Chapter 38: Shooting Practice

The bronze lamp cast a faint, eerie glow as Zhuang Yun looked at him with undisguised contempt.

Ming Xie leaned against the rim of the celadon glazed jar and chuckled softly. "Having slept for a millennium, it is inevitable that some things are forgotten."

"Fine, take your time to recall them then," Zhuang Yun said, picking up the book *The Exploitation of the Works of Nature: Mecha Volume* to study it carefully.

Ming Xie transformed back into a fish-bird and submerged himself into the jar. *A thousand years of memories—where have you gone?*

Time slipped away quietly. Zhuang Yun was so engrossed that she did not notice the time until she looked up: 07:58!

Only two minutes left until class!

"Oh, come on!"

With dark circles under her eyes, Zhuang Yun channeled her internal energy, executing a swift movement technique and sprinting away. Under the surveillance cameras, only a fleeting blur passed by; no one noticed her. Passing students felt a gust of wind but caught no glimpse of her figure.

07:59:55.

The students were already lined up. Instructor Deng watched the second hand on his optical computer, a cold smirk curling his lips. *Well played, Zhuang Yun. Arriving late on my third day? Just wait and see how I punish you. Five seconds left.*

"Five, four, three..."

However, just as he reached the final second, Zhuang Yun suddenly appeared in the formation and waved at him. "Instructor Deng, let's start!"

"You! When did you get here?" Instructor Deng asked, looking utterly astonished.

The other students shook their heads, indicating they had no idea when she had arrived.

"Oh, I've been here for quite a while. Could it be that Instructor Deng was waiting for me?" Zhuang Yun feigned surprise.

Instructor Deng twitched his mouth. "Since everyone is here, we begin marksmanship training today. We'll start with the simplest: stationary targets."

"I assume you have all practiced this at the preparatory academy. Now, I shall test your results," Instructor Deng said, standing before the shooting range and scanning the freshmen.

After the combat training and the extra twenty laps they ran yesterday, everyone was sore and listless.

Zhuang Yun stood in the middle of the formation, looking remarkably spirited. "Reporting, Instructor! I never attended the preparatory academy, so I don't know how to shoot!"

Instructor Deng raised an eyebrow. He had never encountered a freshman who made it into one of the five major military academies without attending a prep school. Was she a beneficiary of connections?

He thought it over—Zhuang Yun was the impoverished welfare recipient from a down-and-out Taoist temple who had gone viral online; how could that be possible?

Zhuang Yun toyed with the laser rifle she had just been issued. It was much lighter than her *Shiyu* bow, though she wondered about its accuracy.

Instructor Deng asked, "Did you learn archery at the temple?"

Zhuang Yun straightened her posture. "My master taught me how to shoot an eagle from a hundred paces!"

"Good! The principles of archery and marksmanship are the same." Instructor Deng gave a brief explanation of the basic operations.

Zhuang Yun walked to the firing line, stroking the vintage laser rifle, her fingertips tracing the worn rifling of the barrel.

The sensation of drawing her bow and arrow to bring down a golden eagle across time and space overlapped in this moment. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Bang!"

The first shot was fired. A miss.

"It's alright, try again. Most people need at least two months of practice at the prep academy," Instructor Deng encouraged.

Zhuang Yun thought to herself, *Oh, so it takes two months to even hit the target.*

The next four shots also missed.

Instructor Deng grew anxious. "It's fine! Keep practicing." He decided to stop watching her and let her figure it out on her own. He turned to leave.

"Instructor, I've got it now!" Zhuang Yun decided she could afford to be slightly better than average.

"Bang!"

It hit the target—two points.

"Good, keep practicing."

After the instructor left, Zhuang Yun fired in rapid succession, hitting the bullseye every time. "It really is quite similar to archery."

Li Yun, standing at an adjacent firing point, caught a glimpse of her score and was struck with amazement.

