Chapter 43: Feint to the East, Attack to the West
The reason was simple. In the opposing team, he was the only archer. This young man was likely highly skilled, as proven by the black rat held by the person behind him—a clear trophy from a successful hunt.
"I wonder what draw weight his bow uses," Chen Fan mused.
"Xiao Fan, did you notice him too?" The bald man grinned, casting a meaningful glance at Chen Fan and Chen Guodong. "That’s Gu Ze, Gu Jianghai’s son."
"What?" Chen Fan’s eyes widened. This coincidence is unreal.
Chen Guodong cleared his throat calmly. "As your Uncle Liu mentioned, Gu Ze is known for his strength. He can handle an eighty-jin bow." (≈88 lbs)
Truthfully, he’d felt a pang of envy at the time.
Before the words settled, scoffing erupted.
"Big deal! Our Xiao Fan uses a hundred-jin bow!"
"Exactly. That kid’s nowhere near Xiao Fan’s level in archery."
Gao Yang and the others spoke with defiant pride.
Putting aside everything else—could Gu Ze have single-handedly killed six prairie wolves like Chen Fan?
Chen Fan felt both amused and touched by their fierce loyalty.
He watched the departing group and finally understood how such a small team sustained their village. Gu Ze clearly had talent.
If only our village could nurture more like him. His mind drifted to Zhao Feng, Wang Ping, and others.
After lunch, the group resumed hunting.
Their luck seemed to shift. Within half an hour, prey appeared on the horizon.
"A herd of sheep?" Chen Fan guessed aloud.
He could now see up to 500 meters—far beyond Chen Guodong’s 300-meter limit, where shapes blurred into outlines.
A dozen sheep grazed ahead, each 50% larger than normal, with jet-black curved horns, snowy coats, and powerful, elongated legs built for speed. Most fed quietly, but one stood sentry, already tracking their movements.
"Antelope sheep?" the bald man muttered.
"Looks like it. Trouble," another hunter grumbled.
Smiles faded as Chen Guodong explained, "They’re low-level beasts—non-aggressive but hyper-vigilant. Even while eating, one always keeps watch. Once alarmed, they outrun wildebeests. We’re too far to strike before they flee."
Chen Fan nodded. The logic was sound.
Gao Yang sighed. "We’re barely spotting their outlines, but that sentry’s had us pegged for ages. They’ll bolt once we’re within 400 meters. Another false hope. Let’s move on."
The group agreed, hardened by past failures.
Chen Fan clenched his fists. Two hundred meters—just get me within 250, and I could take down two. But the sentry’s sharp eyes doomed any approach.
Unless...
An idea sparked. "Dad, uncles—what if we distract them while I flank from behind?"
Stunned silence followed.
"You mean... a decoy?" The bald man blinked.
"Sounds risky," Gao Yang frowned. "But Xiao Fan’s plans worked before—like with the wolves. Let’s try it!"
Nods all around.
Chen Fan inhaled deeply. "Remember—stay beyond 400 meters to avoid spooking them. If I reach 250, two kills minimum."
"Two?!" The hunters froze. At 150 jin each, that meant 300 jin of meat—a windfall.
"We’ll hold their gaze," Chen Guodong vowed.
The group huddled to block the sentry’s view, then crept forward in a wide arc. The antelope sheep pivoted, tracking their movement.
Meanwhile, Chen Fan crawled commando-style through the grass. At two meters tall, the sentry’s vantage left no room for error—even crouching might betray him.
Back with the main group, tension crackled.
"Feels like we’re robbing a bank," Gao Yang muttered.
The bald man snorted. "Since when do thieves announce themselves?"
"Xiao Fan’s position?" Chen Guodong whispered.
"Four hundred meters out," a rear scout reported.
"Close the gap—keep that sentry fixated."
Minutes crawled by. At 300 meters, the sentry bleated. Every head in the herd snapped up, dark eyes locking onto the hunters.
"Too close!" the bald man hissed.
The team froze—Sword of Damocles dangling overhead—as the world held its breath.
