Chapter 52: The Silver Fox

Today was Saturday. Knowing that Chen Meng must be exhausted, his parents didn’t bother him, so by the time he woke up, it was already eight in the evening.

“Mom, Dad, I need to go out for a bit,” Chen Meng said, rubbing his eyes and pulling on his clothes before heading out the door.

His mother seemed to want to say something but hesitated.

Chen Meng made his way to the roast chicken shop by the roadside. After a moment’s thought, he said, “One roast chicken, to go, please!”

The owner naturally recognized Chen Meng—he’d become a regular, coming every day lately. The owner was only a bit surprised that Chen Meng arrived a little earlier than usual today.

With the roast chicken in hand, Chen Meng headed straight to the abandoned old neighborhood.

He arrived at the spot where Mouse Beibei used to eat roast chicken, placed the chicken on the stone table, and opened it. Without worrying about hygiene, he tore off a drumstick and started eating with big bites.

“Stupid mouse, you just left like that,” he murmured. Ever since he woke up, he’d felt empty inside.

He’d woken to find the world changed, and Mouse Beibei was one of the few old acquaintances he had.

Now, with Mouse Beibei suddenly gone, he naturally felt a bit lost.

After finishing the roast chicken, Chen Meng took off his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and headed home.

Mouse Beibei was gone. He knew that the next time he saw Mouse Beibei, the mouse who insisted on roast chicken every day might be completely different.

Back home, Chen Meng checked his wounds. After a day of rest, he was much better—many bruises were fading away.

Only then did he finally have time to take out his phone, and found that Mo Xiaoyi had called him more than ten times.

After some thought, Chen Meng called Mo Xiaoyi back.

The phone rang only once before Mo Xiaoyi picked up, and before Chen Meng could speak, Mo Xiaoyi fired off, “Junior, are you alright? Jiangzhou was a mess yesterday—was it because of you guys? If you die, I’ll burn paper for you. Do you have any last wishes?”

“Senior, I’m alive. Stop cursing me. If I were dead, who would be calling you now?” Chen Meng replied, exasperated. “I was just too tired. Came home and slept. Only just woke up.”

“Well, as long as you’re okay. What happened yesterday, anyway?” Mo Xiaoyi sounded like a curious child, which didn’t surprise Chen Meng—Mo Xiaoyi was always a gossip.

Chen Meng explained the events simply, and Mo Xiaoyi exclaimed several times during the story.

Having met even demigods like Ji Wuli, Chen Meng felt Mo Xiaoyi was simply a country bumpkin.

“Senior, I’ll tell you the details at the martial arts hall tomorrow morning. Also, I have some gold I need your help with tomorrow,” Chen Meng said. This was the main reason he called Mo Xiaoyi back—he was worried the senior wouldn’t show up at the hall otherwise.

“Alright, we’ll talk in detail tomorrow,” Mo Xiaoyi replied, sounding eager for their meeting.

Chen Meng logged onto the skeet shooting range website and booked shooting training for the next afternoon.

He hadn’t fully mastered the concealed gun technique yet, and tomorrow would be his last chance to learn from Lu Guang at the shooting range.

Unfortunately, Han Hao had taken back the gun he lent him, and it was a good one. Once he learned the concealed gun technique, he’d be able to carry a firearm himself.

Yesterday’s battle with divine body beings had shown him the importance of firearms—even fifth-rank divine bodies, who could ignore most heat weapons, could still be disrupted by them.

After all this, Chen Meng took out his high school science textbooks and settled into study mode.

Since it was already eight by the time he woke up, he’d missed today’s tutoring session.

...

By the next day, Chen Meng's mood had mostly recovered. He was skilled at regulating himself.

After breakfast, he headed straight for the martial arts hall.

“Junior, you finally made it,” Mo Xiaoyi greeted him excitedly.

“Alright, Senior, I’m not interested in men,” Chen Meng joked.

“Junior, did you really kill Wang Jie?” Mo Xiaoyi asked directly, still a bit incredulous. “When Wang Jie died, he’d already advanced to divine body status, right?”

“He’d just advanced. In the end, Beibei and I took him out together. Actually, that guy was a pushover, no real combat experience,” Chen Meng said. Soon, Han Hao would be asking him for a formal statement, so there was no need to hide anything.

If he’d had a gun at the time, he could’ve handled Wang Jie alone.

