Chapter Nine: Change

The spear shot through the air like an arrow loosed from a bow, whistling as it pierced the wild goat’s chest from a sharp angle behind its right flank.

At the instant the wild goat was struck, it let out a mournful cry, then, carried by inertia, tumbled forward for more than ten meters before collapsing in the wild grass, utterly motionless.

At last, the tension in his nerves and muscles eased; Qi Jun could no longer hold himself upright and fell onto his back on the grassy slope.

The azure sky was unmarred by clouds, with only the pitiless blazing sun pouring down its radiance.

It was the first time since his rebirth that he had gazed so intently at the sky. How eerily similar this moment was to a scene from his previous life. In a daze, he seemed to return to the dense forest where he had fought his final battle in that former existence, lying on his back on a similar afternoon, awaiting the final judgment of fate.

But this time, he had mastered fate.

He squinted, feeling the sun’s scorching rays as memories of past and present lives flickered chaotically through his mind, the noise around him replaced by a sudden emptiness between his ears.

He saw the enemy who killed him in his former life rush to his side, shouting and shaking his body, trying desperately to haul him up.

He shook his head hard and rubbed his eyes—when he looked again, the “enemy” had become his younger brother, Xiao Feng.

“Brother, get up… you mustn’t lie down right after intense exertion…” Qi Feng pulled him up from the ground with effort, repeating the advice Qi Jun himself had once given him.

Qi Jun laughed and reached out to ruffle Qi Feng’s hair.

“Come on, let’s go see our spoils.” Steadying himself, he stood up and walked toward the wild goat.

The animal was already dead, a pool of bright red spreading beneath it. Kneeling by the carcass, Qi Jun used his sharp iron shard to slit the goat’s throat. Blood spurted out; he wiped his face and bent down to drink a few mouthfuls.

The oppressive heat had drained him of water. The salty, metallic taste of blood made him instinctively gag, but it was the only way to quickly rehydrate.

Qi Feng stared blankly at his brother. Everything that had happened today had shattered his old impression of Qi Jun.

Now, this blood-smeared, savage-eyed primitive hunter was a far cry from the gentle, thin scholar he had always known.

He could not comprehend how such radically different natures could coexist in his brother.

Suddenly, the figure that had always seemed so familiar now appeared utterly strange.

Qi Jun looked up and drew a deep breath, alleviating his thirst and regaining a bit of strength.

Sensing the peculiar gaze from behind, he glanced over but paid it no mind.

“Are you thirsty?” Qi Jun deftly cut an opening at the goat’s foreleg, preparing to skin it. “Have some blood.”

Qi Feng wondered if he had misheard. He shook his head and stepped back, putting distance between himself and the “savage,” watching Qi Jun work in a daze.

“Survival will force a man to change…” Qi Jun continued, whether to himself or to Qi Feng was unclear. “In times like these, if you’re not ruthless… you die.”

Qi Feng felt as if struck by lightning, his body trembling slightly.

All his life, he had been steeped in Confucian education—benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, trust, gentleness, humility, frugality, yielding. He was taught that a gentleman keeps away from the kitchen, that one should “never tire of fine food, never weary of delicate cuts.”

Such a harsh and direct philosophy of survival as Qi Jun’s was something he had never encountered, nor even considered.

There is nothing wrong with striving for refinement in food and living, but in these dire straits—starving, barely clothed—such fastidiousness seemed foolish and rigid.

For one on the brink of starvation and freezing, a coarse cake or a hemp garment would bring immense satisfaction; who cared if their food was exquisite or their clothes fine?

Once, he could hide under his parents’ protection, at ease reading the sages and preparing for office. But now, aside from his brother, no one cared whether he lived or died. If he did not fight to survive, he would end up like the dead goat, a corpse for the vultures.

Hesitating, he edged closer to Qi Jun. Thirst and hunger drove him to a choice.

Qi Jun had already skinned the goat and now paused, waiting for Qi Feng’s decision. Ordinary folk might not be so resolute, let alone a scholar like Qi Feng.

He understood Qi Feng’s inner struggle and was willing to give him time to adapt. But glancing at the sun, already westering, he grew anxious.

Qi Feng licked his parched lips, swallowed hard, and at last bent down to the cut at the goat’s neck. After a moment’s hesitation, he forced himself to take a sip.

He immediately grimaced and spat it out, clutching his chest and retching.

Qi Jun shook his head and resumed butchering the meat more swiftly. The scent of the dead animal might attract wild beasts; if they could not get the meat home before sunset, the mountain forest at night would claim them forever.

“Brother, let me try again…”

Qi Jun had to stop once more, turning with a helpless look.

To his surprise, this time Qi Feng did not hesitate. He knelt and drank deeply, then looked up stubbornly at Qi Jun, trembling as he swallowed the blood.

Qi Jun felt genuine satisfaction. He nodded and held out a thumbs-up. It reminded him of the special forces selection in his past life, when each recruit was faced with a plate of bloody raw meat.

He still remembered the instructor’s roar: “I want this plate gone in fifteen minutes! If you can’t do it, get lost! If you throw up, you swallow it back!”

Qi Feng’s reaction surprised him; in that moment, he saw a reflection of his former self—the same refusal to yield or admit defeat.

He went back to carving up the goat, swiftly cleaning out the entrails. Overhead, vultures circled, making Qi Jun increasingly uneasy.

“Let’s go!” Qi Jun gritted his teeth, hoisted the prepared goat onto his back, and stood. The meat was not heavy, but after so much exertion, it felt burdensome.

“What about these?” Qi Feng looked longingly at the discarded entrails.

“Leave them.” Though it pained him, Qi Jun’s tone was firm. Both were spent; greed for food hard-won could cost them their lives.

Qi Feng bit his lip and followed his brother.

The circling vultures swooped down the moment they left, flapping and scrambling over the remains.

The return journey went smoothly enough. A few wild dogs followed, drawn by the scent of blood, but were soon distracted by corpses along the roadside and wandered off.

In the silent mountain village, the small, dilapidated hut was once again illuminated by firelight. This time, however, the fragrant aroma of roasting meat wafted from within.

“Xiao Feng, this piece is ready. Take it to Aunt Zhao first!” Qi Jun turned the meat over the rack. “She’s had it hard alone, and she’s always looked out for us.”

“Alright, I’ll go now.” Qi Feng wiped drool from the corner of his mouth, took the meat, inhaled its aroma with relish, and left.

Soon after, however, he returned in a hurry, still holding the meat.

“What is it?” Qi Jun frowned.

“Aunt Zhao’s not there. I knocked, but no one answered.” Qi Feng looked uncertainly at the meat. “What should I do with this…?”

“Keep it for her. Maybe she’s still out gathering wild greens.” Qi Jun put another stick on the fire, feeling a twinge of worry.

The scent of roasting meat spread rapidly down the mountainside on the evening breeze, like a drop of dye spreading through clear water, swiftly awakening the appetites of every villager.

Those who had been turning in for the night came out, sniffing the air to trace the source, and all were taken aback when their gazes settled on the little hut halfway up the mountain.

On the crackling fire, a goat leg was roasting, and Qi Feng watched it unblinkingly, as if afraid it might fly away.

Then, from outside the hut, the sound of approaching footsteps caught Qi Jun’s attention. He frowned and paused in his roasting. He knew all too well that, in years of famine, the starving would do anything for a morsel—even turn against their own kin.

He doubted the villagers would be easily turned away. Picking up his thrown spear, he prepared himself.

Qi Feng, too, sensed the commotion outside. He quickly stood, positioning himself between the door and the meat, tense and wary of what might come.