly packed away his water pouch, and turned his outer robe inside out before lying flat on the ground. Unless seen up close, he looked just like a patch of dead grass…

A flash of steel glinted beneath the withered grass.

Murderous intent flared!

The hunter continued his approach.

Suddenly, his ears twitched, all his muscles tensing before relaxing again.

When he reached the patch of dry grass, it suddenly burst upward.

Flap! Flap!

Startled birds took to the sky, sending snow from the branches fluttering down.

The blade flashed.

In the instant the grass flew up, the hunter leaped, sending the tiger sailing through the air.

The southern Zhou spy intended to slay the hunter, but was met with a flying tiger.

He was midair, and the tiger was his only foothold. With a shout, he struck out to use it for leverage.

Clang!

A horizontal blade was drawn!

A flash of steel!

The hunter sheathed his blade, lunged for the fallen tiger, and muttered, “Careful not to damage the pelt—it won’t fetch a price if it’s ruined.”

The boy’s face was full of pain. His mother had long dreamed of a tiger skin for a rug; if this one was spoiled, where would he find another?

The spy crashed heavily to the ground.

“You…” Blood welled from his mouth. He coughed harshly, “How did you know I was hiding here?”

The boy flipped the nearly three-hundred-pound tiger, carefully inspecting the pelt as he replied offhandedly, “I was born keen—how else could I hunt in the mountains at ten?”

The spy’s breath shuddered, his body trembling. “Hunting in the mountains at ten, you must be… Yang Sanlang?!”

The boy turned, smiling with narrowed eyes, his smallish face revealing bright white teeth. “So you’ve heard of me?”

This mountain was jointly owned by the Great Tang and the southern Zhou; hunters from both sides often crossed paths, and fights over game were common. In the beginning, it was evenly matched, but five years ago, a half-grown child joined the fray, causing grave losses among the southern Zhou hunters. The survivors had overheard the boy muttering, “I’m Yang Sanlang,” and took the name back with them.

The spy’s body relaxed, then he groaned in regret, “If I hadn’t been hiding—if we’d fought face to face, I’d have a nine-tenths chance of killing you!”

The boy suddenly exerted himself, hoisting the heavy tiger back onto his shoulders.

He walked calmly past the spy, whose eyes were dimming, and said, “The ground is cold. When you lunged, your body was stiff, your arm not fully extended. When you came within a step, the angle of your blade shifted ever so slightly—so I feigned shock, pretending I had no time to draw my weapon. The moment you relaxed…”

He waved his right hand, gripping the tiger’s forepaw—a glint of cold flashed on his middle finger.

It was a ring, set with a sharp needle. The needle’s strange color suggested it was poisoned.

Even the most cunning hunter was outdone by this boy… The light in the spy’s eyes faded. “I… die without regret.”

His body slackened further—

A foot stomped down hard.

It landed squarely on the spy’s chest.

There was a crack of breaking bone; the spy grabbed the boy’s ankle, eyes wide, rasping, “You…”

Feigning death to escape was the spy’s last life-saving trick. But it had been seen through.

Yang Sanlang lifted his foot again, this time aiming for the spy’s throat.

“When I was eleven, I killed a leopard. I shot it three times—it looked dead, but as I approached, it leaped up and nearly took my life with one swipe.”

Thinking of that leopard, Yang Sanlang couldn’t help licking his lips, his stomach growling like a drum. “Leopard meat is gamey, but it’s still meat. Boil it, then roast it, and the smell fades…”

Thud!

The spy clutched his flattened throat, eyes filled with despair as he watched the boy walk away.

Compared to a leopard, his talent for playing dead was sorely lacking.

…

That a half-grown boy of eleven could hunt the most agile and cunning leopards in the mountains—

He was born a hunter!

I truly… die without regret.

…

Xiaohe Village.

Yang family.

Yang Ding and his wife, Madam Wang, wore blank expressions. Their three sons ranged from over twenty to just nine years old. All looked listless, but none seemed truly sad—the youngest even played with the neighbor’s children.

The neighbors offered their condolences, though not very convincingly.

“Sanlang is a filial child—he entered the mountains with good intentions. Poor boy,” a woman said, her eyes reddened.

Yang Ding forced a laugh, then thought it inappropriate and resumed his stolid look. “Yes.”

A minor official arrived at the door.

Everyone stood quickly, hands at their sides.

The official surveyed them with an air of authority and said coolly, “The magistrate knows Yang Sanlang has entered the mountains. The boy’s courage in serving the country pleases him greatly…”

Yang Sanlang had gone for Qin Xu’s reward, not for the nation’s sake! But no one dared protest. They thought, since this was Qin Xu’s private matter, the official must be here with compensation.

Hope flickered in the Yang family’s eyes.

The official cleared his throat, “Yang Sanlang is dead…”

The woman with red eyes murmured, “Perhaps he isn’t.”

The official frowned at her. “There’s only one stream in the mountains—tigers and wolves love to ambush prey there, as do the hunters from Tang and southern Zhou. So do the spies. The magistrate’s advisers say the spies send scouts ahead. There have been many deadly fights by that stream. The southern Zhou spies—masters of stealth and killing—almost always prevail.”

A boy, facing a ruthless southern Zhou spy…

The woman choked up. “Sanlang is a good boy—he often helped me hitch my cart. Without him, how could I have earned money in town? He can’t be dead.”

The official grew impatient. “If he isn’t dead, I’ll give him my job!”

No one had dared venture into the mountains after the reward was posted, which greatly annoyed Qin Xu. When he heard a bold youth had gone, he was rather moved. But learning that southern Zhou spies were on the move and the boy was as good as dead, he sent an official to comfort the Yang family—a gesture of ‘buying bones with a thousand gold pieces.’

Thud!

A heavy sound came from outside, shaking the window lattices.

Someone opened the door in a daze.

Sensing something was wrong, everyone crowded out.

Outside stood a boy—and a tiger.

…

After nearly three months away, a new book is being released. This is an alternate-history novel; please don’t nitpick for accuracy. Three chapters are published today; from tomorrow on, two chapters a day, likely around four in the afternoon for convenience.

Also, the new book is eligible for monthly votes…

Recommendation tickets, monthly tickets… Sir Author humbly asks for your votes!