"Gan Luo, Gan Luo!" a young boy ran and shouted under the sunlight.

"Woo woo, woo woo! Awooo—" The little wolf stretched out its four legs, its silvery-gray soft fur fluttering in the twilight.

Note from the author: Lone cub. Wolves usually give birth to multiple pups at a time, most of which die young, thus ensuring the survival of the species. Therefore, a single-born wolf cub is seen as a monster that cannot survive. Please support this new book—it's not easy to start fresh.

Volume One: Song of the Frontier

Chapter One: Flourishing Age (Part Six)

The day of departure drew closer and closer, and the people of The Thompson Family gradually became busier. The big blue-and-white mule that David Thompson usually rode to school was slow and only good for carrying goods, not for riding. So Charles Thompson specially picked the strongest of the three skinny Turkic horses he had brought back to fatten and sell, fitted it with a new bit and saddle, and prepared it as a mount for his son.

Uncle Michael Bolton handed over all the money he had earned from selling furs that day to The Thompson Family, using the excuse of helping his nephew with travel expenses. Mrs. Thompson-Bolton tried to refuse, but Michael Bolton only agreed to take thirty coins as a runner’s fee for his wife, and forced the rest into Mrs. Thompson-Bolton's hands. "Better to be poor at home and rich on the road. No matter how hard things are, we won’t go hungry. With more money on him, Officer David will have more courage when he's out in the world!"

"Alright then, when our Officer David makes money, let him buy you some wine!" Mrs. Thompson-Bolton took the sweat-stained pouch, forcing a smile as she spoke. As soon as she turned away, she immediately rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

"What are you doing? It's a good thing that he can go out and help the family. Do you think you can keep him under your wing forever?" Michael Bolton couldn't bear to see his sister upset and comforted her in a low voice. He was also very disappointed to hear that his nephew was quitting school, and wished he could go and have it out with Charles Thompson to make him give up this short-sighted idea. But his wife said: No parent would ever harm their own child; if his brother-in-law arranged things this way, he must have his reasons or be forced by circumstances. So Michael Bolton could only put on a cheerful face to offer congratulations, and see if his brother-in-law needed any urgent help.

"His essays are good, and his handwriting is neat. When the old master was alive, he used to say Davey was the lucky weed growing on The Thompson Family's ancestral grave..." Mrs. Thompson-Bolton said softly, wiping away her tears. Having ruined her son's future, as a mother, she could never be at ease. (Note 1)

"Ah! Everyone has their own fate. A moment of darkness—who can say what the future holds? Officer David was born with good fortune, don’t worry, he’ll have his chance to shine!" Michael Bolton pretended to be full of confidence, explaining with a mysterious air.

Mrs. Thompson-Bolton fell silent. When a son is about to leave, it’s taboo to say anything inauspicious. She knew her brother was only trying to comfort her, but could only take his words as hope. Besides, her son was still young—who knew if there might be a better future waiting for him!

Thinking this, she felt a little relieved. She gathered all the money she could scrape together, strung it into small bundles of a hundred coins each, and packed them into the luggage, along with food, thick clothes, and jackets, making a pile. Fearing that someone might get greedy if they saw the money on the road, she even sewed a rough burlap sack over the coin pouch, making it look filthy, as if it only held junk.

When evening came and Charles Thompson returned home, the couple once again sat under the lamp and checked everything over. Winter clothes for the cold, silk garments for the heat—they reminded each other, and the more they packed, the more there was. Only when David Thompson protested that if he took everything, it would crush two mules, did the couple exchange wry smiles and try to help their son lighten his load.

"That Sun fellow is the ninth in his family, and the easiest to get along with. I’ve worked with him over a dozen times—we’re old friends. If you run into any trouble on the road, just tell him. Call him Uncle George, and he’ll look after you!" Charles Thompson suddenly became as nagging as a woman, repeating his instructions over and over. With his left hand, he took out a packet of dried fruit from the luggage, and with his right, stuffed in an even bigger packet of cured meat.

"Okay, Dad, don’t worry, I got it!" David Thompson replied half-heartedly, half-believing his father’s words. If George Clark was really such a close friend, how come he’d never come to their house for a drink all these years? If it was just a business relationship, asking for help would probably be pointless. Everyone said that in business, money comes before friends. Traveling together was just for convenience—once outside the frontier, he’d have to rely on himself.

"It gets cold early over there, so I lined your jacket with silk floss. Remember to change into it—don’t try to tough it out. If your legs get chilled, you’ll suffer for life!" Mrs. Thompson-Bolton shook out a thick new coat, rolled it up tightly, hoping to make it smaller. Old Charles Thompson watched, tired, and reached over to help. The couple worked hard to compress the clothing bundle to a third of its original size. After thinking for a moment, they took out a sheepskin coat commonly worn by the Khitans and draped it over the bundle.

"I know, don’t pack that sheepskin coat—the smell is too strong, it’s disgusting!" David Thompson ran over, laughing and pleading. "I’ll remember to change into my winter clothes, just leave out the sheepskin. Otherwise, people will think I’m a barbarian! Besides, that thing weighs at least twenty pounds—it’ll flatten the horse!"

"You’re clever, aren’t you!" Mrs. Thompson-Bolton tapped her son’s forehead hard. "Over there, water freezes as soon as it drips. If your ears freeze off, you’ll regret it!"

"Hey, I’m a grown man now!" David Thompson replied, smart and confident.

His parents said nothing more, continuing to try to make the bundle look smaller. Under the dim oil lamp, Mrs. Thompson-Bolton shook out all the clothes, new and old, and sewed every seam along the original lines, stitch by stitch. Old Charles Thompson hunched his back, checking the valuables over and over, afraid of leaving anything out that might cause his son hardship on the road.