"This afternoon, we test moving targets. 80 points to pass! Anyone who fails will be punished with 20 laps," Instructor Deng said, sweeping his laser pointer across the shooting benches. "Remember, alignment is key!"

As Zhuang Yun fiddled with the new photon rifle, she noticed Su Qingtian adjusting her earrings—a sonic targeting scope.

"Bang!"

The first round began. Zhuang Yun suddenly stumbled into the adjacent firing station. Peng Yan was about to curse when he noticed a new hole in his own bullseye—Zhuang Yun had shot through his target in the moment she fell.

"My apologies!" Zhuang Yun stuck out her tongue. "This rifle has quite a kick."

Instructor Deng frowned as he watched the monitors. Zhuang Yun’s scores consistently hovered between 81 and 83, right on the passing line. He failed to notice, however, that a copper coin slipped from her cuff every time she fired.

"Now, environmental interference!" Instructor Deng pressed a red button, and the training ground was suddenly filled with the screeching sound of metal scraping against metal.

Su Qingtian clutched her ears as her sonic scope failed entirely in the noise. Suddenly, someone shoved something into her hand—it was a tassel from the inner robe of Zhuang Yun’s Taoist habit.

"Put it in your ear," Zhuang Yun mouthed, "and breathe in rhythm with the *Shang*, *Jiao*, and *Zhi* notes." Su Qingtian came from a family of *guqin* masters; she understood immediately.

Su Qingtian followed the instructions doubtfully, and to her surprise, the noise transformed into a rhythmic scale.

When she scored 95, Zhuang Yun was crouching on the ground, studying the shell casings, her own score sitting precisely at 82.

"Hey! I don't believe I can't punish you!" Instructor Deng increased the difficulty.

"The final task!" Instructor Deng pulled up a 3D terrain map. "Hit a target 800 meters away through a sandstorm."

Peng Yan suddenly raised his hand. "Report! Zhuang Yun’s scope is not calibrated!"

Everyone looked at Zhuang Yun—her photon rifle was equipped with the most primitive iron sights.

"It's fine," Zhuang Yun narrowed her left eye. "My master said the naked eye is more reliable than machines."

As the sandstorm obscured their vision, she quietly flicked a copper coin out. The metallic vibration created a sonar grid in the wind, making every moving target as clear as a beacon.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Ten consecutive shots hit the bullseye, yet the monitor showed only 82—she had intentionally steered one bullet through the hole made by a previous shot.

"Good luck," Zhuang Yun said, scratching her head.

Peng Yan rushed over and snatched her magazine, holding it to the light to find scorch marks of talismans on every bullet head.

"This is..."

"A hereditary consecration technique!" Zhuang Yun quickly crushed the shell casing. "Do you want a 'Pass Every Exam' talisman?"

Lin Yiwen had obtained access to the military academy's surveillance footage so he could research a mecha suitable for Zhuang Yun in the Ninth District.

On the holographic screen, he zoomed in on the movement of Zhuang Yun's shoulder muscles during shooting and discovered a strange 0.01-second stillness before each trigger pull—likely the "gathering momentum" opening stance of the Taoist school.

"So that's it..." He added a *Tai Chi* cloud-hand algorithm to the mecha control program. "This should match her exertion habits."

By now, Zhuang Yun was surrounded by classmates; everyone had noticed the extraordinary nature of the Taoist priestess.

"Sister Yun! Could you check my aiming posture?"

"Zhuang Yun! Please, I need a consecrated magazine!"

Su Qingtian silently slipped an ancient jade pendant into her hand: "In exchange for the breathing technique mantra."

As night fell, Zhuang Yun's locker was overflowing with energy bars, tactical knives, and repair vouchers.

Zhuang Yun felt a secret thrill: *I've made a fortune!*

In the forbidden celadon jar, Ming Xie's sigh pierced through time and space: "I seem to remember the snow on Kunlun Ruins... it was stained with blood."