The wolf has come.
However, Yu Sheng could not see the wolf clearly—he could only hear the snapping of branches and the rustling of grass and leaves behind him.
There were moments when he even caught the faint scent of decay mixed with blood in the air, a chilling presence spreading through the forest, like a relentless winter drawing near, slowly sucking away warmth and life.
The howl of the wolves echoed through the woods, a chorus rising and falling from every tree, every bush, every shadow around him.
The pack was close, surrounding their prey, tightening the noose of their pursuit.
“Run! Don’t stop! Run!”
A squirrel had crawled from Yu Sheng's shoulder to the top of his head, waving its tiny paws and letting out high-pitched cries.
“Run onto the path! Run to somewhere with light! Run to a place where the wolves dare not go!”
Unable to resist, Yu Sheng glanced back, but all he could see was the dimly lit thicket.
There was something in the shadows chasing him, but still, he could not make out a single wolf.
But he could feel it, the stench of blood rising like a chilling breath behind him.
“Where are the wolves?” he shouted, panic creeping into his voice. “I can’t see them!”