Wolf Totem

6

Sunlight shone weakly through the thin dark clouds, and drifting snow powder fell on the vast Olonbulag. After the two murder-ous days and nights of the white-hair blizzard, the sky had lost its power to send any more snow; no pellets, no flakes. A pair of eagles glided leisurely below the clouds. Warm early-spring air floated above the landscape, turning to mist carried off by the wind. A covey of red and brown sand grouse flew out of a copse of bushes that resembled white coral, rustling the branches, shaking off velvety snow like dandelion down, and exposing the deep red color of the grassland willows. To the observer, it was like red coral in a bed of white-colorful, eye-catching. The mountain range to the north pierced a clear sky, where blue clouds rose and fell atop the dazzling white of the snowcaps. Peace had returned to the ancient Olonbulag.

Laasurung and Chen Zhen treated Batu’s frostbite and stayed with him all day. But it was hard for them to believe his fearful grassland tale as they sat beneath a clear, beautiful sky. Everyone who worked a pasture, of course, had struggled against the blizzard for two days and nights, but Chen was unconvinced by what Batu was telling them.

Breathing in the cold spring air helped, for the heavy snowfall meant that the spring drought would come to an end. Every day it had been dry winds, dry dust, dry grass, and dry manure, until Chen’s eyes stung and felt crusty; now that was over. Following the storm, the melting snow brought clear water to the rivers and lakes, filled the plains with green grass and beautiful flowers, and was a sign that the livestock would grow plump in the spring. Old Man Bilgee was fond of saying that springtime was the best of the three periods for livestock to accumulate fat. If they failed to plump up in the spring, they wouldn’t be able to catch up in the summer, with what they call water fat, and would have no chance to add oily fat in the fall. If they hadn’t accumulated a three-finger layer of fat in the fall, before the grass turned yellow, they likely would not survive the seven-month-long winter. Those sheep would have to be sold cheaply in China before winter arrived. In bad years, it was necessary to sell off half a herd, sometimes even more, before winter set in. Spring was the critical season on the grassland, and everyone hoped that the spring snows would make up for some of the previous losses.

Chen Zhen and the other students, both from his and other units, went to the site of the slaughter along with the disaster inspection team sent by headquarters and the production brigade. On the way over, somber looks filled the faces of leaders of the revolutionary committee-Bao Shungui, the military representative, and Uljii, the pasture director- the herdsmen Batu and Laasurung, and all the other representatives of mass organizations; even brawny young herdsmen had been brought along to clean up the site. Chen’s heart sank when he reflected on the anger expressed by the military and local leaders at the knowledge that an entire herd of horses had been lost before they could join military service. Batu was on a new mount, his big black horse being treated by the veterinarian after sustaining debilitating injuries. The ointment covering his face could not conceal the disfigurement that was almost too terrible to look at. The skin on his nose and cheeks was black from frostbite and scarred with wrinkles from which pus oozed. Pink new skin forced to the surface created a startling contrast on his brown face. A big wooden shovel handle was stuck through his belt across his back as he rode along listlessly beside Bao Shungui.

Laasurung had found Batu behind an abandoned animal pen on the southern tip of the big lake after the blizzard had blown all night and half the next day. His horse, severely injured, could not move, and Batu was frozen half to death. Laasurung managed to get horse and rider back home. In order to describe to the investigation team exactly what had happened, Batu had to mount up and lead the way back to the site, however much pain it caused. The other two herdsmen, also badly frostbitten, had already been interrogated separately.

Chen Zhen rode along with Bilgee behind the main body. “Papa,” he said softly, “how will they punish Batu?”

The old man wiped the dew from his wispy goatee with his sleeve, a look of sympathy deep in his eyes. Without turning his head, he stared off at the distant mountains and said slowly, “Do you students think he should be punished?” He turned and added, “Headquarters and the military representative are interested in your opinions. That’s why they invited you along.”

“Batu is a good man. He nearly gave his life for those warhorses. He just ran out of luck. Personally, I think he’s a hero whether he succeeded in saving them or not. I lived in your house for a year, and everyone knows I consider Batu my big brother. But I can appreciate Bao Shungui’s stance, so my opinion probably doesn’t count. Besides, we students don’t agree among ourselves. So I think that you, as a representative of the poor herdsmen, a member of the revolutionary committee, and someone everyone listens to, ought to have the last word.”

“What do the other students say?” the old man asked, clearly concerned.

“Most of the ones in our unit have only good things to say about Batu. What happened this time, with a killer snow, a killer wind, and a killer wolf attack, could not have been averted by anyone, and they don’t think Batu should be punished for it. But there are some who say that the herdsmen may have used a natural disaster for evil purposes, an antimilitary, counterrevolutionary act, and that the backgrounds of all four need to be closely examined.”

