Chapter Fifteen: Bear Hunt (Part Two)

As the brown bear fled, it left a trail of blood along its path. With just that one shot, Qin Fei knew he couldn’t possibly kill the bear; its escape, wounded as it was, was the best result he could hope for.

Once he was sure the bear had disappeared into the distance, Qin Fei leapt from the birch tree branch to the ground. Swiftly, he pulled out his handmade axe and began chopping at the young birch saplings near the cave entrance.

He worked quickly, anxiety pressing him on. The bear could return at any moment—and a wounded bear, its aggression heightened by pain, would be all the more dangerous. If he were to encounter it head-on, he’d be lucky to survive a single blow.

As he chopped, Qin Fei kept glancing up, ever vigilant. Risking his life, he spent nearly ten minutes before finally felling all five saplings—enough for his needs. Some lingzhi mushrooms still clung to the stumps at the cave’s mouth, but Qin Fei was too terrified to linger. He stuffed the saplings into his backpack and jogged along the river by Bear Creek Cave until he reached the mountain road.

He spared not a thought for the remaining mushrooms. The bear’s speed was formidable, and now, injured and enraged, it was unpredictable; it could charge him at any moment.

Not until he returned to the fishing camp did Qin Fei’s heart settle. Now he had all the materials needed to craft arrows and fletching—the birch saplings for shafts, and crow feathers for the tails. All that remained was to let the birch branches dry naturally before he could begin making his bow and arrows.

Yet Qin Fei was impatient. Instead of waiting, he built a fire outside and laid the saplings nearby, using the heat to speed up the drying process. He was careful to keep the birch at a safe distance, wary of the flames.

A sudden crack startled him. One of the birch saplings had split from the heat. Artificial drying was no good—it would only ruin the wood.

Immediately, Qin Fei pulled the remaining saplings away from the fire. He had started with five, but now, in his haste, one was lost to the flames, leaving him with only four. Clearly, he’d have to let the saplings dry out naturally, however long it took.

Though he couldn’t yet make the arrow shafts, the wolf and deer hides inside the cabin had long since dried. Qin Fei decided he could use the time to sew some fur clothing. Since the garments were for his own use and the harsh polar climate offered some protection, he didn’t bother to dehair or tan the pelts—he didn’t know how, in any case.

Counting the pelt he’d found at the mysterious lake, he now had three in all. With these and the scraps of cloth he’d collected, he could easily sew himself a fur garment.

His down jacket was warm enough for his torso, but his pants, scavenged from the camp office at the lake, were made of thick nylon and offered little protection against the cold. So Qin Fei resolved to make himself a pair of fur trousers.

There was no sewing machine here, of course—just two sewing kits in his backpack. Hand-sewing the trousers would take days.

For the next two days, Qin Fei barely left the cabin, save for the occasional breath of fresh air. By the third morning, the fur trousers were nearly finished.

Suddenly, there was a thudding at the door of the neighboring cabin.

Qin Fei paused. If it were a person, they would have knocked. This was more of a battering—likely a wild animal. Wolves? The thought sent a chill through him.

He peered out the window and saw a brown bear clawing at the door—its head still bearing the unhealed wound. It was the same bear he’d shot days before.

He stared in shock for two seconds before the bear noticed him and their eyes met.

Qin Fei ducked back inside, quickly locking the wooden door behind him, his breath held in terror. How had the bear come right to his doorstep? Hunger, no doubt.

With snow blanketing the polar wilderness and its head wound still raw, the bear needed to eat more to heal. That desperation must have driven it to the human settlement, despite the risks.

After Qin Fei withdrew from sight, the bear let out a howl before shuffling over to his door, raking at it with its claws. The force of its blows made the entire door tremble; even standing behind it, Qin Fei could feel the vibrations.

Even if the bear broke the door, he wasn’t too worried—the bear was too big to squeeze through. But he couldn’t let it keep battering the door. If the door gave way, the cabin would be useless—uninhabitable and unable to store food.

Qin Fei retrieved his newly crafted wooden bow and a bundle of sapling branches to use as arrows. Drawing the bow to its full length, he aimed at the bear’s head and fired.

The saplings, without feathers for fletching, spiraled unpredictably through the air, slapping against the bear’s skull. The impact stung, but did no real harm.

The bear, yelping in protest, gave him a wounded look before lumbering off to the neighboring cabin and continuing its assault there.

Now, with the bear out of sight, Qin Fei’s arrows couldn’t reach it through the window—unless he went outside, which was out of the question. The bear, though it looked ponderous, could move with surprising speed. If he made one misstep, he’d never get up again.

He could only stay inside and listen as the bear wore itself out on the neighbor’s door. In that cabin, Qin Fei had stored his precious jerky; no doubt the bear had caught the scent of meat and was drawn by hunger to this place.