The withered ancient tree was profoundly strange, its very presence discordant with its surroundings. Though not the dead of winter, an early snowfall had transformed the entire forest into a world of silvered white; only around this one great tree did the snow refuse to settle. Furthermore, the tree hollow was piled high with precious matsutake mushrooms and various wild berries. At first glance at the large cavity in the trunk, I assumed it was a bear’s den, but upon approaching, the expected foul, musky stench was absent, raising my suspicions.

Just as I was about to ask Yanzi why there was no snow near the dead tree, she saw my intent to speak and hurriedly waved me down. "Quiet! This is a bear's den, but it's a Human Bear. Though slow-witted, they are skilled at den construction; unlike typical bears, their nests aren't foul, damp, and overwhelmingly smelly." Because the den inside was warm, the snow hadn't accumulated around the old tree. A circle devoid of snow surrounding a tree hollow brimming with matsutake—this was undeniable evidence of a bear's lair. Seeing that Yanzi had confirmed the den's location, I dared not speak, instead signaling with a gesture toward a nearby grass nest, and the three of us stealthily crept towards it, preparing our tools for a bear hunt.

Hunting a Human Bear in the mountains is the most perilous undertaking imaginable; it demands the spirit and audacity to face a man-killing bear head-on. The reason hunters usually avoid the Human Bear is not a lack of courage. They rely on the mountain for sustenance; hunting is purely for survival. Snaring foxes or shooting rabbits can put food on the table—why risk certain death for a venture that offers no true necessity? It simply wasn't worth courting such danger.

Now, we were about to risk the bear hunt, and the plan had been agreed upon, following an ancient method passed down through generations of mountain hunters. Every trapping skill practiced by these hunters is traditionally given a name incorporating the character "Tao" (, set/snare). The method for trapping foxes and yellow weasels is called the "Hun Tun Tao" (Mixed Wonton Snare); trapping bears with sticky rice cakes is known as the "Nian Hu Tao" (Sticky Snare). Although the snow hadn't fully melted, the mountain climate wasn't intensely cold, and the large quantity of sticky millet cakes we carried, wrapped tightly in insulating dog-skin mats, hadn't frozen, saving us unnecessary trouble.

I took out several sleeves carved from birchwood and handed them to Fatty, saying, "Comrade Wang Kaixuan, the moment of reckoning for the Organization has arrived. You take the lead." Fatty quickly demurred. "If we analyze your performance across all historical periods, and consider your objective physical condition, you are far more suited to completing this arduous and glorious task than I. I suggest you go, Old Hu; I will provide cover from the rear."

Yanzi cut in, "Stop arguing. One person can’t manage this job. Fatty is thick-skinned and immensely strong; he's best used as bait. Hu Zi has a steady hand; he and I will use our axes near the tree hole to find an opening. Remember, don't panic, and when you strike, you must not hesitate—hit it hard enough to kill. If the situation turns sour, we flee. And when running for your lives, absolutely do not run straight..."

We were still huddled in the grass nest, distancing ourselves from the bear den, discussing our approach, when we felt the Ponderosa pine behind us suddenly shudder violently. I quickly looked back. Deep in the primeval forest, there was nothing but grass and trees. Yet, that tree was indeed swaying slightly. An earthquake, perhaps? As I pondered this, the great Ponderosa shook again violently, shedding needles and accumulated snow from its branches, as if some gigantic entity were stirring above.

Looking up, it was staggering: a massive, long-haired Human Bear was draped over the Ponderosa. It lowered its head, its blood-red eyes fixed upon us. The crimson eyes, coupled with its long arms and razor-sharp claws, unequivocally confirmed its identity—this was the most terrifying variant of the Human Bear: the "Man-Slayer." Mountain lore claimed that after consuming human brains, a Human Bear's eyes turn red, and thereafter, it desires nothing but human flesh. In reality, the blood-red eyes of a Human Bear were due to the chaotic seasonal shifts, rendering it doubly ferocious and brutal.

The Human Bear clung tightly to the trunk near the crown of the tree. The Ponderosa, thick enough for several men to encircle, trembled under the creature's weight. The bear seemed poised to drop down, but mountain Human Bears know how to climb up, not down; it could only release its grip and fall directly. Normally, it would climb to the top of a tree and then simply tumble down, repeating this process—a form of entertainment and a way to hone its massive brute strength and thicken its hide.

We were stunned by the sight. We had only been paying attention to the activity in the withered tree’s den. We hadn't considered that despite the snow, the season was out of joint, and the Human Bear hadn't retreated into hibernation. Suddenly spotting humans below, eager to taste brains, it seemed to forget how to descend, clinging to the treetop and shaking it relentlessly.

The Ponderosa, though massive, couldn't withstand the Human Bear’s antics. After a few more jolts, it snapped with a loud Kacha-chah sound. The three of us finally snapped out of our shock and scrambled desperately to scatter and evade. The Human Bear tumbled down amidst the pine branches, landing heavily on the ground. A cloud of white snow mist erupted where it hit. Although the Human Bear had thick, tough skin, the fall, involving scraping and impalement from the branches, caused it considerable pain. A roar erupted, shaking the pine forest.

