The sun had climbed higher when Chen Mo returned from the mountain ridge, his small leather bag heavy with a hare and two pheasants. The village was stirring; children ran along the paths to gather herbs, women carried water from the stream, and a few men were already repairing fences.

  “Chen Mo!” a girl called, pointing at the bag. “You caught all that yourself?”

  He offered a modest smile, adjusting the bow on his back. “Just practicing. Nothing special.”

  A few other children gathered, peering curiously at his haul. “That’s more than what we’ve seen in weeks!” another boy exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. Chen Mo nodded politely, storing the game carefully.

  From a short distance, Chen Gou leaned against a fence post, arms crossed, jaw tight. At 14, the son of seasoned hunter Chen Tie had always been confident among the village children, learning hunting from his father and imagining himself a future leader. Yet now, watching Chen Mo walk calmly with a bag heavier than any the children had ever carried, a strange knot of unease twisted in his stomach. Why is he so good… and so focused? Chen Gou shook his head, forcing himself to look away.

  An elder near the granary, passing by with a sack of grain, nodded toward Chen Mo. “He’s improving, just as his father once predicted,” the man said quietly. No one envied him, but the quiet acknowledgment of his progress hung in the air. The village was small, the children ambitious, and skill like Chen Mo’s could not go unnoticed.

  Back in his small hut, Chen Mo sank onto the rough wooden stool, wiping sweat from his brow. He opened his panel and a sense of satisfaction spread through him: Archery 70/200. A week of disciplined hunting and training had pushed his body and mind far beyond where he had been at the start. His posture, draw, and aim all felt sharper, his arms steadier, and his stamina steadily improving.

  He turned to his haul. After rationing for daily meals, he had four hare pelts and three bundles of pheasant feathers, enough to bring in roughly 215–280 coins if sold at the county market. Chen Mo knew exactly what to do. The clan chief, along with a few adult hunters, made weekly trips to the county to sell accumulated pelts and salted meat, returning with coarse grain, tools, and other necessities. Each coin mattered; with the bandit toll of 1 tael (1000 coins) per household every month and government taxes on sold goods, careful planning was the only way to survive.

  Setting the bag aside, Chen Mo calculated how to stretch the grain, manage his daily meals, and continue his training. With the panel guiding his skill and the village economy mapped in his mind, he realized that each day of disciplined hunting and practice was steadily building both his strength and his path toward survival.

  After finishing a small portion of meat from today’s haul, Chen Mo carefully bundled the remaining pelts—four hare pelts and three bundles of pheasant feathers—into his cloth bag. He slung it over his shoulder and headed toward the clan chief’s hut at the center of the village.

  As he arrived, a small group of adults were gathered, including Chen Tie and a few seasoned hunters. Their heads turned in surprise when they saw the young orphan approaching, the bag heavy and his posture steady.

  “Well, look at you,” Chen Tie said, raising an eyebrow, “bringing in more than some of the older hunters do in a week.”

  Chen Mo nodded politely, placing the bag on the table. The chief inspected the pelts carefully, weighing and counting them. “Impressive work, Chen Mo,” he said, voice firm but warm. “These hare pelts alone could bring nearly 200 coins, and the feathers add another fifteen to twenty. The county market relies on accuracy like this—every piece recorded, every coin accounted for.”

  He leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly. “As an orphan, you don’t need to pay any fee for delivering your goods. Just continue this effort. Work hard, train daily, and perhaps soon you’ll be ready to join the main hunting team. You have skill, but skill without diligence will get you nowhere.”

  Chen Tie added, “Keep this up, Chen Mo. Don’t let your success make you complacent. The mountain rewards those who respect it and punish those who rush.”

  The other adults nodded in agreement, some offering quiet murmurs of praise. Chen Mo listened, absorbing every word, feeling both encouraged and sharpened by their expectations. He realized that while he had the panel guiding his skill, the real world demanded care, discipline, and respect for both people and nature.

  With a final nod, he left the chief’s hut, the weight of responsibility and possibility pressing on his shoulders. The path ahead was clear: train harder, hunt smarter, and continue building both skill and survival.

  After Chen Mo left, the clan chief gestured for the adults to gather closer. Chen Tie, along with several seasoned hunters and a few household heads, leaned over the table, where wooden tablets and scraps of paper tracked the village’s stores.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Let’s review,” the chief began, voice low but commanding. “The village is close to three hundred souls, spread across roughly eighty households. By the end of this month, each household owes the bandits one tael, a total of eighty taels. That’s eighty thousand coins—not a small sum.”

