Rebirth in a Courtyard: I Am a Little Hunter

The outline of the vast snow-capped mountains gradually blurred and collapsed behind us, eventually being completely swallowed up by the low-hanging, heavy clouds that looked as if they were filled with molten lead.

The biting north wind, like an invisible ice blade, whipped up the snow on the ground, forming swirling white columns of smoke that emitted a sharp and continuous wail, sweeping past jagged rocks and withered trees covered with glistening icicles, as if clad in silver armor.

Wei Chen stood deep in a sheltered mountain valley, the chill penetrating him relentlessly. Even with his profound skill, his exposed cheeks could feel the biting cold.

His mind was calm, and he communicated with that mysterious space. The next moment, the carcasses of twenty large wild boars were thrown out as if by an invisible giant hand, crashing onto the cold snow and instantly piling up into a small mountain that exuded a strong stench and the aura of death.

The thick blood had long since congealed, turning a dark purplish-black color that contrasted sharply with the pristine white snow. The intense odor in the enclosed mountain valley almost solidified into a tangible substance.

These were the results of his silent hunting in the primeval forests of the game world, using the bow and arrows infused with the "Nine Heavens Shooting Sun Technique".

The fatal wounds on each corpse were clear and precise—either a bottomless, smooth-edged hole in the throat, or a clean, piercing arrow wound in the heart, silently testifying to the terrifying efficiency of bows and arrows in the hands of true masters. However, at this moment, they needed a new "identity" that conformed to the rules of this era—trophies of the Type 56 semi-automatic rifles issued by the security department.

Wei Chen's face remained expressionless, as calm as if the firewood before him were merely firewood to be dealt with. He once again took out the cold steel artifact, the icy metallic touch penetrating through his gloves.

He skillfully pulled back the bolt, making a crisp "click" sound, and the bright yellow bullet was loaded into the magazine. Then, with another "click," the bullet was chambered.

He walked to the nearest wild boar carcass, his sharp gaze sweeping over the fatal arrow wound in its neck. Then, he steadily raised his gun, the muzzle almost touching the thick, rough boar hide covered in mud, snow, and ice next to the arrow hole, and without hesitation pulled the trigger!

"Bang!" A dull, resounding crash, like a heavy hammer striking a drum, abruptly shattered the silence of the mountain valley. The sound echoed and reverberated between the rock walls on either side, startling several crows perched on withered branches in the distance into a loud, cawing cry as they took flight. The intense heat from the gun muzzle, at such close range, instantly scorched the fur in that spot, leaving an ugly wound with curled edges, emitting a pungent smell of gunpowder and burnt flesh.

The immense kinetic energy carried by the bullet brutally tore apart and ripped open the relatively intact tissue next to the arrow hole, forming a bloody, deep hole that revealed the bone, completely obscuring the precision and "cleanliness" left by the arrow.

Dark red bits of flesh and congealed blood were flung out by the impact, staining the surrounding white snow in a shocking spectacle.

Wei Chen's eyes remained unwavering as he calmly examined the wound, confirming that the original arrow slit mark had been completely destroyed and rendered unrecognizable by this crude "patch."

He was like a machine executing a predetermined program, expressionless as he walked toward the next corpse, repeating the same actions: looking for the area near arrow holes or fatal wounds, bringing the gun close, and pulling the trigger!

"Bang!" "Bang!" "Bang!" ...

The dull, destructive gunshots echoed through this isolated mountain valley, like a monotonous and cruel death knell. Each shot was accompanied by billowing smoke, torn flesh, and flying debris.

New, smoky craters quickly appeared on the snow, with brass-colored shell casings scattered among the already congealed dark red blood and broken flesh.

The air was filled with a pungent, nauseating mixture of smells—the acrid smell of gunpowder, the heavy stench of blood, the stench of wild animals, and the strange odor of burnt flesh, almost suffocating.

After twenty gunshots, the valley fell silent again, with only the echoes of the gunshots seemingly still faintly humming among the rock walls.

Wei Chen put away the rifle, its barrel still slightly hot, and looked at the pile of wild boar carcasses that had been "legally" modified, his eyes remaining calm and unwavering.

He waved his hand again, and the "mountain of flesh" exuding a strong aura of death, along with the bloodstains, bullet casings, and even some snow soaked in blood on the ground, vanished without a trace and were put back into that absolutely clean storage space.

The snow was left with only large patches of trampled and dragged marks, as well as dark red patches of snow like ugly scars, silently recording the cold but efficient "processing" that had just taken place.

After doing all this, Wei Chen exhaled a long, slow breath. A thick white mist stretched straight out in the cold air and then quickly dissipated.

He stretched his shoulders, which were a little sore and numb from the continuous recoil, and looked in the direction of Baoyuquan Village. A trace of fatigue flashed in his eyes, but more than that, there was a sense of relief that the mission was accomplished.

Hunting deep in the Yanshan Mountains in winter is, for ordinary people, a grueling task that challenges the limits of life, a survival test of fighting against the cold, hunger, and wild beasts.

But for Wei Chen, who possessed fifty-five years of refined internal energy, was sheltered by the warm and cozy hunter's cabin, and had inexhaustible modern supplies, these five days were more like a meticulously planned wilderness vacation.

