Volume One: The Scroll of New Rain Chapter Five: The Boy and the Tiger

Ye Mingke carried Qiao Qiao on his back, moving through the mist and the whispering sounds of the forest for what felt like an eternity. The fog around them seemed to thin, and at some point, the rustling noises faded into the distance. Mingke exhaled deeply, wiping sweat from his face. Neither of them had dared to speak along the way, fearing that any sound might startle the things lurking in the mist.

“Have they gone?” Qiao Qiao’s voice trembled.

“I don’t hear anything now. I think it’s safe,” Mingke replied, relaxing for the first time, his previously brisk pace faltering, his breathing distorted.

“Let’s rest for a bit,” Mingke said, stumbling over to the nearest tree and sinking to the ground, utterly exhausted.

“So you really were that scared just now?” Qiao Qiao laughed behind him, rolling up her sleeves to wipe the sweat from Mingke’s face.

With Qiao Qiao leaning against the tree and Mingke carrying her, it was as if he was half-reclining in her embrace. He sprawled out, arms and legs splayed, eyes half-closed.

“Of course! The thing I fear most is those slippery, slimy snakes. You don’t know—once, I was resting under a tree like this and accidentally fell asleep. A snake slithered around my neck,” Mingke gestured a circle with his hand, growing animated.

“What happened then? What did you do?” Qiao Qiao asked curiously.

“I grabbed it and flung it away. Impressive, right?” Mingke boasted.

“Weren’t you scared?” Qiao Qiao pressed, even more intrigued.

“Uh… actually, I hadn’t fully woken up yet, so I didn’t have time to be afraid.” Mingke scratched his head awkwardly, making Qiao Qiao burst into laughter.

Mist still drifted through the forest, but the boy and girl, glowing with their own light, laughed brightly. Pressed close together, they seemed deeply familiar.

“What about you? Are you afraid of snakes? I thought you might cry just now,” Mingke asked, equally curious.

“I don’t cry often. I rarely go out, so I haven’t seen snakes, but I think I’d be a little scared,” Qiao Qiao answered earnestly.

“I see.” Mingke sensed the sadness hidden in her words and cautiously asked, “Why do you rarely go out?”

“My health is poor. I have to take medicine often, and sometimes I have strange dreams that leave me confused. My aunt and uncle won’t let me leave the house,” Qiao Qiao replied.

“It’s okay. We’re friends now. I can visit you at home, and when you feel better, we can sneak out together.”

Mingke turned, his bright eyes meeting Qiao Qiao’s hazy gaze. He looked at her with sincerity, his smile genuine.

“All right,” Qiao Qiao lowered her eyes and answered softly.

“It’s a promise then. But we should keep moving now,” Mingke said. He pushed himself up, tightened the vine binding him and Qiao Qiao together, and set off again.

The white mist along the path seemed to thicken once more. Mingke dared not hurry, carefully feeling his way forward with Qiao Qiao on his back.

“Qiao Qiao, is there something you fear the most?” Mingke asked as he walked.

“I’m most afraid of tigers,” Qiao Qiao replied.

“Tigers? Why?” Mingke asked.

“There’s a terrifying painting of a tiger at home. Whenever I misbehaved, my uncle would scare me, saying the tiger would come and take naughty children away. I’d have nightmares about that dreadful tiger.”

“Haha, you’re scared by a tiger in a painting? Uh…” Mingke suddenly fell silent, alert. He spun around to look at the mist behind them.

The white fog surged, a massive shadow gradually approaching. They heard the heavy rumble of breathing.

The mist parted, revealing the shadow. Mingke suddenly felt his calves cramp, not even noticing Qiao Qiao’s fingers digging into his back with fear.

“Qiao Qiao, is the tiger in your painting white?”

“Yes.”

“Does it have two golden stripes on its forehead?”

“Yes.”

“Then this tiger must be fake, right? Something conjured by the teacher?” The enormous tiger’s head emerged from the dense mist, Mingke’s voice twisted with tension. “How can a simple school trial be this hard?”

