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like　those　outsiders　all　the　time。”

Seeing　that　the　women　had　unloaded　the　carts　and　dug　paths　to　the　deep　snow　by　clearing　out　troughs　the　wolves　had　made　when　dragging　the　gazelle　carcasses　through　the　snow；　and　that　they’d　also　built　up　a　snowbank；　Bilgee　looked　skyward　and　chanted　something。　Chen　Zhen　guessed　that　he　was　asking　Tengger　for　permission　to　go　out　in　the　snow　and　bring　up　the　dead　gazelles。

The　old　man　closed　his　eyes　briefly；　then　opened　them　again　and　said；　“There　are　plenty　of　frozen　gazelles　at　the　bottom　of　the　snow；　so　don’t　get　greedy。　When　you’re　out　there；　first　free　the　surviving　animals；　all　of　them；　before　ing　back　to　dig　out　the　frozen　ones。　Tengger　didn’t　want　those　animals　to　die；　so　we　must　save　them。”　He　lowered　his　head　and　said　to　Chen　Zhen　and　Yang　Ke；　“When　Genghis　Khan　finished　an　encirclement　hunt；　he　let　a　small　number　of　animals　go。

The　Mongols　have　fought　like　that　for　centuries；　and　the　reason　we　can　have　these　hunts　year　after　year　is　that；　like　the　wolves；　we　don’t　kill　off　all　the　prey。”

Bilgee　assigned　gazelle　collection　sectors　to　each　family；　then　let　them　go　off　and　work　on　their　own。　Everyone　followed　hunting　custom　by　leaving　the　nearest　and　most　plentiful　holes　for　the　students　and　for　Bilgee；　who　led　Chen　and　Yang　over　to　his　cart；　where　they　unloaded　two　large　rolls　of　felt；　each　about　two　yards　wide　and　four　yards　long。　They　appeared　to　have　been　sprayed　with　water　beforehand；　for　they　were　frozen　stiff。　Chen　and　Yang　each　dragged　one　along　the　cleared　path；　while　Bilgee　carried　a　long　birch　club；　tipped　with　a　metal　hook。　Batu　and　Gasmai　also　carried　large　rolls　of　felt　to　the　deep　snow；　little　Bayar　walked　behind　his　parents　with　a　hook　over　his　shoulder。

After　they　reached　the　edge　of　the　deep　snow；　Bilgee　had　Chen　and　Yang　spread　one　of　the　rolls　of　felt　over　the　crusty　snow；　then　asked　Yang；　the　heavier　of　the　two；　to　see　if　it　could　sustain　his　weight。　It　was　like　a　gigantic　skateboard。　Yang　stepped　onto　the　felt；　drawing　crunch—ing　sounds　from　the　snow　under　it；　but　no　signs　of　danger。　He　jumped　up　and　down。　The　felt　sank　beneath　his　feet　slightly　but　not　perilously。　The　old　man　quickly　made　him　stop。　“Don’t　do　that　when　we’re　out　on　the　deep　snow。　If　you　break　through　the　felt；　you’ll　bee　a　frozen　gazelle　yourself；　and　that’s　no　joke。　Now　then；　Chen　Zhen　is　lighter　than　you；　so　I’ll　go　dig　out　a　couple　of　gazelles　with　him。　After　that；　you　two　can　go　out　on　your　own。”

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狼图腾（英文版）3（8）

Yang　jumped　off　and　helped　the　old　man　onto　the　felt。　Chen　fol—lowed。　The　felt　easily　withstood　the　weight　of　the　two　men　and　looked　as　if　it　would　hold　up　under　the　added　weight　of　a　couple　of　gazelles。　Once　they　were　steady；　they　dragged　up　the　second　roll　of　felt　and　laid　it　out　in　front　of　the　one　they　were　standing　on。　They　squared　the　two　pieces　and　then　stepped　onto　the　second　piece。　After　laying　down　the　hooked　pole；　they　repeated　the　process；　moving　the　first　piece　out　in　front　of　the　second。　This　they　did　over　and　over；　as　if　piloting　a　pair　of　felt　boats；　gliding　toward　a　living　gazelle。

At　last；　Chen　Zhen　was　aboard　one　of　those　marvelous　creations；　which　grassland　inhabitants　had　devised　to　transport　themselves　across　the　snow　and　avoid　calamitous　blizzards。　Countless　Mongol　herdsmen　had　ridden　these　boats　over　the　millennia；　escaping　the　snowy　abyss　and　rescuing　vast　numbers　of　sheep　and　dogs。　It　had　also　allowed　them　to　drag　out　victims　of　hunts　by　wolves　and　humans　and　to　claim　spoils　of　war　abandoned　on　snow　lakes。　Rather　than　keeping　this　Mongol　secret　from　an　outsider；　Bilgee　was　teaching　the　Beijing　student　how　to　use　it。　Chen　Zhen　thus　had　the　good　fortune　to　be　the　first　Han　Chi—nese　to　actually　navigate　one　of　those　ancient；　primitive　boats。