Bilgee looked grim. He said nothing more.

After skirting the eastern edge of the lake, the party reached the spot where Batu had fired his rifle. Chen Zhen held his breath, preparing himself emotionally for what he was about to see.

There wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere; a foot of new snow had covered the bloody scene following that night of butchery. There were no horse heads poking up out of the lake, nothing but undulating snowbanks, between which the snow was especially deep. The snowdrifts spread out, carved by a nighttime of winds to cover the corpses of horses that ought to have been in full view. The people looked on silently, seated in their saddles, unwilling to pull back this blanket of snow. Everyone was trying to conjure up an image of what had occurred at that spot.

Bilgee broke the silence. “What a shame.” Pointing to the eastern edge of the lake with his herding club, he said, “See there, that’s how close they were to making it. It was no easy matter for Batu to drive his herd from the grassland to the north over to this spot, given the terrible winds and all those wolves. Even if he wasn’t afraid, the horse he was riding was. He stuck with his herd from start to finish, fighting the wolves all the way. He did what he was supposed to do.”

The old man found it easy to argue his son’s case.

Chen edged up next to Bao Shungui. “Batu fought the wolves all night to safeguard communal property,” he said, “and nearly died in the process. He should be commended to the authorities as a hero-”

Bao glared at Chen. “Hero, you say?” he roared. “A hero would have saved the herd.” He turned to Batu. “Why was the herd north of the lake that day? With all your experience tending horses, how could you not have known that the wind would drive them right into the lake? That’s what led to what happened here.”

Batu could not look Bao in the face. “It’s my fault,” he said, “all of it. If I’d driven the herd to the eastern pastureland before nightfall, none of this would have happened.”

Laasurung spurred his horse up to disagree. “Headquarters told us to graze the horses there, saying that’s the only place where there was plenty of autumn grass, and where new spring grass was already sprouting. We were told to make sure the militiamen who came to claim the horses were happy with their mounts. I recall that Batu stood up at the ‘grasp revolution, promote production’ meeting and said that grazing the horses at the northern tip of the lake was unsafe. And now that his prediction has come true, how can you pin the blame on him?”

Headquarters leaders looked on quietly, until Uljii cleared his throat and said, “What Laasurung says is right. That’s how it happened. Everyone wanted the horses to get big and strong so they could travel great distances and contribute more to strategic plans. Who could have predicted a white-hair blizzard? One from the north, mind you. And, of course, the wolf pack. If not for them, Batu would have driven the herd to safety, guaranteed. A killer wind, a killer snow, a killer wolf attack, a once-in-a-century chain of events, if that! I’m responsible for production, so if anyone is to blame, it’s me.”

Bao Shungui pointed his whip at Laasurung’s nose. “You’re not blameless in this,” he said. “Bilgee was right when he said they were close to reaching safety. If you three hadn’t fled the field of battle and had instead stayed with Batu to keep the herd moving, none of this would have happened. The only reason I haven’t sent you to be interrogated is that you rode out and saved Batu’s life.”

Bilgee reached out and lowered Bao’s whip with his herding club. “Representative Bao,” he said with a stern look, “as a Mongol from a farming region, you should at least be aware of our customs out here. You do not point a whip at people’s noses when you talk to them. That was a prerogative reserved to kings and pasture lords.”

Bao lowered his whip and shifted it to his left hand. He pointed first to Laasurung, then to Batu with his right index finger. “You!” he barked. “And you! Why aren’t you down there shoveling and sweeping snow? I want to see those remains. I want to see how big a wolf pack we’re talking about. Don’t try to pin the blame for what happened on the wolves. Chairman Mao tells us that man is the primary element!”

The men climbed down off their horses; picked up their spades, shovels, and brooms; and began clearing the graveyard. Bao Shungui rode around taking pictures with a Seagull brand camera as evidence and giving commands: “Sweep it clean, absolutely clean! Inspection teams from the prefecture and the banner will be here in a few days.”

Along with Uljii, Bilgee, Batu, and Laasurung, Chen Zhen walked toward several snowbanks in the middle of the lake, where the ice was hard and the snow crunched beneath their feet. “To determine how ferocious a pack it was, all we need to know is whether the horses buried out there were killed by the wolves,” Bilgee said.

“How come?” Chen asked.

“Think about it this way,” Uljii said. “The farther out you go, the greater the danger. The mud out there would be the last to freeze, and no wolf would risk the possibility of drowning. So if those horses were killed by wolves, that’ll tell us how ferocious a pack we’re dealing with.”

The old man turned to Batu. “Didn’t it help to fire your rifle?”

