Shen Li is woken by a scream.
At first he thinks it is part of his dream, but after identifying it, he realizes something is wrong—
Shen Li immediately throws off the blanket and gets up. He steps into his shoes and no longer has time to conceal the problem with his leg, walking quickly toward Zhao Yunzhi’s room.
The door to Zhao Yunzhi’s room is half open. The woman is crouched in the corner like a tiny ball, curled in on herself and clutching her head in pain.
Shen Li focuses and sees blood running from Zhao Yunzhi’s head. Her face is full of terror as she holds her scalp. Beside her lies a chunk of fallen wall plaster, also stained with blood.
Hearing footsteps, Zhao Yunzhi instinctively calls for help. “T-Teacher Shen, I-I was cleaning the room and accidentally…”
She touches her head and finds her whole hand covered in blood. Immediately losing her composure, she cannot find the point in what she is saying, the kind of rambling that makes an impatient person anxious just listening.
Shen Li hurries forward, crouches, and examines the wound on her head.
At this moment, the panicked filming crew rushes in as well, huffing under the weight of their equipment and crowding around in a swarm. “What happened?” “Are you okay?” “That’s so much blood!” “Call emergency services! Hurry!”
Five or six people suddenly flood into the room and surround Zhao Yunzhi. The situation becomes even more chaotic, everyone thrown into confusion.
Amid the disorder, Shen Li pulls a clean tissue from the pack on the bedside table, places it over the tips of his right index and middle fingers, uses his left hand to move away Zhao Yunzhi’s panicked, fumbling hand, then presses with the tissue about two inches from the wound and carefully examines its shape.
Not deep. Roughly two to three centimeters. No major blood vessel has been injured, but the bleeding needs to be stopped immediately.
Behind him, camera operators and directors push and squeeze forward in concern. Shen Li frowns and turns around, bringing out some of the authority he once used as a detachment captain as he orders them back:
“Why are all of you crowding in here? Didn’t the production team assign a doctor? Call him over—someone else go to the storage cabinet on the right side of the first-floor entrance and bring the first-aid kit. Everyone else who has nothing to do, go do what you’re supposed to be doing.”
The moment Shen Li issues the orders, all the grown men behind him immediately fall silent.
Two of them instantly sprint out, one saying he will call the accompanying doctor and the other heading for the medical kit.
Shen Li wipes some of the blood from Zhao Yunzhi’s face with a tissue, then pulls out another clean one and hands it to her. “Press hard.”
Zhao Yunzhi has calmed down somewhat. She nods obediently, presses the tissue firmly over the wound, and still remembers to say politely, “Th-thank you.”
Shen Li looks at Zhao Yunzhi and asks, “Are you dizzy?”
Zhao Yunzhi checks how she feels. “Not really. I’m not dizzy. It just hurts.”
Shen Li: “The wound hurts, or inside your head?”
Zhao Yunzhi: “The wound.”
Only then does Shen Li relax and exhale. “From what I can see, it probably won’t need stitches—keep pressing tightly with the tissue first to reduce the bleeding. Once the first-aid kit comes, you can switch to gauze and hold pressure for a while. After the bleeding mostly stops, disinfect it with povidone-iodine.”
Zhao Yunzhi sniffles worriedly. “B-but won’t there be bacteria on the tissue and gauze?”
Shen Li patiently says, “It’s fine. A tetanus shot will cover it. But when the doctor arrives, let the professional make the final judgment.”
Zhao Yunzhi nods gratefully and finally stops panicking completely.
At this moment, the accompanying doctor arrives in time. Shen Li simply withdraws from the room, taking the cluster of people carrying cameras with him.
He is just about to tell the director that Zhao Yunzhi cannot wash her hair for the next seven days when the sound of two people entering comes from the first-floor entrance.
Bang!
The door is practically rammed open.
Yang Zhiqi strides in first carrying a gun, his expression terrible.
Li Weiwei follows behind with her arms folded.
The follow-camera crew inside immediately rushes to capture the new scene. Shen Li stands by the second-floor railing, looking coldly downstairs.
Sure enough. He guessed correctly.
The instant Yang Zhiqi sees a camera dedicated to filming him, he bursts into loud protest. “Directing team, I personally brought her back, okay—your rules are really strange. She’s the one withdrawing. Why do I have to drive her back? Who takes responsibility for the time I lost? If I can’t hunt anything, can I put the blame on you?”
The assistant director, hiding behind the camera, answers quietly, “Because you’re the team leader. A team leader has to take responsibility.”