Our thick clothing made movement cumbersome. We rolled to avoid the falling tree trunk, scattering the hunting implements we had prepared. The Human Bear, born savage, was unharmed by the drop from such a height, rising immediately with the pine log in its grasp. It stood upright and lunged toward Fatty, who was closest.

Fatty was caught completely unprepared, facing the Man-Slayer head-on. His usual grand spirit—that "broad chest encompassing five continents and eyes surveying the world"—vanished. He flailed and crawled in the snow, desperate only to escape. In his panic, before taking a single step, he tripped and fell onto the snowy ground again.

By the time he scrambled up, the Human Bear was upon him, sweeping a massive paw down. Fatty’s padded jacket split open on his back. Fortunately, in his frenzy, he remembered the bear-hunting technique and snatched up a nearby birchwood sleeve. However, the moment he turned, the Human Bear pinned him down. The bear immediately squinted contentedly upon securing its prey; its next habitual action was to deploy its barbed tongue to lick the human's head, intending to siphon the fresh brain fluid and blood.

Some hunters claimed the Human Bear did this not purely for the taste of blood or brains, but because it found humans so aesthetically pleasing—so smooth-skinned and sleek—that it would extend its tongue to lick. Whatever the motive, a lick from a living Human Bear meant certain death. Seeing Fatty in mortal peril, I grabbed the hunting fork from the ground, preparing to charge in to his rescue.

At this moment, Yanzi also got up from the snow. Seeing the Human Bear pinning Fatty, she yelled urgently, "Quickly, use the birchwood sleeve to break free!" Fatty, crushed in the bear’s embrace, felt his bones nearly shatter. As the Human Bear squinted and opened its massive jaws, its tongue flicked out. The fetid stench nearly choked him half to death. But in that moment of life or death, he couldn't afford to care about the stink or the pain. He quickly jammed the birchwood sleeve between his head and the Human Bear’s tongue. The bear’s hot, wet tongue instantly struck the wood. A large piece of bark was instantly stripped away by the tongue. Fatty seized the opportunity, shoving the entire birchwood sleeve into the bear's chest, and managed to wriggle free.

The Human Bear’s eyelids were extremely long; when it squinted, the heavy lids would droop down, requiring significant effort to reopen them. At this moment, the bear clutched the birchwood sleeve, still thinking it held Fatty, and began to crush it. But the sensation was wrong. It lifted a paw to swipe at its own eyes, saw it was clutching a piece of rotten wood, and became instantly enraged. A roar erupted, carrying a stench that echoed across the wilderness, the sound returning from the distant valleys.

I advanced, holding my hunting fork to cover Fatty’s retreat. I met him just as he broke free, which unfortunately placed me directly in front of the Human Bear. The bear’s roar struck me, instantly turning my legs to jelly. This was the first time I truly felt how utterly fragile humanity is against raw, primal power. Seeing the Human Bear stand on its hind legs, baring its fangs and claws as it charged, I dared not stand against it; I dragged the hunting fork behind me and turned to flee.

Under these circumstances, Yanzi also hesitated to fire her rifle carelessly. The Taiya Zi (Raised Tooth) firearms used by mountain hunters were primitive muskets. Even a direct shot to the head at close range could not bring down a massive bear. A gunshot would only incite its frenzy. A wounded, crazed bear could tear apart a whole bull, making the situation exponentially worse.

The Human Bear, repeatedly thwarted in its attack, became completely maddened and began chasing us in circles around the great tree. I lost my dog-skin cap in the fray, and sweat poured off me. After several laps, my composure began to steady. I watched the bear crash through the dense woods, wildly pursuing us; while we could use the thick trees to evade it for the moment, human stamina was limited. If this continued, we would inevitably be caught. Thus, even while running, I urged Fatty and Yanzi to quickly deploy the "Nian Hu Tao."

Yanzi found an opening, grabbed several scattered sticky millet cakes from the ground, and hurled them toward the Human Bear. Seeing objects flying at it, the bear paid no mind, wildly waving its paws, crushing the cakes into a pulp. The exteriors of the cakes were smooth from the cold, but the inside remained soft and sticky. The bear caught the sweet scent, picked up the cakes, and stuffed them into its mouth.

The Human Bear is slow-witted; once it tasted the sticky cakes, it forgot about chasing us and focused solely on gathering more. We gained a temporary reprieve and quickly used my dog-skin cap to scoop up the dropped millet cakes, tossing them near the bear. The bear’s paws became slick with the sticky paste. It ate with greedy delight, and in its pleasure, it squinted, causing its heavy eyelids to droop and obscure its vision. It then instinctively tried to use its hands to flip its eyelids open. But since its paws were coated in the sticky cakes, they adhered precisely to its eyelids. The more it tried to wipe them open, the more sealed they became, instantly blinding it. Its feet were round, allowing it to stand upright for a time, and when seated, its forelegs didn't need to prop it up. Now disoriented, it sat on the ground and violently began tearing at its own eyelids.

