Xu Le had every reason to be cautious.He had already confirmed through previous encounters that his stun baton could bring down a human with ease, but it wasn't always enough to subdue a beast as powerful as a wild bull.
Today proved it again.
Just as he approached the motionless, coal-black form of the bull, it suddenly snorted, flanks heaving, hooves digging into the dirt. In the blink of an eye, the animal exploded off the ground, as if launched by a hidden spring, charging straight at him with terrifying force.
Xu Le's pupils contracted. His face went pale. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen—still holding that same baton in his hand. But now, a sharp, narrow blade had extended from its tip. It resembled a military bayonet.
Then, instinct kicked in.
The fear coursing through his veins turned into a jolt of adrenaline. He twisted his body just in time to dodge the bull's charge. A rush of wind scraped past his cheek. Eyes wide, he watched every twitch of the beast's muscles, every stamp of its hooves—and then, in one fluid motion, he drove the weapon in his hand downward.
His eyesight was sharp—he'd always had a knack for fixing things fast, and it came with steady hands. The slim blade struck exactly where he intended.
—
A second later, the bayonet was gone, ripped from his grip by the force of the charging bull. It remained embedded two inches below the animal's neck, glinting with fresh blood.
With a thunderous crash, the stunned bull—unstoppable even under a jolt of electricity—thundered past Xu Le and collapsed on a dusty slope, throwing up a cloud of earth and straw.
Xu Le stood there, holding nothing but empty air, staring blankly at the fallen beast. He didn't move for a long time. Only when the trembling in his legs finally subsided and color returned to his face did he take a deep breath.
That moment had truly scared him. He hadn't expected the bull to be so tenacious—to still launch such a violent charge even under the lingering effects of the shock.
Only after a long silence did he cautiously approach the fallen creature. He checked for signs of life, and once he was sure it was dead, he leaned in and yanked the blade from the base of its skull.
The weapon had pierced the bull's central nerve cluster. There was no coming back from that. The bull would never rise again.
Xu Le squinted slightly, staring at the blood clinging to the tip of his knife. In the deepening dusk, the drops shimmered faintly. He felt no thrill, no rush of victory—only a hollow fear, and a quiet need to stay hidden.
"When the hell will Handle be able to fire twice?" he suddenly shouted back toward the repair shack behind the electrified fence, his voice brimming with frustration and anger.
"Handle" was the name he'd given the modified baton—fitted with a sleek blade and an ergonomic grip. A beautiful piece of design, no doubt, but still just a fancy prototype. After one discharge, it had to be recharged again. No comparison to a real military weapon.
Aside from how smooth it felt in his palm, it hadn't impressed him much.
If it had fired one more time, things wouldn't have gotten so close. No wonder Xu Le didn't bother with politeness when dealing with Uncle Feng Yu—the man who'd both taught him mechanics and designed the so-called Handle.
—
Handle had a design flaw. The current output had been intentionally set 20% too high, meaning it could only be fired once per charge.
Feng Yu, sitting behind the electric fence, knew all this. Fixing the problem would've been easy—but he never told Xu Le. Because that wasn't the point.
He had designed the weapon precisely as it was, as a tool for self-defense. And nothing more.
Feng Yu had long believed that too much dependence on machines was a dangerous thing. It dulled the human urge to explore what lay within—the body, the cosmos. And while he wasn't ready to share those thoughts with Xu Le just yet, when he heard the boy's angry outburst, he only chuckled in response.
He pulled out a flat cigarette pack from his jeans, lit one, and took a long, satisfied drag.
Xu Le turned away, defeated, and bent over the bull again.
Behind the fence, under the blood-red light of dusk, Feng Yu watched him work. For a moment, something stirred inside his chest.
He was a cold man by nature—had to be, to live alone in a remote district like Donglin. But in that fading light, as the boy skinned the bull and carved its meat, wiping blood from his palms onto his shirt, Feng Yu couldn't help but pause.
The scene was brutal. But it was also deeply alive.All life exists between death and survival.
The cigarette burned between his fingers as he stared, lost in thought. He remembered an old passage from a classic novel: In autumn, farmers reaped grain, exchanging broken stalks for sustenance. By tribal fires, men and women drank, laughing as they gnawed on roasted limbs of beasts. They were alive. Gloriously, savagely alive.
A faint smile crept over Feng Yu's face. With his gray hair and weathered expression, the moment gave away his age. Something ancient passed over him.
Xu Le was an odd one, he thought. The boy spent all his energy chasing after dreams, unaware of the raw talent he displayed in other areas.
Like killing a bull with nothing but a knife.
Who else but a soldier with special ops training could pull that off?
There was a reason wild bull meat had all but vanished from the black market. In a world where firearms were strictly controlled by the federal government, who dared risk hunting bulls?
This kid... was clueless in so many ways. Didn't he realize that during the stampede, he and Feng Yu had outrun an enraged bull? That taking down such a creature barehanded was far more impressive than fixing a busted TV?
"Goddammit... goddammit..." Xu Le muttered, cursing as he worked. At last, he stood up, hands on hips, and bellowed toward the lazy old man with the cigarette.
"If you don't get over here, we're still gonna be cutting bones when it's dinner time!"
Feng Yu didn't flinch. In truth, he didn't think Xu Le's many talents were particularly rare—he'd seen plenty of geniuses in his life. But what had impressed him was how calm the boy had remained when staring down death.
Even as his legs trembled and his face turned ghostly pale, he had acted with a clarity beyond his years.
And that—Feng Yu thought—was also what made the boy a little boring.
But hearing him curse now, yelling like a brat, filled Feng Yu with a strange joy. He grinned wide, like a wild lily blooming in the dusk, and finally stood up, brushing dust off his jeans.