# 42
Chapter 42 – How’s My Talent?
“Smells so good…” Lin Qiye limped out of the training room, every inch of him aching. The aroma drifting from the activity room rekindled the life in his ash-gray eyes.
Wen Qimo’s lips curled slightly. “Looks like this morning’s beating wasn’t for nothing…”
Lin Qiye went straight to the activity room and pushed the door open—only to be met by four pairs of resentful eyes.
“…What’s… wrong?” he asked, sensing the odd atmosphere.
“Nothing. Sit and eat,” Chen Muye said flatly, giving him a glance.
“Okay.”
Once Lin Qiye sat down, Hongying stared pitifully at Chen Muye, looking like a starving kitten.
“Eat.” At last Chen Muye uttered the words everyone had been waiting for.
The group lunged like wolves that had starved for days, their eyes red.
“Sis Hongying, is Night Watch chow always this good?” Lin Qiye whispered, eyeing the spread.
Hongying huffed. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
She paused, then added, “I’ll talk after I finish eating!”
Lin Qiye: …
“Lin Qiye.”
“Here, Captain.”
“Any gains from today’s training?”
“Plenty.”
“Mm.” Chen Muye nodded, then asked, “Does it hurt?”
“…A bit.”
“Xiaonan, heal him later.”
Si Xiaonan pouted but obeyed. “Okay.”
Chen Muye added, “Don’t fix him completely—just enough to take another beating tomorrow.”
Lin Qiye: …
Clack!
Two pairs of chopsticks collided over the pork-bone soup, each refusing to yield the prized piece of meat.
Hongying and Wu Xiangnan glared, sparks practically flying.
“I saw that piece first,” Hongying snapped.
“I got my chopsticks on it first,” Wu Xiangnan replied calmly.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Let go!”
“No.”
Crackle…
The invisible sparks intensified.
Leng Xuan, who’d been eating in silence, eyed the meat, reached to his waist—
and set an MP5 submachine gun on the table.
“Both of you, let go,” he said flatly.
Hongying: …
Wu Xiangnan: …
Leng Xuan casually picked up the largest piece and, after a second’s hesitation, dropped it into Lin Qiye’s bowl.
“New guy, eat up. We’re hitting the range after.”
He re-holstered the gun.
“Uh… sure.” Lin Qiye stared at the taciturn man. Damn—this is what “speaks little, hits hard” really means!
“Leng Xuan, try not to draw guns at dinner,” Chen Muye sighed. “If it goes off… the food’s ruined.”
Leng Xuan nodded. “Got it.”
Hongying and Wu Xiangnan meekly lowered their heads and ate.
When Lin Qiye scraped his bowl clean, Leng Xuan stood beside him.
“Full?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s shoot.”
“Okay!”
Watching the two vanish down the corridor, Wen Qimo exhaled and turned to Si Xiaonan.
“Xiaonan.”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve been replaced as team darling.”
Si Xiaonan: ￣へ￣
…
“Guns—hot weapons, crystallized human ingenuity.”
In the shooting gallery, Leng Xuan faced a wall of neatly racked firearms, deadpan.
“Against high-tier mythical creatures they’re nearly useless, but against weaker ones they’re often better than blades—especially for rookies who can’t fight hand-to-hand.”
He lifted a pistol and set it before Lin Qiye.
“I’ll teach you only two things: marksmanship and basic mechanics. That’s enough unless you plan to specialize.”
Lin Qiye nodded eagerly.
“Pick it up. Show me your talent.” Leng Xuan pointed to a target thirty meters away.
Lin Qiye stepped to the line, breathed, copied what he’d seen on TV—raised, aimed, fired!
Bang!
Two faces darkened.
A clean miss…
Leng Xuan checked the target twice—no hole. “Missed at thirty meters? This…”
Lin Qiye cleared his throat. “So… how’s my talent?”
Leng Xuan looked at him, closed his eyes in despair.
“You? You have zero talent.”
Lin Qiye: …
…
Back at Hongying’s villa, Lin Qiye collapsed on the sofa, rubbing exhausted eyes.
The day had been twin torments: body flayed by the captain, pride shredded by rubber bullets, then the range—where his dignity was ground into the floor.
He simply had no gift for guns.
By night’s end Leng Xuan looked more drained than he did, the light gone from the instructor’s eyes.
He tried to comfort Lin Qiye: “Newbies often start like this—keep practicing.”
But halfway through it became Lin Qiye consoling him:
“Don’t worry, my lack of talent is temporary—more reps and I’ll improve.”
“Have faith in me—and in yourself. Your marksmanship is amazing; you can teach me.”
“Time, we just need time… be patient…”
“Look on the bright side—inside twenty meters I can hit the paper. I’m salvageable!”
“…”
While he brooded, a graceful figure approached.
“Little Qiye, exhausted?” Hongying, in fluffy pajamas, offered a cup of tea.
He managed a smile. “Thanks.”
“It’s tiring but fulfilling.” He sipped and glanced around. “Where’s Xiaonan?”
“She’s sulking—feels you stole her spot as team pet. She kept pinching you while healing, didn’t she?”
Lin Qiye rubbed the bruises and saw the light. “So that’s why.”
Hongying giggled.
“Captain’s strict with everyone. When I arrived he showed no mercy just because I’m a girl—beat me till I cried.” She gazed out the window, smile soft. “Sounds harsh, right?”
“Not at all. Cangnan’s Night Watch death-rate dropped thanks to him—his strength, and the fact he’d rather we hate him than die on a mission. Understand?”
Lin Qiye recalled Chen Muye’s fierce morning stare and nodded slowly.
“I get it.”
Hongying ruffled his hair like an elder sister. “Rest early. Good night.”
“Good night.”
He dragged himself to his room, lay staring at the ceiling, then rose again—
drew his Straight Blade,
one hand on hilt, one on scabbard,
eyes closed, replaying every cut Chen Muye had shown,
and beneath the hazy moon
swung blade after blade!