The Second Ridge was a domain where veteran hunters banded together—partly for safety, to watch each other's backs in peril, and partly to share the burden of hauling massive hauls, sometimes hundreds of jinin weight, back down the mountain. Over time, this necessity forged a small, tight-knit community. To join them, one needed an introducer; otherwise, in the lawless depths of the mountains, a man could vanish without a trace.
"You're going to the Second Ridge?" Zhao Qiao looked surprised. "Little Stone, how many days have you been hunting?"
"I haven't paid this year's tax yet," Chen Lei said frankly. "Where else can I gather three taels of silver in such a short time besides the Second Ridge?"
"Ah," Zhao Qiao sighed. Oppressive governance was fiercer than a tiger in these times. After a moment's hesitation, he relented, "Alright, but mark my words: if you return empty-handed, don't blame me."
"Of course not. Rest easy, Uncle Zhao." Chen Lei nodded.
As they ascended, Zhao Qiao outlined the rules: "The deep mountains yield game, true, but they also claim lives. If you encounter tigers or black bears, flee at once. Most important: avoid the brocade-clad."
"Avoid the brocade-clad?" Chen Lei asked.
"Exactly." Zhao Qiao's tone grew grave. "Those in fine silks hunting here are either martial arts instructors from schools or scions of wealthy families—we can't afford to cross them. There have been cases of hunters killed for disputing game with such men. So we stick to the southern slopes of the Second Ridge; few dare venture north. Remember that. Lastly, if you bag something too heavy to carry, shoot a signal arrow into the sky. Nearby hunters will help haul it down—for a fee, of course."
"That's all. Be cautious. Even kin may betray you." He handed Chen Lei a hollow-head arrow, like a whistle arrow but with a wooden, hollowed head that emitted a loud sound with no lethality. "Thank you, Uncle Zhao." Chen Lei was sincere. A few salted duck eggs for such wisdom was a bargain.
By the time they reached the foot of the Second Ridge, the sun hung low. To avoid conflict, hunters split up unless hunting a ferocious beast together. The ridge was deep and lush. The moment Chen Lei stepped into the woods, his senses, honed by Tracking & Stalking, detected traces within a ten-pace radius: droppings hidden in soil, footprints beneath grass.
Even hunting dogs can't match this!he thought. Though I lack a hound, I am my own superior tracker. And this is just the Initiated stage!
In full swing, he wove through the jungle, bow slung, missing no stir of leaf or twig. Game was plentiful here, but mostly rabbits and pheasants. Large prey was scarce, and with years of poor harvests and overhunting, even veteran hunters often returned empty-handed. According to Uncle Zhao, the real bounty lay north, but that was the preserve of the elite—commoners without martial arts skills dared not tread there.
Even hunting is oppressed?Chen Lei resolved not to waste time on small game. With his current skill, rabbits were easy prey. He sought something larger, even a roe deer.
Focus sharpened. Fatigue faded; the world grew clearer, as if he were entering a new realm. Breaking the threshold, the panel rippled into view:
[Skill: Tracking & Stalking (Proficient)]
[Progress: (0/500)]
[Effect: Astonishing insight, as light as a swallow]
A mystical sensation washed over him. His senses elevated—now he could see individual animal hairs on the ground! Some wild beasts hid their droppings, but not their shed fur. This insight aided not just tracking, but archery: the better his vision, the truer his aim. A palm-sized target at eighty meters was a mere speck, but with sharper sight, he could hit it dead center. All skills complemented one another.
Combined with the "photographic memory" from reading, it's like a Holmesian memory palace—tailored for hunting.
Bending, he plucked a black hair from the grass. Half a finger's length, stiff, not yet decayed. Its owner was here recently.Every dozen steps, he found more. After a hundred paces, clear footprints emerged. He followed the trail.
The rugged path felt unnaturally easy under his feet, his steps swift and silent—truly as light as a swallow. Is this a form of qinggong?
Movement!He slowed near a bamboo grove, approaching the sound. A robust wild boar, jet-black all over, came into view, trailed by three piglets. The sow rooted in mud, the piglets snuffling behind, the family blissfully unaware of danger.
Jackpot!This sow looked to weigh at least three hundred jin; the piglets were even more valuable. Silver glimmered in his mind's eye. Suppressing excitement, he closed in. Range mattered, but for a thick-skinned boar, proximity ensured lethality.
At twenty paces, he stopped at a reverse slope. Nocking a brand-new double-edged, barbed wolf fang arrow, he drew the four-strength bow—now featherlight, full tension achieved with little effort. The string released; the arrow arrived in an instant!
Squeal—Striking the boar's hindquarters, the arrow drew a shrill cry. Flocks of birds took flight in panic. Too light, the arrow penetrated only three inches. Enraged, the boar charged, blood streaming, heedless of injury. A wild boar was a ferocious beast; an ordinary man struck by one would lie bedridden for weeks.
Chen Lei remained calm. A second arrow was already loosed. Snort—The boar faltered but kept charging, slower. A third arrow pierced its skull. Finally, it collapsed, lifeless.
The four piglets scattered. In the tangled terrain, most hunters would lose two, but Chen Lei's archery was extraordinary. Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish!In mere breaths, all four piglets were pinned, dead. The arrows in his quiver were exactly spent.