A ragged old man squatted on a birch stump in front of a dilapidated house, took a sip of homemade liquor, puffed on a harsh green toad pipe, squinted his eyes, and gazed at the setting sun about to sink behind the Changbai Mountains. He said to a child, about six or seven years old, who was playing with a black and a white mutt by his side, “Jason, the animal that the Siberian tiger fears most isn’t the thick-skinned black bear, nor the 600-jin wild boar king, but the mountain-guarding dog that’s gone up the mountain.”

　　Many years later, the old man lay in an inconspicuous grave mound. The child who hadn’t frozen to death in a blizzard, nor died from the villagers’ scornful looks in Zhangjia Village, finally walked out of the mountains and came to the city. Like a mad dog let loose from the wild, he bit, he knelt, he bowed his head—so he found glory.

　　His grandfather was like an old turtle, dying nameless. His brother was like a hungry eagle, fighting in the north. His father was like a lean tiger, facing east toward Jieshi.

　　Could he, nicknamed Brian Brooks, carve out a life of glory?

　　Volume One: Outlaws from the Harsh Mountains

　　Chapter One: Ergou

　　At the far edge of the virgin forests of the Lesser Khingan and Wanda Mountains, a place rarely visited by travelers, a convoy rolled through today with an air of swagger. Five off-road vehicles, exuding a sense of reckless abandon: two Shanghai-plated Hummers, a JEEP Wrangler, a Dongfeng Warrior, and finally, a Beijing 212 that should have been discontinued long ago. It was clear these “adventurers” who’d come all the way to the northeast border were quite well-off.

　　Though the road was rough, at least it wasn’t snowing. The convoy finally stopped at a village destined never to appear on any map, about sixty or seventy households in size. From the lead Dongfeng Warrior stepped a burly young man. At first glance, he looked like the brawny-but-dim type, but anyone who understood the meaning of that “Shen K3” license plate might realize this seemingly shallow guy wasn’t as simple as he appeared. In the passenger seat sat a girl with a tired face, only her face visible, but enough to make her the dream of men everywhere. Unfortunately, her heavy makeup gave her a slightly gaudy air, branding her as flirtatious.

　　From the Hummers and Wrangler stepped three young men, clearly southerners, all of average build and dressed in standard off-road gear. The occasional glimpse of a watch or phone was enough to make one gasp. These young men, driving luxury off-roaders across China, might not all be rich heirs, but they were certainly not poor.

　　From the Beijing Jeep 212 jumped a woman, wearing a baseball cap that covered half her face, plus a pair of heavy black-rimmed glasses. She held a camera, and her thick camouflage jacket deliberately hid her figure. Behind her followed a man of about thirty, with a clean buzz cut, masculine and fit, so quiet he seemed wooden, silently trailing her to the edge of the village as she raised her camera to photograph a slogan on a wall.

　　“Eric Young, who exactly is she?” asked the southern youth who drove the Wrangler, curious. There were only two women in the convoy, and one was already taken. This young man, used to having beauties warm his bed every night back home, naturally turned his attention to the woman who’d been busy taking photos the whole trip. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone here had a complicated background, he’d have already made a move.

　　“Honestly, I’m not too sure. She just got involved somehow. She doesn’t seem like a troublemaker, so I didn’t bother to look into it. Ethan, if you’re really interested in her, I can help you check her background. Our circle is both big and small, you know.”

　　The tall young man, hands on hips, squinted as he admired the village scenery and smiled, but didn’t turn to look at his companion. That smile suddenly gave depth to his otherwise shallow face. “And don’t call me Eric Young, or ‘young master’ or anything like that. That’s not how we do things here. I don’t know about your side, but I’m not used to it. Besides, I’m just a low-level civil servant biding my time in the local garrison, hardly worthy of the title. It sounds like you’re mocking me, so just call me by my name from now on—it’s easier.”

　　“Alright.” The southern youth, nearly half a head shorter, mimicked the northeastern accent with a chuckle. Truth be told, he didn’t like calling his peer “Eric Young” either; it made him feel not just shorter in height, but in dignity too. He glanced at the young woman taking photos in the distance, a playful smile on his lips, and instinctively lowered his voice: “I’m not looking to chase her, just want to have some fun. What do you think?”

　　“What’s there to think? Women are for us to play with, aren’t they?”

　　The young master who’d driven a military vehicle from the Heilongjiang Provincial Military District patted his companion’s shoulder, looking unconcerned—clearly a hardcore chauvinist. He glanced down at his “friend” from Shanghai, then at the Dongfeng Warrior, which looked much like the Hummer. Inside, the girl who was nominally his girlfriend stretched, her curves on full display. He gave a decidedly unwholesome smile and said quietly, “If you don’t mind, when we get back to Harbin, you can take that chick for a few days. She’s just a money-grubber anyway.”