Brief introduction：

The protagonist of the book takes a wolf pup， who was captured by a shepherd， back to his camp and has a mother sheepdog raise the wolf pup with her little newborn puppies. The wolf grows up and forms a deep bond with the protagonist. However， when his surrogate mother dies， the little wolf begins to alienate himself from the puppies he grew up with and ventures into the grassland alone. But， having lived away from the wilderness since his childhood， he could neither become a real wolf nor identify as a dog. Thus， the protagonist decides to help him learn hunting and survival skills. Finally， one cold winter， the protagonist resolves to drive him into the wilderness， far away from the camp， letting him return to the wild as a real wolf. Later， the protagonist catches bits and pieces of wolf news over time but doesn’t know whether the news he hears is about that wolf or not.

About the author：

Gerelchimeg Blackcrane is a Mongolian writer of contemporary Chinese natural literature， member of the Ninth National Committee of the China Writers Association， vice chairman of the Heilongjiang Writer’s Association， and honorary chairman of the Daqing Oilfield Writer’s Association. Accompanied by two ivory-white wolf dogs， he spent his childhood in a community between the grasslands and the countryside. He has won many awards， including the “Best of Five” Government Art Award issued by the Publicity Department of the CPC， the National Outstanding Children’s Literature Award， the Bing Xin Children’s Literary Award， the Banyan Tree Poetry Award， People’s Literature Yearly Writer Award， the Mao Dun Literature New Writer Award， the “Good Book Everyone Reads” Annual Best Children’s Book Award in Taiwan， the Chen Bochui International Children’s Literature Award， and the Bianki International Literature Award.

In my memory， it was the coldest winter that I had ever experienced in Hulun Buir.

At least I have the right to talk about how cold it is in China， as I have spent many winters in Hulun Buir.

That winter， I bought a thermometer. Every morning， before the sun rose， I would let the laser red dot from the thermometer sweep across the snow. The LCD screen displayed the shocking temperature of -50℃， which was still not too bad. It even reached -60℃ when the weather got colder.

Many people think that the coldest time of the day is late at night. On the contrary， the lowest temperature occurs during the period before the sun rises.

It was simply too cold.

Perhaps it was because there was so much snow in the winter that when the spring came， the snow melted on the land and the grass that year turned green early.

When the green grass was just sprouting， I went to New Barag Left Banner to get my custom-made saddle.

I was too bulky to use a normal saddle， so I had to get a custom one made.

The beautiful Barag-style silver saddle was made by Bateer Ge， a famous saddle maker on the Hulun Buir Grassland. I had already ordered a saddle here， but it was too beautiful to use on a daily basis. The saddle I ordered this time was to be used for everyday riding， so the silver ornaments were not too sophisticated.

The steppe nomads， because they were always migrating across the water and the grass， seemed to have few luxuries in their lives. So， the most important thing in life was a set of jewelry for a woman and a saddle for a man.

Sturdy and beautiful， practical and aesthetic， the saddle really made me satisfied. Usually， the buyer must try out Bateer Ge’s new saddle by putting it on the horse’s back and taking it for a ride. Perhaps it was because spring had finally come after a long winter， Bateer Ge， who had not left his small workshop for most of the winter， was in a good mood. He took advantage of the opportunity to breathe in the prairies and meet his friends. Bateer Ge’s house was in Amugulang， a small town in New Barag Left Banner. If we wanted to ride a horse， we had to enter the prairies; no horses could be found in this town.

Fortunately， the Barag Grassland is located just outside of the town.

Our destination was an hour’s drive deep in the grassland， where Bateer Ge’s old friend had horses on his ranch.

The herders’ camp deep in the steppe is always much the same， three black sheepdogs growling out as the outline of a yurt appears on the horizon. As the car approached the camp， the dogs were almost fully unleashed， wagging their tails and hovering outside. For safety reasons， we waited for a young shepherd to tie the dogs up before we got out.

Only then did Bateer Ge’s friend， the master of the camp， emerge from his yurt.

At first， I thought Bateer Ge’s friend was just an ordinary herdsman， a horseman on the grassland.

I was really shocked to see him struggling to get out of the wooden door of the yurt. Just now， I noticed this eight-piece Hana Yurt was obviously specially made. It was much higher than an ordinary yurt and the door was also relatively high. But still， the old man squeezed through the door with some difficulty.

When he finally stood upright holding onto the door， I realized that he was a real giant. I was tall enough at 1.9 meters， but this man was taller than me and strong enough that his chest looked twice as thick as mine. I thought his weight was about three hundred jin （a kilo is two jin）. Despite his age， one can imagine how strong he was as a young man.

He had been informed in advance and had already changed into his new robes and boots. As he walked toward us， I felt his huge boots hit the ground like rocks with each landing.

He must be the legendary giant who could carry camels on the grassland.

Inside the yurt， I was relieved to see the picture on the wall. The man used to be a wrestler. Carrying a camel was really easy for him. In fact， he participated in a camel carrying competition when he was young.

After drinking the milk tea， I unloaded the saddle from the car. Because the saddle was wide， the giant man found a tall red horse in particular. I figured the horse has the lineage of the Russian Don， a horse tall enough to carry the special saddle.

I saddled the horse and jogged it around. The horse didn’t appear to be in any discomfort， and I felt the arc of the saddle fit well with my hips. To really test the quality of the saddle， Bateer Ge told me to do another lap at an increased speed.

I asked the giant man for permission. After all， in a general case， a herder would not let a stranger ride his horse， both for safety reasons and for his close tie to the horse.

Apparently， the horse had been well-trained early and was in perfect condition. I dismounted， retracted the girth， remounted， urged the horse， and let go of the reins. The horse ran wildly along a flat meadow in front of the yurt. I rode the red steed for a good two kilometers till I came up a high hill nearby and drew up the reins.

I let my horse trot back to camp in the crisp early spring breeze. A horse that has not run for a long time must take a good jog after its gallop.

When I reached the yurt， I felt that the horse’s breath still wasn’t even. Not far away was another horse tied to a hitching post， which was supposed to be the giant man’s own riding horse. With his permission， I rode this horse and led the red horse I had been riding for another ten minute jog.

After running at a high speed， the horse’s heart and circulatory system need to be buffered， and a slow bump will slow down the heart rate and breathing to a normal pace.

When I was done with the red horse， I fastened it to the post. I didn’t take off the saddle directly， but only loosened the girth. After a gallop， a horse’s back sweats; if the saddle is immediately removed then the horse’s back will become swollen because of the cold wind.

The giant man was obviously very pleased with everything I had done.

Anyone who entered a grassland camp with enough reverence for tradition would win the praise of his hosts.

The mistress of the camp had cooked lamb.

The meeting of two old people is the beginning of a memory.

After drinking a lot of wine， the giant man asked me solemnly why I didn’t become a wrestler. That’s a really hard question to answer.

But then he answered himself and told me it was because I hadn’t held a calf.

I didn’t become a wrestler because I didn’t have the chance to cuddle a calf when I was a kid.

The big man shared with me his secret to becoming a famous wrestler. The best way to train is to hug a calf.

When he was a little boy – I didn’t know how old he was， but I didn’t intend to interrupt to ask – his grandmother made him walk around every day with a calf that was just born in the spring. It grew so quickly that by the fall he could hold a half-grown cow.

It was this life-like tradition that led to the giant wrestlers who could later carry camels.

Wolf Pup Fenrir and I

Gerelchimeg Blackcrane

Jieli Publishing House

April 2020

29.80 （CNY）