The next morning, led by the hunter Old Li Tou, the group ventured into the Back Mountain.
The morning light pierced through the thin mist in the forest. A trail of blood, winding across the snow like a dark red ribbon, stretched from the foot of the mountain deep into the dense woods.
Old Li Tou squatted down and rubbed a dried blood crust between his fingers. His rough palm was stained with tiny ice crystals. "A light snow fell last night, but the blood wasn't covered. I suspect he drew his last breath in the small hours."
Chapter 49