Mo Xiaoyi was stunned. When had ordinary people ever called divine bodies pushovers?

Chen Meng continued, “Yesterday, I also killed a second-rank divine body cultist.”

“Junior, now you’re exaggerating!” Mo Xiaoyi laughed, thinking it was pure fantasy. How could an ordinary person take down a second-rank divine body? At their school, only juniors and seniors managed to reach that level.

Chen Meng smiled but didn’t argue.

Just then, the old man rode up on his electric scooter, apparently having overheard their conversation. He commented, “He’s not joking. You didn’t see it—Chen Meng fired a ten-shot burst, even the law enforcement officers were dumbfounded.”

Mo Xiaoyi shivered, “A ten-shot burst?”

Chen Meng knew he hadn’t actually managed a ten-shot burst, so he shook his head. “Not ten shots. Captain Han’s gun isn’t like a regular pistol—it’s much more powerful, with a heavy recoil. I didn’t manage to control it that much. At most, it was four or five shots in a row.”

If he hadn’t explained, it would have been fine, but now Mo Xiaoyi looked even more crestfallen.

“Your marksmanship is that good? I remember you’ve only been training for less than four weeks, right?”

“This is the fourth week,” Chen Meng replied, spreading his hands helplessly. He had the system to thank for his rapid progress.

Mo Xiaoyi didn’t have a system, so he’d never catch up.

After a moment’s hesitation, Chen Meng said, “Maybe it’s just talent.”

That left Mo Xiaoyi completely deflated. If you haven’t learned these skills, it's because you lack talent.

Mo Xiaoyi’s face fell, and Chen Meng didn’t waste any more words, heading to the back room to retrieve the stash of gold he’d hidden.

“Junior, this much?” Mo Xiaoyi was dumbfounded—the weight was easily over twenty pounds.

Chen Meng nodded. It was Mouse Beibei’s savings, but now it benefited him.

“Alright, leave it to me,” Mo Xiaoyi promised. Chen Meng trusted him, so he hadn’t even bothered to weigh it.

The old man saw them whispering but didn’t know what they were up to. He simply dragged out a lounge chair and basked in the sun.

Mo Xiaoyi didn’t bother training that morning—he took the gold and left, planning to deal with it today. Chen Meng needed money urgently, so he was happy to go along.

Tomorrow was the artifact forging exam, and he’d promised his forging instructor he’d score at least 120.

In the afternoon, Chen Meng went to the skeet shooting range.

“Coach.”

He greeted Lu Guang and the woman beside him, Xiang Yan.

Lu Guang looked at Chen Meng, then suddenly became serious. “A formal introduction: Former deputy company commander of the Twelfth Company, Third Battalion, Fourth Corps of the Primeval Army, second-rank divine body—Lu Guang.”

Xiang Yan paused and followed, “Former assault trooper, Twelfth Company, Third Battalion, Fourth Corps of the Primeval Army, second-rank divine body—Xiang Yan.”

Only then did Chen Meng realize both were second-rank divine bodies.

Since Han Hao, their friend, was a third-rank divine body, it wasn’t all that surprising.

Chen Meng continued training, successfully mastering the concealed gun technique. Only two hours had passed.

“Quick shot, recoil control, spin shot, concealed shot—you’ve learned them all. There’s not much more I can teach you,” Lu Guang said calmly. He looked at Chen Meng—he’d been surprised time and again, especially after hearing from Han Hao that Chen Meng had killed a second-rank cultist with a burst shot.

Chen Meng was startled—was there more to learn?

Lu Guang continued, “Combine these basic techniques with combat tactics and you have the famed gun-fighting art. Real battles against divine bodies never offer stationary targets. Only by moving, fighting, and finding the best firing position and moment can you inflict real damage.”

Chen Meng nodded; he felt the same.

Gun-fighting art, eh?

But for him, combat opportunities were rare, making such skills hard to master. According to Lu Guang, this gun-fighting art was a kind of battle artistry.

“Before I leave, I have a gift for you.” Lu Guang gestured, and Xiang Yan handed over a heavy box.

“What’s this?” Chen Meng opened it curiously and found two identical silver pistols inside, gleaming with a cold metallic sheen.

“Silver Fox. Xiang Yan and I made them specially for you,” Lu Guang said calmly.

Chen Meng was truly moved. He knew the pistols weren’t cheap—his training fees wouldn’t cover even one, let alone two.