Chapter 21: Where Is Chen Fan?
Chen Fan!
With the Wei brothers gone, who else in the hunting team could use a bow besides him?
But how was this possible?
The prey lay before them, each killed cleanly by a single arrow with no other wounds. This meant the animals had been shot down before anyone else could act.
Chen Fan? Chen Fan? He was just a novice archer on his first hunt outside the settlement. How could he have taken down so much prey? Was this even possible?
The speaker’s gaze swept over the encircled hunting team, but Chen Fan was nowhere to be seen. Wang Ping and the others gradually noticed his absence too, their minds drifting toward grim suspicions. Yet Uncle Guodong’s face glowed with joy. How could that be?
More villagers streamed in, their eyes widening at the sight of the haul. Some trembled with emotion, tears brimming.
“Ahem. Settle down, everyone.”
The bald man, Liu Yong, raised his hands for silence once the crowd had swelled. He gestured to the prey and asked, “Do you know how we managed this today?”
The hundred-strong crowd exchanged puzzled glances.
“Arrows,” someone called out.
“Exactly!”
Liu Yong grinned, his eyes snapping to Wang Ping.
Dozens of heads turned as one.
Wang Ping swallowed. “Uncle Liu… was it… Brother Fan?”
“Yeah, was it Chen Fan?”
Zhao Feng and the others tensed, torn between intuition and doubt. After all, Uncle Zhang had insisted it was nearly impossible for a first-timer to land a shot.
Liu Yong’s smile widened as he addressed the crowd. “Correct. Every one of these animals was brought down by Chen Fan. Today, we were little more than porters.”
A chorus of shocked gasps erupted.
Chen Fan? Chen Guodong’s son—the boy who’d stubbornly joined the hunt that morning with his bow? Of course they remembered. His audacity had sparked endless chatter.
They’d prayed for his safe return, never daring to hope he’d actually hit anything. Yet here Liu Yong stood, crediting him with this miracle?
It sounded like a folktale.
“Don’t believe it?” A middle-aged hunter chuckled. “We wouldn’t either if we hadn’t seen it! When Xiao Fan took down that antelope—three arrows, bam bam bam—we barely had time to blink!”
“Right! His first shot missed, but then—whoosh! Straight through the throat before it could flee!”
“Divine skill, I tell you! With him here, we’ll never starve again!”
The villagers’ eyes kindled with desperate hope. In these harsh times, escaping hunger was a blessing beyond measure.
“Uncle Liu!” Wang Ping interjected, scanning the crowd again. “Where is Brother Fan?”
“Yeah, where’s the hero?”
“Why isn’t he here?”
Liu Yong laughed. “Too shy for all this fuss! He’s already home. But don’t worry—you’ll see him soon enough. Now, form orderly lines. Meat distribution begins!”
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Meanwhile, Chen Fan sat at home, enduring his mother’s fretful scrutiny. “Mom, I’m fine. Not a scratch.”
He spun in a circle for emphasis.
“Really fine?” His mother frowned, echoed by his brother’s skeptical nod.
“Yes.”
He sighed, gulping water from a chipped bowl. Clean water was one thing their settlement never lacked—boiled when paranoia struck, sipped slowly when stomachs growled.
“Thank the heavens.” His mother sagged with relief. “When you and your father left, I… Well, never mind. But why return so early?”
“Brother!” Chen Chen tugged his sleeve. “There’s a commotion at the gates! Did you catch something?”
Chen Fan ruffled the boy’s hair. “More than ‘something.’ A full haul.”
“A haul?” His brother’s mouth watered.
“A haul?” His mother gaped.
Nodding, Chen Fan recounted the hunt. By the end, both listeners stared as if he’d sprouted wings.
“So… you shot all that?” his mother whispered.
“Not alone. Everyone helped.”
Scouting and carrying mattered, he explained. Solo hunts were perilous—without the team, even his arrows might not have saved him.
“But you made the kills.” His mother huffed. “Don’t fret. I know how this works. When the Weis led hunts, they took their fair share. Now it’s your turn. Just… a shame they left yesterday.”
Chen Fan nodded. One day sooner, and they’d have stayed.
At noon, Chen Guodong returned with thirty pounds of meat, flooding their shack with laughter.
“I tried refusing, but the others insisted.” He shrugged, half-embarrassed.
Each family had received at least five pounds—a week’s ration if stretched.
“I’ll cook this now!” His wife seized a chunk and vanished into the kitchen. The rest would be stored, though autumn’s chill could only delay rot for so long. Salt would preserve it longer, but salt was rarer than grain here—a sprinkle per meal, never wasted on meat.
Chen Fan’s stomach growled. Last time, ten slices of rabbit (about two ounces) had granted 1 potential point. A pound today might yield 5 points—more if the antelope meat was richer. Enough to upgrade his physique.
While waiting, he turned to his father. “Dad, does anyone here know martial arts? Like Tai Chi?”
