Chapter 157: The Crate

The world was dark and small and it smelled like bear.

Ruì Xuě kept his eyes closed. Not because he was sleeping. He hadn’t slept since they’d thrown him in here. Every time he started to drift, the crate would lurch, or a bear would grunt, or something would skitter across his leg, and he would jerk awake with his heart in his throat.

He kept his eyes closed because he didn’t want to see the bars anymore.

The iron bars. The locked door. The thick shadows of the jungle moving past in blurry streaks.

Every time he opened his eyes, he was still here.

Still trapped.

Still alone.

Papa will come, he told himself. For the hundredth time. The thousandth. Papa always comes. Mama always comes. They found Zhēn when she was lost. They found Tao Zi. They found me in the snow that one time when I wandered too far and got lost in the blizzard and Papa carried me home on his back and didn’t even yell.

He pressed his face against his knees.

The mud on his fur had dried into a stiff, itchy crust. His ribs ached from where the biggest bear had grabbed him. His wrists were raw from the ropes they had tied around them before they realized he was too small to fight back and untied him because they needed him to be able to hold his own food.

They untied me because they thought I was pathetic.

The thought stung worse than the ropes.

He was Ruì Xuě of Thousand Fang. Son of Han Shān, the Snow Leopard Alpha.

He had frozen a River-Snapper. He had faced down vultures. He had—

A sob caught in his throat.

He swallowed it.

No crying. Papa said no crying. Crying is for when you’re safe. Crying is for later. Right now you survive.

He opened his eyes.

The crate was small. He had known that already, but seeing it again made his chest tighten. The bars were thick, spaced just close enough that he couldn’t squeeze through. The floor was wooden, splintered, stained with old blood and something he didn’t want to think about.

Outside, the jungle was a blur of green and shadow.

The bears had been walking for hours. Or maybe it was minutes. Time was strange in the dark. Every second felt like an hour. Every hour felt like a year.

Think, he told himself. Papa says think. Assess the situation. Identify weaknesses. Plan.

Situation: captured.

Weaknesses: everything. He was tired. He was hungry. His ice powers were sluggish from the crash. He couldn’t freeze the bars. He couldn’t freeze the bears. He could barely freeze a puddle right now.

Plan: wait.

He hated waiting.

~

The crate lurched to a stop.

“We rest here,” a voice growled. The leader. Grunt. Ruì Xuě had learned his name from listening, from piecing together scraps of conversation. “Ten minutes. Then we move again.”

“Finally,” another bear muttered. “My feet are killing me.”

“Your feet are always killing you.”

“Because we never stop walking!”

“We stop when the King says we stop.”

“The King can kiss my—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll tell her you said it.”

Silence.

Ruì Xuě’s ears perked up.

Her?

He pressed his eye to a gap between the bars.

The bears had set up camp in a small clearing. A fire crackled in the center, sending smoke up through the canopy. The lazy one was already digging through a pack, pulling out dried meat and something that smelled like old cheese.

Grunt stood apart from the others, staring into the flames. His massive arms were crossed. His expression was grim.

“I don’t like this mission,” he said quietly.

The other two bears exchanged glances.

“You never like any mission,” one of them said.

“This one is different.” Grunt’s jaw tightened. “The King isn’t the same. She used to be……reasonable. Now she’s obsessed.”

“Obsessed with what?”

“Revenge.”

The word hung in the air.

Ruì Xuě’s blood went cold.

Revenge.

Against who?

Against his family?

The lazy bear scratched his belly. “Who cares why she wants the cub? She pays. That’s all that matters.”

“She pays in promises,” Grunt said. “Promises don’t fill bellies.”

“Then we eat the cub and be done with it.”

“No.” Grunt’s voice was sharp. “The King wants him alive. The King wants to use him. We deliver him alive, or we don’t get paid at all.”

“Fine, fine. Alive. For now.”

The bears fell silent.

Ruì Xuě pulled back from the bars, his heart hammering.

The King wants me alive. The King wants to use me.

But who is the King?

Revenge, Grunt had said. She’s obsessed with revenge.

Ruì Xuě thought of his mother. Of all the enemies she had made. Of the vultures she had defeated. Of the dragons she had befriended. Of the grandmothers she had charmed.

