Chapter 3: Unlocking the Basics of Archery
When Chen Fan followed the sound, he found a small cottage surrounded by a crowd. Murmurs rippled through the gathering like waves.
"Why did Xiao Hong lose hope and hang herself?"
"Her husband never returned yesterday, and her child died years ago. Left alone... she must have seen no reason to keep living."
"Why endure such suffering?"
"Right. When you’re scraping by day to day, death can be a mercy."
The crowd fell silent.
Yes—better to end it all than struggle through an unbearable life. But death still requires courage.
"Make way! Make way!"
Two men emerged, carrying a gaunt, pale corpse on a makeshift stretcher. The woman’s tongue lolled grotesquely from her mouth, a sight that sent Chen Fan’s heart racing.
Yet the onlookers seemed numb, even children under ten staring unblinkingly. They’d grown accustomed to such horrors.
Chen Guodong stepped out last, his face heavy with guilt. If Zhu Zi hadn’t died yesterday, this woman might still be alive.
His voice rasped as he addressed the crowd: "Prepare yourselves. We hunt in half an hour."
The men nodded grimly. Life pressed onward, even as death lingered.
"When did you arrive?" Chen Guodong asked his son after the crowd dispersed.
"Just now." Chen Fan’s voice trembled faintly, the corpse’s image still fresh in his mind.
His father turned to leave.
"Dad."
Chen Guodong paused.
"Do we have spare bows? I want to learn archery."
Surprise flickered across Chen Guodong’s face. His son had always been withdrawn, timid—sending him against feral beasts would’ve been unthinkable.
What changed?
"I need to get stronger," Chen Fan said, urgency bleeding into his words. "I won’t starve to death."
A glint of approval flashed in Chen Guodong’s eyes before vanishing. "Check the warehouse. Ask Uncle Zhang for the smallest bow."
"Multiple bows?" Chen Fan blinked. He’d assumed their camp possessed few iron bows—why else would only two or three hunters carry them?
His father grunted, reading his confusion. "Archery isn’t some child’s game. Master it, and you can drop a beast at thirty meters. Fail, and you’re better off with a knife."
As Chen Guodong walked away, doubt crept in. Had he underestimated the challenge? Too late now—he’d committed.
The northwest warehouse stood quiet, its path deserted. People conserved energy indoors, where meager warmth lingered.
Chen Fan arrived to find youths his age in the courtyard, stabbing at air with two-meter spears. A limping, disheveled man hobbled behind them, barking commands: "Retract! Thrust!"
Uncle Zhang, Chen Fan realized. He approached, but the man wheeled around before he’d taken three steps.
"I know you." The limping man’s lips twisted. "Chen Guodong’s boy. The one who nearly died eating poison berries."
Chen Fan forced a smile.
"Here for spear training?"
"Archery, actually."
The youths exchanged knowing glances.
"Another hopeful," Uncle Zhang snorted. "Follow me." He spun on the trainees: "Keep drilling! Sweat now or bleed later!"
The warehouse’s interior stunned Chen Fan. Weapons lined the walls—swords, axes, shields, even obsolete cannons.
"Useless without powder." Uncle Zhang jerked his chin toward the left wall. "Bows are there. Choose."
The weapons ranged from a one-meter shortbow to a towering two-meter longbow. Chen Fan swallowed. "The smallest one, please."
"At least you’re not delusional." Uncle Zhang plucked the shortbow from the wall. A twang echoed as he plucked the string—a sound that promised bruises. "Forty pounds to draw. Kill low-tier beasts within twenty meters. Try."
Chen Fan nocked an arrow, muscles straining as he pulled. The string bit into his fingers. With a gasp, he loosed the shot.
Snap!
The arrow struck dirt far left of the target. His arms shook, but triumph surged through him—his mental interface had updated:
Skill: Basic Archery, LV0 (1%)
One attempt unlocked this? Chen Fan’s pulse raced. If weapons granted skills, what might blades or fists reveal?
Uncle Zhang stared at the boy’s exhilarated face, baffled. Kids these days... thrilled by drawing a bow once?
