Shot Dead

Shen Jingchuan left the cave dwelling and walked fifty or sixty paces diagonally back from it, finding a patch of low shrubs sheltered from the wind. The ground was slightly higher there, and the dense branches and leaves would conceal him while still giving him a distant view of the cave entrance.

Once there, he took a bottle of water from the space, unscrewed the cap, and drank a couple of gulps. Coolness slid down his throat, dispelling much of the heat he had worked up along the way.

He had left all the bedding with Lin Qingyao. He took out a thick coat and draped it over his arm, then, with a thought, set the old three-seater sofa from home on the soft fallen leaves.

He propped a cushion against the sofa's armrest as a pillow and lay down in comfort. Though the mountain breeze was a little chilly at night, it wasn't cold enough to freeze him.

He wasn't afraid. He still had one chance to cross over today, so if he really found himself at a dead end, he could leave at any moment. He felt no fear at all.

The shadows of the trees swayed, and the insects' cries gradually faded. He had been on the move all day, and weariness washed over him. His eyelids grew heavy, and he was drifting off to sleep.

He didn't know how much time had passed when, amid the dead silence of the late night, faint footsteps suddenly sounded.

The soft crunch of feet on dry twigs and fallen leaves was especially clear in the utterly silent mountains.

Shen Jingchuan's eyes flew open, and his sleepiness vanished in an instant.

He moved with lightning speed. With a flash of thought, he put the sofa and cushion back into the space, then reached back and pulled out his crossbow. In one smooth motion, he cocked it and loaded a bolt. He crouched behind the shrubs, held his breath, and watched the direction the sound had come from.

The moonlight was hazy, as though veiled in gauze. He could still make out the outline of a figure twenty or thirty meters away, but beyond that there were only blurry black shapes.

In the blink of an eye, a dark figure crept within thirty meters. Head lowered, the person scanned the surroundings, treading extremely lightly and entirely unaware of the gaze watching from the dark.

Without hesitation, Shen Jingchuan pulled the trigger. The bolt sliced through the air and buried itself squarely in the person's chest.

A piercing scream tore through the night sky, and the person toppled straight to the ground.

Without raising his head, Shen Jingchuan cocked the crossbow with a click and loaded another bolt. When he looked up again, another dark figure had come running at the sound and was bending over to help the fallen accomplice, who was still moving.

He took a quick aim and released the bolt. It flew a little wide, striking the newcomer squarely in the shoulder.

"Ah—an ambush!" the person roared in pain, staggering backward and clutching a shoulder while shouting a warning.

A jumble of footsteps immediately sounded all around, and shouts rose and fell.

But the night was terribly dark, the trees were dim, indistinct shapes, and the crossbow made hardly any sound. The group milled about in confusion and, for the moment, couldn't even tell which direction the bolts had come from. They only dared huddle behind trees and hurl curses at random, too afraid to charge forward recklessly.

Shen Jingchuan deftly set a third bolt in place, clicking it securely into the crossbow's groove. He raised the weapon and brought his eye to the simple sight, slowly sweeping his gaze through it across the scattered shadows of the trees.

The surroundings were so quiet that only the soft rustle of wind against branches and leaves remained. He lay motionless behind the low shrubs, and an inexplicably familiar sense of absurdity rose in him—it was just like the night maps from the shooting games he used to play all night. He was camping in a blind spot, while his opponents couldn't figure out where he was. Even the rhythm of holding his breath and concentrating was exactly the same.

After two bolts had struck their group, his opponents didn't dare act rashly again. Every one of them huddled behind a tree, too afraid to show their heads. Only the sound of suppressed breathing remained.

Shen Jingchuan was in no hurry. His finger rested steadily on the trigger as he waited them out.

In the pitch-dark, they couldn't tell how many people he had or where they were hiding. The longer the standoff dragged on, the more anxious they grew.

After a standoff lasting about half an incense stick, the other side finally lost patience.

Amid a faint rustling, a figure slowly edged out, moving sideways with a bent back and eyes darting around. Clearly, the person still hadn't found his hiding place.

The person was only about twenty meters away, and the outline was already clear in the sight.

Shen Jingchuan didn't rush to shoot. He waited until the person's foot came down and the figure steadied for a moment. Only then did he slowly hold his breath, steady the crossbow, and gently pull the trigger.

