Chapter Sixty-Eight: Preparation

No one could say exactly when it began, but wherever there was water, fishing enthusiasts could always be found. Wu You was not fond of fishing himself and did not understand the pleasure it brought. Of course, he had nothing against those who fished, but he preferred not to let them venture into the latter stretches of the Qinglong River. He had taken thorough measures. As a result, where once the banks of the Qinglong River bustled with anglers, now one could hardly spot a soul. Occasionally, an oblivious outsider would appear, but most would leave soon after. No one drove them away; it was simply that there were no fish to be caught in the Qinglong River. The fish there seemed to possess an uncanny intelligence—they would not take the bait nor bite the hook. Even the most ardent fisherman relished the thrill of a catch, but here, the joy of a tug on the line was forever absent. No one wished to while away their time like the legendary Jiang Taigong, endlessly casting and waiting in vain.

Zhang Xiaoyuan also arrived, laden with fishing gear, his spirits high for the coming sea trip. The sight of his fishing equipment left Wu You utterly dumbfounded. He had always thought fishing required little more than a pole and some bait; as a child, a bamboo stick and a goose feather had served him well enough. Yet Zhang Xiaoyuan’s modern SUV had a trunk stuffed with a massive box full of gear. There were four or five rods alone, over a dozen bags of bait, and all manner of lines, floats, and paraphernalia. There were even separate rods for sea and freshwater. Wu You could only marvel at the sophistication of city folk.

Reality, however, was less kind. The next day’s excursion on the sea was indeed entertaining, but Zhang Xiaoyuan did not catch a single fish. Wu You was even tempted to ask Ao Guang to herd some fish over, but while frightening fish off bait was easy, getting them to bite was not Ao Guang’s forte.

Meanwhile, after a day, the mischievous child’s penchant for trouble had fully returned—along with a streak of vengefulness. Garuru, ever docile and obliging before others, faithfully obeyed every request from Wu You’s family, which secretly irked the child. He plotted his revenge.

Lunch was a simple affair of cold dishes, steamed buns, and sandwiches prepared by Zhang Guihua and Cousin-in-law Zhou Xiaofang. Garuru’s appetite was several times that of a normal person; it devoured sandwiches in a single bite. Its share was set aside by Zhang Guihua. Before the meal, Zhang Tianbao secretly “enhanced” one of Garuru’s sandwiches, slathering it with hot chili sauce. Garuru ate it in one gulp, showing no reaction.

Another sandwich was loaded with a blend of wasabi and minced garlic, but that too vanished down Garuru’s gullet without a sign of discomfort. The final sandwich was a bizarre concoction of every unpleasant ingredient he could find, but fate intervened—Zhang Tianbao’s own sandwich was switched with it. One bite left him gagging in disgust; he held out for as long as he could, then dashed to the side of the boat to retch, leaving others to believe he was seasick. He dared not reveal the truth.

Wu You split a steamed bun like a hamburger, stuffed it with braised meat, pickles, and fermented bean curd, and ate contentedly. Retribution comes for all, sooner or later. When they returned to the Qinglong River at dusk, Zhang Tianbao—having been “educated” twice at sea—was the first to disembark, declaring that yachting was no fun at all.

Usually, when the boy visited, he would pester to stay at the Wu household for two days as long as school wasn’t the next morning. The rest of his family could return home; he could amuse himself just fine. But this time, when it was time to leave, Zhang Tianbao was unusually eager, claiming he had a mountain of homework to do.

Such is the nature of unruly children—when at wit’s end, one could almost wish to forge them in fire, yet after a bit of mischief, there’s a certain satisfaction in having bested them. After more than a day of such distractions, Wu You’s spirits were much lighter. Still, he had not forgotten his true purpose.

That night, he slipped out alone to Shiniu Mountain. Since the mountain had been closed off, this was his first personal ascent. The landscape had changed dramatically from the barren slopes of old; though still far from Wu You’s envisioned forest, the beginnings of a woodland had taken shape. Many areas now boasted dense, thriving vegetation. The five ancient tree spirits continued their tireless work, greening more of the mountain each day. As he ventured deeper, the air grew noticeably fresher—not an illusion, but the result of the mountain trees’ purifying effect. The few animals he encountered along the way seemed brimming with vitality.

Beneath one of the great trees, twelve boxes of varying sizes sat quietly. Some were made of fiber, some of painted metal—gone were the wooden crates of wartime films. Wu You opened them one by one. The metal cases were packed with bullets; he could roughly distinguish their calibers. Most were 5.56mm, but there were also some hefty 12.7×99mm rounds. The fiber cases held several automatic rifles, looking much like M16s, though he couldn’t tell which variant.

No grenades at all? Wu You felt a twinge of disappointment. Only three large crates remained; if they, too, held assault rifles, it would be anticlimactic.

The third-to-last box, however, brought a genuine surprise: a thick barrel, orderly components, a gunmetal body radiating cold power. Even unassembled, it was unmistakably a Barrett-series sniper rifle—famous the world over, the dream of every player of shooting games like CS or CF. This was a true weapon of devastation.

Unlike in movies and TV, where characters can take a bullet and keep fighting, reality is far harsher. Unless it’s a low-powered rifle designed for range over stopping power, like the old Japanese Type 38, a shot from an AK could easily sever an arm—no mere bandage could keep you in the fight. As for the Barrett anti-materiel rifle, a direct hit could tear a person apart. Even without an RPG, a Barrett was formidable enough.

But Wu You’s luck had more in store. The second-to-last box contained a launcher brimming with technological flair, complete with a screen. The final box held four neatly arranged miniature missiles, each tipped with a round sensor. Together, they formed the famous American “Javelin” man-portable anti-tank missile system—a true instrument of destruction, far more potent than an RPG. If Ao Guang were to take a direct hit from one of these without using his powers, he’d be in real trouble. Wu You doubted that the monstrous “Blood Jiao” would be much tougher.

Still, despite the new arsenal, Wu You had no intention of rushing into the Eastern Domain to confront the monstrous spawn. First, there was no need—the system had only instructed him to watch for clues. Second, it was better to focus on development for now; several creative ideas had stalled for lack of materials. This time, he would venture into the Mountain of Beasts, seeking both revenge and the resources he needed.