Reborn in 80: Starting with hunting in the mountains to get rich

Old Qian turned around and found that his youngest son was also gone.

He had no choice but to follow the sound of the gunshot and run quickly to the hill to find his second son, thinking that his younger son liked to follow his older brother, so maybe the two brothers were together.

He was worried, so he quickened his pace and stumbled as he stepped over the roots of a pine tree, almost falling over.

He strode to the spot and suddenly discovered a figure lying on the snow, eyes wide open, with a large gash in its tender throat, clearly torn and bitten by sharp teeth, and blood still gushing out.

A chill ran down his spine when he saw the familiar figure; his whole body trembled, and even his legs, which had been strong enough to hunt wolves his entire life, went weak and trembled uncontrollably. He cautiously looked ahead, and the terrifying thought was confirmed! The figure was none other than his second son!

The second son lay on the snow, eyes wide open, surrounded by gushing blood; he was long dead. Wolf tracks—three in total—were left nearby.

The violent breakdown nearly caused Lao Qian to faint and kneel down.

Son! His own son was attacked from behind by a wolf who grabbed him by the shoulder and bit off his neck!

Old Qian felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if his heart was being torn apart. He couldn't understand it at all. So many wolves had died at his hands in his life, yet his son had been killed by wolves on his very first trip into the mountains?

He disregarded his grief, his heart filled with boundless rage, wishing he could tear the three-headed wolf apart to vent his sorrow. He grabbed his gun and gave chase, following the wolf's footprints in the snow.

But Old Qian is getting old. When he was young, he could chase wolves with his hounds in a fit of rage, firing three shots in quick succession from 300 meters away, taking them down one by one. But now that he's old, he starts panting after a while and can't keep up.

All he could do was shout, "My little one!"

The youngest son hasn't been found yet, and with the second son gone, we must bring the youngest son back safely.

The surrounding pine forest was quiet, offering no response, nor did it echo the call of the stick.

In the deep mountains and forests, no response was unusual. With decades of experience hunting wolves, he knew there were definitely cunning and treacherous wolves lurking nearby, ready to encircle and wear him down, or launch a surprise attack. His heart sank, and he walked forward, pistol in hand, keeping a watchful eye out.

Suddenly, breath appeared from behind an old pine tree; the white breath indicated that something was there!

Moreover, he could vaguely see half a furry thing near the tree roots—wolf fur. He immediately realized it was the head of a cunning wolf lying in ambush!

Anger surged within Old Qian, and he immediately raised his gun, aimed at the hairy head, and pulled the trigger.

boom!

Gunshots echoed through the pine forest, but what followed were screams of agony.

Old Qian's head was buzzing and throbbing. He rushed over to take a look, and the scene that appeared made his blood rush to his head, and his legs went weak.

It's his youngest son!

The youngest son was chased by three wolves and was so frightened that he hid behind an old tree root, too afraid to make a sound. He was wearing a small wolf-skin hat on his head.

The furry things he saw were the wolf-skin hats he had made for his son from the wolf cub's pelt.

Old Qian broke down. He didn't know how he managed to walk step by step, his legs weak, to the base of the tree. What he saw was his most beloved youngest son, whose head he had smashed off with his own hands, and whose wolf-skin hat was knocked askew to one side.

He collapsed to his knees in agony, clutching his youngest son's body and weeping uncontrollably.

Qian Laopao, who had been a professional wolf hunter for decades, was one of the best marksmen in the Xingan Mountains and had a great reputation. Now, he actually shot his youngest son while hunting wolves. What a tragedy!

Suddenly, a hunter's instinct made Old Qian's nerves tighten!

There was a gaze fixed on him from behind, and it wasn't a human gaze!

As a local hunter, he had been hunting in the mountains since he was a child, and he always had an incredibly accurate sixth sense for the gaze of wild animals. In addition, his second son had his throat bitten off by a wolf, and his youngest son had been shot in the head by him. The wild animal staring at him was none other than one of the three wolves that were right next to him.

Old Qian immediately thought of that bastard. Having lost his two sons, his chest heaved violently. Overwhelmed by intense anger and despair, he grabbed his gun and turned around without hesitation, firing a shot.

