Shen Li was jolted awake by a piercing scream.
He first thought it was part of a dream, but after listening carefully, he realized it wasn’t.
Shen Li immediately threw off the covers and got out of bed. He slipped into his shoes without time to conceal his leg problem and hurried toward Zhao Yunzhi’s room.
The door to Zhao Yunzhi’s room stood half-open. The woman was huddled in a tiny ball in the corner, her body curled up tight as she clutched her head in agony.
Shen Li took a closer look. Blood streamed from a gash on Zhao Yunzhi’s head. Her face was filled with terror as she pressed her hand against it. Beside her lay a chunk of fallen plaster from the wall, also smeared with blood.
Hearing footsteps, Zhao Yunzhi instinctively cried out for help. “T-Teacher Shen, I-I was cleaning the room and… I wasn’t careful…”
She touched her head and felt only blood, which threw her into a panic. Her words tumbled out disjointedly, fraying the nerves of anyone with a short temper.
Shen Li strode forward quickly, crouched down, and examined the wound on her head.
Just then, the panicked camera crew came huffing and puffing, lugging their equipment as they swarmed in. “What happened?” “You okay? You okay?” “That’s a lot of blood!” “Call 120! Call an ambulance quick!”
Five or six people suddenly flooded the room, crowding around Zhao Yunzhi and turning the scene into utter chaos. Everyone was in a frenzy.
Amid the disorder, Shen Li grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside table. He pulled out a clean one, placed it between the tips of his right index and middle fingers, gently moved Zhao Yunzhi’s frantic hand aside with his left, and pressed the tissue about two inches from the edge of the wound to get a clear look at its shape.
It wasn’t deep—about two or three centimeters—and it hadn’t hit any major blood vessels. Right now, though, it needed immediate pressure to stop the bleeding.
Behind him, the photographers and director shoved forward in a chaotic mob, all voicing their concern. Shen Li frowned and glanced back, channeling the authority he’d wielded as brigade captain to bark at them:
“What are you all crowding around for? Doesn’t the program group have a doctor on staff? Get him in here. And someone go down to the storage cabinet by the entryway on the first floor—grab the first-aid kit. Everyone else, get back to whatever you were doing.”
Shen Li’s command rang out, and the men behind him fell instantly silent.
Two of them bolted off right away—one to fetch the on-site doctor, the other for the medical kit.
Shen Li wiped the blood from Zhao Yunzhi’s face with the tissue, then pulled out another clean one and handed it to her. “Press down hard on it.”
Zhao Yunzhi had calmed a bit by now. She nodded obediently, pressed the tissue firmly against her wound, and even managed a polite murmur: “Th-thank you.”
Shen Li looked back at Zhao Yunzhi and asked, “Is your head spinning at all?”
Zhao Yunzhi took stock for a moment. “It’s okay. Not dizzy, just hurts.”
Shen Li pressed: “Does the wound itself hurt? Or is it inside your head?”
Zhao Yunzhi replied, “The wound hurts.”
Only then did Shen Li relax, letting out a breath. “From the looks of it, no stitches needed. Keep pressing tight with the tissue to slow the bleeding. Once the first-aid kit gets here, we can switch to gauze and hold it for a while. When the blood mostly stops, we’ll clean it with iodine.”
Zhao Yunzhi sniffled, still worried. “B-but won’t tissues or gauze have bacteria on them?”
Shen Li reassured her patiently. “No problem. A tetanus shot will handle it. Still, when the doctor gets here, let him make the final call.”
Zhao Yunzhi nodded gratefully, fully over her panic now.
Right on cue, the on-site doctor arrived. Shen Li stepped out of the room, ushering the camera crew along with him.
He was about to tell the director that Zhao Yunzhi couldn’t wash her hair for the next seven days when voices drifted up from the entryway on the first floor—two people coming through the door.
Bang!
The door flew open from a hard slam.
Yang Zhiqi stormed in first, rifle slung over his shoulder, his face dark with anger.
Li Weiwei followed behind, arms crossed.
The follow-cam crew inside spotted them and hurried to capture the new action. Shen Li stood at the second-floor railing, watching the scene unfold below with cold detachment.
Sure enough, his hunch had been right.
The moment Yang Zhiqi noticed the camera trained on him, he exploded in a loud protest. “Program group, I’ve personally brought her back, okay? Your rules are ridiculous. She quit on her own—why do I have to drive her back? Who’s compensating me for my lost time? If I don’t bag anything because of this, does that count against you guys?”
