Chapter Thirty-Three: The White Tiger Family

“Lord Tiger, up ahead lies the territory of the Xilot,” Yakeshi said, pointing with his riding crop at the endless sea of snowy forest, speaking to Lu Hu with utmost respect.

Three days had passed since their departure. By day, they galloped their horses, and at night, they lodged in the earth-houses of the Oront people. The Oront domain was vast, but sparsely populated. It was said that the land of the Xilot was even greater, with a population nearing a million, its people a mix of various tribes—some conquered by the Xilot, others drawn to their power and choosing to join them.

“There’s a river at the foot of the mountain, hidden beneath the snow. Look there, you can still make out its traces,” Yakeshi continued, pointing to the snowy expanse below.

Looking closely, there was indeed a river, the snow only partially masking the shadowy line of its bed. Beyond the river, after a stretch of open plain, another high mountain loomed, barring the horizon. Without the snow, the plain would surely be a lush, green pasture—a perfect grazing land. But now, not a soul was in sight.

The three of them urged their horses down the mountain. Where the slope steepened, the horses dared not run freely and only picked up speed once the land flattened near the midpoint. The saying “A horse dies running toward the mountains” rang true; though the two mountains seemed close together, they rode all day and only reached the foot of the next as night fell.

There were no Oront people in these mountains. In summer, the Xilot would often drive their herds into this valley, and if they encountered any Oront, they would kill them on sight. Beyond this mountain stretched the boundless grasslands where most Xilot lived as nomads.

The slopes were thick with ancient forests. Just a few years before, this had all been Oront land, but now it was being encroached upon by the Xilot. Yet, the herdsmen disliked living in the mountains, so the woods were mostly deserted.

The three pressed their horses onward, hoping to find an abandoned Oront earth-house before night fully set in.

“It should be here,” Yakeshi said after carefully studying the landscape, finally focusing on a cluster of large trees.

Sure enough, there was a large, gaping hole—its cover long lost, leaving it abandoned and desolate, the interior shrouded in darkness and eerie silence.

Lighting a pine torch, Yakeshi took the lead; Lu Hu followed in the center, while Shi Zhenxiang led six horses behind them. Even a cave was warmer than the open air—and safer.

Suddenly, in the flickering torchlight, Yakeshi saw a striped, ferocious tiger. He started in alarm, then grew angry; bold by nature, he had fought bears and tigers before. Aside from Lu Hu and Yana Li, he feared none. The tiger hesitated, wary of the torch, baring its fangs but unsure whether to attack—until Yakeshi, without warning, kicked it hard.

The tiger sprang back nimbly, but not quickly enough to avoid a blow to its shoulder.

“Brother-in-law, hold! Don’t hit it yet; let me talk to it,” Lu Hu stepped forward and grabbed Yakeshi.

Switching to the language of tigers, he roared, “And who are you? What are you doing here? Don’t you know this is my territory?”

The tiger blinked in surprise, then snarled back, “Who are you? This is my land—what are you doing here?”

“I am the Tiger God, shape-shifted into human form, wandering the mountains to see how my children fare.”

At these words, the tiger immediately prostrated itself, wailing, “My lord, at last you’re here! Please, save your poor children!”

“Who’s been bullying you? Do they have a death wish? Has some bear’s whelp tried to rebel?”

“Not a bear’s cub, but human-born men—those fierce riders from the plains. They hunt us everywhere in the mountains; we’re nearly wiped out.”

“You fled here because you had nowhere else to hide?”

“Yes. I haven’t dared leave to hunt in three days. My cubs are starving.”

“Cubs? Are you male or female?”

“Female. I’m the fifth-born in my family. Mother calls me ‘Lonely Fifth.’”

Your mother is quite prolific—tigers usually give birth to two or three cubs at a time; five in one litter is truly formidable, Lu Hu thought admiringly, then asked, “Where are your cubs? Let me see how bad it is.”

Lonely Fifth backed up a few steps to a pile of dry grass—the remains of an old Oront straw mat. On it, three tiny cubs lay, eyes closed, huddled together, barely moving.

Squatting down, Lu Hu gently stroked them. The cubs stirred slightly but didn’t open their eyes.

“Zhenxiang, bring the deer from the horse,” he called. Each of them had two horses to ride in turns; the pack horses carried torches, dried meat, meat pies, spare clothes, and other essentials. They also had a stag, two roe deer, four snow hares, and three pheasants—game they’d chanced upon and shot along the way.

Shi Zhenxiang carried over the stag, handing it to Lu Hu along with the bag of provisions and water skin. Lu Hu placed the carcass in front of Lonely Fifth. “Eat quickly, and feed your cubs as soon as you’re done.”

Lonely Fifth nodded, eyes brimming with tears, and fell upon the deer, tearing into it with desperate hunger.

Lu Hu took some meat from the bag, ate a little himself, and picked up one of the cubs. It was no bigger than a kitten, skin and bones. Smelling an unfamiliar scent, it forced open its eyes, then, too weak, closed them again.

Lu Hu chewed a piece of meat and pressed the softened morsel to the cub’s mouth. It snapped its eyes open, darted out its tongue, and licked the meat in. A tiger cub that knows how to eat will surely survive, he thought. As long as it eats, it has hope.

He kept chewing and feeding, the cub eagerly smacking its tiny lips, eating with relish. After a few bites, it gained some strength, opened its eyes, and gazed at Lu Hu, wriggling its small body in a plea for affection.

“Feeling better now? Then go nurse from your mother,” Lu Hu said, relieved, placing the cub against Lonely Fifth’s belly and picking up the next to feed.

The first cub latched onto one of Lonely Fifth’s teats, clutching tightly with its little paws and sucking for dear life, as if afraid someone might snatch it away.

After feeding all three cubs, Lu Hu finally noticed the chamber had grown brighter—Yakeshi and Shi Zhenxiang had gathered firewood and built a fire. On the flames, a roe deer roasted, filling the air with savory aroma as fat dripped onto the coals, sending up fragrant smoke.

It was nearly done. Shi Zhenxiang turned the spit, slicing open the meat with a small knife and sprinkling salt from a cloth pouch.

Yakeshi fed the six horses with special Oront fodder—a blend of dried beans and leaves, meant for feeding horses during the snowbound winter.

“Come in, children’s father, it’s all family here. No need to worry—the Tiger God has descended,” Lonely Fifth suddenly called out.

Lu Hu looked up to see another tiger, a boar in its jaws, hesitantly entering the cave. Lu Hu beckoned, “Roar! I am the Tiger God, come down from the heavens in human form to help you. Come in!”

Hearing Lu Hu speak tiger-tongue, the newcomer relaxed, skirting the wall to join Lonely Fifth and drop the boar.

Seeing his family feasting so hungrily moved him deeply. He prostrated himself before Lu Hu, bowing repeatedly. “My lord, my lord, my lord! I’m eternally grateful for your kindness!”

“It’s nothing. What’s your name?”

“Lord, my name is Bai Dabai.”

Bai Dabai—White White? Lu Hu looked closer in the firelight. The tiger was caked in black mud, filthy and hardly living up to his name.

“I’m too conspicuous hunting at night. Any creature that sees me flees at once. I had no choice but to roll in mud to hide my color,” Bai Dabai explained quickly, seeing Lu Hu’s confusion.

There were many fierce tigers in these wild mountains, but white tigers were rare. Among the people, the white tiger was considered a harbinger of disaster—sighting one was thought to foretell bloodshed or war.

To have Bai Dabai join them might prove invaluable.