frightfiction Chapter 312 Fighting the Flying Dragon with Fire
Chapter 312 Fighting the Flying Dragon with Fire
Hidden in the Xing'an Mountains is a mouthwatering delicacy: hazel grouse. Belonging to the Heilongjiang cuisine, it originates from the Xing'an Mountains—a gift from nature. Speaking of hazel grouse, one must mention the classic "Flying Dragon Soup," a simple yet exquisite dish.
The artisan's dedication to hazel grouse soup lies in preserving the true essence of the ingredients: the grouse is carefully plucked, its internal organs removed, and then simmered slowly in the purest broth, without any unnecessary seasonings. The aim is to ensure that every drop of the soup is brimming with the original flavor, carrying the natural savory taste of the hazel grouse. The resulting hazel grouse soup features tender, smooth meat and a clear broth with a naturally sweet taste.
In those days of living among the mountains and forests, hunters were particularly fond of hunting wyverns, because the hot soup was delicious, and the wyverns from the mountains and forests fetched a good price.
Compared to the cheapness of other prey, which were often sold for a pittance, the value of wyvern meat was exceptionally high. Half a pound of wyvern meat could be exchanged for five yuan, which was a considerable sum at the time. Hunters would return with their spoils. After killing one wyvern, plucking its feathers, they could get more than half a pound of meat and bones, which they could sell at the market for six or seven yuan.
Keep in mind that the regular salary for a forestry worker in the area is only 36 yuan. If you can hunt five or six hyraxes a month, that's enough to earn a month's salary. The heavy weight of the meat and bones can be exchanged for money to buy clothes, cabinets, and dishes for your home.
Song Desheng thought about how diligently he worked in the purchasing department of the textile factory, and how he could catch flying dragon meat every day. His eyes lit up with envy. He carefully said to Old Qian, "Uncle Qian, Master, you are really my master. If I could learn Brother Li's ventriloquism skills, I could catch flying dragon meat every day and I would be rich by now."
Thinking about the trivialities of baby formula costs, Song Desheng felt a surge of pride. If he could master this skill and return home laden with spoils every day, catching several dragons, he secretly vowed to impress his wife and show her who the pillar of the family truly was. A real man should have this kind of spirit and responsibility.
A man should be tough.
With such a beautiful flying dragon hovering above their heads, Li Ju'an and the others held their breath and slowly raised their guns.
Song Desheng hesitated as he raised his gun. His double-barreled shotgun used medium-caliber slugs, the kind used to hunt bears and tigers, and even wolves—it could blast a wolf's skull through. Such a powerful medium-caliber slug, if used against a flying dragon, could blow its entire head apart with a single shot, but it wouldn't fetch a good price.
Li Ju'an was holding a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle. Its bullets were larger than those in Lao Qian's hand, and their firing caused significant damage to the flying dragon's flesh.
The two men hesitated, staring intently at the flying dragon, their hearts pounding with tension. They were terrified that the dragon would fly away and disappear, and even more afraid that such a large bullet would blast the dragon's flesh into worthless pieces.
Old Qian, on the other hand, wasn't in a hurry. He even set up a small stool on the bluestone slab, lit a pipe, and shouted in a loud voice, "Come sit down, young man, what are you afraid of? This bird won't run away."
When Song Desheng heard him raise his voice, he was so frightened that he quickly put a finger to his lips and said in a low voice, "You can't do that, Uncle Qian. If you scare this thing, it will fly away."
Old Qian laughed heartily, his voice very loud, as if afraid Feilong wouldn't hear him, and shouted: "If it runs away, it's fine with me. But if this thing dares to run away, I'll treat you two to Feilong soup tonight."
Upon hearing this, Song Desheng thought, "Could there really be such a good thing?" He boldly sat down on a tree stump, spread his knees, and looked up at the flying dragon on the high branch.
In the past, Li Ju'an hunted pheasants by setting traps. In winter, he would often follow the bushes, feeling for grass seeds to set traps for pheasants. Because pheasants were rare, he mostly caught small pheasants and wild chickens. He used his ventriloquism to call out, and he actually managed to summon a pheasant. But this time, he had to shoot it with a gun. He was thinking that he would have to go to the county town to get a small-caliber hunting rifle.