From　time　to　time；　as　the　felt　boat　picked　up　speed；　the　crusty　snow　beneath　them　cracked　and　crunched；　and　Chen　felt　as　if　he　were　riding　on　a　magic　carpet；　gliding　across　the　snowy　whiteness　below；　trembling　with　fear；　excited　by　a　sense　of　danger；　floating　like　an　immortal；　and　immensely　grateful　to　the　wolves　and　human　inhabitants　of　the　grass—land　for　introducing　him　to　an　almost　mythical　sort　of　primitive　life。　Eight　felt　boats；　sixteen　flying　carpets；　converged　on　the　snow　lake　as　if　chasing　one　another；　raising　clouds　of　powdery　snow　and　sprays　of　ice。　Dogs　barked；　people　shouted；　Tengger　smiled。　Suddenly　a　heavy　cloud　passed　overhead；　sending　the　temperature　plummeting。　Snow　that　had　begun　to　melt　was　immediately　transformed　into　brittle　ice；　which　hardened　the　crusty　surface　and　tripled　the　degree　of　safety　in　retriev—ing　gazelles；　with　no　need　to　change　tactics。　The　men　took　off　their　sunglasses；　opened　their　eyes　wide；　and　looked　up　into　the　sky。　“Teng—ger！”　they　shouted　joyfully。　“Tengger！”　Now　the　boats　picked　up　speed；　their　pilots　emboldened；　and　at　that　moment　Chen　actually　sensed　the　existence　of　the　Mongols’　eternal　Tengger；　which　once　more　caressed　his　soul。

Then；　without　warning；　shouts　of　joy　from　Yang　Ke　and　Bayar　erupted　behind　them。　Chen　turned　to　look。　“We　got　one！”　Yang　and　Bayar　shouted　together。　“We　got　one！”　Chen　trained　his　telescope　on　them　and　saw　that　somehow；　under　Bayar’s　direction；　Yang　had　dug　a　large　gazelle　out　of　the　snow。　They　were　dragging　it　by　its　leg　back　to　the　cart；　while　others　were　running　up　with　shovels　over　their　shoulders。

The　felt　boat　had　traveled　far　from　the　safety　of　the　shore　and　was　getting　closer　to　one　of　the　gazelles；　a　pregnant　female　with　a　look　of　fear　and　hopelessness　in　her　eyes；　an　almost　prayerful　look。　Surrounded　by　holes　in　the　snow；　she　was　standing　on　a　crusty　spot　no　bigger　than　a　small　table；　which　could　give　way　at　any　moment。　“Slide　the　hook　over　slowly；”　the　old　man　said。　“Don’t　frighten　her。　We’re　dealing　with　two　lives　here。　Life　on　the　grassland　is　hard　for　us　all；　and　it’s　sometimes　important　to　spare　lives。”

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狼图腾（英文版）3（9）

Chen　nodded；　lay　down　on　his　belly；　and　lightly　moved　the　felt　in　front　past　the　holes　until　it　was　up　next　to　the　female　gazelle’s　feet。　The　crust　was　holding。　Maybe　the　animal　had　been　rescued　before；　or　maybe　she　recognized　a　slim　chance　of　survival　for　the　fetus　she　was　carrying；　but　she　leaped　onto　the　felt　and　immediately　fell　to　her　knees；　quaking　all　over。　She　seemed　paralyzed　with　exhaustion；　nearly　frozen；　and　frightened　out　of　her　wits。

Chen　breathed　a　sigh　of　relief　as　the　two　men　stepped　lightly　onto　the　front　sheet　of　felt　and　carefully　dragged　the　rear　sheet　around　the　holes　in　the　snow；　pushing　it　to　the　west；　where　the　snow　was　harder。　After　repeating　the　maneuver　a　dozen　or　so　times；　they　reached　a　gentle　slope　where　holes　in　the　snow　were　replaced　by　gazelle　droppings　and　tracks。　“All　right；”　the　old　man　said；　“let　her　go。　If　she　falls　in　now；　it　will　be　because　Tengger　wanted　her　to。”

Chen　approached　the　gazelle　slowly　and　looked　into　her　eyes。　He　didn’t　see　a　gazelle；　he　saw　a　docile　deer　about　to　bee　a　mother。　She　possessed　motherly　beauty　in　her　big；　tender　eyes。　He　rubbed　the　top　of　her　head；　she　opened　her　eyes　wide；　now　seeming　to　beg　for　mercy。　Chen　stroked　the　helpless；　feeble　creature　kneeling　at　his　feet；　and　felt　his　heart　shudder。　Why　did　he　not　strive　to　protect　these　warm；　beauti—ful；　peace…loving　herbivores　instead　of　gradually　moving　closer　to　the　wolves；　whose　nature　was　to　kill？　Having　grown　up　hearing　tales　that　demonize　wolves；　he　said　without　thinking；　“These　gazelles　are　such　pitiful　creatures。　Wolves　are　evil；　killing　the　innocent；　oblivious　to　the　value　of　a　life。　They　deserve　to　be　caught　and　skinned。”

