Tianzhu Mountain is located in the eastern part of the Huazhu Kingdom, stretching five hundred miles from east to west and over three hundred miles from north to south. It is named Tianzhu Mountain because one of its peaks rises straight into the sky like a pillar. Perched lonesomely upon this peak is a cliff engraved with the three large characters: "Tianzhu Cliff."
There is a story behind these characters. Each one is ten feet tall, written with a bold, vigorous hand, though no one knows who carved them or when. The cliff is perilous in the extreme; no one has ever been known to scale it. Even the most seasoned hunters and herbalists cannot reach the top, so it is widely rumored to be the handiwork of immortals and a place for their quiet cultivation. Because the mountain is year-round shrouded in thick, swirling mists that evoke an otherworldly atmosphere, the common folk frequently come to burn incense and pay their respects, adding to the mountain's sense of transcendence and mystery.
The thousand-mile expanse of Tianzhu Mountain is not comprised solely of the Tianzhu Peak; it simply happens to be the most famous. Other peaks—such as the Tianlao, Tianfu, Tianzhu (different character, same sound), and Tianze peaks—are equally towering, steep, and jagged with strange rock formations. Beyond these, there are countless smaller hills, the mountains crowding together like giants shouldering one another. Those who live nearby prefer to call it the "Hundred Thousand Mountains."
This is, of course, an exaggeration. Outsiders always scoff when they hear it, especially the merchants who have traveled north and south. They reason that if there were truly a hundred thousand mountains, Tianzhu Mountain would not just be a thousand miles across—it would span ten thousand. A ten-thousand-mile range would rival the legendary Mount Fangzhang. Yet, whenever people arrive at Tianzhu Mountain, they change their minds. They call it the Hundred Thousand Mountains not because of its actual size, but because no one truly knows how vast it is inside.
The truth is that Tianzhu Mountain is bizarre; only Tianzhu Peak is accessible enough to go in and come back out. On all other peaks, people can only wander the perimeter. Any attempt to venture deeper leads to lost paths, as the year-round fog obscures the sun.
Some have accidentally strayed inward and walked for days, only to discover they had not moved from their original spot.
Curious thrill-seekers once brought servants, axes, and hammers, marking their path as they went, yet they still became lost and never emerged. After that, the mountain's reputation as a dwelling place for gods grew, with locals whispering that the seekers had offended the deities and been claimed by them.
Fortunately, Tianzhu Peak itself covers an area of a hundred miles and is rich in insects, birds, beasts, and flowing rivers. This provides a tangible livelihood for the nearby villagers, who gather fruits and hunt tigers and leopards to live comfortably. They have since ceased exploring the other peaks, and the mountain has gained a further sense of awe.
Thirty miles below Tianzhu Peak lies a village called Xujiawa. Despite the name, not a single family there carries the surname Xu. Half the villagers are surnamed Li, with the rest comprised of Zhao, Qian, Sun, Ma, Zhou, Wu, Zheng, and Wang families. The reason for this, no one knows. There are about one hundred and seventy or eighty households in the village.
As the saying goes, "Those who live by the mountain eat from the mountain." Most families are hunters, skilled with spears, bows, arrows, and traps. They make a living selling pelts and game, and life is generally acceptable.
At the east end of Xujiawa lives a hunter named Li Qinhu. Because he is the third of his siblings, the villagers call him Li Laosan. At forty-three years old, he is sturdy, though he walks with a limp—the result of a bear swiping his leg and shattering the bone years ago. Unable to hunt with the young, strong men of the village, he sets traps in remote areas. Though he occasionally makes a catch, it is rarely enough to feed his family, and life is a constant struggle.
One day, Li Laosan descended from the mountain carrying a pheasant, greeting the villagers warmly as he limped toward his home.
When he reached the center of the village, the village head, Li Ershui, saw him and said, "Laosan, a good haul today."
Li Laosan quickly replied, "Village head, it’s just a pheasant. Ever since my leg was ruined, my son Qiu has not had a proper meal. I finally caught this one today to help build up his strength."
The village head nodded. "That's good. Qiu is at the age where he needs to grow. Wait here." He disappeared into his house and soon returned with a bag of rice. "Someone sent this to me, and I have more than I can eat. Take it."
Li Laosan thanked him profusely, "Village head, this is really..."
Li Ershui waved him off and walked away. Li Laosan hurriedly wiped the corners of his eyes, bowed to the village head, and strode off, his gait unsteady and his demeanor somewhat forlorn.
The village head’s wife came out from the inner room, saw Li Laosan carrying their rice, and complained, "He’s a cripple who can’t hunt. A useless man—why pity him? It’s a waste of my good rice."
The village head retorted, "Woman’s talk," and turned back into the house, ignoring her.
When Li Laosan returned home, he saw smoke curling from the chimney and called out, "Qiu’s mother, don’t start cooking just yet. Come out and see what I’ve brought today!"
A woman emerged—about thirty-five or thirty-six, dignified and beautiful, with her hair in a bun and wearing a long, blue robe. This was Li Laosan’s wife, Mistress Zhao.
She was the daughter of Eldest Zhao from Wanjia Town, three hundred miles to the south. In her youth, she had admired Li Laosan’s bravery and married him out of love. She had expected a prosperous life, but disaster struck when Li Laosan’s leg was crushed by a black bear. He could no longer hunt, and the family’s life dwindled into misery.
At first, Mistress Zhao would return to her maiden home to borrow money, helping the family scrape by. But as time passed, her family grew cold toward her, and in recent years, all contact had been severed. It was only because of her unwavering devotion and hard work that the family survived, though they remained impoverished. This earned the admiration of the Old Scholar at the village school.