I never imagined the "Nian Hu Tao" would be so effective. Seeing the Human Bear sitting on the ground, engrossed in pulling at its eyelids, I knew this was a fleeting opportunity. I quickly signaled to Fatty and Yanzi. The three of us, each holding our tools, swiftly encircled it from the front, back, and left. Fatty raised the wood-splitting axe, gripping the long handle with both hands, and swung it with the force of "Splitting Mount Hua in Two," aiming a massive chop at the bear’s head. Simultaneously, I moved in from front and back, driving the prongs of the hunting fork into the bear’s eyes. Yanzi, meanwhile, aimed her rifle at the Human Bear’s ear and fired in a single, deafening blast.

We put every ounce of our strength into that thunderous attack, intending to incapacitate its senses, even if we couldn't kill it instantly. Under this desperate, concerted assault, we heard the Human Bear let out a long, agonized scream. Its skull cracked, and its body, heavy as a mountain, crashed down with a thunderous sound. It was impossible to distinguish between brain matter and bone fragments; great patches of pinkish bloody foam sprayed across the snow like sudden, vivid flowers. Blood and gore splattered before our eyes, and we were certain the creature was finished. But this Human Bear was too incredibly tough. Its head was so mangled that its features were unrecognizable, yet it managed to lurch upright, roaring madly, stagger a few steps, knock over a large tree, and then collapse backward, looking up at the sky. Blood poured from its head, its limbs convulsed a few times, and then it grew still. The entire forest instantly fell silent, exchanging the clamor of a life-or-death struggle for utter stillness.

Our original plan was for one of us to slip an arm, fitted with the birchwood sleeve and smeared with sticky millet cakes, into the bear den to set the "Nian Hu Tao," intending to pierce the bear once its eyes were blinded within the cramped confines of the hole. But this giant bear hadn't stayed in its den, leading to this sudden, unexpected battle. The engagement was brief but soul-shaking. Although it ended with the Human Bear's death, the shadow of death had equally enveloped us. Had we shown even a fraction less courage, attempting only to flee instead of counterattacking at the crucial moment, the corpse lying on the snow today would have been human, not bear.

The three of us, utterly exhausted, felt our minds go blank, our chests pounding uncontrollably as we sprawled on the ground. We could barely believe we had actually faced down and killed a giant bear in direct combat. Watching the large flakes of snow drift down from the sky, we realized it had begun snowing sometime during the fight. We knew we had to retrieve the fresh bear gallbladder before the carcass cooled, so we strained ourselves, climbing up from the snow, prodding the bear corpse with our hunting forks to confirm its demise. Only then did the three of us begin hacking off paws and excavating the gallbladder.

The most valuable parts of a Human Bear were its paws and gallbladder; the entire hide was secondary. I recalled hearing that mountain delicacies included bear paw and orangutan lip, both considered exorbitant rarities. I decided to chop off both paws to bring back. But Yanzi cautioned me: only one paw is edible. She explained that as severe winter approaches, the Human Bear hibernates, entering a semi-death-like sleep during which it constantly licks one of its paws. This licked paw absorbs the highest nutritional value. The other paw, however, is routinely used to cover its hindquarters during the long winter, rendering it inedible. Furthermore, the hide was peculiar: the Human Bear’s essence was purely Yang, and its fur was thick and coarse; it was unsuitable for a strong man's coat, being best suited for the old and infirm.

We would use the east gallbladder to treat the granddaughter of Old Man Xiaoshan and keep one paw to trade at the Supply and Marketing Cooperative during the Spring Festival for a large haul of New Year goods. We truly had returned laden with riches. If we could have dragged the entire carcass back, the village secretary would surely have viewed us with new respect. But the three of us couldn't possibly move the whole giant beast. Leaving it in the woods to fetch help was out of the question, as wolves would have picked the carcass clean by the time we returned. To abandon it felt like a profound waste.

I proposed a solution: we would butcher the Human Bear into several large sections of meat and hide them inside the bear den, then seal the entrance with stones. Since heavy snow was falling, we wouldn't need to worry about the meat spoiling; we would have plenty of time to find help in the village. Fatty and Yanzi agreed this was feasible. I lit a pine resin torch and went to scout the tree hollow for any other exits, lest we seal the front only to find a back door.

But as I cautiously peered into the hollow, I found the opening beneath the tree was deep and vast, with multiple tunnels branching out below. It seemed many of the large trees in the forest rested atop interconnected caverns. I dared not venture further in and quickly retreated outside the main hole. In the rush to retrieve the gallbladder and chop the paws, we had neglected to survey the battleground. Examining the ground closely now, I noticed several old trees near the site that had been uprooted or snapped by the Human Bear during the fierce fight. In the soil where the roots had been torn out, two or three partially buried stone figures and stone beasts peeked out, their faces fierce and grotesque.

I found this baffling and turned to ask Yanzi why there were these remnants of "Old Four Kinds" in the deep forest. When I turned, I saw Yanzi staring fixedly at the stone beasts, her face terrifyingly pale, as if she had seen something far more horrifying than a Man-Slayer. Before I could question her, she whispered shakily to Fatty and me, "It’s bad... This is the mountain's Ghost... Ghost Yamen! Run... Run!"