Chapter Thirty-Two: The Great Dragon

The next morning, still suffering from the torment of a hangover, Kang Ning was once again forced by the village chief, Old Mo, to drink a cup of so-called "sobering wine." After that, he dared not let a single drop touch his lips again.

He hurriedly finished a bowl of millet porridge and a buckwheat pancake with pickled vegetables, then returned to his room to pack his belongings. Kang Ning understood that after this trip into the mountains, he would not be coming back. Beyond two great ridges lay the border of Guizhou, and this hunt was headed for the junction between the two regions.

A party of thirty-seven set out, each carrying a waist knife and a bird gun. As most of the route led through mountain paths, the horses were left behind in Muhe Village. Around a dozen local hunting dogs scampered excitedly in front and behind the group.

Just as Kang Ning had predicted, Old He was carrying a large aluminum pot on his back. What impressed Kang Ning was that, despite Old Mo's mocking, Old He showed not the slightest embarrassment. Instead, he laughed heartily and told Old Mo, "Next time you come to my place, I'll prepare an even bigger iron pot for you in advance."

Da Niu had become Kang Ning's sworn younger brother. The previous night, under the presiding of Old Mo's father, the clan leader, the two had formally become brothers. Twenty-one-year-old Li Da Niu deeply admired his new elder brother for both his martial skills and character, and so he snatched Kang Ning's backpack and slung it over his own broad shoulders.

"Ning, this time we're taking a different path from the usual. Hardly anyone ever uses this trail, and outsiders are never allowed in. I haven't been here since two years ago. I reckon we'll be in the mountains for at least five days, maybe more. You're not used to mountain roads, so you should conserve your strength."

Kang Ning was surprised that the hunt would take so long. He glanced at everyone's simple packs and asked in confusion, "Really? Apart from knives, guns, gunpowder, and a few bamboo tubes, all we have are those glutinous rice balls. Why aren't we bringing more food?"

Da Niu burst out laughing. "The bamboo tubes are for salt. There's no need to bring food; the mountains are full of things to eat. Who would bother carrying that stuff? Ah, it's hard to explain now, but you'll understand by the end of today."

After crossing two ridges, each more than ten kilometers long, they entered a dense forested valley. The mountain path grew ever steeper. At noon, they ate some rice balls and, after a short rest, pressed on. Walking beneath the towering, sun-blocking canopy, they often spotted animals and birds—civets, muntjacs, and other rarities among them. Yet not a single person fired a shot. When Kang Ning asked Da Niu why, he learned that, with so many men out hunting, they had no interest in such small game.

By about four in the afternoon, the party had penetrated deep into the mountains, reaching a place called Panlong Mountain by Old Mo. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but endless rolling mountains and lush, verdant forests. Even the blue sky seemed to press lower here. They descended to a creek more than two meters wide that ran along the mountainside and stopped to rest. After drinking, they sat on stones or earthen banks, joking and bantering. Kang Ning, like the others, picked a bamboo leaf, folded it into a funnel, and used it to scoop up water to quench his thirst; the clear spring water tasted all the sweeter after a day’s hard trek.

Suddenly, two yellow dogs ahead, about fifty meters away in a flat clearing, began barking furiously as they retreated. In response, more than a dozen hunting dogs rushed forward to join them, their barking filling the entire valley. But as the pack surged forward, they quickly lost their nerve, retreating step by step, whimpering in fear. Everyone jumped to their feet, unstrapping their bird guns and fixing their eyes on the disturbance ahead. Caught up in the tension, Kang Ning instinctively gripped the hilt of his waist knife.

Old Mo and Old He exchanged glances, each seeing the other's uncertainty. Old He laughed, "Could it be a giant dragon? If we catch a giant dragon today, we’ll be the luckiest men alive!"

"Dream on!" Old Mo snapped. "My father said the last time a giant dragon was seen in the Yao Mountains was sixty years ago. No one's entered this part of the forest for centuries, but I come up here almost every month and have never seen any sign of a giant dragon. Judging by the way the leaves and grass are moving, maybe it’s just a few big wildcats." He turned to Da Niu and four experienced middle-aged men. "You five, load up with heavy shot and follow Old He and me."

The five immediately set to work, deftly unfastening their powder pouches and ox horn shot flasks. Just then, something ahead made Old He cry out in shock, "My god! What is that?"

A massive, iron-black serpent, its body as thick as a child's leg and over four meters long, shot out of the dense grass and onto the path like lightning. In a blink, it seized the nearest yellow hound by the neck, clamping down tightly. The dog whimpered and struggled in vain. The snake’s head, crowned with a single red horn, twisted swiftly. With a roll, it coiled its body around the forty-odd-pound dog, raising a foul wind that sent sticks and leaves flying. The other hunting dogs, terrified, fled with their tails between their legs, all but two—a yellow and a black hound—who stood their ground, barking bravely in defiance despite the mortal danger.

Dust and swirling leaves soon settled. The serpent suddenly lashed its tail, sending the last two dogs flying five or six meters before they tumbled down the mountainside, their cries quickly silenced. The serpent's tail then curled, and its body reared upright in the center of the clearing, thicker than a barrel and more than a meter high. The yellow dog it had bitten had vanished, save for the tip of its tail poking from between the coils, its long fur fluttering in the breeze.

Everyone stood frozen in shock. Old He and Old Mo looked at each other and, after a nod, grit their teeth, drew their sharp knives, and charged side by side. The five with guns followed closely, stopping five or six meters from the serpent. Old Mo gave a low command: "Aim—ready...fire!"

Bang! Bang! Gunshots thundered through the mountains, sending up clouds of smoke.

"Run!" Old He shouted, spinning on his heel and fleeing. Old Mo and the other five scrambled after him, stumbling toward the rest of the group. Two of them, terrified, had already dropped their guns in panic. The twenty or so villagers waiting in the rear, trembling, leveled their guns and stepped forward to cover the retreat, all barrels trained on the scene ahead.

Pale as death, Kang Ning shuddered at the sight forty meters away. The wounded serpent thrashed violently, then sprang up like a giant whip and lashed at the trees and brush, producing loud cracks as branches and debris flew in all directions. Leaves scattered skyward like a startled flock of birds, and splashes of the serpent’s blood even landed on the faces of several Yao villagers.