Chapter 2: The Ferocious and Cunning Wolves of the Grasslands

Xing Xiaolong was completely unaware of the changes in the ring. All he knew was that if this standoff with the giant wolf continued, his situation would become extremely dangerous.

His left arm, clenched in the wolf’s jaws—even if it wasn’t torn off or crushed—would soon lose a layer of flesh to the beast’s relentless tugging. There was a real risk the arm would be rendered useless, or worse, he’d bleed out and die right there.

Fear gripped him, icy and relentless, but anger burned hotter. Eyes bloodshot and furious, he roared, “Damn it! Do you really think I’m just a pushover, something you can toy with as you please? Tonight, I swear I’ll kill you, you beast!”

Ignoring the ever-growing agony in his left forearm, Xing Xiaolong frantically groped around the pitch-black cabin with his right hand. At last, his fingers closed around something hard.

He didn’t stop to see what he’d grabbed—summoning every ounce of strength, he pulled the gap wider by a few centimeters.

With his right hand clutching the hard object, he swung it over his head and began battering the wolf’s head, stabbing and smashing with wild abandon, putting every ounce of desperation into each blow.

It was kill or be killed.

On his left hand, Xing Xiaolong wore a uniquely shaped gold ring; on his right index finger, a silver ring of similar design—a silver hue like the one Cheng Liang wore.

As he wielded the unknown object with his right hand, desperately attacking the wolf’s head, blood from his torn left arm spattered onto the silver ring.

The moment the silver ring was stained with blood, it flared with a quick, silvery luminescence—just as the gold ring had before.

Earlier, when the gold ring had flashed, Xing Xiaolong’s left arm had been locked in the wolf’s jaws, his hand obscured by the beast’s lower jaw. Groggy from just waking, his blurred vision had missed the brief golden glow entirely.

But this time was different.

Now, as he fought to free his left arm, Xing Xiaolong’s focus was entirely on his right hand. In the torrential downpour and pitch-black night, the silver glow was especially striking.

So, despite the flash lasting barely a second, Xing Xiaolong saw it clearly.

Yet, even faced with this eerie light, confusion flickered only for an instant in his mind. In the next moment, all his attention snapped back to the life-or-death struggle with the wolf.

It was pure instinct.

When faced with mortal danger, the human brain triggers an uncontrollable self-preservation response, fixating on a single target and mobilizing the body to resist, ignoring all secondary threats or distractions.

For example, when you trip, your first thought is whether you’re hurt. Your heart races, thoughts quicken, adrenaline surges—all in line with that first instinct. Later you might wonder if your clothes are ruined, if you’re dirty, or if anyone saw and you made a fool of yourself.

Right now, Xing Xiaolong was in extreme peril. If he failed to save his left arm from the wolf’s jaws, it wouldn’t be long before he lost too much blood, lost consciousness, and was ultimately devoured by the wolves.

In such desperate straits, his mind could focus on nothing but survival, every organ marshaled to the single command:

Escape the wolf’s jaws and survive!

Questions like when a ring had appeared on his finger, or why it glowed so strangely—these “trivial” matters were all pushed aside by his brain.

The giant wolf, caught off guard by the sudden attack, was stunned to find its prey still alive and fighting with such ferocity.

Blows rained down on its head, leaving bloody gouges across its face and snout. Most agonizing was the jab to its left eye—a white-hot pain shot straight through its soul, forcing the beast to emit a pained, piercing howl.

Seizing the moment as the wolf loosened its grip to scream, Xing Xiaolong yanked his mangled, bleeding left arm free, dragging it from the monster’s iron jaws.

He shrank back, widening the gap between himself and the wolf.

From above, he snatched one of the dangling oxygen mask tubes, torn loose in the crash, and with his right hand and teeth, tied a makeshift tourniquet around his left arm’s crook.

It was all he could do to stop the bleeding, a survival skill learned during his military days.

First, stop the bleeding—always.

Savanna wolves were vicious predators, bold enough to challenge lions when driven mad by hunger. Now, injured and enraged by Xing Xiaolong’s counterattack, its meal snatched from its jaws, the wolf’s fury exploded.

With a chilling howl, the beast raised its head, licking human blood from its lips with its barbed tongue.

The taste of fresh blood excited it further. Jaws gaping, teeth bared and breath foul, the wolf lunged once more at the narrow crevice where Xing Xiaolong hid.

But by now, he had shrunk deeper inside. The cramped space between the deformed seats and cabin wall was too narrow for the wolf’s massive head—its snout could reach in, but couldn’t quite get to him.

No matter how the giant wolf raged and strained, it was futile.

The horrifying sight of those snapping jaws—capable of tearing off a chunk of flesh—mere inches away, twisting and lunging to reach him, set every hair on Xing Xiaolong’s body on end.

Terrified, helpless, and at his wits’ end, he cursed aloud, “Damn, damn, damn! First time on a plane and I end up in a crash, just my luck! And isn’t there a saying, ‘Survivors of great disasters are blessed afterwards’? So surviving a crash, this is my great fortune?”

The cramped wedge created by two twisted seats, the collapsed cabin roof above, and the warped walls on either side was both a blessing and a curse.

The good: it shielded Xing Xiaolong from being ripped apart by the wolves, at least for now. The bad: it trapped him so thoroughly that even though the wolf couldn’t reach him, he couldn’t escape by his own strength either.

The howls and sounds of feeding outside, plus the stabbing pain from his left leg, made it clear—even if he got out, it would be a desperate dash for survival, and there was a good chance the wolves would drag him out in a few days.

For now, hiding here meant he could cling to life a little longer—maybe, if he was lucky, long enough for rescue to arrive.

He was stuck—no way out. It was almost a dead end.

His only hope was to wait, to drag things out until rescuers came. He had no idea which godforsaken corner of Africa this was, but air disasters usually brought quick rescue—at least, that’s what all the news reports showed.

Xing Xiaolong had never trusted the news, but at this moment, he prayed it was all true.

While Xing Xiaolong, shaken and desperate, clung to hope, the wounded and enraged giant wolf wasn’t willing to wait another second.

All it wanted was to drag this stubborn prey out of the crevice, devour him bones and all, to avenge its blinded eye.

Unable to bite him directly, the clever, pack-hunting savanna wolf happened to spot a tear in one of the seats—made earlier by its own claws. A cunning glint flashed in its solitary eye.

It had found a way to break the stalemate.