Chapter Thirteen: The Hunter Knows Not the Arts, While Rogues Run Rampant Under the Cover of Night

A man and a demon walked through the mountains, following a faint path as they descended toward home.

After covering some distance, they suddenly noticed a bonfire ahead, smoke curling into the air. In these deep woods, who would be cooking here?

Xu Wenshan signaled for Lu Ze to be quiet. The two crept carefully toward the fire and soon found it was surrounded by seven or eight hunters.

The forests around Deer Crane Valley were extensive, teeming with birds, wild rabbits, and beasts—resources seemingly endless. As such, many hunters lived in Deer Crane Valley, though they usually hunted alone. It seemed these men had met by chance and decided to share a meal.

Xu Wenshan whispered to Lu Ze, “It’s better not to show ourselves. If they see us and word reaches my father’s ears, that wouldn’t be good.”

Lu Ze nodded seriously, shrinking himself to appear even smaller.

Xu Wenshan smiled, hiding behind a tree to listen to the hunters’ idle chatter.

After a while, he realized they were boasting.

“With my Falling Moon Bow technique, I can shoot the twigs off that birch tree with a single reverse shot!” one hunter declared, thumping his chest.

Another scoffed, “That’s nothing. I can bring down a giant eagle with one arrow!”

The rest chimed in, each outdoing the other—claims of hitting targets at a hundred paces, shooting mosquitoes and flies. Xu Wenshan listened with amusement.

In truth, Xu Wenshan had been a member of an archery club in his previous life, skilled in the bow and particularly fascinated by traditional ones.

But since crossing over, he hadn’t touched a bow in years. Hearing their boasts now made his hands itch with longing.

The hunters soon grew competitive, rising to their feet to settle the matter with a contest.

The spectacle amazed Xu Wenshan. Some hooked the string with index and middle fingers, thumb resting on the arrow, dubbing the technique “Twin Dragons Ascending.” Others used the index finger to draw the string, thumb and finger at an angle—called “Falling Moon Arrow.” Still others formed a circle with thumb and index finger, naming it “Setting Sun Bow.”

Some drew the bow backward, others couldn’t shoot unless squatting—oddities of every kind, none of them proper.

Xu Wenshan, hidden nearby, couldn’t help but laugh aloud.

“Who’s there?”

The hunters’ ears were sharp, and they caught Xu Wenshan’s laughter. Unable to hide, he stepped out.

“Who are you?” a hunter demanded.

Another tugged his sleeve and whispered, “Isn’t that the Xu family’s young master?”

Xu Wenshan was known in the village, so the hunters recognized him. Learning he was the landlord’s eldest son, their demeanor shifted to respectful.

“Young Master Xu.”

“Greetings, Young Master Xu.”

Xu Wenshan waved them off. “No need for formalities.”

His clothes were in tatters, and the hunters refrained from asking. After a round of awkward pleasantries, one asked, “What made you laugh just now, Young Master?”

Xu Wenshan tried to keep a straight face, but soon grinned again. “It’s nothing… Well, honestly, your archery methods were quite amusing.”

The hunters exchanged puzzled glances. One impatiently demanded, “What do you mean?”

Xu Wenshan borrowed a bow and said, “I noticed your release techniques and realized you don’t really understand bows. With this short-limbed, single-piece bow, you ought to use the Mongolian draw, like so…”

He hooked the string with his thumb, letting the index and middle fingers rest naturally atop it, the arrow nocked at the base of the thumb—a textbook Mongolian technique.

Xu Wenshan intended only to educate the hunters, but they didn’t understand him.

What was a “release technique”? What was a “single-piece bow”? What was “Mongolian”?

They only caught the phrase, “you don’t really understand bows.”

The hunters grew indignant.

“Some young master telling us we don’t know archery?”

“He’s got nerve, this Xu family boy!”

“I always thought he was odd, but today he’s truly foolish!”

Xu Wenshan sighed. “Why not try my method and judge for yourselves? I welcome any doubts.”

An elderly hunter stepped forward to mediate. “Young Master Xu, everyone has their own habits and techniques, each with strengths and weaknesses. No one can convince another—it’s best to respect each other and compromise…”

Xu Wenshan interrupted, “But my method is far superior to yours.”

Such bluntness left no room for diplomacy. A hunter stepped up, “If you say your technique is better, prove it—show us!”

Xu Wenshan replied at once, “Very well.”

He took up a bow, aiming at a branch dozens of paces away.

All the hunters watched intently as he drew the bow. In the distance, Lu Ze peeked out, eyes fixed on Xu Wenshan.

He drew, released—and missed.

In his previous life, hitting such a target at this distance was routine; he was confident he could put these hunters to shame.

But he’d forgotten—his skill level was no longer what it once was. His body, strength, and the bow itself were all unfamiliar. Archery was all about feel, and his senses were off. Worse still, he’d been thrust into the challenge without a moment to reacquaint himself.

So, unsurprisingly, he missed.

The hunters hadn’t yet realized what had happened; in the distance, Lu Ze covered his face.

Xu Wenshan took a deep breath, set the bow down, and said expressionlessly, “Let’s go.”

With that, he led Lu Ze away, step by step.

Behind them, the hunters finally understood and burst into raucous laughter.

“I thought he was something special! Turns out he’s nothing at all!”

“Looks like he’s been spoiled—thinks everything should go his way. Now he’s shown us his true colors, ha!”