Bi Lanxing lay on the ground, regaining his strength before attempting to stand. Bai Chunian’s companion ability was frighteningly realistic, instilling deep fear in the young alpha.
Seeing him still on the ground after some time, Bai Chunian stood and squatted beside him, lifting Bi Lanxing’s chin to check his complexion, flipping his eyelids to examine his pupils.
After a deep breath, Bi Lanxing gave an awkward smile and lay back, asking, “Is this really what it feels like to be shot? It’s terrifying.”
Bai Chunian leaned over him. “Yes. Only the injuries I’ve personally endured can be simulated with this ability. I’m just transmitting my experience to your brain.”
Bi Lanxing paused, absorbing Bai Chunian’s words, then silently rose and reloaded the ACR.
The abdominal pain had faded, but the lingering fear remained. He aimed at the moving target’s head, finger on the trigger, hesitating. One second, two, ten—the phantom bullet pain struck again, this time in his calf.
Bi Lanxing curled over, gritting his teeth to suppress a scream, sweating cold.
“You’re too slow. Ten seconds to aim, and the enemy would’ve taken your head. Remember your role. For an AO gland like Arrowwood, capable of offense and defense, your position is the cover fire. Hesitation can wipe out the assault team. With no assault team, the enemy will target you next. How did your school teach you?” Bai Chunian grabbed a tablet from the break table, swiping a few times, ordering breakfast: a sports drink and iced latte.
By the time the food arrived, Bi Lanxing had fallen seven times, fired twelve rounds at moving targets—five headshots, six hits to non-vitals, one miss.
The miss was punished the harshest: Bai Chunian made him feel a headshot impact.
Bai Chunian retrieved the steaming breakfast from the service robot, beckoning, “Seven-thirty, time to eat.”
Bi Lanxing struggled, unable to stand. Bai Chunian approached, lifted the young alpha, and seated him opposite, pressing his palm to the back of his neck, releasing a calming pheromone into his glands.
“Instructor… let me rest a bit,” Bi Lanxing murmured, face buried in his arms, body trembling.
“No need for formalities. These kids on the island call me ‘Instructor’ themselves—it’s not like I’ve demanded it. Makes me sound strict,” Bai Chunian said, spreading peanut butter on a sandwich. “What do plant-type glands usually like? Some nitrogen-phosphorus-potassium?”
“No… just normal food is fine.” Bi Lanxing forced himself upright, grabbing a sanitary napkin to wipe his hands. Pain clouded his senses—he could hardly taste anything.
Bai Chunian pushed the sports drink toward him. “Drink up.”
Bi Lanxing took a gulp from the glass and flopped back onto the table, as if without support he would immediately wilt and collapse to the floor.
“You’ve really experienced all that pain?” Bi Lanxing mumbled. “Then… how did you survive?”
“Strong self-healing. As long as the wounds aren’t massively infected, they heal on their own,” Bai Chunian replied honestly. “Bullets can’t kill me.”
“Is this your companion ability?”
“No.” Bai Chunian took a sip of his iced latte. “My training as a child was… special.”
“This might be forward… but may I ask your age?” Bi Lanxing hesitated.
“Ah, don’t ‘may I.’” Bai Chunian smiled, revealing two sharp canines. “For us, age is just cultivation time—it might not match your idea of age. In this world where strength rules, age means nothing.”
“Y—you… us?”
“Mm, I’ll tell you eventually. Depends if you prove yourself worthy.”
After breakfast, Bai Chunian continued to watch Bi Lanxing practice shooting, but he no longer used his companion ability when mistakes were made. The young alpha’s body had temporarily recorded the pain reflexes.
Spent magazines were piling up around Bi Lanxing’s feet. By noon, he could hit roughly 90% of moving targets’ heads—12 moving targets per round, averaging 10.8 headshots.
His shooting skills were solid, but his main weaknesses were lack of focus and susceptibility to distractions, plus dependence on feel—a common problem for most trainees. Strong corrective measures were necessary.
Danger never strikes at one’s peak condition. In real combat, enemies won’t give him time to “feel” the weapon. The Alliance’s standards weren’t something casually met. Shooting had to reach the level of instant kill on contact—Alliance enemies weren’t ordinary robbers. Bi Lanxing’s performance only just reached passing standards for trainees.
As the mess hall bell rang, Bai Chunian swiped his ID by the speaker on the round table and brought the microphone to his lips: “All students from the range, report to the shooting evaluation area. Today I’ll be checking the headshot rates of ten unlucky targets.”
