return to the wolves
《重返狼群》（Return to the Wolves）
前些日子上映的《重返狼群》（Return to the Wolves）是一部从拍摄到制作都并不算精良的影片。没有明星，没有特效，一些镜头还是用手机拍摄的。
"I hope my Green will rewrite the bad wolf tales," Li says. "Wolves are smart and dignified, and even humane, as I later found."
Though she hasn't mingled with the wolf for months, she can still mimic its grunts and howls during the interview.
In the highland's pasture area, she heard about a litter of six wolf cubs whose father was killed and mother fatally poisoned.
Afraid of being bitten, Li watched the cub from a distance and uttered several howls of lament. The little wolf reacted and leaned into her embrace, and Li savored the connection.
When the cub was a month old, Li started to take Green out for exercise. Green refused to be chained or be dragged by the chain."To protest, he once frayed his belly against the cement ground when I dragged him," she says.
Li played the role of fellow cubs with Green, playing or competing with him. She got hurt frequently, but kept the wolf’s tusks and claws. She even tried to teach Green wolf howls by playing recordings and demonstrating.
Growing bigger, Green became a threat in city life. Though sad about separation, Li took Green back to the grassland where he was born in 2010 and made a plan. "I didn't want to deprive Green of the freedom he deserves. He belongs to the competitive and meaningful wild life," Li says.
All along, she acted with the wolf and trained him like a mother wolf.
To teach Green to hunt, Li huddled with Green in front of a rabbit hole for hours.
From a little cub, Green had grown into a wolf 90 cm tall from the head, and 100 cm long, not counting the tail. Li was reluctant to turn to the next page of her life, without Green. She returned to the grasslands several times afterwards to look for the wolf, but never saw him again.
Most important: She'd like to wipe away the common notion that wolves are evil. "Wolves are not dogs, and they're never pets. They're untamable, independent and have their own characters," Li says
“I was sitting in my hotel room here in Beijing when I read your article about Li Weiyi and Green…As a firm believer in protecting the environment and all that live on our planet, it really pushed my buttons. I am still smiling about it…If possible, I would like to ask two favors. First, please offer my sincere thanks to Ms. Li Weiyi for her absolutely astounding efforts. She is a true classy citizen of China and true citizen of our planet. Next, is her book available in an English version?”
亚马逊读者John Averyon说该书是一本宝库（Wolf Totem is a treasure）：
“Wolf Totem is a fascinating story…The writing and translation are excellent, some chapters (like the one introducing Swan Lake) are exquisite. The story is told with passion and anyone with a heart for sensitive cultures and ecology will finish the book with a lasting sadness at the loss of both.”
As Chen Zhen looked through the telescope from his hiding place in the snow cave, he saw the steely gaze of a Mongolian grassland wolf. The fine hairs on his body rose up like porcupine quills, virtually pulling his shirt away from his skin. Old Man Bilgee was there beside him. This time Chen did not feel as if his soul had been driven out of his body, but sweat oozed from his pores. He had been on the grassland two years but still had not lost his fear of Mongolian wolves, especially in packs. Now he was face to face with a large pack deep in the mountains, far from camp, his misty breath quivering in the air. Neither he nor Bilgee was armed no rifles, no knives, no lasso poles, not even something as simple as a pair of metal stirrups. All they had were two herding clubs, and if the wolves picked up their scent, their sky burial would come early.
Chen exhaled nervously as he turned to look at the old man, who was watching the wolf encirclement through the other telescope. “You’re going to need more courage than that,” Bilgee said softly. “You’re like a sheep. A fear of wolves is in your Chinese bones. That’s the only explanation for why you people have never won a fight out here.” Getting no response, he leaned over and whispered, “Get a grip on yourself. If they spot any movement from us, we’ll be in real trouble.” Chen nodded and scooped up a handful of snow, which he squeezed into a ball of ice.
The herd of Mongolian gazelles was grazing on a nearby slope, unaware of the wolf pack, which was tightening the noose, drawing closer to the men’s snow cave. Not daring to move, Chen felt frozen in place, like an ice sculpture.
This was Chen’s second encounter with a wolf pack since coming to the grassland. A palpitating fear from his first encounter coursed through his veins.
The temperature began to fall, and when he was about halfway home, the sun shivered from the deepening cold before retreating to the horizon and slipping from view. Frigid air from the snowy ground rose up, turning Chen’s leather duster hard and brittle. The hide of his mount was covered with a layer of sweat-frost. Their pace slowed as the snow deepened and little hillocks rose in their path. They were deep in the wilds, far from all signs of habitation. The horse trotted on, straight and smooth, so Chen relaxed the pressure on the bit to let the horse determine the pace and direction, as well as how hard it wanted to work. For no obvious reason, Chen suddenly tensed; he shuddered, becoming fearful that the horse might lose its way, fearful that the weather would turn ugly, fearful of being caught in a snowstorm, and fearful of freezing to death on the glacial grassland. The only thing he forgot to fear was the wolves.
Just before they reached a ravine, the horse stopped, pointing toward a spot down the ravine. It tossed its head and snorted, its pace no longer steady. Chen Zhen, who had never before ridden alone deep into the snowy grassland, had no inkling of the danger ahead. But the agitated horse, its nostrils flaring, its eyes wide, turned to head away from what lay in front of them. Its intuition was lost on Chen, who pulled the reins taut to turn the animal’s head and keep it moving forward at a trot. Its gait grew increasingly jerky, an erratic combination of walking, trotting, and jolting, as if the animal might bolt at any moment. Chen pulled back hard on the reins.
As if frustrated that its warning signals were not being heeded, the horse turned and nipped at its rider’s felt boot, and at that moment Chen recognized the danger facing them by the fear in the horse’s eyes. But it was too late, for the horse had carried him into the flared opening of a gloomy ravine on trembling legs.
Chen turned to look down the ravine and was so terrified he nearly fell off the horse. There on a snow-covered slope not less than fifty yards away was a pack of golden-hued, murderous-looking Mongolian wolves, all watching him straight on or out of the corners of their eyes, their gazes boring into him like needles. The closest wolves were the biggest, easily the size of leopards and at least twice the size of the wolves he’d seen in the Beijing Zoo, half again as tall and as long, nose to tail. All dozen or so of the larger wolves had been sitting on the snowy ground, but they immediately stood up, their tails stretched out straight, like swords about to be unsheathed, or arrows on a taut bowstring. They were poised to pounce. The alpha male, surrounded by the others, was a gray wolf whose nearly white neck, chest, and abdomen shone like white gold. The pack consisted of thirty or forty animals. Afterward, when Chen and Bilgee were rehashing the circumstances of the encounter, the old man wiped his sweaty brow with his finger and said, “They must have been holding a council. The alpha male was likely passing out assignments for an attack on a herd of horses on the other side of the hill. You’d have realized your luck had you known that when their coats shine, they aren’t hungry.”
In fact, Chen’s mind was wiped clean the moment he spotted them, and the last thing he recalled was a muted but terrifying sound rising up to the top of his head, not unlike the thin whistle you get by blow—ing on the edge of a coin. It must have been the ping his soul made as it tore through his crown on its way out. He felt that his life had stopped for a minute or more. Long afterward, whenever he recalled his encounter with the wolf pack, he silently thanked Papa Bilgee and his dark horse. The only reason he hadn’t fallen off was that the animal had lived its entire life in wolf territory, a battle-tested horse perfectly suited to the hunt.