Chapter 25: The Marksmanship Prodigy of Military Training (Part Two)

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When Xiao Zhu was summoned by Cao Wei and heard that he was to bring ten boxes of ammunition, his eyes showed a hint of surprise. He couldn’t understand why the usually shrewd and stingy battalion commander was suddenly being so generous, but he didn’t dwell on it and went off to fetch them.

Soon, Xiao Zhu returned, carrying a box of bullets in his hands, which he carefully placed on the shooting stand where Liu Fan was standing. Without any hesitation, Liu Fan picked up a box, opened it, swiftly removed the magazine, and loaded each round one by one. He chambered the weapon, raised it single-handedly, and the sound of “bang bang bang…” echoed from the gun. Once ten shots were fired, the results were in: a perfect score of ten shots, one hundred rings, and the bullet holes on the target formed a neat circle.

When this result was announced, everyone around could only gape in astonishment, their jaws slack, and then, hearing Cao Wei mention that Liu Fan was only a beginner, these self-assured special forces soldiers felt utterly humiliated. Was this even human? They themselves, after all, were special forces, with marksmanship honed by tens of thousands of rounds, and yet Liu Fan, after firing just a few shots, had already surpassed their years of training. With this realization, their faces fell like frostbitten eggplants.

For Liu Fan now, pistol shooting held no challenge whatsoever. He found it uninteresting and turned his attention to others using rifles.

“Xiao Zhu, bring over a rifle,” Cao Wei said, noting Liu Fan’s lack of interest in pistols. He quickly set his mind to it and ordered someone to fetch a rifle.

Xiao Zhu soon returned, having taken a rifle from someone nearby. Cao Wei received it, walked up to the firing stand to give Liu Fan a demonstration, and explained as he handled the weapon, “This is a Type 95 automatic rifle, caliber millimeters, initial firing speed 930 meters per second, effective range 400 meters, magazine capacity 30 rounds, bullpup design, capable of single and burst fire. The overall length is 746 millimeters, total weight kilograms. It was first issued to troops in 1997. Though it’s now been phased out, its performance remains formidable.”

Hearing the introduction, Liu Fan’s hands itched with anticipation, his eyes shining. “Can I try it?” he asked.

“Of course,” Cao Wei replied, handing him the rifle and explaining several key points about firing. It wasn’t long before Liu Fan had mastered them, shooting with impressive form. Such a monstrous learning ability left Cao Wei exclaiming that Liu Fan was a freak. But the more exceptional Liu Fan was, the more Cao Wei felt that Sun Jianguo’s decision had been wise—after all, that was why Sun Jianguo was a general while he himself was only a battalion commander. That was the difference.

Soon, Liu Fan had mastered the Type 95 automatic rifle, achieving shots that hit the bullseye at two hundred meters, and this was without a scope. Naturally, this left Cao Wei and the others in shock once again.

“My goodness, Liu Fan, you’re a genius. But these targets are stationary, lifeless things. Come, let’s go to the moving target range for some real fun,” Cao Wei said. He had a longstanding rivalry with the moving target range manager. Both were sharpshooters, though they specialized in different areas, each competitive but friends in private. Now that he had discovered such a prodigy in Liu Fan, how could Cao Wei resist showing off?

At this moment, Cao Wei was so delighted he could hardly contain himself, thinking, “If Liu Fan competed against Fang Bin, watching that guy’s deadpan expression would be quite entertaining.” So he dragged Liu Fan toward the moving target range. Liu Fan had no objection; it would be an opportunity to broaden his horizons and test his skills against other experts—why not?

Not long after, the two arrived at the moving target range. As they entered, a brawny man with a fierce scar across his face strode up to them, exuding a formidable presence. He greeted them loudly, “Ha! Who could it be? Turns out it’s you, kid. Xiao Wei, why aren’t you minding your own patch? What are you doing here?” With that, he tried to embrace Cao Wei.

