The creature’s actual scientific name is Bearsus Hominis, distinct from a common bear. The Hominis is entirely yellowish-white in coat, possesses not only a long neck but also hind legs taller than a common black bear, and is immensely strong—it can uproot a tree as thick as a man with ease. When it encounters people, it rears up on its hind legs and charges fiercely. Furthermore, its posture and facial features resemble a human's, and being ferociously strong, it can prey upon cattle and horses. This is why it is called the "Man-Bear." Mountain hunters rarely dare to provoke the Man-Bear, let alone contemplate hunting one. However, the Man-Bear is not impossible to trap, only the risk involved is immense; one slip-up and a life is forfeit. Because the Man-Bear is such a ferocious beast—fat, sturdy, with hide thick as leather—even if a bullet pierces its chest or belly, causing blood to spill and intestines to protrude, it can still furiously dig the soil and pine resin to plug the wound, then fight on to inflict a fatal injury on its attacker. Thus, even with exquisite marksmanship and lethal firearms, it is nearly impossible to subdue by sheer force.

There is an old saying: “When facing the strong, outwit them; when facing the weak, capture them alive.” Since ancient times, there have been many legends of hunters slaying the Man-Bear, most succeeding through cleverness. The most widely circulated tale recounts that the Man-Bear favors the hollows of thousand-year-old trees for its lair. Inside these hollow trunks, the air is thick and steamy, melting ice and snow. After feeding well, the Man-Bear sits inside. When hunters locate the bear’s den, they drop chunks of wood into the tree hollow. The Man-Bear, being slow-witted, will reach out to catch any falling block and use it as a cushion beneath its haunches. As more and more blocks are thrown in, the Man-Bear stacks them underneath, sitting higher and higher. By the time the creature’s sitting level aligns with the tree hollow's opening, the hunters seize the moment to either cleave its head with a massive felling axe or pierce it to death with spears thrust through the ancient tree’s crevices.

In the village before us, there was an exceptionally seasoned hunter. He once encountered a Man-Bear crossing a river deep in the mountains and hid to observe. What was crossing was a massive female Man-Bear accompanied by two cubs. The mother first pushed one cub onto her back to swim across. Once ashore, fearing the little one would wander off, she used a large stone to pin the cub down before diving back for the other. The hidden hunter seized this opportunity and snatched the cub pinned beneath the stone. The mother Man-Bear roared in fury; on the opposite bank, she grabbed the remaining cub by its hind legs and ripped it in half. This vividly illustrates the beast's nature—both fierce and profoundly simple-minded.

We heard these legends countless times after entering the mountains, but legends are ultimately just that; acting upon them directly might not work. Moreover, the Man-Bears of Tuanshanzi have fixed habits; they would never descend the mountain to cross rivers near our logging camp, preferring to remain active in the deep, dense forests. We brainstormed several plans, none of which seemed viable, causing growing anxiety. Then, Yanzi slapped the large jar containing the sticky millet dumplings: "I wondered why Old Man Qiaoshan made so many dumplings; he intended to use them to catch Man-Bears. Nobody has used this method in years; I wonder if it still works."

Fatty and I were baffled. After Yanzi explained the method to us, we both agreed that hunting the Man-Bear with sticky dumplings was a sound plan. However, despite its feasibility, this was still a very ancient and dangerous endeavor. We finally resolved to take the risk. Last night, while setting traps for weasels, we heard the roar of a Man-Bear from Tuanshanzi, which saved us a lot of trouble, allowing us to roughly pinpoint the location of its den. Capturing a Man-Bear for its Dong Dan (Eastern Gallbladder) was certainly thrilling enough. Moreover, the Dong Dan could cure Old Man Qiaoshan’s granddaughter’s illness, and the two bear paws and the meat would fetch enough at the supply and marketing cooperative to cover more than half a year’s work points for Fatty and me. Back then, we earned only five work points a day, equivalent to about fifteen cents in Renminbi; after months of back-breaking labor, we couldn't even afford a train ticket home to visit family. Considering all factors, it was absolutely worth risking everything for this score.

