Back to Wilderness: The Untaming of a Wolf Raised by a Human Mother

The book is based on a true and moving story. The painter girl accidentally adopted the wolf king’s orphan cub on the grassland when collecting materials for her art works. She named the wolf cub Green and brought it back to Chengdu to feed. But a bustling city is not an ideal place for a wild grassland wolf to grow， the girl then took Green back to the grassland， all the way to follow the trails of the wolves. After a winter of efforts， Green successfully returned to the wolves.

Back to Wilderness: The Untaming of a Wolf Raised by a Human Mother

Written by Li Weiyi

Translated by Wang Chiying (U.S.)

Dolphin Books

August 2021

158.00 (CNY)

Li Weiyi

Li Weiyi is a painter， writer， and producer of the film Return to the Wolves. In 2017， he published Return to the Wolves， which won the 2017 Bing Xin Children’s Book Award and was selected as one of the 50 favorite books in 2017.

Wang Chiying

Wang Chiying， a Chinese-American， has been engaged in translation for more than 30 years， and her translated books have won the Excellent Book Translation Award of CIPG.

Early in the morning， I woke up Green who was sleeping with his big head on my lap and got up to pack. He stood up reluctantly， yawning and limping toward the cave.

“Wait! What’s happened? How did you become a cripple overnight?”

I quickly pulled Green back to check his paws and found several deep， bloody holes in them and a big thorn had almost pierced one of them. I swiftly pulled out the thorn， cleaned up his wounds and applied some medicinal cream to them. The weird thorn reminded me of the spot where the “phantom” was seen the night before.

When I ran downhill and went there， I saw a fresh carcass， or rather the skin of the back of a hedgehog， lying in the dirt. A few splatters of blood on it was frosted over during the night. Based on what had happened the night before， I speculated that the insufficiently fed Green ran into this unfortunate hedgehog while roaming about and had one of his paws pierced by its spines， which explained why he had to limp back to the cave. Despite that， he managed to have the hedgehog for a thorny late-night snack.

When I climbed back to the cave， Green was munching a fat lamb leg from my sack. Five or six minutes later， the lamb leg was reduced to bare bones and Green’s stomach swelled up like a balloon. The content wolf then lay cozily on his back on the floor and kicked the remainder of the lamb leg to me.

“What’s the point of giving me that?” I said to Green， not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Let’s get going!”

Aware that I did not appreciate it， Green turned over and walked away slowly with the leftover lamb leg. I knew he was hoarding meat again. I waited patiently for him to bury it before beckoning him back on the road. It was noon when we reached the hilltop. Green began wriggling from my back， so I unloaded him and took a break on a large rock. He looked alarmed about something.

I quickly bent down and hid myself behind the rock.

Looking in the direction where Green was looking， I saw several people digging with hoes at the foot of the hill， and a pickup truck was parked nearby. Through my binoculars， I saw something odd about them.

They seemed to be neither herders nor tourists， and they were digging furtively in a secluded hill. The truck driver was smoking and looking around from inside the truck， which had no license plate on. A short guy was searching for something in the hill with a pair of binoculars in hand. I had a gut feeling these people were up to no good. I did not stick out my head until I was about sure the short man was looking away from us. Green started agitating， and I had to lock him up with a chain to prevent him from acting rash. By now， the group had walked to a grove of shallow grass further away from us， where they were messing with something under the guidance of the short man. I could not see clearly what they were doing exactly， but what a taller man secured from the truck made my blood boil—a wolf skin!

They were a bunch of poachers! A man wearing a gray coat put on his gloves， carefully took over the wolf skin， and dragged it around the shallow grass in an irregular pattern until the traces of human trespass were all smoothed away， leaving behind nothing but the odor of wolves. He looked pleased after carefully checking up the surroundings. At his gesture， some of his companions returned to the parking place without a word， rolled up the wolf skin and put it away in a cloth bag. Others put their tools away in the back compartment of the truck wrapped with an old felt covering and topped with some refuse. Afterwards， the truck started moving and the group left.

