The Hollow Boar was, up close, significantly larger than the stories suggested.
This was unfair. Stories were supposed to prepare you. Stories were supposed to give you a reasonable estimate of tusk length and general attitude so that when you met the subject of said stories in a dark forest at night, you were not standing there with your three tails puffed to four times their normal size doing absolutely nothing useful.
"Hello," he said.
The Hollow Boar did not say hello back. It breathed. The breath hit Zhāo Yàn in the face like a warm, terrible wall and smelled like something had died inside the boar.
Okay, Zhāo Yàn thought. Okay. You are a fox of exceptional cultivation. You have three tails. You are not afraid of a pig.
He was extremely afraid of the pig.
You are not afraid, he corrected firmly. You are simply.….gathering information. Tactically. Like a general surveys a battlefield before committing his forces.
The Hollow Boar snorted.
