Chapter 57: The Demon Serpent Spreads Its Wings and Draws the Bow

"Choose one! Choose one!" The crowd cheered loudly, their faces lit crimson by the sun.

Ye Ziyin and his companions stood smiling from afar. How could they not see through Miss Xia Tong's intentions? If the two were to become husband and wife, it would indeed be a fine match.

Lin Feng's gaze flickered uncertainly. Faced with this passionate maiden, his heart suddenly turned cold. Deep within his soul, two stunning figures quietly appeared—Cai Yi, with her playful smile, and Leng Linglan, enigmatic and aloof. Gradually, their images overlapped with Xia Tong, and all sounds around vanished. The world seemed to freeze.

A long moment passed—or perhaps only an instant. He drew a deep breath and addressed the crowd, though it was really Xia Tong he was speaking to, his voice steady and slow: "I'm sorry. I cannot."

The smile at the girl's lips froze; the flush drained from her face like ebbing tide. The raucous crowd fell instantly silent, exchanging confused glances. Xia Bazhu's face turned ashen as he rushed forward, angry: "Young Master Lin, does my daughter somehow fall short of your standards? If it is my fault, then before all these elders today, I, Xia Bazhu, will kneel to you!"

"Father! Don't force him! If the young master has no interest in Xia Tong, why insist?" The stubborn girl spun and fled, leading a white horse away, disappearing like a wild thing across the endless grassland.

In the wind, something sparkling seemed to scatter and drift.

Watching her retreating figure vanish, Lin Feng was suddenly overtaken by loss and regret. His lips moved, but in the end he said nothing. Some invisible force seemed to bind his feet, leaving him unable to move.

Several elders glared at each other; such affairs had not occurred in decades. After a brief exchange, the honor of the bride selection fell to Li Dali.

Xia Bazhu shook out his sleeves and mounted his horse, riding off in search of his daughter. Zuo Qingcheng strode forward and pulled Lin Feng aside, displeased: "Brother Lin, was it truly because of Xia Bazhu that you missed your chance with Miss Xia Tong?"

Lin Feng only shook his head with a bitter smile. Ye Ziyin laughed gently and said, "Brother Lin must already have someone in his heart—am I right?"

Someone in his heart? Lin Feng felt lost.

The drums sounded and, in the distance, the archery contest began.

A herd of bloodied cattle and sheep were driven from their pens, as if sensing their doom, they bolted madly into the depths of the prairie, leaving a trail of blood behind. Riders with curved bows waited for the signal; at the blast of the horn, they would mount and pursue, hunting wild beasts and sheep alike.

"Young master, commander, go and try your skills!" Liu Yun arrived cheerfully, holding two large bows, but was met by Zuo Qingcheng's cold expression.

"What am I supposed to shoot with, you brat!" Zuo Qingcheng snorted and strode off, face dark.

Ye Ziyin shook his head, accepting the bows. As a royal, riding and hunting were everyday affairs for him—no wonder his horsemanship was so fine.

"Brother Lin, try the strength of this bow."

Feng took it, glanced over it; a fine bow, strung with bull sinew, body of willow wood, inlaid above and below with horn to reinforce it. This was a horn-tipped bow.

He set two fingers to the string, exhaled, and drew—twang! Twang! Two quick shots, the force of his draw sent the air swirling.

"Not bad. While its strength is lacking, it's suitable for Ziyin." Lin Feng smiled, but suddenly his expression changed—the long bow in his hands split in two, the willow wood snapping apart.

"Ah... Brother Lin, you truly possess divine strength." Ye Ziyin stared in disbelief at the ruined bowstring. This hunting bow had two hundred pounds of draw, yet Lin Feng broke it with two pulls.

"Ha ha... Young Master Lin, you have impressive strength, to break a horn-tipped bow. Why not we have a contest?" Li Dali strode over, a shy young woman trailing behind.

"Li, why don't you spend time with this young lady instead of looking for me?" Lin Feng was displeased and turned to leave.

"Hey, I, Li Dali, am the strongest man on the prairie! If you don't dare compete, just admit defeat, don't dodge like a coward!"

"Fine! And if you lose?" Ye Ziyin interjected suddenly.

"If I lose, I'll give you my prized stallion!" Li Dali rolled his eyes and raised his brows.

"Deal! If I lose, I'll pay you a hundred taels of gold!" Lin Feng couldn't help a thrill. "Go find a few stiff bows, let's compete in drawing strength!"

"I have a few old bows here, why don't you two compete and let us all have a look." An elder ambled over, smiling. He wore a felt hat and blue robe, his steps steady, his face deeply lined by countless years.

Excited for the spectacle, the crowd gathered round, forsaking the hunt to see the contest of strength.

