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" class="prev-next-nav-next click"> Wolf Sentinel

Location

Several are encountered in the Black Wind Mountain region; you’ll find some near the Front Hills shrine in the Forest of Wolves area.

Description

Ever since the black bear guai returned from Guanyin and crowned himself king, he boasted of the arts he had learned. Tales of his newfound method of practice and power of revival allured many a guai to Black Wind Mountain. Seeking the king’s favor, these minions toiled with abandon.

Among them, a wolf guai worked with tireless zeal. He rose before dawn, patrolled the mountains, and continued well into the night. All of the treasures he found were first laid at the king’s feet. His life was one of labor, and yet, without a moment to make friends. Despite his dedication, his presence barely stirred a whisper among the others, and his name was seldom uttered.

His brother, seeing such unacknowledged dedication, spent his savings for a seat in the king’s lecture. The wolf guai sat there, heavy with regret for the silver he had squandered, both on the journey here and the seat at the lecture, that could have been used to buy himself a shield or blade. “Had I a new blade,” he mused, “glory could have been mine.”

As he pondered this, golden-clad guardians scattered paper talismans before him. Commanded to consume them, they then chanted in meditation for hours until the king sought signs of enlightenment. The white-robed wolf guai stood first, claiming a fervor within and clarity of mind.

The diligent wolf guai thought to himself, “Sweating fervently in a crowd is no marvel… Achieving clarity after chanting is no miracle.” Just as he was lost in thought, the blue ox guai rose next, followed by others. The diligent wolf guai stayed seated, unsure, until the king gestured for them all to sit down.

Later, treasures were doled out; the ox guai received a golden pill, the white-robed wolf guai a title. But the diligent one kept his old shield and dull blade, patrolling the mountain still. Only from then on, he did it all under the white-robed one’s whims, ever obedient.

Poetry

Sunswept hills they guard and tread,
From glint of steel, their daily bread.
Far-flung from their native land,
At nights, for home, their souls shall stand.

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