Chapter 34: An Extra Person
The black-haired woman flushed and quickly lowered her head.
Meanwhile, a purple-clad woman standing nearby gazed boldly at Chen Fan, a faint smile curving her lips.
"Strange."
He averted his eyes. While female attention didn't surprise him—everyone was staring right now—something felt different about this particular regard. He couldn't articulate why, but the quality of attention differed from the others'.
"Am I imagining things?"
The crowd's fervor became overwhelming. After hastily excusing himself to Chen Guodong, he hurried after Zhang Ren's retreating figure.
"Eh? Why'd Brother Fan leave?" Wang Ping scratched his head.
"Probably shy from all the attention," Zhao Feng speculated, envy coloring his tone. How he wished to be like Chen Fan, the village's new hero. Daydreaming alone wouldn't make it happen—he needed to train harder.
"He's likely chasing after Uncle Zhang. Went the same direction anyway."
"Then why are we standing here? Let's go!"
"But..." A youth glanced longingly at their hunting spoils.
"Move it!" His companion dragged him along. "They'll still be here later. Better this way—processing takes time anyway."
"Did he notice me?"
Meng Yu's heart hammered against her ribs, cheeks burning.
"No, no!" She shook her head violently, as if physically dispelling the thought. Her brow furrowed immediately after.
This contradicted her dream completely. The hunting party should have returned at dusk with meager catches, not this glut of prairie wolf corpses. Had her vision—unchallenged for seven years—finally erred? But her elder sister swore their prophetic dreams never failed.
Wait.
Her eyes widened. Chen Fan's face flashed through her mind—Chen Guodong's son, absent from last month's dream of today's expedition. The hunting party had numbered eight then, not nine.
Cold sweat beaded her forehead.
Did this mean... an external variable? Someone altering predetermined events? But her sister never mentioned this possibility. What did this mean?
...
Zhang Ren's limping stride paused when his ears twitched. "Can't handle being the center of attention?" he asked without turning.
Chen Fan's eye twitched. His mentor's habit of speaking to empty air grated. Would it kill the man to face him properly?
Outwardly, he remained deferential. "It's... overwhelming."
Zhang Ren finally turned, chuckling. "Most crave that spotlight. Count yourself lucky."
Pattering footsteps interrupted as Wang Ping's group descended, chorusing praises: "Legendary shots, Brother Fan!" "Total badass!"
"Enough," Chen Fan cut in, torn between amusement and exasperation. "Can't you see Uncle Zhang's speaking?"
The group erupted in theatrical coughs, suddenly fascinated by clouds or footwear.
Zhang Ren continued dryly, "As I said—many covet what you take for granted. Them included."
"Eh? What's covet?" Wang Ping's neck crane resembled an eager turtle's.
Chen Fan barely suppressed a groan. Did the fool think this flattering?
Zhao Feng discreetly yanked Wang Ping's sleeve, retracting the overextended neck.
"Your humility serves you well," Zhang Ren intoned. "Complacency destroys martial artists. By the time they notice their stagnation..." He let the grim conclusion hang.
"Understood." Chen Fan inhaled deeply. Harsh but true—though he'd never slacked, the warning held merit.
"Today's maneuver..." Zhang Ren's stern features softened. "Impressive. I'd have retreated rather than flank. In that, you surpassed me."
Behind them, Wang Ping's group gaped. Zhang Ren praising someone? Unprecedented!
Chen Fan's eyes widened—then narrowed. Here came the inevitable 'but'.
"But." The veteran's voice hardened. "Never gamble so recklessly again. Had your initial volley failed..."
"I'll exercise more caution," Chen Fan promised.
"See that you do." Zhang Ren nodded. "Survival first, prey second. Losing kills today means more hunts tomorrow."
Chen Fan sighed internally. Easy for him to say—without combat experience, his skill progression stalled. The village's crumbling walls offered scant protection regardless.
"Still not listening," Zhang Ren thought ruefully. The boy mirrored his younger self—cocky after early successes. That attitude had cost him...
"Enough lecturing." He waved dismissively. "Demonstrate your Tai Chi Stance before lunch."
Chen Fan's brow furrowed. His Level 3 mastery would shock them. Best to suppress his true capability—basic proficiency sufficed for learning the combat form.
Yet even his restrained demonstration left Zhang Ren thunderstruck.
A month's minimum training time, condensed into one day? Preposterous! Even prodigies required weeks. Had the Cataclysm enhanced human comprehension too? But why did Wang Ping's group remain as dense as ever?
"Uncle Zhang?" Chen Fan feigned uncertainty. "Was my form inadequate?"
