Leaving that place had been a long time ago, but Tang Ming would still occasionally return to that forest.
Desolate and uninhabited, with a makeshift wooden shelter, the only weapon for self-defense was an old-fashioned gun from a soldier, one shot for one bullet reload.
A bear had attacked the camp, and the soldier shot one dead, just as everyone thought they had survived the ordeal, and the soldier took pride in his actions, a rustling sound like rain swept in from all directions.
Five bears emerged from the woods.
After that, Tang Ming couldn't remember, he only remembered clinging to a tree, with the trunk as cold as stone.
He only remembered, as the bear tried to climb up and shook the tree, the snow that fell on his face felt icy cold.
The snow melted on his face, dripping down his neck into his chest, merging indistinguishably with his sweat.