“No,” Batu said with a sad face. “I only had ten bullets, and they were gone in no time. The wind swallowed up the sound. But even if I’d scared them off, they’d have returned when I was out of ammunition. It was pitch-black, and my flashlight was dimming. I couldn’t see a thing.

“But I wasn’t thinking about that at the time.” Batu reached up and touched the frostbitten skin on his face. “The snow kept falling. I was afraid I’d shoot the horses. I was hoping the wind would die down and the lake wouldn’t freeze so that the wolves would stay back. That way some of the horses could have lived. I recall raising the angle of my rifle a foot or so.”

Bilgee and Uljii sighed heavily.

When they were standing in the middle of the lake, Batu hesitated before clearing the snow near the horses’ heads. The men sucked in their breath. Half of the exposed neck of a great white horse had been chewed off and the head had been pulled around until it was lying on the animal’s back. Its bulging eyes, frozen into nearly transparent black-ice eggs, were stamped with the despair and fear of the horse’s last moments, a terrifying sight. The snow beneath the head was stained red by frozen blood, so hard that the men’s tools couldn’t crack it. Without a word, the men shoveled and swept the snow away, exposing half of the carcass. To Chen it looked as if the horse’s abdomen had been torn open by an explosion, not by wolf fangs.

They stood around gaping at the sight. Chen’s hands and feet were cold as ice, the chill seeping deep into his bones.

Holding a spade in his hands, Bilgee looked thoughtful. “This may be the second or third largest wolf pack I’ve ever encountered,” he said. “I don’t have to see any more, since the innermost horse has been torn apart like this. Not a single horse escaped the carnage.”

Uljii, his face a study in dejection, sighed. “I rode this horse for two years,” he said. “Together we caught three wolves. It was one of our fastest horses. I never rode a better one, not even when I was suppressing bandits as company commander of a mounted unit. No horse thief could have devised the strategy or tactics this wolf pack employed. They took advantage of the wind and the lake, which makes you wonder just how smart we are. If I’d been a bit smarter, this horse would still be alive, and I have to accept some of the blame for what happened here. If only I’d been more forceful in my comments to old Bao that day.”

The greater half of the carnage site had been cleared. Carcasses lay all over the frozen lake, with its bloodred ice. Broken limbs were strewn everywhere, as on a battlefield after heavy bombardment. The two horse herders sat on their heels on the ice, cleaning the heads of their favorite horses with fur-lined sleeves and the hems of their deels, weeping nonstop. Every man in the party was stunned by the miserable scene. Chen Zhen and other students who had never witnessed the bloody results of battle or the aftermath of a wolf attack stared at each other, their faces turned ashen by visceral fright.

The old man’s displeasure was obvious. “You Chinese are poor horsemen. When the riding gets rough, you can’t even stay in the saddle.”

Not used to being reproached by Bilgee, Chen understood the implication in the old man’s comment. The wolf totem occupied a more unshakable place in his soul than a skillful rider on a Mongol horse. After thousands of years, during which unknown numbers of minor races had died out or were violently displaced, the grasslanders would never question their predatory totem, which would remain their sole icon even after killing seventy or eighty fine horses. Chen was reminded of the sayings “The Yellow River causes a hundred calamities but enriches all it touches”; “When the Yellow River overflows its banks, the people become fish and turtles”; “The Yellow River-our Mother River”; and “The Yellow River-cradle of the Chinese race.” The Chinese would never deny that the Yellow River was the cradle of the Chinese race or that it was crucial to the survival and development of their race even if it sometimes overflows its banks and swallows up acres of cropland and thousands of lives. The grasslanders’ wolf totem deserved to be revered in the same manner.

Bao Shungui, who had stopped shouting commands, rode around to get a fuller picture of the carnage. As Bao took photographs of the scene, Chen Zhen noticed his hands trembling violently; he was having trouble keeping his camera steady.

Bilgee and Uljii were shoveling snow in an area where several rendered carcasses lay, digging here and poking there, as if looking for evidence. Chen Zhen hurried over to give them a hand. “What are you looking for, Papa?” he asked.

“The path the wolves took,” the old man replied. “We need to proceed carefully.”

Chen bent over and, stepping carefully, helped them look. It didn’t take long. There on the ground they spotted a path where the snow was tightly packed atop the frozen mud. After it was swept clean of the powdery snow that had settled on it, they saw wolf prints as large as an ox hoof and as small as a large dog’s paw print. There were traces of blood in some of the heel marks.

Uljii and Bilgee called the others over to help clear the snow from the wolf path; according to Bilgee, what they learned from the path would bring them closer to the size of the pack. As the path was gradually revealed, they saw it was curved, not straight, and farther along they noted that it became a semicircle. It took more than an hour to clear away the entire length of the path, and to learn that it ran in a complete circle, a circle of ice and blood, of red-stained snow that was as thick as a fist; the black and red frozen mud and red ice was a terrifying sight, like a sort of demonic writing. Shocked to their core, the men shuddered as they discussed what they’d found.