Because there is a camera, Yang Zhiqi barely suppresses his temper and urges, “Fine, then hurry. There’s only half an hour until the grounds close.”
Li Weiwei ignores him completely. She passes by, searches the house once, spots Shen Li leaning against the second-floor railing watching the drama, and walks quickly toward the stairs. She swings the gun from behind her, rapidly removes the equipment, and holds it up toward Shen Li:
“—I’m withdrawing. Shooting champion, want to take over?”
Shen Li looks at the gun in her hands and instinctively walks down the stairs, asking the reason. “What happened?”
Yang Zhiqi scoffs. “She didn’t hit anything and got tired. Tch.”
Shen Li sweeps a glance at him. “And you hit something?”
Yang Zhiqi lifts his brows. “Of course.”
Shen Li takes Li Weiwei’s gun with both hands and naturally strokes the body of the weapon, smiling faintly. He roughly understands that with Yang Zhiqi’s personality, the fact that he will not say exactly how much he caught means it definitely was not much. So the six people probably still have nowhere near forty kilograms, which is why Li Weiwei is voluntarily withdrawing and giving Shen Li the chance.
At this moment, Li Weiwei confirms with the directing team again. “But Shen Li didn’t successfully submit his application earlier. Does that matter?”
The directors discuss it quietly and give an answer. “Normally, if someone resigns, the remaining competitors would have to vote again. But Xiao Zhao was injured just now and can’t go, so Shen Li can go directly—however, Shen Li can only inherit whatever is left from your original forty rounds.”
Li Weiwei frowns. “Ah, but I barely have any left.”
The director shrugs, indicating there is nothing they can do.
Shen Li checks the magazine. Eight rounds remain. He says to Li Weiwei, who still wants to argue, “It’s fine. That’s enough.”
Yang Zhiqi checks his watch, already extremely impatient. “Are you done? Let’s go.”
After saying it, he does not wait for anyone and simply strides off, completely ignoring Shen Li behind him.
Li Weiwei wants to take off her binoculars and give them over too, but Shen Li waves her off. “Just give me the bag on you.”
The bag is for holding prey.
Li Weiwei hands over the predictably empty bag.
Shen Li thanks her and quickly follows Yang Zhiqi.
=
It is only a seven- or eight-minute drive from the house to the forest grounds.
However, because the livestream cannot have too many camera feeds, there is no follow-camera operator inside the car.
So the instant Shen Li sits in the passenger seat, before he has even fastened his seat belt, Yang Zhiqi floors the accelerator and lets out a national-grade curse. Who exactly he is cursing is unclear. Either way, his face is twisted with resentment.
Shen Li gives him a cold glance through the rearview mirror as though observing a clown, but says nothing.
Seeing that Shen Li will not “fight him online” in person, the fire in Yang Zhiqi’s heart burns even hotter. Accustomed to being the one in authority, he puts on an enormous superior air.
He slaps the steering wheel, maliciously presses the accelerator, and gives a low snort. “Tch. Pretty boys like you can fool women, that’s about it—write ‘shooting champion’ and some idiot rushes to hand you a gun. Let’s see how you clean up the mess in a minute.”
Shen Li yawns and pretends not to hear.
His gaze remains outside the window, completely refusing to respond to any of Yang Zhiqi’s attacks.
Yang Zhiqi feels as though he punched cotton, rolling his eyes almost out of their sockets. Yet after they get out and the camera comes toward them, he immediately puts on a different face. He even closes Shen Li’s car door for him and says with apparent concern, “Hey, take it slowly. Can your leg manage? The mountain path ahead is long.”
Shen Li still ignores him. He shoulders the gun, walks directly ahead, and looks at the map by the forest entrance and the “hunting zone” marked by the directors.
Yang Zhiqi decides Shen Li is a weak pushover who does not dare talk back and can only swallow losses in silence. Feeling slightly better, he starts enthusiastically introducing the forest zone and the target positions to Shen Li.
Shen Li listens in broad strokes and follows Yang Zhiqi toward the forest without saying a word.
“You’ll understand once you try. The production team has no conscience. These shitty boards retract ridiculously fast, and the sights on these shitty guns are bad too. Wait, I’ll teach you how to—”
Bang!
Before Yang Zhiqi can finish, a gunshot suddenly sounds behind him!
Yang Zhiqi turns around in surprise and sees Shen Li lower the gun with swift, practiced movements.
A dark target board blending into the colors of the forest falls in response.
The preset System plays a notification:
Gun No. 1—target hit: badger—1.5 kg
Gun No. 1—current ranking: 1