Of Li Hua.

The bear king’s mate. The woman who had tried to take the panther triplets in the night. The woman who had disappeared five years ago.

The woman who had every reason to hate Bai Yue.

No, Ruì Xuě thought. No, it can’t be. She’s just a bear. She’s not a jaguar. She couldn’t have—

But the pieces were clicking together.

Li Hua had been gone for five years. Five years was enough time to build an army. Enough time to infiltrate a foreign clan. Enough time to oust a king and take his throne.

She didn’t come for Tao Zi, Ruì Xuě realized. She came for leverage. She came for something to use against Mama.

And he was that leverage.

The crate lurched again.

“We move,” Grunt said.

“Already? I barely sat down.”

“Move.”

The bears groaned, but they lifted the crate. The world began to blur again, green and brown and shadow.

Ruì Xuě curled into a ball.

Mama, he thought. Papa. Where are you?

He didn’t know how much longer he could be brave.

~

The next time the crate stopped, the air was different.

Thicker. Heavier. It smelled like old stone and older blood.

Ruì Xuě pressed his eye to the gap between the bars.

The jungle was gone.

In its place stood walls of dark jade, carved with images of jaguars and serpents and things he didn’t recognize. Torches flickered in iron brackets, casting long shadows across a stone floor.

They were inside.

Inside the temple.

“No,” Ruì Xuě whispered.

“The King is waiting,” Grunt said. “Move.”

They carried the crate down a long corridor, past doorways that led into darkness, past statues of jaguar warriors with empty eye sockets.

The corridor opened into a massive chamber.

At its center stood a throne.

Not a jaguar throne. Not anymore.

The carvings had been defaced, scratched out, replaced with something else. Bear claws. Bear teeth. Bear fur draped over the jade like a trophy.

And on the throne, lounging like she owned the world—

Li Hua.

She looked different. Older. Her hair was shorter, streaked with gray. Her eyes were colder and emptier. She wore a crown of black iron, and her fingers were covered in rings set with dark, pulsing stones.

She smiled when she saw the crate.

“Finally,” she said. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

Grunt set the crate down and stepped back. “The cub, Your Majesty. As requested.”

Li Hua rose from the throne.

She walked toward the crate slowly, savoring each step. Her boots clicked against the stone floor. The torches flickered.

She stopped in front of the bars.

Ruì Xuě pressed himself against the far wall, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break through his ribs.

“Hello, little snow leopard,” Li Hua said. Her voice was soft. “Do you know who I am?”

Ruì Xuě shook his head.

“Liar.” She crouched down, bringing her face level with the bars. Her eyes were dark. “You know exactly who I am. Your mother stole something from me. Something precious. And I’ve been waiting a very long time to take it back.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ruì Xuě whispered.

“No.” Li Hua’s smile widened. “I suppose you don’t. Children never do. They just reap the consequences of their parents’ choices.”

She reached through the bars.

Ruì Xuě flinched, but her fingers didn’t touch him. They closed around the lock instead.

Click.

The door swung open.

“Come out, little one,” Li Hua said. “We have so much to discuss.”

Ruì Xuě didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

His legs were frozen. His lungs were frozen. His whole body was frozen.

Li Hua’s smile curdled.

“I said,” she repeated, reaching into the crate and grabbing his arm, “come OUT.”

She yanked.

Ruì Xuě tumbled out of the crate, hit the stone floor, and lay there gasping.

Li Hua looked down at him.

“Pathetic,” she said. “I expected more from Bai Yue’s get.”

She turned and walked back to her throne.

“Lock him in the inner chamber,” she ordered. “And bring the rest of the family to me.”

Grunt nodded. “Of course.”

Her smile widened.

“And when she arrives…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t need to.

Ruì Xuě was dragged through a heavy iron door and thrown into darkness. The door slammed shut behind him, and a lock clicked.

He lay on the cold stone floor, staring up at a ceiling he couldn’t see, and listened to the sound of his own breathing.

Papa, he thought. Mama.

Please.

Please hurry.

Somewhere above him, Li Hua’s laughter echoed through the temple.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep