Such a gigantic horn bow—how much terrifying arm strength would it take to draw it to such a frightening extent? Even those rich young men in the distance, who had spent some time at the archery club, deeply admired the legendary strongmen who could draw 80 or 90-pound compound bows. As for those who could draw over a hundred pounds, to this group of amateurs, they were nothing short of mythical figures. At that level, you could practically go one-on-one with a polar bear or a North American grizzly. Witnessing this scene, not only them, but even the silent man who had seen a wild boar weighing over six hundred jin had his pupils contract in an instant.

　　Bang!

　　The first arrow shot through the air, its sharp penetrating force so overwhelming that the young men—who had been swelling with pride after hitting a few small targets—didn’t even have time to feel jealous or ashamed. All they felt was the purest suffocation, unable to imagine what fate would befall any prey struck by such an arrow.

　　Awooo! A shrill, miserable scream rang out immediately.

　　The second, unusually thick and long arrow was already pinched between two fingers. The giant bow was once again drawn to that awe-inspiring arc, just as shocking the second time. Bow and man moved in parallel with the fleeing prey, and in less than two seconds, the arrow exploded out. This time, the prey’s howl was even more tragic, as if it could echo through the entire forest. Birds scattered in flocks, sending chills down everyone’s spine.

　　Before the echoes of the howl faded, the third long arrow shot out in a flash. This time, everyone could even hear the sound of the arrow piercing the prey’s body, and its next howl was tinged with despair. Setting down that horn bow—truly the pinnacle of traditional Chinese bows—the big guy turned around, his smile bright and simple, looking utterly guileless, with not a trace of cunning.

　　A group of people rushed to the scene in speechless shock. A wild boar, so fat and strong it was almost grotesque, lay on its side on the ground, three long arrows without exception embedded in its body—one in the leg, the second in the neck, and the third had gone straight through its ear and pierced its entire head. That last arrow was undoubtedly the fatal blow.

　　Kevin Young, a high-ranking official’s son born and raised in Heilongjiang, looked at the big guy in terror and muttered, “Gorilla?”

　　The refined, wealthy young man from Hangzhou, studying at Zhejiang University, squatted down to examine the trophy. He struggled for a long time but couldn’t pull out the third arrow, full of emotion and amazement, exclaiming, “What a monster!”

　　The beautiful girl, her face drained of color, hid behind the others, sneaking a glance at the huge wild boar still twitching in the pool of blood. After a long while, she finally managed to tremble out, “Pervert!”

　　Chapter Five: Shameless Couple

　　The process was thrilling, but the result was rather dull. Brian Brooks, as requested by this group of rich heirs, removed the pair of tusks for them as souvenirs. Then the group took turns posing with their phones, taking pictures with the wild boar that whimpered for ages, refusing to die. The main character, the big guy, was actually the most relaxed of them all, still wearing that laughing Maitreya expression. Yet at this moment, in some people’s eyes, his smile took on the profound meaning of a human laughing at animals scrambling about.

　　“This boar is yours. I’ll give you an extra thousand yuan, how about it?” After taking a photo with his woman, Kevin Young said generously. Although he hadn’t personally participated in the hunt, just seeing this trophy was enough to excite them for a long time. They weren’t greedy for the pile of pork at all; it was all just for fun.

　　After finally removing the tusks, Brian Brooks’s hands were covered in blood. He nodded—two thousand yuan in hand, it was worth it.

　　Kevin Young took the tusks, using up an entire pack of napkins before carefully putting them away. Brian Brooks walked over to a tree and simply plopped down on the ground, leaning against the trunk and gazing up at the sky, gasping for breath. This kind of thing really wasn’t meant for humans. Being chased by a beast weighing nearly five hundred jin—just thinking about it was full of dark humor. If that first arrow hadn’t hit the leg in time to slow it down, no matter what happened to the beast in the end, Brian Brooks would have had to leave something of himself here today—whether it was a leg or an arm, who could say.

　　The big guy sat down beside him, set the horn bow aside, and leaned against the tree with Brian Brooks in silence. There wasn’t the slightest hint of pride or arrogance in his smile after accomplishing such a feat. He just gently massaged his right arm; it seemed that drawing the bow to its full extent three times in a row had left some aftereffects.

　　Brian Brooks didn’t even bother to ask after him. He just closed his eyes, kept gazing up at the sky, and softly hummed a tune—“Singing the Painted Face,” full of Beijing opera flavor, every word clear and precise. It was actually quite something. The big guy beside him seemed to enjoy it, closing his eyes and swaying his head, lips pursed, still as simple and silly as ever—a far cry from the heroic figure who had just “drawn the bow like a full moon.”

　　The woman who loved taking photos the most didn’t take out her camera this time. She came over to the tree and said softly, “I always knew making money wasn’t easy, but I never realized it could be this hard.”

　　“Two thousand, huh!”

　　Brian Brooks opened his eyes, gazing longingly at the sky, like a frog destined to spend its whole life under these trees. His smile held no self-mockery, no sadness—pure as this pine forest. He sighed softly, “It’s a lot for me.”