Chapter 41: The Lynx Secured

Lin Yang’s heart leaped into his throat. In a flurry of panic, a massive boulder caught his eye. The rock stood about two and a half meters tall, with an open slope stretching out beneath it. In a flash, a daring plan took shape in his mind. Gritting his teeth, he poured every ounce of his remaining strength into a sprint toward the boulder.

As he neared the stone, he launched himself into the air, leaping like an arrow released from its bow toward the slope below. The moment he hit the ground, he tucked his body and rolled. The rough earth felt like sandpaper grinding against his skin, and a piercing pain flared through him, but he had no time to worry about that. His scattered scrapes stung as if scorched by fire, yet the intensity of the moment numbed him to the agony. He quickly dropped to one knee, leveled his shotgun, and aimed the dark muzzle upward, poised like a hunting leopard.

It had taken barely a second. The lynx, which had been in hot pursuit, had been moving too fast to stop. But the beast was lightning-quick; it leaped from the edge of the boulder like a shadow of black light.

Lin Yang fought back the burning sensation in his lungs, forcing himself to stay calm. His eyes were locked on the lynx, his hands steady as he tracked its descent with the barrel, his expression hardened with resolve. The lynx would have to pause to absorb the impact upon landing—that split second would be his only chance. He had no time to worry about the condition of the pelt. After being chased all this way, he had seen for himself just how ferocious this "secondary king of the mountains" could be. Even at the end of its rope, the beast had chased him for hundreds of meters. They had started a hundred meters apart, yet in less than three minutes, he had almost been caught. The speed was terrifying.

The moment the lynx touched the ground, Lin Yang pulled the trigger without hesitation.

*Bang!*

A deafening roar echoed through the mountains, seemingly shattering the very air and startling a flock of birds into flight. But Lin Yang’s face turned deathly pale. As it landed, the lynx had instinctively rolled, tumbling down the slope. His shot hadn't missed, but the sudden roll had been completely unexpected.

The bullet thudded into the snow, kicking up a flurry of white. Lin Yang didn't have time for regret; he scrambled to ready a second shot. But he saw the lynx, having rolled over two meters, struggling to stand before collapsing heavily once more. Its cruel, beastly eyes remained fixed on Lin Yang, its throat emitting a low, hoarse growl, as if venting its lingering defiance and rage.

Seeing this, Lin Yang couldn't help but laugh—a loud, boisterous laugh that seemed to purge all the fear he had just endured. The sound echoed through the silent forest, filled with the relief and triumph of one who has escaped death.

"Old beast, you were having quite a fun time chasing me, weren't you? What's wrong? Can't run anymore? You wanted to eat my hundred-plus pounds of meat, didn't you? If you've got the guts, crawl over and bite me!"

Having stared death in the face and survived, he couldn't help but feel exhilarated looking at the lynx, which had clearly exhausted its final reserves of energy. He kept his shotgun leveled, approaching the lynx with extreme caution, his eyes never leaving the animal. They were only five or six meters apart. Despite his bravado, his vigilance never wavered; his finger remained on the trigger, ready to fire again at the slightest sign of movement.

The lynx’s growls grew weaker, its lungs heaving as it panted on the ground, its vengeful gaze never leaving him. Gradually, as the beast grew feebler, Lin Yang’s tension began to ease. The growling stopped entirely, and the lynx’s tongue lolled limply from its mouth, revealing gruesome wounds.

"Finally dead, are you?" Lin Yang muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of testing and relief.

He slowly drew his sickle and stepped forward, moving with exaggerated care, as if afraid to disturb the seemingly lifeless predator. He knew that while an old lynx might feign death, it could not control its breathing. As long as its belly remained still, it meant its life had truly ended. He pressed the tip of his hunting knife against the beast's throat and applied slight pressure. The sharp blade pierced the fur easily, but only a trickle of blood appeared. Only then did he truly relax. He plunged the knife into the windpipe and swiftly slit the artery. A stream of warm blood welled up, slowly staining the pristine snow.

Lin Yang didn't have time to process the organs. The lynx’s small intestine was highly valued for medicine, and his main goal was to provide the materials, so the quality of the meat didn't matter. Bleeding the animal served two purposes: it ensured the lynx wasn't just playing dead—a rare but possible occurrence, even for beasts—and it helped preserve the pelt.

Once the final drop of blood had drained, Lin Yang hoisted the lynx onto his shoulder with effort. A male lynx usually weighed sixty pounds, but this old one, despite its large frame, felt closer to forty. It seemed that being unable to catch prey had left it starved and lean. He had observed it closely; it was indeed an aging creature, with the marks of time etched into its body.

Lin Yang felt a surge of excitement. Though his body ached and his hands and face were scored with scratches from the tumble—the sweat stinging the open wounds—he felt no pain, only pure exhilaration. A pristine lynx pelt was a rare treasure, easily worth over a thousand yuan. That was a small fortune.

He had no intention of bringing this prize home. If his mother saw it, she would never let him go back into the mountains. His parents only allowed him to go because he had promised never to venture into the deep woods, which was where the lynx lived. Besides, he urgently needed to accumulate startup capital; he needed his own secret stash. If he told his mother about his plans to start a business, she would surely grab a feather duster and nag him endlessly. He knew her temper all too well.

In this remote mountain village, people were still conservative, believing that as long as one could become a factory worker with an "iron rice bowl," they could escape the land and become city dwellers with nothing to worry about. But the average wage here was only around thirty yuan, and even a worker’s salary rarely exceeded forty. That amount was far from enough for the grand plans Lin Yang had in mind.