The assistant director, hiding behind the lens, replied softly: “Because you’re the team leader. Leaders take responsibility.”
Yang Zhiqi, mindful of the camera, barely reined in his temper. “Fine, whatever. Hurry it up—half an hour till closing time.”
Li Weiwei ignored him completely. She scanned the room, spotted Shen Li leaning against the second-floor railing and watching the drama, and made a beeline for the stairs. With a flick, she slung her rifle off her back, stripped off her gear in one smooth motion, and held it out to him.
“—I’m out. Shooting champion, wanna take over?”
Shen Li eyed the gun in her hands and instinctively headed down the stairs, asking, “What happened?”
Yang Zhiqi sneered. “She didn’t hit a damn thing. Got tired, I guess. Tsk.”
Shen Li shot him a glance. “And you did?”
Yang Zhiqi raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”
Shen Li took Li Weiwei’s rifle in both hands, ran his fingers along the stock with familiar ease, and smiled faintly. He had a pretty good idea of Yang Zhiqi’s temperament—the guy wouldn’t brag about specifics unless he’d barely scored. So with six people out there, they’d probably fallen short of the 40kg target, prompting Li Weiwei to bow out and hand the chance to him.
Li Weiwei double-checked with the program group: “But Shen Li didn’t register properly before. Does that matter?”
After a hushed discussion, the crew answered: “Normally, if someone drops out, the other competitors revote. But with Little Zhao injured and unable to go, Shen Li can step right in. That said, he only inherits whatever’s left of your 40 rounds.”
Li Weiwei frowned. “Ah, but I’ve only got a few left.”
The director shrugged helplessly.
Shen Li checked the magazine—eight rounds remaining—and cut off Li Weiwei before she could argue. “It’s fine. That’s plenty.”
Yang Zhiqi glanced at his watch, thoroughly impatient. “We done here? Let’s move.”
Without waiting, he turned and strode out, ignoring Shen Li behind him.
Li Weiwei started to offer her binoculars, but Shen Li waved it off. “Just give me that pack you’re wearing.”
It was for hauling game.
Li Weiwei handed over the indeed empty pack.
Shen Li thanked her and hurried after Yang Zhiqi.
=
The drive from the cabin to the hunting grounds took only seven or eight minutes.
With limited live-stream cameras, there was no follow-cam in the car.
So the moment Shen Li dropped into the passenger seat—seatbelt still unbuckled—Yang Zhiqi floored the accelerator. A national curse exploded from his lips, directed at no one in particular. His face twisted in fury, resentment pouring off him.
Shen Li shot him a cold glance in the rearview mirror, observing him like some clown, and said nothing.
Seeing Shen Li refuse to engage, Yang Zhiqi’s anger only flared hotter. Used to lording over others, he amped up his superior air.
He slapped the steering wheel, stomped the gas with malicious force, and muttered under his breath: “Tch, pretty boys like you only fool women. Slap ‘shooting champion’ on your name and some idiot rushes to hand you a gun. Let’s see how you handle it later.”
Shen Li yawned, pretending not to hear.
His gaze stayed fixed out the window, ignoring every jab from Yang Zhiqi.
It was like punching cotton. Yang Zhiqi rolled his eyes so hard they nearly left his head. Once they parked and the cameras approached, though, he flipped his demeanor on cue— even held the car door for Shen Li, feigning concern. “Hey, take it easy. Think your leg can handle it? The trail up the mountain’s a long one.”
Shen Li ignored him still. He shouldered the rifle and walked straight ahead, checking the map at the hunting grounds entrance and the program group’s marked “hunting zone.”
Convinced Shen Li was a pushover who wouldn’t talk back and just swallowed his lumps, Yang Zhiqi eased up a fraction and started enthusiastically explaining the woods and target setups.
Shen Li listened broadly, said nothing, and followed Yang Zhiqi into the grounds.
“You’ll see what I mean—this program group is ruthless. They rigged these crappy plywood targets to drop super fast, and the sights on these junk guns are worthless. Wait till I show you how—”
Bang!
Before Yang Zhiqi finished, a gunshot cracked from behind him!
Yang Zhiqi whipped around in surprise to see Shen Li holstering his rifle with swift, practiced motion.
A dark board, blending with the jungle hues, toppled with the impact.
The setup system chimed:
Gun 1 – Target hit: Badger – 1.5kg
Gun 1 – Current ranking: 1
