Chapter 105: Night Hunt

“Fuck your turtle grandson!” Old Liu spat in shock, hunching his neck and bolting behind the nearest big tree. He peeked out with one eye, tracing the bullet’s path. Before he could settle into the bushes, another bang cracked the air. The bullet shredded the leaves right in front of his face, whipping past his scalp and embedding itself in the trunk behind him.

Water splashed everywhere.

Gu Xianwang shoved Ye Chan flat to the ground. They huddled together, barely freeing up two arms to awkwardly roll the Northeast Burly Man’s body sideways. Their heads nestled into his chest—he was dead weight. The big guy had tipped the scales at over two hundred pounds alive, and now he might as well have been an iron boulder. Gu Xianwang fought to keep her balance, cautiously scanning the area. In the vast open clearing, she and Ye Chan were the only ones left breathing. Sister Xun and Dog Lord had vanished in a heartbeat.

From all directions in the woods came faint howls—wolf or dog, hard to tell—accompanied by the endless rustle of shaking leaves.

Ye Chan wiped her face with a trembling hand. “S-Sister Gu… I’m scared.”

She meant it. She’d never witnessed a death like this, right before her eyes. If that bullet had veered just a fraction… She couldn’t bear the thought. Her limbs shook uncontrollably, going limp no matter how hard she pounded them. She wanted to scream, to sob, but the signals jammed somewhere inside her. Nothing worked right. It was agony, pure torment that clawed at her sanity.

Gu Xianwang gnawed relentlessly at the zip tie binding Ye Chan’s elbows. She didn’t sever it clean; once she’d notched the first one nearly through, she switched to the second, scoring each at the same spot. Then both arms yanked together—snap—and all three ties shattered.

She drew Ye Chan into her arms, guiding her forehead to rest against her collarbone. A gentle pat on the back of her head. “Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. I promised your brother I’d get you out safe. Trust me.”

Their knives hung from the big guy’s belt. Gu Xianwang reached out carefully, but before her fingers brushed his waist, another shot rang out. The bullet scorched the heel of her palm and punched into his elbow. That arm dangled right over their heads; it erupted in a bloody mist as the round tore through, drenching their faces and hair.

Ye Chan’s shoulders convulsed in shudders. She gasped ragged breaths against Gu Xianwang’s body, then clamped down on the fleshy web between her thumb and forefinger. A muffled growl escaped her. The pain ebbed quickly, and she tore into the tie on her wrist like a wild animal. Snap. She scooped filthy water from the ground to scour the blood from her face, eyes blazing red as she hauled herself upright. “Fuck that noise! Bowl-sized scar on a headless neck—either blast your granny to kingdom come, or don’t dream of scaring me shitless!”

Her words still hung in the air when the bushes at the forest’s edge quivered. Slim shadows burst forth in a rush. Two stifled curses followed as Sister Xun and Dog Lord stumbled backward from the undergrowth, Old Liu with them. Every last one stiffened their spine, inching inward. Gu Xianwang peered closer: slender hounds had them penned.

Slender hounds were born hunters. In the myths, Erlang Shen’s Howling Celestial Dog was one of their breed—lean frames, blistering speed, elongated snouts built for mountain pursuits. They nailed their prey without fail, man or mole or hare.

Old Liu held his fire, no doubt waiting for the gunman to show his face. The shooter had dropped one of them cold from the start—bad blood, for sure. Revenge? Gu Xianwang couldn’t fathom another motive for such trigger-happy work. Whatever the grudge, blood had spilled, and the enemy clearly aimed to wipe them all out, no witnesses spared. She needed to seize the chaos, snag their gear, and bolt with Ye Chan.

But those dogs… they were a nightmare.

“Hey, hey, hey—” As the thought crossed her mind, Ye Chan kicked out her legs and barked. “Woof! I’m telling you, I’m vicious too! Back off! Back up, back up, back up!”

As she looked up, another plump and sturdy black-and-white Slender Hound was already approaching with its teeth bared. Up close, these dogs were clearly no ordinary strays—they must have received excellent training and feeding on a daily basis. Though lean, they were nothing but pure muscle, each one easily weighing eighty or ninety pounds at least. Most deadly of all, these beasts seemed accustomed to raw meat. It snarled at the two of them for a moment, nostrils twitching, before turning to the Northeast Burly Man’s side and meticulously licking the blood froth from the bullet hole on his head until it was spotless.

Once finished, it smacked its lips with obvious dissatisfaction, as if it hadn’t gotten its fill.

At that moment, Old Liu suddenly bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Lads, button it! Foes on the rafters!” meaning “Brothers, shut your traps! Enemies lurking overhead!”

Dog Lord just scoffed, muttering something unintelligible under his breath, but he didn’t budge an inch.

Gu Xianwang couldn’t make heads or tails of the thieves’ cant, but judging from the earlier conversation and Dog Lord’s reaction, she figured Old Liu was trying to play the two sides against each other—goading Dog Lord into making a move that would expose the gunman’s exact position. With a dire threat right in front of them, these idiots were busy revealing their knives from behind their backs. Compared to the likes of Sara and Chak, this bunch actually came off as the professionals.

But for her and Ye Chan, it was undoubtedly a stroke of good fortune.