I took out my compass to verify the direction of the grove of shallow grass and kept in mind some of the more prominent landmarks nearby. I stayed behind the rock for a full hour， waited until there was no movement around， and after shaking my already numb body， led Green down the hill.

We first came to a raised mound– the marmots’ watch tower， and I realized the furtive group of people were poisoning and killing marmots and trapping the wolves. As we got closer to the marmots’ “grave，” Green became more excited than me and got ahead of me， dragging me along with the iron chain on his neck. For fear of other traps， I tightened the iron chain without relaxing and walked carefully to the marmot cave. The cave was covered with a new layer of mud.

When Green was about to dig at it， I pulled him hard behind me， kicked away the mud with my feet and removed the rock covering the opening. An intense stench invaded us from deep within. Green snorted as he quickly backed away and dashed toward that grove of shallow grass with the odor of wolf until he realized he still had the chain on his neck.

I looked around to search for a wood stick or something but found nothing. I untied the camera tripod strapped to my backpack， pulled it straight， and used it (together with a compass) as a tool to probe the way. Meanwhile， Green lowered his head to sniff the ground.

Before long， I spotted the rock on my left which was a landmark when I was observing the direction. By the time I got close to the rock， however， I got a little confused.

Although I knew the wolf trapping device was close at hand， I had difficulty finding it. The camera tripod wasn’t much help. Stressed out， I sweated profusely and reached for my saber.

Green pressed his head tight against me and turned right to look coldly at a weeded field four or five meters away. I squatted slowly， pulled out my saber and tossed it stabbing into the field. The handle was shaking， but it triggered no trap mechanism.

On closer observation， I noticed that the dry grass had no roots at all—they were simply coated there. I swept the ground with the camera tripod， gently pushed away the hay camouflage and laid bare a layer of loose soil. As I poked hard at it with the tripod， a sharp “dang” sound of ironware collision resounded on the silent grassland. The loose soil scattered away， and a heavy beast clip clutched the tripod tight. Startled， Green jumped like a grasshopper， and I felt gooseflesh twitch on my scalp.

The tripod got bent by the wolf clip. I raised it as high as I could to pull out an iron chain about 60 centimeters long that was buried in the shallow soil. At the end of the iron chain was a barbed iron claw. If a wolf got caught and tried to escape， the barbed hook would catch all obstacles in the way to prevent the wolf from getting away， and the marks left by the hook would be easy to track. At the sight of the clip， Green’s eyes burned with anger. As he struggled to retreat， I raised it to his nose for him to smell so that he would remember the trick of it all forever!

It was getting dark. I dared not stay any longer. After separating the tripod from the clip with great difficulty， I used it to pick out the saber on the “bait，” cut off a small piece of cloth from my chemise with which I wrapped up Green’s injured front paw， and we left hurriedly to continue looking for the route Dorji had recommended.

By and by， the landscape along the path we were walking began to look faintly familiar. The herders’ house I was looking for should be right in the vicinity. I now felt safe enough to untie the chain around Green’s neck.

The stars were twinkling， and the waters of a river were gurgling softly. In my memory， the river bay should be a short distance away from the tent where Green was found， but the proximity of the sound of the river waters showed we might be off the track.

Looking back and around， I saw neither light， nor tent， nor any sign of humans in the entire pasture. It was already 1:00 am， and I was still fumbling wearily in the darkness. I sat down in anguish with the back of my head in my hands and wailed my heart out.

Green came quietly over and fell on his tummy before me and rested his head on my lap to gaze at me. The piece of cloth wrapped around his wounded paw was gone. I wiped my tears to look at that wound， and as I reached out a hand， Green extended his injured paw simultaneously.

The surprising touch transmitted a warm current to me and warmed up my heart instantly. I did not hold his paw， but let it rest on my palm. He did not withdraw it but comforted me with it as his deep and gentle eyes gazed at me.