But Cao Wei quickly pushed him aside, dodging to one side, and complained, “You brute, I’ve told you not to call me Xiao Wei—sounds awful. Besides, I’m not some beauty; why hug me so tight? You wouldn’t happen to fancy men, would you?” He finished with a mock retching gesture.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the man retorted. “I know you never come here without a reason. Did you lose to me last time and want to redeem yourself? Don’t forget you still owe me a drink.”

Exposed, Cao Wei blushed and scratched his head awkwardly, then seized the chance to change the subject. “I’m here today to introduce you to someone. Let me tell you, he’s a sharpshooter, far better than me. The question is, do you dare compete with him? If you’re scared, you don’t have to accept.”

“What? Me, Fang Bin, scared? Tell me—how do you want to compete? Lay down the rules. And this so-called expert you mentioned, is it that kid beside you?” Fang Bin was incensed by Cao Wei’s provocation and pointed at Liu Fan, who had remained silent.

“Can’t you keep your voice down, brute? You nearly deafened me. But you guessed right—this is the sharpshooter I mentioned, a college student here for military training,” Cao Wei replied, already familiar with Fang Bin’s personality and knowing he’d rise to the challenge. As usual, their banter was full of rivalry.

“Hello, I’m Liu Fan, a student from Fudan University. I wouldn’t dare call myself a sharpshooter—I’ve just started learning. Please give me your guidance.” Liu Fan felt a genuine liking for these two; both were straightforward, without any tricks or schemes, so he spoke politely.

But others didn’t see it that way. To Fang Bin, Liu Fan was an overconfident youngster, and hearing him claim to be new to shooting yet daring to challenge him was tantamount to disrespect. Fang Bin was a battle-hardened soldier, and instead of speaking, he gripped Liu Fan’s hand in a handshake, testing his strength.

Liu Fan didn’t mind, standing calmly and allowing Fang Bin to exert himself. Gradually, Fang Bin realized that no matter how much force he applied, Liu Fan stood unmoved, smiling at him. Embarrassed, Fang Bin increased his strength.

In the end, Fang Bin’s face was red with exertion. He wanted to release his grip, but Liu Fan suddenly tightened his hold. A cry of pain rang out, and Fang Bin’s hand felt as though it were being pricked by needles; he shook it and blew on it to relieve the pain.

“By the way, brute, I forgot to mention—the one who defeated Old Xing this morning was Liu Fan,” Cao Wei said, unable to hide his delight at Fang Bin’s discomfiture, though he maintained a serious façade.

“Damn, you tricked me! No wonder the name sounded familiar—so you’re the one who beat Old Xing,” Fang Bin realized, though he still blamed Cao Wei for not warning him. Afterwards, his demeanor warmed. “Ah, it’s my fault for not recognizing greatness. Apologies for my earlier disrespect, brother. My name is Fang Bin, but everyone calls me ‘Brute.’ Heh heh.”

Who says rough men lack cunning? Fang Bin, realizing he’d met his match, immediately switched tactics and flattered Liu Fan.

“Ha, you flatter me. It was just luck,” Liu Fan replied, surprised at Fang Bin’s sudden friendliness. Though puzzled, he maintained the proper etiquette, out of respect for others and himself. He also came to understand that in today’s world, respect must be earned through strength—nature’s law, survival of the fittest.

“You’re too modest. I may not be able to beat you in strength, but when it comes to moving target shooting, I won’t let you win so easily.” Fang Bin accepted Liu Fan’s prowess, but was confident in his own specialty. However, he was up against Liu Fan, a prodigious talent, and his fate was already sealed.

As expected, moving target shooting used high-speed clay pigeons as targets, launched at random patterns. But before Liu Fan’s powerful perception, everything was clear; he could track each trajectory with ease. In this contest, Fang Bin performed admirably, hitting over 280 out of 300 clay pigeons—his best result yet. But he was still defeated by Liu Fan’s flawless, perfect score.