The sun was dipping behind the mountains when the news reached the village. A breathless traveler arrived from a neighboring settlement, speaking rapidly to anyone who would listen. “Yao Beast… attacked the eastern farms… livestock killed… a few villagers injured… it came from the forest ridge.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Faces paled, hands tightened on tools, and some children clutched at their parents’ robes. The village, usually calm in the evenings, was suddenly tense. Chen Mo, returning from a long day of hunting, paused at the edge of the square. His panel glowed quietly—Archery 500/500—but his expression remained unreadable. He noted the fear, the speculation, the scattered panic, and stored the details in his mind. Most believed the beast was likely a forest tiger—not a ranked tiger from the deep mountains. If it were a high-ranked beast, the villagers could not resist at all; only martial artists hunted those, seeking their body treasures. Even an ordinary forest tiger, however, could be deadly to untrained humans.

  By nightfall, the chief called a gathering. Lanterns flickered along the path as villagers assembled in the central hall. The air was thick with anxious whispers, the tension tangible. Chen Mo stood near the back, observing silently as the chief rose to address the crowd.

  “This Yao Beast is dangerous,” the chief began, his voice steady, carrying over the murmurs. “But it is not beyond our capacity. Martial artists face far stronger creatures, often the ones deep in the mountains. We, however, must rely on strategy, caution, and unity.”

  Elder Huang, stepping forward, added, “We will organize watch shifts. Those at the forest edge will patrol at dawn and dusk. Reinforce your fences, and secure livestock in pens. Keep children and the elderly indoors after sunset.”

  A villager spoke up nervously, “And if it attacks during the night? Some of us are too weak to defend ourselves.”

  The chief’s gaze swept over the crowd. “Do not take unnecessary risks. If the beast approaches, sound the alarm immediately. Only those confident in skill should attempt direct defense. Observe first. Protect second. Confront only if unavoidable.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes scanned the assembled villagers, but his mind worked differently. He traced the likely paths of the beast through the forest, noted where traps could be most effective, and calculated safe distances. Even a forest tiger could kill without effort; he would need patience, precision, and his own skills to avoid danger.

  Elder Huang continued, “We will also send scouts along the ridge during daylight. Map its movements. Understand its patterns. Knowledge is our advantage—do not underestimate it.”

  As the villagers debated watch shifts and fencing repairs, Chen Mo quietly folded the details into his plans. His mind replayed the chief’s words: martial artists handled truly dangerous creatures; ordinary humans must survive with wit and vigilance. Even an “ordinary” beast required respect, and one mistake could be fatal.

  When the meeting concluded, the villagers dispersed cautiously, lanterns bobbing in the dim light as they returned to their homes. Chen Mo lingered a moment, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Then, with a calm breath, he turned toward his hut. His steps were measured, his thoughts precise. Each mental calculation, each precaution considered, reinforced one truth: survival depended on skill, foresight, and restraint.

  By the time he reached his hut, Chen Mo had already reviewed possible traps, estimated escape routes, and replayed his archery techniques in his mind. Tonight, he would rest—but tomorrow, he would continue sharpening both body and mind, ever mindful that even a seemingly minor threat could alter everything.

  The night air carried a biting chill as the villagers returned to their homes. Lanterns swung gently, casting long shadows on the packed earth paths. In small groups, families reinforced fences, tied livestock into pens, and set rudimentary noise traps—pots and sticks to alert them if anything approached. Children peered curiously, while adults exchanged worried whispers.

  Chen Mo, however, moved silently along the forest edge, barely disturbing the fallen leaves. He observed the hastily-made village traps, noting weaknesses and gaps. His mind traced the most likely paths the tiger would take, calculating angles, distances, and escape routes. He gathered a few sharpened stakes and laid them carefully at choke points among the trees, camouflaging them with fallen leaves and mud.

  Every movement was precise, deliberate—nothing like the villagers’ clumsy defenses. Even the best-meaning setups could be bypassed by a forest tiger, but Chen Mo’s traps were layered, with multiple contingencies. He paused, imagining the tiger’s weight and power, envisioning how it might stumble into the first trap, then the second.

  As he worked, he reviewed his panel quietly, Archery 500/500, noting the subtle nuances he could exploit if the tiger appeared within range. Every step, every placement, honed his mind as much as his body.

  By the time he returned to the village, the early hours of night had deepened. The village seemed calm again, though the tension lingered in the tight lines of faces and in the quiet shuffle of patrols. Chen Mo slipped back to his hut, satisfied. Tonight he had done more than the villagers could imagine. Tomorrow, the forest would test their preparations—and his patience, skill, and foresight.

  A few days had passed since the village gathering, and the routine of hunting, learning, and saving continued. Chen Mo was just returning from Old Mu’s yard, his mind reviewing the lessons of the day. The characters he had learned flickered in his memory like faint lantern light—still far from mastery, but enough to read simple phrases.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Although I haven’t mastered all the characters yet, at least I can manage to read now,” he murmured to himself, tightening the strap of his satchel. The familiar rhythm of his footsteps across the dirt path kept him grounded.

