A fine drizzle drifted through the northern foothills in the early morning.
Dense as ox hair, it seeped insidiously beneath the collar.
The mossy ground was saturated with moisture, making every bootstep heavy and muddy.
Li Fan had set up four ranging markers in a clearing at the forest edge that nobody else could decipher: two branches and two flat stones.
Today was not a training day, and the camp was quiet.
He was calibrating his arrows.
The seventh arrow drifted three centimeters off; the eighth, two centimeters off.
He paused, feeling the damp air against his face.
The drizzle altered the air density, and the moisture caused a subtle drop in the arrow’s terminal trajectory.
His calculations had missed that detail.
The ninth arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself dead center in the anticipated impact point.
Li Fan lowered his black bow and let out a gentle breath.
“Third Windrunner sister,” he called out without even turning around, his tone easygoing, “squatting over there all this time—did you come to laugh at me, or do you want to learn something?” At the edge of the woods, Vereesa poked her head out from behind an ancient tree.
Clasping her practice bow, her large eyes were brimming with irresistible curiosity and wonder.
She hurried over.
“How did you know I was hiding behind the tree?
And that shot just now—did you factor in the wind shifts from the drizzle too?” Li Fan did not take the bait.
He merely laid the black bow across his knees, sat down on a large boulder, and patted the empty space beside him.
“Brought your bow—looking to try your hand?” Vereesa did not sit.
Instead, she straightened her slender waist.
“I want to try sixty meters.” “Why choose today?” Li Fan looked at the wet mud on the tips of her boots, an involuntary sigh rising in his eyes.
The bright, vibrant elven girl before him was a far cry from the leader of the Silver Covenant in his memories.
Pulling his thoughts back, he spoke gently, “If your sisters knew, they’d make you take it step by step.
Fifty-five first, then sixty, grinding away for months.” “But I have a feeling I can pass it right now!” Vereesa gripped the riser of her bow tightly, a stubborn streak of defiance ringing in her crisp voice, though her bright eyes stayed glued to Li Fan.
“Even Instructor Hawksbill called you a monster.
Since you understand so much, I want you to watch me.” Li Fan did not argue further.
He stood up, walked to the farthest marker, pulled the stone free, measured out a distance, and pressed it firmly back into the moss.
A brand-new sixty-meter target point was cleared.
“Try it, then.” He stepped back a few paces, a hint of indulgence in his tone.
“If something goes wrong, I’ll help you adjust.” The drizzle fell silently onto the moss, clinging damply to them both.
Vereesa took her stance on the shooting line, took a deep breath, and drew her bow.
A textbook-perfect stance, the power flowing seamlessly from her shoulder blade to her fingertips.
Standing three paces to her left, Li Fan did not interrupt.
The first arrow left the string.
*Thunk.* The arrow struck roughly twenty centimeters to the left of the sixty-meter marker.
Vereesa furrowed her brows, her lips pressing into a tight line, and her straight shoulders sank almost imperceptibly.
The second arrow veered fifteen centimeters to the right.
On the third arrow, she realized something was wrong the moment she released.
The arrow lost its momentum mid-flight, dropping limply into the ground thirty centimeters short of the marker.
Somewhat disheartened, she lowered her bow.
“I know what went wrong,” Vereesa said, taking the initiative to evaluate herself.
“The distribution of force across my bottom three fingers was uneven during the draw.” “Your index finger’s anchor point is too far out, your middle finger instinctively applied extra force at the final moment, and your ring finger released too early.
Aside from that, you’re missing the most crucial point.” He stepped forward, reaching out a hand intending to tap her lumbar spine.
As if struck by lightning, Vereesa jerked half a step away.
Her spine instantly stiffened, her eyes flashing with the instinctive wariness and displeasure of a high elf.
Li Fan’s hand hung in midair.
He did not force the issue, calmly pulling his hand back.
“Rangers can lose their lives in the border bogs, yet here you are putting on airs over guidance from a human.
If you can’t put aside your pride, go grind it out on your own.” He turned to leave.
Vereesa bit her lower lip.
She froze in place for three full breaths before finally drawing a deep breath and stepping back onto the shooting line.
“Show me.” Her voice was a little stiff, but resolute.
Li Fan turned around and walked back behind her.
This time, through her clothing, his fingertips pressed firmly just above her lumbar spine.
“For long-range shooting, tuck your lumbar spine half an inch more than usual.
Only when this core is anchored like a rock will the arrow fly true without drifting.
Tuck.” Vereesa’s back was as rigid as an iron plate, but she forced herself not to pull away.
Her spine pressed slightly inward, and her center of gravity instantly locked into place.
Li Fan withdrew his hand.
“Hold that feeling.
Shoot again.” The fourth arrow snapped off the string.
Sixty-meter marker—dead center.
Vereesa froze for half a second, then spun around, her eyes sparkling with incredulous delight.
She eagerly drew her bow again.
A second arrow, then a third—all bullseyes!
Sitting on the large boulder, Li Fan pulled out that half-bag of stale cured meat from his tunic, tore off a piece, tossed it into his mouth, and tossed the rest to her.
“Good job.
Your reward.” Vereesa caught the grease-stained coarse cloth pouch in a daze.
“That cost three silver coins,” Li Fan said, chewing slowly in an even voice.
“When the heavy snow cut off Alterac, I survived an extra week on that.
Those delicate pastries in Silvermoon City can’t give you that kind of survival grit.” Vereesa’s fingers tightened slightly around the half-bag of meat.
Looking at the coarse ration in her hand, she suddenly understood that this was not merely a reward; it was the rawest rule of survival from Li Fan’s brutal world.
She said nothing more, merely clutching the half-bag of meat securely in her hand.
Side by side, they walked back toward the camp.
The wet moss squelched beneath their boots.
“How on earth did you know my draw habit?” Vereesa asked, clutching the meat pouch like a curious child.
“During my first few days, back at Windrunner Spire, when you insisted on comparing hand calluses with me.” A trace of indulgent humor laced Li Fan’s tone.
“The calluses on your thumb cleft are typical of rapid-fire shooting.
Later, watching you draw occasionally confirmed the theory.” Vereesa looked down at her hands, unable to hide her awe.
“You even remember things like that…” “A hunter’s memory is for survival and practical use, not for keeping archives.” Li Fan’s tone was neutral, without a hint of preachiness.
Along the forest trail, Ranger Falani approached from the opposite direction.
An envelope was tucked beneath her arm.
As she passed, she glanced at their faces, gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, and kept walking without stopping.
Near the camp entrance, Vereesa came to a halt.
She turned around, waving the half-bag of meat at Li Fan with a bright smile.
“Thanks, Li Fan!” With that, she spun around and skipped away, her figure soon swallowed by the layers of forest shadows.
Li Fan remained where he stood, looking down at his fingers.
The tactile sensation of pressing against the girl’s spine seemed to linger on his fingertips.