“I’ve lived a long time, but I’ve never seen this many wolf prints in one place.”

“This wasn’t a wolf pack; it was a gang of fiends.”

“The numbers are scary.”

"Forty or fifty at least.”

Batu, you’ve got guts, going up against this pack. If it’d been me, I’d have been scared off my horse and straight into the bellies of those wolves.”

“It was dark that night, and snow was falling; I couldn’t see a thing. How was I to know how big the pack was?” Batu said.

“This will make things tough on our pastureland from now on.”

“The women won’t dare go out walking at night.”

“Damn those idiots at headquarters for pillaging the food the wolves had put away for the lean days of spring. That’s why they were on the trail of revenge. I’d have done the same thing if I’d been their alpha male. But I’d have gone after their pigs and chickens.”

“Headquarters can do something right for a change by organizing a wolf hunt. If we don’t kill them now, we’re next on their menu.”

“I vote for fewer meetings and more wolf hunts.”

“The way they gorged themselves this time, it looks like we might not have enough animals to satisfy their appetites.”

“People from farmlands have been shipped in as leaders of our pastureland, and everything they do is wrong. Tengger sent the wolves as a lesson to us.”

“Watch what you’re saying, or the next criticism session will be for you.”

Bao Shungui examined the path with Bilgee and Uljii, stopping to talk with the two local men as he took pictures. His face gradually relaxed, and Chen Zhen suspected that Bilgee had said some things relaxed, and Chen Zhen suspected that Bilgee had said some things to undermine his concept of "man as the primary element.” Was man able to successfully resist this killer wolf attack, this natural disaster? You can send all the inspection teams you want, but one look at the carnage here is enough to convince you that man was powerless to keep this from happening, especially when you factor in the blizzard. Chen’s concern for Uljii and Batu gradually lessened.

He turned to a closer scrutiny of the wolf path. The strange circular shape made his hair stand on end; it wrapped itself around his heart, as if a pack of wolf sprites were racing inside his chest, until he could hardly breathe. Why a circle? What were they trying to do? What was their goal? Grassland wolves were impossible to figure out. Every clue to their behavior presented a new puzzle.

Was it to keep out the cold? Did running somehow warm them?

Or was it to aid their digestion? Burning off excess energy might have increased their need for horseflesh. That too was possible. Unlike other grassland creatures, such as ground squirrels and golden prairie dogs, wolves do not store up food. What they can’t eat from a kill, they leave, so in order to get the most out of their kills, they gorge themselves until they can eat no more. Then they run to facilitate digestion and store up as much nutrition as possible, emptying their stomachs to go back and eat more.

Or was it a dress parade for future battles? Even that was possible. The tracks made it clear that the wolves were organized and highly disciplined. From end to end the path was a little more than a yard in width, and there were hardly any tracks outside it. If that wasn’t a march of troops in review, what was it? Chen was thinking. Wolves often fight alone, though they also hunt in small packs of three to five or do their plundering in families of eight to ten. What occurred here, with a small army of wolves, was rare. They had decided to organize themselves into a field army for mobile warfare. During the war years in China, the Eighth Route and New Fourth Armies underwent a large-scale makeover, a Herculean task. Did this sort of reorganization come naturally to wolves?

Then again, was it a victory celebration? Or signs of wild ecstasy preceding a grand feast? That was even more likely. In this murderous attack, they’d butchered every horse. Not one got away. Revenge. Slaking hatred. Total victory. An unburdening. How could they not celebrate the killing of so many horses? The level of excitement must have been fanatical as they surrounded the large cluster of trapped horses and performed their death dance.

Chen discovered that by considering wolves’ behavior from a human perspective, some of the puzzling behaviors could be reasoned out logically. Dogs display human characteristics, men display wolf characteristics, or vice versa. Heaven, earth, and man are a unity; it’s impossible to categorically separate men, dogs, and wolves. Otherwise, how does one explain the fact that there were so many overlapping latent human traces found at the site of this horrible carnage? When confronting one another, all humans turn into wolves as an article of faith.

As the line of men and horses followed Batu north away from the scene of the incident, Chen drew up next to Bilgee. “Papa,” he asked, “why did the wolves make that path?”