He unleashed his hunting instincts, experienced the primal thrill of firearms, unexpectedly acquired a priceless tiger skin, and found complete relaxation and cleansing for his mind and body in the icy world far from the hustle and bustle.

"This vacation was well worth it." Wei Chen's lips twitched slightly upwards. After determining the direction, the internal energy of the "Nine Heavens Shooting Sun Technique" within his body surged and flowed like a dormant river.

He lightly touched the snow mixed with gravel and ice with his toes, without splashing a single drop of snow, and shot out like an arrow, his figure becoming a faint shadow that almost blended into the environment on the rugged, steep, snow-covered mountain road.

The heavy backpack and rifle seemed to lose their weight. He used his light-footed skills to move without leaving a trace in the snow. His figure was as elusive as the wind. He traversed rugged rocks and swept across deep ravines. His speed was so fast that he left only a few wisps of air behind him that were instantly swept away by the wind.

The biting wind howled in my ears, and the withered trees covered with icicles and the rocks covered with thick "snow blankets" on both sides rushed past, turning into blurry patches of color.

Wei Chen felt the surging power and astonishing speed brought by the continuous flow of internal energy within his body, immersing himself in the ultimate exhilaration of riding the wind and breaking free from the earth's shackles.

In less than two hours, the familiar, low, and staggered outlines of the mud-brick houses in Baoyuquan Village, along with the wisps of pale blue smoke rising from the rooftops and swaying in the cold wind, came into clear view at the edge of the horizon.

In a secluded spot, about a hundred meters from the village entrance and hidden by a sparse but sufficient grove of withered poplar trees to obscure the view, Wei Chen stopped.

He needed to deal with the last piece of "luggage," which was also the most conspicuous and eye-catching item on the trip.

With a slight thought, the enormous, striped tiger carcass appeared out of nowhere, like a small mountain, and crashed onto the snow in front of him, stirring up a wave of snow.

Even under the gloomy light, the golden fur still shimmered with a magnificent yet understated luster, and the imposing black horizontal stripes resembled runes etched onto gold. The enormous tiger's head rested on the cold snow, and the prominent "king" character on its forehead, even in death, still exuded an awe-inspiring and inviolable aura of dominance.

Only those enormous amber eyes, which once dominated the mountains and forests and made all the beasts tremble, now lay empty, forever devoid of their captivating brilliance.

Wei Chen took a deep breath of the icy air, bent down, and firmly grasped the tiger's forelimbs, which were as thick as small trees, with his hands like iron clamps.

Within his dantian, fifty-five years of refined internal energy surged instantly to his limbs and bones. His waist and back, like a taut bow, suddenly exerted force, and a deep, muffled shout burst from his throat: "Rise!"

He carried the tiger carcass, weighing hundreds of pounds and with bulging muscles, onto his broad and sturdy shoulders! The heavy weight pressed down instantly, and the snow beneath his feet groaned under the weight, sinking deep into it.

The intense, pungent stench of blood and gore, typical of apex predators, mixed with the stench of death, assaulted the senses, almost suffocating the senses.

Wei Chen steadily adjusted his posture to ensure the tiger corpse wouldn't slip, then took firm and powerful steps, treading through the thick snow, towards his master Zhao Gensheng's secluded little courtyard located halfway up the mountain at the end of the village, partially surrounded by several old locust trees.

Carrying a huge, brightly colored dead tiger into the village was a sight that would make anyone's jaw drop. Wei Chen deliberately avoided the only main road in the village that was always busy with people, and instead chose narrow, shady paths between houses where the snow was deeper and few people went.

Even so, his tall and upright figure, and the gold and black "mountain" on his shoulders, still stirred up huge waves in this area at the end of the village, like a boulder thrown into a calm pond.

"My goodness! That...that's...a tiger?!" A middle-aged man who was chopping wood in front of his house with his neck hunched over caught a glimpse of the tiger out of the corner of his eye. The axe in his hand fell to the frozen ground with a "clang." His mouth opened so wide that an egg could fit inside, and his voice changed.

"It's Wei Chen! That brat from the Wei family! He... he's carrying... a tiger on his shoulder?!" A head wrapped in a floral headscarf peeked out from behind the neighboring courtyard wall, eyes wide open, voice so shrill it was almost cracking.

"Heavens above! He actually went into the mountains and brought back a tiger?! This... how amazing is that?!" An old man with white hair and beard walked out of the door, leaning on his cane. His cloudy old eyes were fixed on the moving, colorful giant, filled with shock and disbelief.

"Look! Look! It really is a tiger! It's huge! And its fur is... golden yellow!" Several children who were playing on ice skating by the wall were the first to spot it. They screamed and ran away in fright, which then attracted the attention of more people in the vicinity.

The window creaked open, and through the crack in the door, faces filled with a mixture of shock, fear, and curiosity squeezed out. Their gazes were drawn to Wei Chen and the enormous prey on his shoulder as if by a magnet.

Low gasps of surprise, gasps of disbelief, and suppressed whispers spread rapidly like wildfire across the edge of the village, breaking the winter's gloom.