Shot and fire instantly!

boom!

A wild beast's howl struck directly, and a cloud of blood exploded behind him.

He looked closer and was even more devastated to find that the dog that had been hit was his only remaining hunting dog, Erhei.

The hunting dog Erhei had just rushed into the wild boar forest to chase the wolf, and now it was following the wolf's tracks back. When it saw its master and tried to follow, it was unexpectedly shot in the chest by its master.

Old Qian felt his blood rushing to his head, and his head was spinning. He could barely hear anything. People are most prone to making mistakes when they are not calm.

He couldn't utter a single word. His two sons, who had taken him up the mountain, and his two hunting dogs were all dead.

Moreover, he personally killed his youngest son and the hunting dog Erhei.

Erhei's chest was blown open, and blood gushed out, but the good dog still protected its owner, and could still widen its eyes and whimper with its last bit of strength.

Suddenly, Old Qian felt a foul, fishy smell rush to the back of his head—it was the stench from the wolf's mouth!

He reacted incredibly quickly, instinctively rolling to the ground, but the hunting rifle in his hand was knocked away by the wolf and fell behind the bluestone slab. Since he hadn't brought any other weapons—the double-barreled one had been given to his second son, and the single-barreled one had been knocked away by the wolf—he could only struggle to pull a hunting knife from his back and engage in close combat with the wolf.

Fortunately, only one male wolf charged forward, while the other two were slowly approaching from a distance, flanking it.

Time is running out for Old Qian!

During close combat, the male wolf scratched his face, tearing open his right eyelid so his eyeball was about to pop out. Enraged, he gritted his teeth and swung his hunting knife into the wolf's abdomen. The wolf jumped aside in pain, taking away his last weapon, the hunting knife, which remained stuck in the wolf's belly.

Old Qian cursed inwardly, "Oh no! Heaven has forsaken me!"

The other two male wolves were already close at hand. His single-barreled gun lay behind them, while his hunting knife remained embedded in their chests. He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

The more he thought about it, the more ironic it seemed. He was a respected old hunter who had spent his whole life hunting wolves and was known as Old Money Cannon. Now, his son and hunting dogs had both died in the jaws of wolves, and now even he was about to be torn apart by the raging wolves.

Such a death would be an absolute irony and a disgrace to the old hunter.

The wolf-skin hat beside his youngest son's body was stained with gushing blood, and he suddenly realized something: Retribution!

This is all his retribution!

In his youth, he was hot-blooded and loved hunting wolf cubs, especially those that were destined to die young. He would use their pelts to make hats and cloaks, which were warm and soft to wear in winter. Now, the wolf was making him kill his own youngest son with his own hands.

Everyone says this wolf has become a spirit, otherwise he wouldn't have mistaken his youngest son's hat-wearing head for a wolf.

Old Qian gave up resistance, lay down in the snow in utter despair, closed his eyes, and waited for the reunion with his two sons and two beloved dogs.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out in the distance.

boom!

The male wolf, whose chest he had stabbed with his hunting knife, suddenly spat out a cloud of blood from its forehead.

A long-range bullet, fired from 300 meters away, entered the back of the male wolf's head, piercing through his forehead and creating a bloody hole the size of a bowl.

One shot to the head!

Old Qian was stunned. With one eyeball drooping out of its socket, he finally managed to vaguely make out the movements in the distance.

The strongest mountain-chasing dog, Tiger, was galloping towards them. Close behind Tiger, the young man followed the lead dog, quickly traversing ridges and ditches, crossing the bottom of ponds, and passing through Naoxia Pond. Naoxia Pond, also known as Luanshi Pond, was filled with all sorts of rocks scattered haphazardly.

After Li Ju'an fired the first shot, he didn't give the other two male wolves any time.

As he moved his gun hand upwards and pressed the butt down, the bullet he was holding in his palm appeared between his middle and ring fingers, held between them.

He quickly loaded the bullets he was holding into the chamber, and with a crisp "snap," he slammed the gun against his face, then aimed at the second male wolf in the distance and fired another shot.

boom!