The old man looked around and reined in his horse so they could fall back behind the other members of the party. “I’ve lived more than sixty years on the Olonbulag,” he said softly, “and I’ve seen wolf circles like that a few times before. I asked that same question of my father once. He told me that Tengger sent wolves down to the grassland as protectors of the Bayan Uul sacred mountain and the Olonbulag. Tengger and the sacred mountain are angered anytime the grassland is endangered, and wolves are sent to kill and consume the offenders. Every time they receive this gift, they joyfully run circles around it until they’ve tramped out a path as round as the sun and the moon. That circular path is their acknowledgment to Tengger, a sort of thank-you note. Once the acknowledgment has been received, the feast begins. Wolves are known for baying at the moon, which is their call to Tengger. If a halo appears around the moon, a wind will blow that night and the wolves will be on the move. They are better climatologists than we are. They make circles to mirror those in the sky. In other words, they are in perfect sync with the heavens.”

Chen Zhen, a fan of popular legends, was delighted. “Fascinating,” he said, “utterly fascinating. The sun can be ringed by a halo, so can the moon, and when herdsmen signal to someone far off they make a circle in the air with their arm. The circle does seem to be a spiritual sign. What you’re telling me makes my hair stand on end. That the wolves out here are so mystical they make circles as signs to Tengger is downright creepy.”

“They are supernatural,” the old man said. “I’ve dealt with them all my life and I’ve always come out second best. But even I never anticipated something like this. Wolves appear when and where you least expect them, and often in overwhelming numbers. How can anyone think they could be so potent without the help of Tengger?”

The men up ahead stopped; some dismounted and began digging in the snow. Chen and Bilgee spurred their horses to catch up. There were more carcasses, but scattered helter-skelter in fours and fives. Suddenly, someone shouted, “Wolf! There’s a dead wolf here!”

“According to Batu, this must have been where the wolves made their suicidal attack on the horses’ bellies,” Chen surmised, “and where the tide of battle turned, the beginning of the end for the horses.” His heart began racing, faster and faster.

Bao Shungui waved his whip in the air and shouted from the saddle, “Don’t go running off. Come back here, all of you. Dig up a couple of these horses. Horses first, wolves last.”

They all gathered around and began digging.

As the animals came into view, it was obvious they’d trampled and ripped their own internal organs with their hind legs, spreading them over a great distance. It was also clear that the wolves had left them alone after they’d died. By then they’d probably joined the slaughter on the lake. These latest horses had been given a reprieve of sorts. But to Chen Zhen, who dug along with the others, these horses had died more tragically than those on the lake, their deaths an affront to all. The agony and fear frozen in their dead eyes was more conspicuous than in those of the lake dead.

“These wolves were crueler even than the Japanese devils,” Bao Shungui shouted in anger. “They knew that all they had to do was rip open the bellies and let the horses die under their own hooves. I’ve never seen anything more sinister, more savage in my life. Those wolves embody the spirit of Japanese samurai. Suicidal attacks don’t faze them, and that makes Mongol wolves more fearful than any others. I won’t rest till I kill every last one of them!”

“If a man or a race lacks the death-before-surrender spirit, a willingness to die along with the enemy, then slavery is the inevitable result,” Chen said. “Whoever takes the suicidal spirit of wolves as a model is destined for heroism, and will be eulogized with songs and tears. Learning the wrong lesson leads to samurai fascism, but anyone who lacks the death-before-surrender spirit will always succumb to samurai fascism.”

Bao Shungui held his breath for a moment. “You’ve got a point,” he said.

Uljii, looking grave, said to Bao, “How could Batu and the others have beaten off a diabolical, suicidal attack like this? He fought them from the grazing land up north all the way here. I don’t know how he did it. He survived thanks to the protection of Tengger. Have the inspection teams see this, and I’m sure they’ll reach the right conclusion.”

Bao Shungui nodded his agreement. He turned to Batu. “Weren’t you afraid the wolves would do this to your horse?” he asked in a conciliatory tone.

“I was so fixated on trying to get the herd past the lake, I didn’t have time to think about anything else,” he replied naively. “We came so close.”

“Didn’t the wolves come at you?” Bao asked.

Batu lifted up his herding club, with its iron rings, and showed it to Bao. “I knocked out the fangs of one wolf with this,” he said, “and broke the nose of another. They’d both have gotten me if I hadn’t. Since they didn’t have one of these, Laasurung and the others had no way to protect themselves. They didn’t desert me.”

Bao took the herding club from him and felt its heft. “A good club!” he exclaimed. “A very good club! It takes real ferocity to knock out a wolf’s fangs with this. Good! The fiercer the better, where wolves are concerned. Batu, you’ve got guts, and you know how to fight. When they send the inspection team, I want you to tell them how you fought the wolves, tell them the whole story.”