With a soft hiss, the bolt cut through the air and plunged into the person's chest.

It struck with tremendous force, the tip piercing through clothing and into flesh. The person couldn't even finish a scream, managing only a muffled grunt before pitching stiffly into the shrubs nearby.

The surroundings fell silent again in an instant. Even the sound of breathing was kept extremely low, and no one dared go over to check.

Shen Jingchuan loaded another bolt. His ears twitched slightly as he listened carefully to the sounds around him.

Before long, he heard the faint sounds of retreat coming from the direction they had arrived. The rustling grew more and more distant—the group had truly been frightened by the attack. Unable to tell what they were up against in the dark, they no longer dared venture deeper into the woods.

Hearing the footsteps recede, Shen Jingchuan instead grew eager. Being able to cross over certainly made him bold.

He rose in a crouch and slowly followed in the direction of the sounds.

Dry leaves and twigs inevitably made faint noises underfoot, but he paid them little mind—he couldn't hear their movements clearly from far away, so they probably couldn't hear his either.

Every few steps, he stopped and listened for a moment, then determined the direction before moving on. He followed them all the way to the edge of the woods.

In the clearing beyond, more than a dozen dark figures were clustered together, speaking in low voices as though discussing something.

At forty or fifty meters, the crossbow still had enough power to reach them.

Shen Jingchuan didn't care who they were or which one was their leader. He casually lined up the figure closest to him in the sight, held his breath, and fired.

Another piercing scream exploded across the clearing.

The group froze, stunned for a full moment. Then they scattered in a rush, throwing themselves to the ground in search of cover, their chaotic cries full of panic.

No one could see where the bolt had come from. They only knew it had come from the woods.

Still less did anyone dare raise their head and look around. In an instant, the vast clearing was filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing rising and falling.

Shen Jingchuan lay low at the edge of the woods, not daring to show himself. In the pitch-dark, he couldn't tell whether they had bows, firearms, or other ranged weapons.

His bulletproof vest and helmet could protect his torso and head, but his face was exposed. Taking a hit there would be no joke.

He valued his life too much to take that risk. He crouched behind a thick tree, holding the crossbow steady and sweeping the sight back and forth, determined to shoot only from concealment and never show himself.

The people who had run out of the woods were scattered across the clearing. The moonlight was brighter than in the dense forest, but he could still make out only blurry black shapes. Farther away, human figures blended in with mounds of earth and oddly shaped rocks; he couldn't tell them apart at all.

Shen Jingchuan was in no hurry. He aimed for a good while at a dark shape that was swaying slightly, then fired a bolt, whether it was a person or a rock.

The moment the bolt left the crossbow, another scream erupted from the other side. He had actually hit someone by chance.

He lowered his head and quickly loaded another bolt. When he looked up again, he heard an uproar break out in the clearing. Someone shouted in a low voice:

"That's too accurate! He's a divine archer! It's so dark, and he can still hit us from this far away!"

Then a gruff voice cut sharply through the clamor: "Listen to me, retreat! Run together!"

As soon as the words were out, more than a dozen dark figures sprang to their feet and ran wildly into the distance, without even stopping for the wounded on the ground.

Shen Jingchuan fired another bolt in the general direction of the fleeing figures. Visibility was poor at night, and he couldn't tell whether he had hit anyone.

By the time he had cocked the crossbow again, the group had already run far away, well beyond its effective range. They really had been frightened by the attack; they didn't even look back once.

He had wanted to chase them a little farther, but just as he lifted a foot, he stopped himself.

There was no cover in the clearing, and it would be too easy to become a living target. It was much safer in the woods, with the trees for cover. It wasn't worth sacrificing himself just to wipe them all out.

He turned back to the shrubs where he had been resting. With a thought, he took out the three-seater sofa and settled comfortably against it, then pulled out a bottle of cola and took two big gulps.

Really nice. It had been stored in the refrigerator at home and was still cold. He sensed it again: time stood still inside the space.

The evening breeze blew over him, carrying a chill, and the heat from the night attack slowly faded.

Leaning against the back of the sofa, he rubbed the ring absentmindedly with his fingertips.

He wondered whether it was past midnight yet. He could still cross back once today, and he couldn't waste it.

The pursuers had already been frightened by the attack. They probably wouldn't double back.