Chapter 10: The Prey Caught in the Net

Chapter 10: The Prey Ensnared

Fifteen years of waiting.

Jiang Ren once again found himself in the snow-blanketed wilderness.

When the strong grow angry, they draw their blades against those stronger still; when the weak grow angry, they strike at the weaker.

Jiang Ren never considered himself strong, nor did he aspire to be weak—he was simply an ordinary, unremarkable man, whose deepest impression in life was a truth grasped at the tender age of one:

Wherever you fall, you rise from there.

This time was no different.

Jiang Ren walked briskly through the winter forest, a serene smile gracing his face.

His hunting dog, Little White, followed closely behind, alert eyes scanning their surroundings.

Occasionally, white rabbits bounded across their path; curious snow foxes peered from the branches above, and they sometimes trod upon snakes stirred from hibernation.

Before long,

Jiang Ren arrived at the edge of a cliff.

Below stretched a green forest adorned with pristine snow—the white and green, earth and sky, composing a breathtaking tableau.

Motionless, Jiang Ren admired the scene in silence before exclaiming softly, “Truly, a perfect... hunting ground!”

At that moment, sounds echoed from afar.

A flock of birds burst forth from the forest's edge, scattering as if startled.

Listening intently, two gunshots rang out.

“The prey is caught!”

“Little White, it’s our turn now.”

Jiang Ren ruffled the dog’s head, a radiant smile spreading across his face.

Little White said nothing, merely pressing his head against Jiang Ren’s thigh, but those once calm eyes now gleamed with fierce determination.

Winter nights stretch longer than any other season.

The forest in such a season is filled with darkness, cold, and solitude—a veritable no-man’s-land.

Even seasoned hunters who frequently roam deep mountains avoid staying long; Charles, a poacher, was no exception.

But there was no choice—he had to press on.

A snow king tiger, one of fewer than a hundred left in the world and teetering on the brink of extinction, beloved by wealthy merchants and royalty alike, held a value enough to repay their dozen-strong team for years, even decades, of perilous poaching.

Not to mention, the tiger’s initial escape from their encirclement owed much to Charles’s command errors.

If they abandoned the chase now and let it flee,

A team bound solely by greed would surely fall apart.

Unless Charles compensated the others,

But that was out of the question—he was not generous enough.

“Set up camp and rest!”

Seeing that night had deepened and the team was exhausted, Charles ordered a halt to the pursuit.

The twelve gathered in a clearing a hundred meters away.

Some pitched tents, others built fires and prepared meals, while a few kept watch.

“Boss, the little treasure isn’t far now.”

The team’s information scout approached Charles, tablet in hand, pointing at a glowing dot.

“Based on what I know of this snow king tiger, we’ll catch up to it by the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

Charles nodded, discussing the next day’s route with him to close the distance faster.

In truth, if the tiger hadn’t crossed into the Great Zhou Kingdom, with their modern transport they could have easily caught it—no need for such a grueling chase on foot.

As night deepened, the team, their hunger sated, retreated into tents to sleep, leaving only two on watch.

Though they felt no real danger from the weather or environment, habit dictated a rotating night watch.

Moreover, the perimeter was dotted with over a dozen sensors, ready to sound an alarm at any abnormal movement, ensuring an immediate response.

Dennis and Byrne took the first shift, leaning against adjacent trees, cigarettes between their lips as they exhaled smoke.

“Cough, cough!”

Dennis suddenly removed his cigarette and coughed twice, cursing, “Damn! I miss my Omi cigars—the stout shape, the smooth, delicate flavor, the rich and commanding smoke.”

Byrne glanced over, offering his hand. “If you’re unhappy, give it back.”

Dennis, like a cornered wildcat, jumped and turned his back. “No, you can’t do that. This cigarette may have been yours, but now it’s mine. Though it doesn’t compare to an Omi cigar in feel or taste, not even a beauty would tempt me to trade it.”

“Suit yourself. Watch yourself—I’m off to the bathroom.”

Byrne tossed his spent cigarette aside and headed into the woods.

“Hey, we’re brothers for life—do you have to run so far? Or do you think I’d sneak a look?”

Dennis grumbled, but Byrne didn’t look back.

Dennis shook his head. “Though I have had experiences with men, that was just from a long mission—I was desperate, and that guy was so handsome, who’d have guessed he was a man?”

Exhaling a smoke ring, Dennis stroked his chin and gazed toward Byrne’s retreating figure, a new thought stirring: “Come to think of it, Byrne is pretty handsome.”

Soon, Dennis finished his cigarette, but Byrne hadn’t returned.

“Hope his treasure isn’t frozen.”

Dennis shook his head, bored, waiting.

Ten minutes passed, yet Byrne was still absent.

Frowning, Dennis called out toward the woods, “Byrne? Byrne?”

Something was wrong.

No reply came.

A chill of foreboding gripped Dennis. He swiftly gripped his assault rifle, disengaged the safety, and cautiously advanced along Byrne’s path.

Though the darkness was thick, his night vision allowed him some sight—though not perfect.

“Byrne?”

After twenty steps, Dennis spotted Byrne leaning against a tree, back to him.

But no response came.

“Good heavens, I thought you’d frozen to death on your way to the bathroom.”

Dennis approached, reaching to tap Byrne’s shoulder—only to sense something amiss.

Byrne was not ignoring him; he was beyond response.

His head hung low, eyes vacant and lifeless, a short arrow piercing his throat, pinning him firmly to the tree.

At that moment, a sharp whistle pierced the night, rousing the rest of the team from slumber.

Led by Dennis, they soon reached the grim scene.

“I... I noticed Byrne was gone much longer than usual, so I came to check. And then... I found him dead.”

Dennis’s voice trembled.

As a member of an internationally notorious poaching gang, he had blood on his hands—far more lives than just animals, at least ten men.

His fear stemmed not from death itself but from its manner.

Pierced silently through the throat by a crude arrow, Byrne died before he could call for help or sound alarm—silent, unnoticed.

(End of chapter)