  One of the older hunters frowned. “We’re hunting steadily, but with some families short on coins and meat, will we even reach it?”

  The chief nodded. “It will be tight. That’s why the granary is so important. Every ounce of coarse grain and salted meat stored here counts. Hunters delivering pelts and game directly fund our obligations. The weekly county trips must be precise—sell enough pelts and salted meat, buy back what’s needed for households, and set aside silver for the toll.”

  Chen Tie tapped the table. “I’ll be taking three hunters out tomorrow to the northern ridge. The east forest is thin on game, but the traps are still good. Everyone needs to work carefully. Any error costs us coins, and failing the toll is not an option.”

  Another adult added, “Some households are barely scraping by. If we’re lucky, the pelts Chen Mo and others bring in this week will help, but we need constant vigilance. Salted meat for storage, enough grain to last, and coins ready for the bandits. No one can afford to waste a single pelt.”

  The chief leaned back, eyes scanning the group. “This is a harsh world. Every effort matters. Hunting, storing, trading—all of it. If we do our part, the village survives. If not… the bandits will remind us harshly.”

  A silence fell over the room. Even as Chen Mo lingered nearby, listening quietly, he could feel the weight of responsibility pressing on every adult. This was not just about survival for himself; it was the survival of the entire clan. Every hare, pheasant, and pelt had a role to play in the delicate balance keeping the village safe.

  That evening, the small Chen Tie household sat around a low wooden table, simple bowls of coarse grain porridge steaming gently, accompanied by small pieces of salted meat. Chen Tie watched his son, Chen Gou, pick at his food with careful hands, his expression serious even while chewing.

  “So, Gou,” Chen Tie said, breaking the quiet, “how has your practice been today? Have you been keeping up with your father’s expectations?”

  Chen Gou nodded quickly, swallowing a bite of porridge. “Yes, father. I tried… but I still missed some targets when I practiced shooting at the trees.”

  Chen Tie sighed, shaking his head slightly but with a smile. “It’s good you’re trying. But you should know, someone else has been impressing the village lately. Chen Mo… the orphan boy. In just a week, he’s brought back more game than many hunters twice his age. Four hare pelts and enough pheasant feathers to sell at the county. His discipline is remarkable.”

  Chen Gou stiffened. His small jaw tightened, and a flicker of unease passed across his eyes. He had seen Chen Mo returning with the heavy bags, and the admiration of the adults had left a mark. Now, hearing it again from his own father, the pressure felt real.

  Chen Tie continued, voice firm yet measured. “I’ve decided something. Starting tomorrow, you’ll come with me on the hunting trips. No more herb gathering for a while. You need to learn the mountain, the traps, and sharpen your aim. It’s time you start earning your place, not just practicing aimlessly.”

  Chen Gou swallowed hard, glancing down at his bowl. The weight of expectation settled on him like a stone, but a spark of determination also lit in his eyes. He knew the mountains would be harsh, and that every mistake might cost him game, or worse. Yet the path was clear: he had to match Chen Mo’s progress—or risk falling behind.

  His mother, quietly observing, murmured encouragement, and Chen Tie nodded. “Work hard, Gou. There’s no shortcut. Discipline, patience, and respect for the land—that’s what makes a hunter.”

  The boy nodded again, a mixture of anxiety and resolve settling in. Tomorrow, the mountains would test him, and he would have no choice but to rise.

  After a grueling evening of training that earned him five points, Chen Mo finally sank into exhaustion. He washed away the grime of sweat and dirt in the small basin, ate a modest dinner, and then settled onto his bed, staring at the flickering shadows cast by the hut’s dim lantern.

  He thought carefully about his next steps. Keeping a steady, disciplined approach carried no immediate risk, and with his current performance, earning 200 to 300 coins per week through hunting seemed manageable. By the end of the month, if he maintained this pace, he could collect roughly 900 coins—barely enough for his share of the bandit toll. Pushing beyond that now would invite danger; venturing too far into the mountains or taking on larger game might cost him arrows or even injury. Only when his proficiency jumped with small, reliable achievements could he consider deeper expeditions.

  Chen Mo’s eyes flicked to the panel: Archery 75/200. A modest improvement, but steady, predictable, and safe. With a final breath, he leaned back, letting the fatigue wash over him, and drifted into sleep, his mind already sorting strategies for the days ahead.