The gigantic tiger’s head came close, the air thick with a pungent stench. Mingke and Qiao Qiao stood frozen. Qiao Qiao buried her head in Mingke’s shoulder, while Mingke summoned all his courage to stare into the beast’s blood-red, ferocious eyes.

It was a fearsome creature, covered in long, ghostly white fur, with those crimson eyes resembling a spectral demon.

“It must be fake,” Mingke told himself, but the white tiger felt so real he could sense its breath on his face.

The tiger slowly withdrew its head, and Mingke breathed a sigh of relief, hoping it would vanish like the strange noises in the forest. Suddenly, a white blur flashed before his eyes, making his hair stand on end. He instinctively curled up and rolled away.

A hiss.

His right arm was scratched, blood streaming, but his evasive roll, seemingly clumsy, “coincidentally” brought his hands to the nearest tree. Gripping it, he climbed like an agile monkey.

A violent gust swept past, and Mingke barely managed to ascend, escaping danger. But the tree beneath him creaked, slowly tilting. Mingke leaped to a neighboring tree, scrambling up to the treetop.

Panting heavily, Mingke clung to a slender branch, one foot on the trunk, his body leaning, a hand pressed to his thin chest, his face flushed.

That moment of struggle between life and death was the closest he’d ever come to dying. Had it not been for his uncanny strength and the emergency maneuvers he rehearsed countless times in his mind, unsure if the tiger was real or an illusion, he might already have been dinner for the beast prowling below.

“Never think you can’t die. Life is laughably fragile. If you don’t want to die, always fight with everything you have to live.”

He remembered what Sword Uncle told him when he was four, after his first venture into the woods left him stung by bees. The words, seared into his memory alongside the pain, became an instinct through years of peril.

That instinct had saved him once again.

“Stay calm.” The boy drew a deep breath. Who am I— the one who wants to live, or the one so afraid he’s powerless? He asked himself, then ruthlessly silenced the terrified part of him.

His bright eyes locked onto the white tiger below, calculating frantically.

His greatest asset wasn’t the strength he’d developed by age ten, stronger than most grown men, but his agility and speed, owed to his small, light build.

Speed equals force divided by mass—Sword Uncle’s words. So, typically, he was twice as fast as an adult, even faster in the woods. But could that save him from the tiger’s hunt? Especially now, carrying Qiao Qiao, they’d surely die if they fell!

Qiao Qiao! He turned to check on the girl, finding her unconscious, whether from shock or the jolt.

In that moment of distraction, the white tiger lunged—not upwards, but straight into the trunk.

A crash, a groan.

Leaves showered down as the tree shook and tilted. Mingke, seemingly unguarded, sprang from the treetop, swinging like a monkey to another tree.

A harrowing chase between predator and prey unfolded, above and below the trees.

The trees here weren’t thick; even if the tiger couldn’t topple them in one hit, the violent shaking could knock them down. The only option was to dodge—again and again. Luckily, the laws of survival meant the trees fought for every patch of sunlight, so their crowns were mostly connected, allowing Mingke to leap from one treetop to another.

But he knew he was gambling with his life. His clear eyes now bloodshot; in each breathless instant, he had to decide which tree to jump to, which branch to use, when to leap. One mistake—one misjudged jump, one branch too weak to bear their weight—and they’d fall, ending in death.

And the white tiger was terrifyingly uncanny.

Mingke swung toward a tree ahead, but at the last moment, he grabbed another branch and veered right.

A crash— the tree ahead shuddered under the tiger’s assault. If Mingke hadn’t changed course, he’d have been shaken loose.

Somewhere, rain began to fall, early spring’s cold drizzle enveloping the forest.

The white mist thickened, turning the world into vapor, so damp it weighed on the heart.

The hunt grew more perilous.

Mingke gripped the wet branches, cold eyes locked on the tiger below. His palms chilled, his heart cold, but as the icy rain struck his skin, steam rose from his body. In his intense focus, he didn’t notice his skin turning blood-red, burning hot.

All he felt was that the thing below wasn’t a tiger, but a white demon.