Bao handed back the herding club and turned to Uljii. “These wolves of yours are supernatural,” he said. “Smarter than humans. I see how they did it. They had a clear goal in mind, to drive the horses into the lake at any cost. Look…” He began counting on his fingers. “Here’s some of what the wolves knew: weather, topography, opportunity, their and their enemy’s strengths, military strategy and tactics, close fighting, night fighting, guerrilla fighting, mobile fighting, long-range raids, ambushes, lightning raids, and concentrating their strength to annihilate the enemy. They made plans, they set goals, and they undertook a measured campaign of total annihilation. It was a textbook battle plan. You and I are military men, and in my view, except for positional and trench warfare, they were as conversant with guerrilla tactics as our Eighth Route Army. I used to think that wolves were foolhardy fighters that went after an occasional sheep or chicken. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“I haven’t felt far from a battlefield since the first day I was sent to work here,” Uljii said. “I fight wolves year-round. I take my rifle with me wherever I go, and I’ve become a better marksman than when I was a soldier. You’re right, the wolves know military strategy and tactics, at least the most important elements. After fighting them for more than a decade, I’ve learned a lot. If I was ordered out on another bandit annihilation campaign, I’d be one of the best.”

“Are you saying that men have learned how to wage war from wolves?” Chen Zhen asked, his interest growing.

Uljii’s eyes lit up. “Yes. Much of what we know about waging war we learned from wolves. In ancient days here on the grassland, the herdsmen fought farming people from down south using tactics they’d learned from wolves. You Chinese learned more from nomadic peoples than how to dress in short clothing, or how to use a bow and arrow on horseback, what you call ‘barbarian attire and horse archery.’ You also learned a lot about warfare. When I was studying livestock farming in Hohhot, I read books on warfare, and in my view there’s little difference between the arts of warfare described by Sun-tzu and those employed by wolves.”

“But there’s no mention of the grassland people or wolves in Chinese books on war,” Chen Zhen said. “That isn’t fair.”

“We Mongols suffer from cultural backwardness,” Uljii replied. “The only book of any value we’ve introduced to the world is The Secret History of the Mongols.”

“Apparently,” Bao said to Uljii, “when you’re engaged in livestock farming out here you need to study wolves and how to wage war. If you don’t, you suffer. It’s getting late. What do you say we go take a look at that dead wolf? I need some more pictures.”

After the two leaders rode off, Chen Zhen leaned on his shovel and stared into space. The battle-site investigation had increased his fascination with the people of the grassland and the military miracles performed by Genghis Khan. How could he and his progeny have swept across Asia and Europe with fewer than a hundred thousand fighters? They exterminated hordes of Western Xia’s armored cavalry, a million troops of the Great Jin, a million waterborne and mounted forces of the Southern Song, the Russian Kipchaks, and the Teutons of Rome. They occupied Central Asia, Hungary, Poland, and all of Russia; they attacked such large civilized nations as Persia, Iran, China, and India. Beyond that, borrowing the Chinese policy of marrying their daughters to minority nationalities, they forced the emperor of Eastern Rome to give the hand of Princess Maria to the great-grandson of Genghis Khan. The Mongols founded the largest empire in the history of the world. How could a nomadic, uncivilized, backward race of people with no writing system, one that used arrows tipped with bone, not steel, be in possession of such advanced military capabilities and wisdom? That was one of the great unanswered questions of history.

Chen’s experience with wolves during his two years on the grassland and the countless tales he’d collected, plus the brilliant annihilation of the gazelle herd he’d witnessed and the classic example of warfare against the herd of horses, had pretty much convinced him that the answer to the military marvels of Genghis Khan lay with the wolves.

On the grassland there are no tigers or leopards or jackals or bears or lions or elephants, Chen Zhen was thinking. They could not survive the brutal climate; but even if they could, they could not adapt to the cruel wars of survival, and would not be able to withstand assaults by grassland wolves and grassland humans, finalists in the heated competition for grassland primacy. Wolves are the only match for humans in the struggle for survival. Although there are wolves nearly everywhere on earth, they are concentrated on the Mongolian grassland, where there are no moats or ramparts, common to advanced agrarian societies, or great walls and ancient fortresses; it is the spot on earth where the longest-lasting struggle between wise and brave combatants-men and wolves-has taken place.

Chen felt himself to be standing at the mouth of a tunnel to five thousand years of Chinese history. Every day and every night, he thought, men have fought wolves on the Mongolian plateau, a minor skirmish here, a pitched battle there. The frequency of these clashes has even surpassed the frequency of battles among all the nomadic peoples of the West outside of wolf and man, plus the cruel, protracted wars between nomadic tribes, conflicts between nationalities, and wars of aggression; it is that frequency that has strengthened and advanced the mastery of the combatants in these battles. The grassland people are better and more knowledgeable fighters than any farming race of people or nomadic tribe in the world. In the history of China-from the Zhou dynasty, through the Warring States, and on to the Qin, Han, Tang, and Song dynasties-all those great agrarian societies, with their large populations and superior strength, were often crushed in combat with minor nomadic tribes, suffering catastrophic and humiliating defeat. At the end of the Song dynasty, the Mongol hordes of Genghis Khan invaded the Central Plains and remained in power for nearly a century. China’s last feudal dynasty, the Qing, was itself founded by nomads. The Han race, with its ties to the land, has gone without the superior military teachings of a wolf drillmaster and has been deprived of constant rigorous training exercises. The ancient Chinese had their Sun-tzu and his military treatise, but that was on paper. Besides, even they were based in part on the lupine arts of war.

