Chapter 18: Xu Wenshan's Honest Correction

“There are at least eight mistakes in your archery technique.”

At these words, Li Six-Four showed no reaction, but Li Da-Zhuang was startled. Li Six-Four was famously stubborn, with his own set of principles regarding bow control, and refused to accept any criticism. Li Da-Zhuang still remembered that when he was first learning archery, he had asked a single question and was beaten bloody by Li Six-Four with a bow.

Li Six-Four’s technique was not to be questioned, only studied.

From then on, Li Da-Zhuang never dared to express a single doubt about Li Six-Four’s method. All he could do was memorize it, force it into his memory, imprint it into his fingers, and practice relentlessly, again and again, until “his entire body existed solely for the purpose of releasing that one arrow.”

Those were Li Six-Four’s own words, and his attitude toward the way of the bow: you must devote your whole body and mind to the arrow you are about to shoot.

So when Xu Wen-Shan pointed out Li Six-Four’s mistakes, Li Da-Zhuang thought he’d better figure out a way to prevent his father from killing the young master of the Xu family on the spot.

But, unexpectedly, Li Six-Four remained cheerful.

“Heh… Knowing your own flaws in bow control is a good thing,” Li Six-Four said.

Li Da-Zhuang breathed a silent sigh of relief, thinking his father must have misheard. He blinked and pursed his lips at Xu Wen-Shan, signaling him not to continue.

Let it end here, young master Xu! Any more and someone’s going to die!

But the meddlesome servant beside Xu Wen-Shan ruined things: “Sir, you misheard. Xu Wen-Shan said you were wrong.”

Li Da-Zhuang slapped himself across the face, having relaxed too soon—things were still going terribly!

“My archery technique is wrong?!” Only now did Li Six-Four react. “You’re saying my technique is wrong? And you claim there are eight mistakes?”

Li Da-Zhuang glanced anxiously at Li Six-Four, seeing him on the verge of exploding.

What joke was this? Did I hear correctly?

Someone actually dared to say my archery technique was flawed?

I’m the best hunter in Deer-Crane Ravine, and this boy dares to question me?

Li Da-Zhuang shrank in on himself.

Whenever his father faced a difficult prey, he would wear this expression—and once he did, it meant he wanted to kill.

Li Da-Zhuang frantically shook his head at Xu Wen-Shan, begging him not to continue, but Xu Wen-Shan seemed oblivious.

Xu Wen-Shan said, “First, your release method is incorrect. Your grip on the arrow isn’t entirely useless, but it has many shortcomings. Your draw length is short, which prevents the bow from reaching its full potential, and your finger muscles tire easily, making it unsuitable for prolonged shooting… In short, this release method is immature—most beginners abandon it after a while, yet you’ve persisted your entire life. Truly… a rare specimen.”

Li Six-Four said nothing—not because he was convinced, but because he was so furious his lips quivered and he could not speak.

Xu Wen-Shan seemed not to notice Li Six-Four’s expression and continued, “Second, your drawing posture is wrong. You only shot once earlier, so I couldn’t see clearly, but I noticed your bowstring struck your arm—I saw your armguard is worn bare, so I suppose every time you draw, the string hits your arm?”

Li Six-Four finally spoke: “How could the bowstring not hit your arm? I’ve been to the capital, where armguards sell well. All the archers there get their arms struck by the bowstring—how could you avoid it?”

Xu Wen-Shan smiled, saying, “Let’s put it to the test.” With that, he drew an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and shot.

Thud—the arrow embedded itself in a tree trunk. Though Xu Wen-Shan’s movements differed from all the archers of Deer-Crane Ravine, the bowstring did not strike his arm.

“Although it’s best to wear an armguard when shooting, it’s merely a precaution—not because you must let the string hit your arm,” Xu Wen-Shan explained.

“Coincidence! That was pure luck!” Li Six-Four shouted, “I don’t always get my arm struck either.”

Xu Wen-Shan smiled faintly, drew three arrows, and shot them in succession—thud, thud, thud—each hit its mark, and with every shot, the bowstring never struck his arm.

Li Six-Four opened his mouth, unable to speak.

But soon he thought of a final point of rebuttal: “But you can’t shoot accurately. Accuracy is the most important aspect of archery; these little tricks are insignificant.”

Yes, that’s right—though getting your arm struck stings, is avoiding it really more important than hitting the target?

To shoot well, you can’t coddle your arm.

If you disregard accuracy, all talk of technique is mere trickery and missing the essence.

“Interesting,” Xu Wen-Shan remarked. “But how do you know I can’t shoot accurately?”

Li Six-Four replied, “Those who fear pain can never shoot well.”

Xu Wen-Shan considered it, then said, “How about a contest, then?”

Li Six-Four’s temper flared—how dare a pampered young master challenge him in archery!

Xu Wen-Shan pointed at the wild boar on the ground: “Let’s use this boar as our prize. You hit it with the first arrow, but I killed it. Since it’s hard to decide who gets it, whoever wins shall have it.”

By usual custom, the first arrow wins the prize. Xu Wen-Shan didn’t really want the boar; he had other intentions.

Li Six-Four clenched his fists, anger boiling into icy composure. “Fine. Let’s see if your unorthodox methods can best me.”