  Suddenly, a commotion erupted from one of the far corners of the village. Screams pierced the evening air, followed by the pounding of boots and the clatter of hunters rushing past. Chen Mo froze, his instincts immediately alert. He recognized the pattern: something had intruded, and it was likely the forest tiger that had been rumored.

  He slipped quietly into his hut, retrieving his bow and a quiver of arrows. His mind raced through possible scenarios. From the edge of the path, he surveyed the smoke-gray light of dusk, choosing an angle that would allow him to gauge the danger without being exposed.

  “If it’s a threat even veteran hunters can’t resist… then this isn’t my fight. I will never risk my life for others—not now, not ever,” he thought, his tone calm but resolute. “But if it’s an ordinary forest tiger… then I can at least assist and earn my share. Nothing more. My life, my survival, always comes first.”

  Chen Mo adjusted his stance, the weight of the bow familiar in his hands. His senses sharpened, noting the rustle of leaves, the distant cries, the shadows moving among the trees. He was ready to make the first assessment: predator or manageable foe, life or death, survival or contribution.

  From his vantage point, Chen Mo’s enhanced senses picked out the shape of the beast moving through the forest edge. Even from a distance, he could see the chaos it caused—cattle scattering in all directions, some trampled in the confusion, others panicked and bleating loudly. The hunters were struggling, their arrows bouncing harmlessly off its thick hide, some already injured as they tried to confront it head-on.

  The tiger was massive, far larger than any he had seen in his previous life, and its power was evident in every swipe of its claws and shake of its body. Its roar carried across the clearing, sharp enough to make even seasoned hunters pause.

  Chen Mo studied the scene carefully. Darkness fell fast, but his eyes, honed from countless hours of practice, could pick out the faint movements, the subtle shifts in the tiger’s stance. He notched an arrow, drawing silently, his breathing steady.

  The first arrow flew, striking true. Chen Mo aimed precisely for the tiger’s eyes—a dangerous but calculated shot—and the arrow found its mark. The beast roared in confusion and fury, thrashing blindly as the hunters adjusted.

  With the tiger disoriented, the hunters finally managed to coordinate, encircling it carefully and guiding it toward a trap they had prepared near a narrow gorge. Chen Mo kept his distance, ready to act if it broke free, but his strike had tilted the balance.

  A final coordinated effort and the tiger fell into the trap. The village exhaled as the dangerous beast was finally killed. Chen Mo lowered his bow, observing quietly from the shadows. The hunters rushed forward to inspect the kill, murmuring in awe about the size of the tiger—and quietly glancing at the boy who had made all the difference.

  Chen Mo’s expression remained neutral, but inside, he cataloged everything—the tiger’s size, strength, and behavior—and the effectiveness of his shot. Life was survival, and skill was everything. The hunters might praise him, but he knew the truth: in this world, every victory was earned, and every threat was a lesson.

  By the time the villagers dragged the massive tiger to the village center, lanterns flickered along the main path, casting long shadows over the gathered crowd. The village chief, a few senior hunters, and several younger men were already waiting, their faces a mix of relief and awe.

  Chen Mo stayed at the edge of the gathering, observing quietly, though his eyes followed every movement and word.

  The chief stepped forward, clapping his hands together. “Look at the size of this beast! I’ve seen tigers before, but nothing like this. Even after skinning and selling the pelts, this could fetch at least five taels of silver for the village!”

  A younger hunter raised his voice, nodding vigorously. “Five taels, yes, but let’s not be mistaken—this is still an ordinary tiger. If it had been a first-rank forest beast, it would have been worth at least fifty taels. And I doubt anyone in the village would have survived the encounter.”

  Chen Tie chuckled, shaking his head. “Ha! If it had been a first-rank beast, every one of us would be nothing more than a meal by now. Let’s be thankful it wasn’t beyond our strength.”

  The chief nodded firmly, his gaze sweeping across the gathered hunters. “All of you did well today. You faced a beast far larger than we expected, and none were reckless. Especially Chen Mo—your precision and courage made a real difference in ending this encounter safely. I thank you on behalf of the village.”

  Several hunters stepped forward, slapping Chen Mo on the back or nodding with admiration. “Well done, Chen Mo!” “Couldn’t have done it without you, boy!” “Your arrow… spot on, amazing work!”

  Chen Mo inclined his head slightly, keeping his composure. “Thank you. I only did what I should. Everyone played their part. That’s all.”

  The chief smiled, satisfied. “Fair enough. Once the tiger is fully processed and sold, I will ensure everyone receives their due share. No one will be left behind.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement, some still glancing at the massive carcass with awe, while Chen Mo quietly noted the value of the beast in his mind. Another lesson in survival, another gain toward his future—yet another reminder of why skill, precision, and careful assessment were more valuable than courage alone.