The nickname "Sky-Cover" likely derived from the saying about a monk holding an umbrella—implying a defiance of all constraints. Folk legend held that early in his life, he had once saved a Yellow Immortal, granting him lifelong protection from the huangpizi (weasels), ensuring no one could touch him. This, of course, was pure rumor; in reality, not only had he never saved any weasels, but he had actually been responsible for harming quite a few.

When the bandit suppression squad tracked him, the snow in the mountains arrived early, making the weather brutally cold. They finally found "Sky-Cover's" corpse huddled in a snowdrift. He had hanged himself from a crooked tree, and opposite his body, a small huangpizi was also strung up, meeting an identical end: a noose tight around its neck. Both man and weasel were frozen stiff, tongues lolling out, eyes wide open.

Fatty, being deliberately mysterious, narrated the scene with vivid detail, mimicking a hanged ghost with its tongue hanging out, which startled Yanzi so much her eyes went glassy. I, however, remained unimpressed. I had heard this story from Fatty countless times, and the manner of "Sky-Cover's" death was too bizarre. If one argued that he hanged himself in desperation to escape popular judgment, that would be understandable. But the weasel hanging opposite him was utterly preposterous. "Sky-Cover" was merely a rogue bandit; what status did he possess? He wasn't the Chongzhen Emperor of the late Ming Dynasty—did that weasel intend to offer itself as a companion for ritual suicide?

Yanzi didn't see it that way. She fully believed Fatty’s account because numerous similar local legends existed. The lore claimed that a Yellow Immortal only protected a person for one lifetime. Whoever saved the Immortal—perhaps by helping it evade a calamity—would receive its patronage, with the weasels stealing whatever the person desired, ensuring they never lacked food or comfort for their entire lives. However, once that person’s lifespan ended, their descendants would be plagued by the Yellow Immortal. Everything stolen for the benefactor in the past would be cleared out, and as if that weren't enough, a small huangpizi would be sent to trade lives with a descendant of that family. Yanzi believed the bandit leader "Sky-Cover" must have had an ancestor whom the Yellow Immortal had protected, leading to such a final fate.

Before Liberation, such incidents occurred in the village. A man named Xu Erhei had a father whose generation had been protected by a Yellow Immortal. One year, when Xu Erhei's father was clearly nearing death, crowds of huangpizi gathered outside their house every night, seemingly consulting about how they should plague the Xu family in the coming days. The weasels were being utterly oppressive, and Xu Erhei, driven to ruthlessness, set a family-ending snare at the door. In one night, he caught over twenty weasels, both large and small. Down the mountain, the Japanese had laid railway tracks. It was the depth of winter, when water froze into ice instantly. Xu Erhei slit the backbones of these weasels one by one, pressing them, still bloody and alive, onto the tracks. The hot blood from their backs instantly froze upon contact with the steel, trapping them no matter how fiercely they struggled. Xu Erhei thus froze a chain of weasels onto the railway line. When dawn broke, a train came through and ground all twenty-plus weasels into paste.

This action invited disaster. As soon as night fell, the village was surrounded by the ghostly wails and howls of the weasels, so terrifying that even the hunting dogs in the village were silenced. At first light, someone saw a vast, black mass of weasels scurrying into the forest. Then, someone else discovered Xu Erhei had hanged himself, dying in the exact same manner as the bandit leader in Fatty’s story.

Fatty and Yanzi had spun their yarns to their hearts' content. The massive political movement sweeping the world outside the mountains was purging all monsters and demons, and this movement naturally impacted the Greater Khingan Range. Even the old village Party Secretary, who barely knew a dozen characters, would declare at meetings, "Chairman Mao’s revolutionary line is the bright road exactly in the middle. A pit on the left is 'Left Deviation'; a pit on the right is 'Right Deviation.' Everyone must be careful not to take the wrong step or walk the wrong path, or you’ll fall into a pit before you know it." Thus, our three sharing these folk tales in the logging camp cabin felt slightly out of sync with the times. However, our location in the mountains was remote, far from external oversight. Since we only spoke of trivialities and avoided grand politics, we felt far more relaxed and at ease than in the world beyond the peaks.

Yanzi asked me to tell her some news. Outside, the sky was dark and cold, and chatting while sitting on the heated brick kang was so comfortable. But I hadn’t left the mountains for months, so I had no recent news; I had already recounted all the old stories. So, I told her and Fatty, "Today feels strange—why are you both obsessed with huangpizi? Isn't the ridge near Tuan Shan Zi called the Weasel’s Tomb? That's where the weasels gather, and it’s not far from here. I’ve been here in the mountains for several months but have never been to Tuan Shan Zi. Why don't we stop just talking and start doing? Let's be self-reliant and work for abundance—why don't we head up the mountain tonight, set a few snares, and catch some live weasels for fun?"

Fatty was overjoyed at the suggestion. In the mountains, there was no better pastime than setting traps for weasels and foxes. He immediately jumped up: "Kid, that’s a brilliant idea! Even though it’s not Little Snow yet and weasels aren't worth much, hauling a few to the supply and marketing cooperative would definitely get us two pounds of fruit candy. How long has it been since any of us had sugar? If I don't eat sugar soon, I might forget whether it tastes spicy or salty! Talking without doing is fake; doing without talking is foolish. Talking and doing is the right way! Let’s take practical action right now..." Saying this, he thrust out his belly and sprang off the heated kang, casually pulling his dog-skin hat over his head, ready to leave and set traps for weasels.

Yanzi quickly stopped us. "No going, no going! Why are you two starting trouble again? The Secretary specifically warned us not to engage in 'liberalism' or stir things up, telling the three of us to just guard the logging camp properly."

I inwardly smirked. The old village Secretary was a minuscule official; why should I obey his words? My father’s title was infinitely higher than a village Secretary's, and I rarely heeded his instructions. I listen to no one but Chairman Mao. Life in the mountains is so monotonous; having finally cooked up some fun ideas, how could I easily give up? But I couldn't say this outright. I told Yanzi earnestly, "Most of the revolutionary masses have been mobilized to fight the winter drought and tame heaven and earth. Are we just supposed to sit idle without contributing? Don't underestimate the huangpizi, small as they are—they still have fur and a bit of meat. If we catch a few more weasels, we are laying bricks and paving stones for socialist construction and supporting the world revolution."

Yanzi looked confused. Adding bricks and paving stones made sense, but wasn't the bear on Tuan Shan Zi something you didn't casually provoke? Local hunters lacked modern weaponry, relying on three primitive methods. First, setting traps, using snares and clamps specifically to catch swift and cunning beasts like foxes and weasels, which dogs couldn't handle—traps were the only way to outsmart them. Second, pursuit and bite by hunting dogs, which were best suited for chasing rabbits. Third, muzzle-loaded flintlocks. The most basic weapon here was the smoothbore fired with iron shot. The loading sequence was: black powder first, then wadding, finally the iron ball, compressed tightly with a ramrod. The fuse would hold the projectile in place so it wouldn't slip out of the barrel before ignition. The slow loading speed and short range were fatal flaws, but it was suitable for shooting roe deer, muntjac, and wild boar.