Mistress Zhao spotted the pheasant in Li Laosan’s hand and beamed. "I was just wondering how to nourish Qiu. This is perfect. He hasn't eaten meat in so long, he’s grown so thin."
Li Laosan dismissed this. "What’s there to worry about? Even if he’s thin, he’s not weak. Why must a boy be so pampered?"
Mistress Zhao felt a pang of heartache for her son but held her tongue. She then noticed the bag of flour in Li Laosan's hand. "What’s this?"
"Rice from the village head," Li Laosan said.
Mistress Zhao nodded. "He has a kind heart." The two went inside to prepare the meal.
...
As Li Laosan was plucking the pheasant, he suddenly heard a great clamor and shouting from the village. *Are the hunters back from the mountains already?* he wondered. *Perhaps they had good luck and caught something special.* Thinking of his own past glory and present humiliation, he felt a wave of sadness. He turned his focus back to the pheasant, his fingers tensing until, with a sharp snap, he broke its neck.
Mistress Zhao came out, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked toward the door. "Why is it so noisy? And why is the sound moving this way?"
Being a hunter of many years, Li Laosan had keen senses. He knew the crowd was indeed heading toward them. Believing it had nothing to do with him, he asked, "How long has it been since Qiu went to school?"
Mistress Zhao sighed. "Three months, I fear! I asked him why, and he said we aren't wealthy and the school is too expensive."
Li Laosan said, "Didn't the Old Scholar waive his fees so he wouldn't have to quit?"
"He did," Mistress Zhao replied. "But Qiu is stubborn. He says he won't take charity for his schooling. Even though we are poor, he refuses to lose his pride. The Old Scholar had no choice but to keep lending him books to read at home."
Li Laosan nodded. "He has the spirit of a man; he is my son, after all. He’s been at his second uncle's house for three days. He should be back... but why is the crowd coming to our house?"
They stepped outside together and saw, at the head of the crowd, a half-grown boy carrying something on his back—it was none other than their son, Li Qiu!
Li Laosan was shocked. *With so many people following him, has he caused some grave trouble? Yes, that must be it! He has always been mischievous, and the neighbors are always complaining. I thought it was just child’s play and never punished him too harshly, but I never imagined he would cause such a disaster today.* He felt a mix of guilt, fear, and anger.
Among the crowd were several village children. One ran up to Li Laosan, grinning, "Third Uncle, your little Qiu has real guts! He actually caught a live White Wolf!"
Li Laosan’s hands trembled, and the pheasant dropped to the ground. "What? Captured a live White Wolf?"
Just then, the crowd arrived at their fence. The boy carrying the burden was indeed Li Laosan’s only son, Li Qiu.
Li Qiu was thirteen, naturally mischievous and clever. It was said that he was born in autumn, and when Li Laosan asked the Old Scholar for a name, the man had stroked his beard, looked at the sky, and said, "Autumn is the season of harvest; call him Li Qiu. May he reap many rewards." As soon as he named him, the Old Scholar reached out to hold the baby, but Li Qiu wailed and wet all over the old man’s robes. Li Laosan apologized profusely, but the Old Scholar just laughed and said, "No matter, no matter. Good lad, I have a bond with this child." Little Li Qiu stopped crying.
Li Qiu had studied under the Old Scholar since he was small, and because he was bright, the old man had taught him everything he knew. But after Li Laosan crippled his leg, Li Qiu dropped out to return home.
The Old Scholar had come for him several times, but Li Qiu refused to study for free. The old man could only let him go, continuing to lend him books in the hope that he would not abandon his education.
Li Qiu looked incredibly gaunt, his eyes bulging and his ribs protruding through his tattered clothes. His skin was bruised, his hair bun had fallen apart and was crudely tied with a vine, and his feet were bare. He looked in a sorry state. Because of the weight on his back, he leaned forward, standing no taller than a man’s shoulder. As he reached his gate, he stumbled. Li Laosan and his wife rushed forward to support him, and only then did they see clearly.
Li Qiu was carrying a board the size of a bed, about three inches thick. At the front were two holes as thick as a man’s arm. The White Wolf’s front paws poked through the holes, resting on Li Qiu’s shoulders, held firmly by the boy's hands. Because of the board, the wolf could not bite him, but its back paws had dug continuously into the wood, nearly shredding the bottom of the plank.
The crowd finally understood how Li Qiu had captured the White Wolf.
The method was simple, a trick known to most hunters: dig a waist-deep pit in an area where wolves frequented, cover it with a bed board, and sprinkle dirt and grass over it, leaving only two holes. A person would hide inside with the scent of blood. When the wolf approached, smelling the blood and expecting a meal, it would reach its paws through the holes. The person inside would grab the paws tightly and stand up, trapping the wolf against his back.
While simple, it was incredibly difficult to execute. First, the pit could only be waist-deep, or the person couldn't stand up with the board. Thus, one had to remain curled in a cramped, agonizing position. Second, in the forest, wolves weren't the only things attracted to the scent of blood—rats, venomous snakes, and even tigers or leopards could be lured, which could prove fatal. Third, it required immense patience. It was common to wait three to five days, eating and relieving oneself in the hole, or the wolf would be spooked and never return.
Li Qiu had spent three days capturing this White Wolf, and a rare one at that. This level of courage and patience was enough to make every hunter in the village look at him with new eyes.
A thirteen-year-old boy, by his own hand, had captured a rare, live White Wolf. The hunters, being straightforward folk who admired bravery above all else, held Li Qiu in the highest regard.
Hunters around the yard began to lecture their own children, saying, "Look at what Li Qiu did, try to learn from him!" and "Such courage, truly such courage!"
The Old Scholar stroked his sparse, gray beard and said, "This child is bright, tactical, and fearless. With both courage and intelligence, his future will be limitless."