Their gear packs lay about three meters to the left, while straight ahead the three tomb raiders were gradually closing in. Nine Slender Hounds ringed them, teeth flashing and bared, with two of the beasts nearest to her. If they wanted to fight their way out, the perfect moment would come right after the enemy revealed themselves—precisely when the two sides clashed.

With her mind made up, Gu Xianwang spat out the rainwater trickling into her mouth and swept a keen gaze over the dog pack. For a trained pack numbering more than two, relying on sheer presence to cow them was next to impossible. The best approach now was to spot the leader, just as Long Li had demonstrated in the Sinkhole. Kill the alpha without hesitation, and the rest wouldn’t dare press the attack.

But before she could pick out the leader, a piercing whistle cut through the woods, instantly reminding her of Yang Baibai’s Ape Whistle. This sound, however, was far more complete—a frequency humans could fully hear, grating on the nerves like fingernails scraping a chalkboard.

Shadows then burst from the underbrush on all sides. These figures wore heavy raincoats and tall wooden Nuo Masks, leaping in square steps with heads swaying wildly as they beat drums. The drums weren’t ordinary either—small waist drums about six or seven inches across, strapped to their waists, skins stretched taut on both sides and struck with the flat of four fingers. The rhythm was bizarre: deeply muffled, wildly off-key, almost like the wail of some tormented beast. Paired with the frenzied dance of these porcupine-faced intruders amid the downpour, it felt like some primal rite to summon demons from antiquity.

Ye Chan’s scalp crawled with unease, but she refused to let the opportunity slip. Seizing the distraction of the unearthly clamor, she scooted closer to Gu Xianwang and whispered, “Sister Gu, I’ve got a way to drive off the dogs—but I need to grab our packs first.”

Gu Xianwang had already spotted the leader. It wasn’t out front but lingered between two trees, which meant its owner was likely hiding just behind them. Judging by the angle of the shot that had nailed the Northeast Tough Guy, the gun was probably in that person’s hands.

“Got it. Hold still until I give the signal.”

The eerie drum dance dragged on for four or five minutes. As the beats finally petered out, another five or six figures emerged from the grass. They carried bows and arrows, stone axes tucked into their belts, and wore raincoats like the others—but no masks. Their faces were slathered in thick greasepaint, visible in the night only as pairs of ghostly pale eyes. Yet Gu Xianwang could tell they were different: these were children, their features soft and youthful, none older than their early teens.

The drums fell silent entirely. The masked figures began to howl, clearing a path for the children, who arrayed themselves in a line behind the dog pack. One by one, their eyes gleamed with feral intensity, locked on Dog Lord, Old Liu, and the rest.

In that instant, Gu Xianwang’s heart sank. From the tactics to the ritual, it all screamed organized hunt.

Could it be they hadn’t rushed to gun them down earlier just to leave them alive—as target practice for these kids?

This was the twenty-first century!

As she was lost in thought, a leg dangled down from a thick horizontal branch on the tree behind her. Gu Xianwang traced it upward with her gaze and recognized the person beneath the mask from just the upper half of their body alone. Her mind raced through her options, and she suddenly called out, “Sister A, even if the deal falls through, we can still part amicably. Do you really have to take it this far?”

Her shout drew the eyes of Old Liu, Dog Lord, and Sister Xun to the spot at once. Sister A’s upper body was largely hidden by the tree canopy, making her a tough target, but Gu Xianwang was standing out in the open like a live target. She dared to speak because after a quick observation, she judged that these hunters were all men—and their gazes were fixed solely on the men. From the materials she’d skimmed after returning from Guizhou, she knew that in ancient times, hunters of any ethnicity typically avoided killing female prey. This custom lingered into modern eras across many practices. For example, bandits on the greenwood paths considered robbing women bad luck. In relatively decent times, women were protected under the code of “seven not to rob, eight not to seize.”

So she placed her bet. As long as Sister A didn’t pull the trigger in haste, she stood a chance.

A long moment passed with only the patter of rain all around. Then the branch trembled, leaves rustled faintly, and Sister A leaped down. She pulled off her mask and let out a light chuckle. “Sharp eyes, little beauty—and nerves of steel too. I like that.”

Descending with her was another figure lurking behind—a tall, skinny man holding a transparent rain umbrella over the two of them. He wore rimless glasses and had a refined, scholarly air. It was the young doctor from the clinic earlier. He and Sister A both gripped guns, old-style ones that Ye Chan had seen in countless war films. They looked like Box Cannons, also called 20-Round Mausers—originally German designs that had been copied domestically at the renowned Hanyang Arsenal.

These guns outshone the Turtle Shells and Fluted Revolvers: lightweight, reliable, high-capacity, and simple to reload. With their enormous early production runs, black market parts were plentiful. The pair in Sister A and her companion’s hands had come from those same grave robbers they’d ambushed before.

Ye Chan inwardly rejoiced at Sister A’s opening words. Looks like there’s hope after all, she thought. Big sis still has a soft spot for us girls.

But then came the follow-up. Sister A sighed wistfully. “In that case, I can’t just kill you outright. I need to preserve your skin nice and intact—then beg Uncle Bubu to make me a new drum from it.”