Chapter 12: Maybe It’s Time for a New Bow
After the limping man promised him an extra hour of rest later, the short-haired young man hurried over eagerly.
"Brother Fan!"
He grinned obsequiously, nodding and bowing with exaggerated deference.
Chen Fan felt awkward at the excessive enthusiasm, especially since they were around the same age. He waved dismissively. "No need for formalities—just call me Chen Fan. And you are...?"
"Wang Ping. ‘Wang’ as in ‘king,’ ‘Ping’ as in ‘plain.’"
Wang Ping chuckled.
"Quit grinning and get to work," the limping man snapped. "You saw what I did earlier. Follow that."
"Don’t worry, Uncle Zhang—I’ve got this."
"Thanks for the help," Chen Fan said sincerely, aware he was imposing on others’ time.
Without this arrangement, his progress in [Basic Archery] would lag. Every moment counted in these critical times.
I’ll repay him properly once I’ve mastered archery and brought back game, he vowed silently.
"No trouble at all!" Wang Ping grinned. "Brother Fan, you’re Uncle Guodong’s son. If he hadn’t taken us in years ago, we’d have been killed by beasts. This little favor is nothing—" He cut himself off, coughing, then grabbed the target and took position. "Starting now!"
Chen Fan steadied himself, nodding as he focused.
Their coordination was clumsy at first but gradually smoothed out. The [Basic Archery] proficiency bar crept upward.
After over an hour:
"Wang Ping, thanks for the effort."
Chen Fan lowered his bow, noticing Wang Ping’s labored throws.
"Sorry, Brother Fan." Wang Ping forced a smile, his arms leaden.
The limping man moved to relieve him, though his own recovery was questionable.
"I’ll take over."
A tall, gaunt youth rose from rest—nearly six feet but skeletal.
The group blinked in surprise.
The limping man frowned. "Zhao Feng, your spearwork is our best. Focus on that."
Wang Ping nearly wept. Was I picked because my spear skills are mediocre?
"Consider this a break, Uncle Zhang." Zhao Feng smiled at Chen Fan. "Wang Ping’s right. My mother and I owe our lives to Uncle Guodong."
The limping man relented with a nod.
Two more hours passed. Others occasionally stepped in, motivated by gratitude to Chen Guodong and recognition of Chen Fan’s budding talent. With the Wei brothers gone, the village needed archers urgently—spear users were plentiful.
Chen Fan noticed a pattern: faster targets granted up to 3% proficiency, but only if hittable. Slow targets barely helped.
Thwip!
Another bullseye. Warmth flooded Chen Fan’s body, banishing fatigue.
Did I level up?
"Again!" The limping man hurled another target.
Chen Fan squinted. The target’s arc now seemed sluggish, like slow motion.
What’s happening?
Muscle memory took over. He drew and loosed.
Thunk!
Dead center.
"Perfect shot!" The limping man barked, then backtracked. "Probably luck—a blind squirrel finds a nut sometimes."
Chen Fan smirked. His status confirmed it:
Level: 3 (0/4)
Constitution: 12.78
Strength: 11.57
[Basic Archery: lv3 (1%), Traits: Strong Body 3, Arm Strength 3, Steady Aim 3, Mobile Marksman 1]
[Mobile Marksman: +30% accuracy per level against moving targets.]
So that’s why the target slowed!
With Steady Aim granting 90% accuracy on stationary targets, he felt ready to hunt. Reaching lv5 for 90% mobile accuracy would be ideal, but hitting 100 moving targets for lv4—then harder for lv5—would take days. Time he didn’t have.
The village’s three deaths on his second day here still haunted him. Another delay could cost more lives—maybe his father’s. He also needed beast meat for潜能点.
Survival required risk. The hunters weren’t much stronger than him. If he could reach lv4 by nightfall, his odds would improve.
"Daydreaming now?!" The limping man growled.
"Uncle Zhang..." Chen Fan grinned. "Maybe I need a stronger bow?"
