Teaching His Women to Shoot
Qinghe's face turned deathly pale with fright. She stood there, her arms stiff, unable to come to her senses for a long time.
Seeing her frightened appearance, Shen Jingchuan didn't say anything more. He simply took out a full magazine from the sack and clicked it into the gun.
He reached out and half-embraced Qinghe's shoulder, pulling her into his arms, and guided her hand to straighten her position, whispering:
"Don't be afraid, stay calm, and lower the gun barrel a little."
Qinghe leaned against him, the faint scent of grass and trees lingering around her nose. Her heart pounded, and she felt that her son-in-law was very thoughtful, which warmed her heart.
She steadied herself and slowly relaxed—she was already tall, nearly 1.7 meters, with a well-proportioned frame and a fit physique. She had panicked just now because it was her first time touching this thing, but now that she had regained her composure, her strength and accuracy immediately returned.
Watching the commotion, Lin Qingyao, who had been itching to join in, bent down and pulled a magazine from the sack before Shen Jingchuan even gave her a signal. She then quickly inserted it into her pistol.
She called out, "Husband, watch this!" and raised her hand to the wooden board. With a series of muffled thuds, the bullets landed near the bullseye, leaving a dense cluster of bullet holes—a remarkably accurate display.
She had practiced martial arts since childhood, and her wrist and waist strength far exceeded that of ordinary people. After firing several bursts of bullets, she had already figured out the tricks of the trade and could be considered to have mastered it.
Shen Jingchuan glanced back and nodded in approval:
"Not bad, the key points are all clustered together, you've learned it."
After Qinghe finished firing a magazine, she regained her confidence. Shen Jingchuan handed her another magazine and told her to load it herself.
Qinghe pursed her lips, her fingers deftly clicking as she locked the magazine. She looked up at Shen Jingchuan, who nodded slightly in acknowledgment. She then took a deep breath and aimed her gun.
This time she was much steadyer, and her trigger pulls were rhythmic. She even paused to adjust her posture, then fired another half magazine, with most of the bullets landing on the wooden plank.
"That's right, you'll get the hang of it after firing a few more rounds," Shen Jingchuan said with a smile.
Xiao Yue'er, who was watching from the side, had been itching to see more. She stood on tiptoe and tugged at Shen Jingchuan's sleeve, saying in a clear voice:
"Young master, I want to shoot that big gun too!"
"What big gun?"
Shen Jingchuan chuckled and pointed to the guns on the ground, introducing them one by one:
"This small one is called a pistol, and this longer one is called a submachine gun. If you don't want to pronounce it too much, you can call it a micro-submachine gun or a submachine gun."
Yue'er tilted her head and muttered "submachine gun" twice. Lin Qingyao, who was next to her, raised an eyebrow and asked:
"Husband, could it be that this gun fires while you're charging forward, hence the name 'submachine gun'?"
"You were absolutely right," Shen Jingchuan nodded. "At close range, twenty or thirty meters away, you saw the power of a single burst of fire from that gun just now."
The group recalled the numerous bullet holes on the wooden plank and were secretly astonished—if that fire were directed at a person, they would be riddled with holes, and even a group of people surrounding them might not be able to withstand the firepower.
After all this commotion, Bai Ruoli is the only one in the entire courtyard who hasn't touched a gun yet.
She stood to one side, gently twisting the handkerchief between her fingers, her eyes gazing longingly in their direction.
Seeing her expression, Shen Jingchuan smiled, walked over, and said gently:
"You're too weak. This thing has a lot of recoil, I'm afraid you won't be able to withstand the shock. You shouldn't touch this thing anymore. From now on, have Qinghe accompany you to protect you when you go out."
Bai Ruoli pursed her lips, timidly raised her eyes to look at him, her voice as soft as cotton. "Husband, I know this thing is dangerous, you're afraid I'll get hurt... Why don't you support me, and I'll try it, okay?" Her eyes held a cautious longing, like a kitten eagerly waiting to be fed.
Shen Jingchuan couldn't stand her cute expression, and immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'll try it. I really can't do anything with you."
He turned around, took the pistol that Lin Qingyao had just used, removed the magazine in front of her to check it, and then reloaded it.
He slowly explained the key points of the safety, trigger, and aiming to the parts of the gun, and then had her repeat them to make sure she remembered them. Only then did he stand behind her, wrap his arms around her sides, place his palms on the back of her hands, and hold her firmly in his arms.
Bai Ruoli leaned against his chest, her nose filled with his cool, refreshing scent. She felt no panic at all, only a deep sense of security.
Following her husband's instructions, she aimed at the wooden board, slowly pulled the trigger, and with a soft thud, the bullet struck the board firmly.
After firing three shots, her arm began to tremble slightly—she was a slender, delicate woman with a graceful figure, a typical classical beauty from Jiangnan, and the recoil from the pistol made her wrist go numb.
After firing a burst, Shen Jingchuan released his grip, looked down at her, and asked, "How was it? Did it work?"
Bai Ruoli rubbed her aching wrists, gently shook her head, and whispered, "It seems... a little strenuous."
"It's not difficult to use if you really want to," Shen Jingchuan said, shoving the gun into her hand. "You just need to train your arm strength every day. From now on, Qingyao will train you every day. Once you've gained the strength, you can keep this gun in your yard and carry it with you for self-defense."
Lin Qingyao, who was holding and fondling the submachine gun nearby, immediately looked up upon hearing this, her eyes shining brightly:
"What about me? My husband, I like this one. Can I have another one? It's so much more fun with two guns in hand."
As she spoke, she patted the submachine gun in her hand, looking eager to try it out.
Shen Jingchuan smiled and shook his head, "Alright, alright, go get it from the sack yourself, there's more inside."
Lin Qingyao's face lit up with joy. She quickly walked to the sack, rummaged through it, and pulled out a submachine gun. Holding one in each hand, she clicked the magazines on both guns twice, laughing heartily.
"With these two on my side, I'm not afraid of dozens of people. I'll make sure they're crawling on the ground!"
Ignoring her excitedly gesturing beside him, Shen Jingchuan turned to Bai Ruoli and carefully gave her a few more instructions on how to train her arm strength.
Yue'er, who had been unable to contain herself any longer, tiptoed over to Shen Jingchuan and tugged at his sleeve.
"Young master, young master, you haven't taught me how to use that big spear yet!" After trying to correct himself for a while, he still blurted out "big spear."
Shen Jingchuan chuckled, too lazy to correct her, turned around and took out the last two submachine guns from the sack, handing one to her:
"Here you go, give it a try. You're still a little girl, not fully grown yet, but you're quite sturdy, so you should be able to handle it."
At this moment, Lin Qingyao, holding a submachine gun in each hand, stood still and simultaneously pulled the triggers of both guns against the wooden board on the wall.
A series of muffled thuds rang out, and the muzzle of the gun immediately rose. She reacted quickly, releasing her grip and not firing a full burst.
Even though she had practiced martial arts since childhood and her arm strength was comparable to that of an ordinary man, the combined recoil from holding the gun with both hands and one hand was still too much for her to control. After firing only seven or eight shots, the bullets were already drifting towards the top edge of the wooden board.