My life, and Fatty’s, as sent-down youth stuck in the deep mountain wilderness, could be simply summarized as: "Look up at the wood, look down at the stone, chew on cold, stale steamed buns, and dream of warm kang beds." We yearned desperately for something fresh and exciting to do. Now that we had a legitimate excuse to hunt the Man-Bear on the mountain, we were too excited to sleep. Since dawn was approaching anyway, we rested briefly inside the cabin.

As soon as the sky broke light, we packed a bag of the sticky millet dumplings left over by Old Man Qiaoshan, procured several birch wood casings—hollowed-out sections of logs—and grabbed a long-handled felling axe. These were the essential tools for hunting the Man-Bear; compared to them, the hunting rifles seemed almost superfluous. Nevertheless, to guard against other beasts in Tuanshanzi, we kept the rifles and crossbows close at hand.

By daylight, the weasels hadn't troubled us again, but locking the "Yellow Immortal Auntie" in the small cabin might have allowed her to escape. So, Fatty found a wooden cage that a lumberjack once used for squirrels, bound the "Yellow Immortal Auntie" with wire, gagged her mouth with hemp stuffing, administered melted yellow wax rectally, and secured her in the cage to carry on his back. Once we secured the bear paws and extracted the Dong Dan, we could take the carcass to the cooperative for settlement and exchange it for something good to eat and drink.

It hadn't snowed overnight, but the residual snow on the ground and treetops remained, glistening under the morning sun—the mountainside was a vista of silver. Man-Bears are particularly fond of sticky dumplings, so since we carried plenty, we didn't have to worry as much about running straight into one in the woods as we had the previous night. After crossing the river, the three of us followed the "Weasel Grave" path to search for the bear den higher up.

The journey involved climbing rocks and crossing gullies; the forest grew denser as we proceeded, gradually blocking out the sunlight. Starting from the middle of the afternoon, the sky turned gloomy, signaling an imminent snowfall. Yanzi, naturally passionate, thought, since the Dong Dan could cure the sick, there was no debate—we had to go for it. Yet, having grown up in the mountains, she always understood the Man-Bear’s ferocity and was somewhat surprised when she saw Fatty and me acting so nonchalant, asking if I wasn't afraid. I took the chance to boast: What was there to fear about a Man-Bear? I heard the American imperialists like to compare the Soviet revisionists to giant bears; could it be that we feared the Soviet revisionists? Those bastards have never stopped plotting our demise, wanting to crush us all. As far as I’m concerned, I won't let them succeed. There are so many of us; we are determined to fight them to the bitter end—let’s see who makes the other fall first. I heard that on the Soviet side, there’s some Brezhnev guy who eats cream cakes every day, while the working people can't even chew black bread! How can that not be revisionist? To liberate all the suffering people under heaven from deep waters and scorching fires, we must set more weasel traps, dig up more bear gallbladders, and contribute our strength to supporting the world revolution.

Hearing me grandly pontificating to Yanzi upfront, Fatty seized the opportunity to mock me. He said to her, "Don't listen to his nonsense. Yesterday, after catching one weasel, he forgot his own name and escalated the whole affair to supporting the world revolution. Yanzi, let me tell you, the great revolutionary teacher Comrade Lenin once taught us: 'Some sons-of-bitches are undisciplined; they raise a great banner to cover themselves, fooling others while deceiving themselves.' Yanzi, do you know who among us fits that description?"

I was just about to snap back when we arrived at the foot of a towering, ancient tree. This old tree had to be at least a thousand years old, its canopy vast enough to shelter an ox. But the tree was dead, revealing a gaping hole in its trunk from which wisps of black vapor emerged. The "Yellow Immortal Auntie" in the wooden cage became exceptionally restless and agitated at this moment, as if greatly terrified. I thought that a hole large enough to swallow a prize bull was almost certainly a bear den. The roar we heard last night while trapping the weasels seemed to have come from this very spot. The three of us immediately stopped, bracing ourselves to hunt the bear. But as we carefully examined the area amidst the rocky crevices and tree gaps, we saw it piled high with plump, thick matsutake mushrooms and dotted with various strange flowers and exotic fruits whose names we didn't know, making the scene quite bizarre. Moreover, there was none of the fetid smell characteristic of a bear den. If this wasn't a bear den, what on earth was the hole beneath the tree? (Please support Ba Chang by casting more votes. Thank you!)