This wolf was truly enormous, its fur a pure, glossy black, sleek and shiny. Its ears were long and pointed, and its large eyes gleamed with a fierce light. In its gaping mouth, sharp fangs interlaced, leaving no doubt that if it bit down, it could snap a neck in an instant.

The black wolf was in hot pursuit, while the white fox, terrified and desperate, ran straight toward Jason Brooks, not caring where it went. Its eyes brimmed with tears, shimmering with a watery light, and when it looked at Jason Brooks, it seemed to be pleading for his help.

Jason Brooks felt a sudden stir of compassion. He quickly bent down, picked up a stone, and hurled it hard at the black wolf.

Awooo!

The black wolf was extremely agile, dodging to the side. But the interruption made it hesitate to charge forward recklessly. It stood its ground, growling deep in its throat, glaring fiercely at Jason Brooks, who was blocking its path.

Being stared down by this beast made Jason Brooks uneasy. Only now did he remember that he was just a frail scholar, with no strength to even truss a chicken. If he tried to fight the black wolf hand-to-hand, it would surely end badly for him. His little donkey, terrified by the wolf’s howl, had already bolted, breaking free of its reins and fleeing.

A weapon, I need a weapon...

Thinking this, Jason Brooks hurriedly looked around, hoping to find a stick or something similar on the ground. But aside from fallen leaves everywhere, he found nothing. In his panic, he couldn’t even find a second stone heavy enough to throw.

How miserable!

He cursed his luck inwardly, then suddenly remembered something. He reached into the bookcase slung over his back and pulled out a pen case.

The pen case was only about a foot long, made of ordinary wood, rather rough, and looked more like a short stick. But the brush inside was no ordinary item—it was a product from Earth, brought along with the soul of a modern university student through time and space, unique and tested by the ages.

—In fact, it was only after he had accidentally come into contact with this antique brush, called “Bixie,” in a museum that the strange time-travel incident occurred. It was said to have belonged to the legendary “ghost-catching master” Zhong Kui, and was shrouded in myth. Of course, no one knew if that was true.

Once the time travel became reality, Jason Brooks had spent time repeatedly studying the Bixie brush, trying to uncover its mysteries, but found nothing in the end. Disappointed, he simply put it in a pen case, kept it in his bookcase, and carried it with him.

Now, with a fierce wolf before him and no weapon at hand, Jason Brooks had no choice but to use the pen case as a weapon, hoping for the best. Whether it would work or not, he had no time to consider.

Awooo!

Suddenly, the black wolf let out an angry roar and began to advance.

Jason Brooks swallowed hard and retreated step by step, considering whether he should run and shout for help at the same time, when suddenly, several urgent dog barks came from the other side.

At the sound of barking, the black wolf grew visibly uneasy, its huge head darting left and right. At last, it made up its mind, shot Jason Brooks one last vicious glare, then turned and dashed back into the forest.

It wasn’t long before two agile hunting dogs burst out from the woods on the left, followed by an old hunter, well past sixty, with a goatee. He wore a short knife at his waist, a hunting bow slung over his back, and two sturdy ropes draped over his shoulder. The ropes were tied with rabbits, roe deer, and other game.

Jason Brooks breathed a sigh of relief—“lucky!”—and noticed that the little white fox had slipped away at some point, which was only natural.

“Uncle Bolton, you had a good haul today.”

He recognized the old hunter, named Sam Bolton, who was one of his neighbors.

“Oh, it’s Mr. Brooks! Forgive my rudeness, are you here for a walk in the mountains?”

In the Tiantong Dynasty, although scholars were only the lowest rank among the gentry, they still held official titles and enjoyed a certain degree of respect, their status above that of ordinary commoners. Jason Brooks was known for his intelligence, having placed first in all three rounds of the child scholar exam, and his reputation had long spread. With such a promising future, Sam Bolton naturally dared not be disrespectful.

“Yes, but just now a wolf suddenly appeared in the woods and gave me quite a scare.”

Jason Brooks didn’t mention the white fox, but he did harbor some resentment toward the wolf, and now was a good time to bring it up so Sam Bolton could hunt it.

Sam Bolton’s eyes lit up and he cautioned, “Mr. Bolton, if you’re hiking, you should stay on the front side of the mountain. There are many wild animals on the back side, and it could be dangerous for you to be alone.”

“Thank you for the warning, Uncle. I’ll head out right away.”

Jason Brooks wasn’t a fool—how could he still be in the mood for sightseeing after all that? Going home for a meal was the wise choice.

Meanwhile, Sam Bolton was already calling to his hunting dogs, following the scent trail deeper into the forest. His two dogs were experienced; as long as there was any trace on the ground, they could sniff it out. Barking as they went, they gradually disappeared into the distance.

Jason Brooks had no interest in whether his neighbor’s hunt would be successful. He turned to head down the mountain, but had only taken a few steps when he heard a “chirp-chirp” behind him. Turning around, he saw—it was that little white fox again!