Old　Man　Bilgee’s　expression　changed　abruptly；　and　Chen　nervously　swallowed　the　rest　of　what　he　was　about　to　say。　He　knew　he’d　offended　the　old　man’s　deities　and　the　grassland　inhabitants’　revered　totem。　But　the　words　were　out　of　his　mouth；　and　there　was　nothing　he　could　do　about　that　now。

Glaring　at　Chen；　the　old　man　said　angrily；　“Does　that　mean　that　the　grass　doesn’t　constitute　a　life？　That　the　grassland　isn’t　a　life？　Out　here；　the　grass　and　the　grassland　are　the　life；　the　big　life。　All　else　is　little　life　that　depends　on　the　big　life　for　survival。　Even　wolves　and　humans　are　little　life。　Creatures　that　eat　grass　are　worse　than　creatures　that　eat　meat。　To　you；　the　gazelle　is　to　be　pitied。　So　the　grass　isn’t　to　be　pitied；　is　that　it？　The　gazelles　have　four　fast…moving　legs；　and　most　of　the　time　wolves　spit　up　blood　from　exhaustion　trying　to　catch　them。　When　the　gazelles　are　thirsty；　they　run　to　the　river　to　drink；　and　when　they’re　cold；　they　run　to　a　warm　spot　on　the　mountain　to　soak　up　some　sun。　But　the　grass？　Grass　is　the　big　life；　yet　it　is　the　most　fragile；　the　most　miserable　life。　Its　roots　are　shallow；　the　soil　is　thin；　and　though　it　lives　on　the　ground；　it　cannot　run　away。　Anyone　can　step　on　it；　eat　it；　chew　it；　crush　it。　A　urinating　horse　can　burn　a　large　spot　in　it。　And　if　the　grass　grows　in　sand　or　in　the　cracks　between　rocks；　it　is　even　shorter；　because　it　cannot　grow　flowers；　which　means　it　cannot　spread　its　seeds。　For　us　Mongols；　there’s　nothing　more　deserving　of　pity　than　the　grass。　If　you　want　to　talk　about　killing；　then　the　gazelles　kill　more　grass　than　any　mowing　machine　could。　When　they　graze　the　land；　isn’t　that　killing？　Isn’t　that　taking　the　big　life　of　the　grassland？　When　you　kill　off　the　big　life　of　the　grassland；　all　the　little　lives　are　doomed。　The　damage　done　by　the　gazelles　far　outstrips　any　done　by　the　wolves。　The　yellow　gazelles　are　the　deadliest；　for　they　can　end　the　lives　of　the　people　here。”　The　old　man’s　wispy　goatee　quivered；　worse　than　the　gazelle　at　their　feet。

狼图腾（英文版）3（10）

Chen　Zhen　was　deeply　moved　by　the　old　man’s　monologue；　it　beat　on　his　heart　like　a　war　drum；　persistent　and　painful。　The　inhabitants　of　the　grassland　were　far　ahead　of　any　race　of　farmers　not　only　in　terms　of　battle　strategies　and　strength　of　character　but　in　their　modes　of　thought　as　well。　This　ancient　logic　went　to　the　core　of　why；　over　millennia；　there　has　been　constant　and　violent　conflict　between　the　carnivores　and　the　herbivores。　The　old　man　had　delivered　his　monologue　as　if　he　were　standing　on　the　Mongol　plateau　and　looking　down　on　the　plains　of　Northern　China：　manding；　wolf　fangs　bared；　forceful　and　reso—nant；　pointed　and　convincing。　Chen；　who　had　been　a　skilled　debater；　could　say　nothing。　Much　of　his　worldview；　based　on　the　Han　agrarian　culture；　crumbled　in　the　face　of　the　logic　and　the　culture　of　the　grassland。　The　nomadic　inhabitants　safeguarded　the　“big　life”—the　survival　of　the　grassland　and　of　nature　were　more　precious　than　the　survival　of　people。　Tillers　of　the　land；　on　the　other　hand；　safeguarded　“little　lives”—the　most　precious　of　which　were　people；　their　survival　the　most　important。　But；　as　Bilgee　had　said；　without　the　big　life；　the　little　lives　were　doomed。　Chen　repeated　this　over　and　over；　and　it　pained　him　somewhat。　But　then　he　was　reminded　of　the　　large…　scale　slaughter　of　tillers　of　the　land　by　nomads　throughout　history；　and　the　actions　they　took　to　return　crop—lands　to　pastureland；　and　the　doubts　returned。　He’d　always　considered　these　actions　to　be　back

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