The cub was tiny, and after so long in the snow, its body temperature had dropped dangerously low.
It was too weak to even struggle, curled into a small ball in the snow.
Chou Rong shifted into his human form, walked over to the cub, and reached down to pick it up.
The moment he saw it, Chou Rong's heart clenched.
In his hands was a tiny tiger cub, likely a newborn.
The crucial thing was that its scent was a continuation of his own.
Chou Rong knew, almost instantly, that this was his own cub.
The only time he had ever been with a female was that one night.
He couldn't remember anything about the female afterward; only the feeling of that night lingered.
He had even begun to suspect he'd imagined it all, that nothing had ever happened.
He had checked every female in the tribe but couldn't find her.
Only now, seeing this tiger cub, did he know that night had been real.