Millions of Chinese died at the hands of invasions by peoples of the North over thousands of years, and Chen felt as if he’d found the source of that sad history. Relationships among the creatures on earth have dictated the course of history and of fate, he thought. The military talents of a people in protecting their homes and their nation are essential to their founding and their survival. If there had been no wolves on the Mongolian grassland, would China and the world be different than they are today?

Suddenly, everyone was running and shouting, startling Chen out of his thoughts. He jumped into the saddle and followed the crowd.

Two dead wolves had been excavated, part of the cost of driving the horses onto the lake. Chen went up near one of them as Batu and Laasurung swept snow off one of the carcasses and described the suicidal belly-ripping battle. The wolf was slimmer than most, a female. The rear half of her body had been battered bloody by horse hooves, but her teats were still visible.

“What a shame,” Bilgee said. “Her cubs were stolen from their den, that’s for sure. She and the other mothers who had lost their offspring called this pack together to get their revenge. For her, there was no reason to go on living. On the grassland it’s not a good idea to overdo anything. A cornered rabbit will try to bite a wolf, so how could a frantic female wolf not fight to the death?”

Chen turned to some of the students. “History books tell us that wolves have strong maternal instincts,” he said. “There are recorded instances of wolves raising human children. The ancestors of the Huns, the Gaoju, and the Turks were wolf children, all raised by wolf mothers.”

“What’s all this nonsense about wolf children?” Bao Shungui interrupted. “Wolves kill and eat humans; they don’t raise them as their own. For people and wolves, it’s a life-or-death relationship-you or me. I’m the one who ordered people out to snatch the wolf cubs. In years past, it was an annual hunt that kept tragic encounters with wolves at a minimum, a fine tradition. But keeping them at a minimum isn’t enough; we need to wipe them off the face of the earth! Let them get their revenge? We’ll see how they do after I’ve killed them all! I’m not going to rescind my order. Once this business is cleared up, I’m sending the people out again. Every two families will be responsible for one wolf-cub pelt, and if they can’t manage that, they can substitute an adult pelt. Otherwise I’ll deduct work points!”

Bao took a picture of the dead wolf, then had the carcass loaded onto a cart.

The men then moved to the second wolf. In his two years on the grassland, Chen had seen lots of wolves, alive and dead, and plenty of wolf pelts, but nothing like the animal that lay at his feet. Its head was nearly as big as a leopard’s, its chest even broader. Once the snow had been swept away and its grayish yellow fur fully exposed, Chen noticed countless thick, black, needle-like hairs poking up through the yellow fur on the neck and down its back. The rear half of the torso had been kicked bloody by horse hooves, leaving a puddle of red ice on the ground.

Batu pushed the frozen animal, but did not succeed in moving it. “This one wasn’t as smart as the others,” he said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It didn’t get a good bite on its target. If it had, big as this head is, it would easily have ripped open a horse’s belly and then tumbled to the ground and gotten away without injury. It might have inadvertently clamped onto a bone. Served it right!”

Bilgee squatted down and studied the animal, pulling back the fur on its neck to reveal a pair of bloody holes as thick as two fingers. The students were astounded. They’d seen holes like that before, on the necks of the sheep taken down by wolves, two on each side, the marks of four wolf fangs across the carotid arteries.

“This wolf didn’t die from being kicked by a horse,” Bilgee said. “Mortally wounded, maybe, but it was killed by another wolf after it had eaten its fill of horseflesh.”

“Wolves are worse than outlaws!” Bao Shungui cursed. “They even kill their own wounded!”

Bilgee glared at Bao. “Dead outlaws don’t go up to heaven. Dead wolves do. This wolf was mortally wounded by a horse. It didn’t die right away, but it had no chance of living. What’s better, hanging on and suffering, or dying? A live wolf suffers from seeing one of its own like this, so it puts it out of its misery, releasing its soul to Tengger. That’s an act of mercy, not cruelty, and a means of keeping the dying animal out of human hands and certain humiliating treatment. Wolves are unyielding creatures. They’d rather die than suffer humiliation. And an alpha male won’t let that happen to a member of his pack. You come from a farming community. How many of you would choose death over indignity? Old-timers out here tear up when they ponder this aspect of the wolf’s nature.”