"This is a horn-buxus bow, five stones in draw. Made from the core of a century-old boxwood, let's see whose strength is greater." The old man brought out two large bows from his tent, picking up a pear-colored long bow first.

A stone equaled a hundred pounds; five stones, five hundred.

"I'll go first!" Li Dali rolled up his sleeves, braced his feet, sank his waist, and shouted, "Draw!"

The horn-buxus bow bent to a full moon, the crowd erupted in applause.

"Your turn!" Li Dali tossed the bow over, flexing his arms and wrists.

Lin Feng said nothing; he drew lightly, the string creaked, the carved boxwood groaned, nearly about to break.

"Careful, young master," the elder cautioned.

With a slight smile, Lin Feng released the string and handed the bow back.

The old man sighed and picked up a pitch-black bow, explaining, "This is a python-tendon war bow, eight stones in strength. Once used by ancient Mengliang cavalry, now few can draw it."

"I'll go first," Lin Feng said, taking the bow. It felt heavy and solid in his hands. Twang! A perfect draw. As he pulled, he felt his body warm, muscles and meridians trembling with exertion.

"A fine bow!" Lin Feng praised, drawing four times in quick succession—crack! At last the war bow gave way, the string snapping, the ebony wood splitting, ruined.

The crowd stared in amazement, unable to believe what they saw.

"The bow is broken; how do we compete?" Li Dali protested, his bull-like eyes searching Lin Feng and the elder for answers.

"No matter, let me fetch the treasured bow." The old man rose, his face solemn, and entered the tent.

Judging by his demeanor, Lin Feng grew curious—what sort of treasure was hidden in the elder's collection?

Soon, under the crowd's eager gaze, the old man emerged, holding a heavy wooden box.

He caressed the box as one would a beloved woman, his gaze deep and bright.

The box was crafted from golden nanmu wood, inlaid with several pieces of jade—simple yet magnificent, and whatever lay within was surely extraordinary.

The elder gently opened the box, his trembling hands carefully lifting out a pitch-black ancient bow. As sunlight struck, a wave of brilliance flickered across its surface.

"This bow has been my companion most of my life. It hasn't shown its might for years. Today, if either of you can draw it, I will give it to you!" The old man looked around, first handing the bow to Li Dali.

Li Dali's face lit up; he flexed his fists, took a breath, and reached for the bow.

Clang! The seemingly ordinary five-foot bow slipped from his grasp and crashed to the ground, the string buzzing ominously. Li Dali cried out in pain as a dark bruise instantly appeared on his arm. The most dangerous thing in archery is improper stance; the force of the string can easily cripple a man's arm. Li Dali had underestimated the bow's weight, and when it slipped, the string struck him, swelling his right arm like a steamed bun.

"The Demon Jiao Winged Bow, weighs ten stones, with a draw of twenty stones. Its back is made from millennia-old ironwood, tipped at both ends with fire demon jiao horns, strung with twin jiao sinews—can fire two arrows at once." The old man bent to pick up the bow, speaking calmly.

Lin Feng studied the elder again—his hands were rough and dry, gray hair peeked from beneath the felt hat, his gaze deep as ever.

"Your turn."

The elder glanced at Lin Feng and handed him the bow. Lin Feng stretched out both hands, summoned his strength, and gripped the divine bow tightly.

It weighed a thousand pounds, feeling unbearably heavy. He twisted his waist, exhaled, opened his joints wide, muscles swelling, spirit energy coursing through his veins to his arms, and shouted, "Draw!" The great bow rose skyward, facing the morning sun, drawn to its fullest!

"Roar—" The string exploded in sound, like a dragon's cry tearing through the air, shaking the atmosphere itself. The spectators covered their ears in shock.

On Lin Feng's arms, thick muscles bulged, veins twisted like dragons and phoenixes; he used nearly all his power for this draw!

"A treasure bow paired with divine strength! It's all yours." The elder offered the box, showing no regret on his face.

Lin Feng took the box and found six arrows inside, their shafts gleaming gold, their heads pitch-black, as if stained with endless blood.

The crowd gazed with envy—this treasure bow was far more precious than a thousand-mile horse, its value beyond measure.

"In years past, this bow slew countless vicious beasts in the wilds and struck down dozens of enemy generals at the southern frontier. Now only six Split-the-Sky Arrows remain; use them with care." The elder raised his head and spoke.

"Thank you for your generosity, esteemed elder. May I ask—" Lin Feng began, but the old man waved him off.

"A hero in old age has no need to boast of past glories..." The elder turned and walked toward his tent, ignoring the amazed stares around him. As he reached the entrance, he sighed, "If you ever find yourself in the capital, should you meet the abbot of the Great Compassion Monastery, please pass along my regards for his well-being."