His casual, teasing voice echoed through speakers, gradually silencing the gunfire. Trainees gathered in the evaluation area, surrounded by transparent bulletproof panels and tiered viewing platforms.
Groups of students glared, some silently praying not to be chosen, others bowing toward a uniformed portrait of Yan Yi on the wall: “Lord Chairman, protect us. Take Bai Chunian away.”
But prayers didn’t matter. Bai Chunian picked up the list from a security guard and called the first name: “Wang Feng.”
An alpha of the mongoose species trembled, stiffly walking out of the line. Nearby young alphas patted him on the shoulder, making faces and joking him on his way.
“Instructor.” The mongoose alpha bowed, picking up an ACR rifle from the test station, loading it and chambering a round.
Bai Chunian patted Bi Lanxing’s shoulder. “This is last night’s new student, Bi Lanxing. He practiced all morning with a 90% average headshot rate. Anyone not hitting that score—punishment or pack up and go.”
The mongoose alpha swallowed hard, raised the rifle, and fired twelve single shots. Twelve moving targets fell headshot by headshot.
“Good, keep it up.” Bai Chunian recorded the score and randomly picked the next trainee: “Ying.”
The firefly omega jumped from her seat, startled, bum glowing, and rushed over to bow.
“Enough nonsense. Grab the rifle, everyone’s waiting for lunch.” Bai Chunian looked up.
The firefly omega aimed and fired, all twelve moving targets collapsed.
Bi Lanxing was quietly astonished. At his school, his shooting skills ranked top-tier nationally. Occasionally taking first in a test wasn’t rare. Yet here, the moving targets were irregular, faster, and far more realistic. Still, a trainee could effortlessly hit 100% headshots—almost terrifying.
“Not bad.” Bai Chunian recorded the score, calling the next trainee. Every time he flipped the list, the trainees held their breath, as if awaiting the executioner’s sentence.
The third called was a zebra alpha, nervous as he stepped up. His first shot missed.
Bai Chunian chuckled. “What, can’t handle the 5.56 ACR? Shooting the flagpole? You even hit the roof!”
Though he regained some composure and hit eight moving targets, his headshot rate was only 66%.
“No lunch for you. Train or leave.” Bai Chunian snapped his fingers. The zebra alpha’s body stiffened, then collapsed to the ground, wailing. With four targets left standing, four bullets would hit his own body—this was Bai Chunian’s test rule.
About twenty minutes later, Bai Chunian had tested nine trainees: six passed, three writhed in pain on the floor.
Just as he prepared to call the tenth, his phone on the round table buzzed with a special alert.
He glanced at it. Lan Bo had sent a picture, but the range signal was poor, loading slowly.
Immediately after came a voice message. Bai Chunian tapped play, ignoring everyone around.
Lan Bo: “randi mebolu jeo?”
Even played aloud, no one else could understand. Bai Chunian touched the two Band-Aids on his neck, a smirk forming on his lips. “Training. I’ll call you back later.”
The trainees all noticed the instructor’s expression shift—from playful teasing to something warm and gentle. Even the way he held the phone to the speaker, speaking softly into the microphone, carried a tenderness none of them had ever seen.
Putting down his phone, Bai Chunian leaned toward the microphone on the speaker. “Alright, that’s all for today’s random checks. Go get your meals. Keep improving—some of your skills are embarrassing. I’ll wash my eyes myself.”
The trainees bolted from the range as if given amnesty, each faster than the next, fearing Bai Chunian might change his mind. He glanced at the three unlucky ones still writhing on the ground in pain. “You three, go too. We’ll have a re-test tonight.”
The three pitiful students scrambled away, tumbling and crawling.
Once the crowd thinned, Bai Chunian picked up his phone and dialed a number, gesturing to Bi Lanxing that he could head to lunch.
Bi Lanxing left the range and, at the cafeteria entrance, saw a cluster of trainees deep in discussion, some omegas’ faces flushed red.
“It’s definitely just a colleague! The voice sounded like an alpha, and like a domineering CEO!”
Bi Lanxing leaned closer to overhear. At the center stood a small, scrappy omega, whispering to the group: “The message said, ‘Did the little kitty miss me?’ Really! I didn’t sleep with the anemones tonight, I swear! My house is by the sea, I’ve heard it myself! Why won’t you believe me?”