Seeing a look of displeasure on Bao’s face, Uljii said, “Have you ever wondered why these wolves are such excellent fighters? One important factor is that the alpha male won’t hesitate to kill one of his wounded comrades, lightening the burden on the pack and ensuring the continued effectiveness of all the troops. If you understand this trait, you’ll do a better job of evaluating the situation in a fight with wolves.”

Bao nodded. “You may be right,” he said. “Wounded troops require stretcher bearers, medics, guards, nurses, and doctors. And you need ambulances and aid stations. I was a rear echelon soldier for many years, and we calculated that a single wounded soldier required the services of at least a dozen people. During wartime, this support staff affects combat effectiveness. Seen in that light, wolves are more flexible. But many wounded soldiers are courageous fighters, and when their wounds have healed, they’re often the backbone of their unit. Won’t killing your wounded hurt your combat effectiveness?”

Uljii sighed. “Of course there are explanations for this behavior. To begin with, wolves have a high birthrate. A female wolf can produce seven or eight, sometimes a dozen or more, cubs in one litter. And the survival rate is high. One autumn I saw a female with eleven youngsters, born that spring. They were nearly as big as their mother and could run as fast. The females among them would begin having their own young in a couple of years. Cows are born at the rate of five every three years. How many female wolves do you think are born in that same period? A whole squad of them. And wolves are combat ready when they’re a year old. By the second spring, they’re mature, fully competent animals. A dog at one year can hunt rabbits, a wolf at that age can hunt sheep, and a one-year-old child is still in diapers. Humans are outmatched. With all those troops at their disposal, of course they kill their wounded. As I see it, wolves kill their own because it’s a natural form of population control. Culling troops ensures that the pack will include only crack fighters. That, in essence, is how they’ve maintained their grassland dominance for centuries.”

Bao Shungui’s knitted brow relaxed. “Thanks to this inspection tour,” he said, “I can see that the wolves are formidable opponents. Weather predictions help us withstand the ravages of weather, but predictions are useless where wolves are concerned. Those of us who come from farming communities have no idea what they’re capable of. This incident was indeed beyond human control. The inspection teams will understand.”

“To get a clear picture, they’ll need to know everything,” Uljii said.

“But that doesn’t alter the fact that we’re going to have wolf hunts. If not, our pasture will quickly become their canteen. I’ll request a supply of ammunition from headquarters.”

Off to the side, some of the students were having a heated discussion. A Team Three middle school student, a minor Red Guard leader of the Beijing Dongjiu faction named Li Hongwei, said emotionally, “Wolves are the true class enemies. Reactionaries throughout the world are all ambitious wolves. Wolves are cruel. Putting aside their slaughter of people’s property-our horses, cows, and sheep-they even slaughter their own. We need to organize the masses to hunt them down and apply the proletarian dictatorship against all wolves. We must resolutely and thoroughly wipe them off the face of the earth! We must also subject all old ideas, customs, and habits-such as sympathy for wolves, appeasement of wolves, and feeding wolves with the corpses of our dead-to severe criticism.”

Certain that the fellow was about to point the finger of accusation at Bilgee, Chen cut in before he could finish: “That’s taking things a bit far, isn’t it? Class distinctions apply to two-legged animals. If you insist on bringing wolves into the class system, then what are you, man or wolf? Aren’t you afraid of including our great proletarian leaders in the same category as wolves? When men kill other men, isn’t that slaughtering your own kind? Men kill other men far more often than wolves kill other wolves. World War I, World War II, the dead numbering in the tens of millions. The habit of creatures killing their own kind began with Peking Man. Viewed from the perspective of natural instincts, man is crueler than the wolf. I advise you to catch up with your reading.”

The Red Guard angrily pointed his whip at Chen and said, “You think you’re so clever just because you finished high school! Those books you read, filled with capitalist, feudal, revisionist garbage. Nothing but poisonous weeds! You’re like that dog-father of yours. At school you kept to yourself, a member of the leisure class, but out here in the most primitive, backward spot in the world, you’re like a fish in water. You fit right in with the stinking Four Olds!”

Feeling the blood rush to his head, Chen wanted to run over and, like a wolf, sink his teeth into the Red Guard and drag him down off his horse. But, reminded of the wolves’ unswerving patience, he merely glared at the man, slapped the sides of his boots loudly, turned, and rode off.

Dusk was setting in, and the students, who had grown accustomed to meat and tea in the morning and a full meal in the evening, were half starved and shivering in the cold. The leaders of the headquarters inspection team and most of the militiamen and students had fallen in behind the cart with the dead wolves to head back to camp. Chen Zhen, Batu, and Laasurung went searching for Batu’s treasured lasso pole, at the same time looking for more wolves that had been killed or wounded by flying horse hooves.