If I hunt birds frequently in the future, I'll need to switch to a 5.6mm small-caliber shotgun. It won't blow the birds' heads off, otherwise they won't look good and won't fetch a good price.
The loud talking of the group didn't actually scare the dragon away.
On the hunting grounds where dragons are chased, the hunters are not in a hurry to fix their eyes on the dragons in the air. People often mistakenly believe that only by keeping their eyes glued to their prey can they prevent the dragon from escaping. But in the extraordinary event of hunting dragons, this is not the case at all.
The pheasants were timid and cowardly, with an eccentric temperament; they were the most honest of creatures. At the sudden sound of gunfire, instead of panicking or fleeing, they swarmed up the treetops, using the high branches as their safe haven. Once nestled among the dense foliage, the pheasants became as cowardly as mice, hiding in the dappled sunlight. No matter how the hunting dogs below shouted and urged them on, they only trembled, too afraid to leave.
This fear, ironically, became a pleasant surprise for the hunters. Faced with a terrified dragon, there was no need to be impatient or hasty; all of that was unnecessary. The hunters simply placed a simple stool under the shade of a tree, sat down leisurely, and with an almost relaxed attitude, could calmly and effortlessly shoot the dragon down.
The wyverns hid deep within the branches, blending seamlessly into the tree trunks. Hunters had to skillfully adjust their shooting angles, engaging in a silent battle, changing their firing angles, circling the trees, and gradually firing, shot by shot, until all the wyverns in the trees were brought down.
It can be said that capturing the flying dragons was surprisingly easy, as simple as aiming at the bullseye. Instead of fleeing, the flying dragons were quite content, which led the Manchu ancestors to jokingly name them "Feiyelengu," meaning "a timid domestic fowl perched on a treetop."
Old Qian gently pulled back the bolt, slowly walking around the tree, pulling back the bolt again, and began to fire around it. His 5.6mm caliber hunting rifle was naturally adept at dealing with the birds in the forest. The more frightened and uneasy the birds appeared, the more they cowered on the high branches, like startled chicks, afraid to spread their wings easily, only able to cautiously pace among the dappled shadows, attempting to escape the hunters' merciless bullets with these tiny movements.
Little did they know that this action would provide Old Qian with even more opportunities to hunt.
Old Qian leisurely put his pipe into his mouth, took a deep drag, and then shouted with great bravado, "Brothers, watch closely, this time we're going to give them a concentrated attack!" His words were full of confidence and pride.
boom!
Old Qian fires a shot, changes position, and then fires another shot with a "bang".
The high branches were densely shaded, completely obscured by leaves. But the dragon, timid and frightened, began to rustle and move cautiously around the shaded branches. Every time the dragon moved, it would reveal an opening, its hidden figure appearing in the light and shadow.
A feather appeared on his abdomen, and Song Desheng's eyes lit up. He pointed and shouted, "Uncle Qian! It's over there!"
Old Qian also spotted the feathers on the abdomen, narrowed his eyes slightly, and, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, seized the opportunity to pull the trigger and unleash a barrage of fire.
boom!
A single shot pierced the dragon's abdomen. The dragon was small, its abdomen containing a large number of internal organs—intestines, heart, and lungs. This single shot nearly caused it to burst. The dragon tumbled and fell precariously from the high branch, barely struggling.
Taking advantage of the moment the hunting dogs charged past, Li Ju'an squatted down, picked up the flying dragon, examined it by its claws, and said, "Uncle Qian, your marksmanship is truly impressive; you hit right in the heart and lung area."
When shooting birds, aim for either the eyes, which penetrate the head and brain, or the heart and lungs; a single shot is usually enough to secure a kill. If you hit the tail or wings, the bird can maneuver for a considerable time.
Old Qian laughed heartily, handed him the 5.6mm small-caliber shotgun, and said, "Come on, give it a try. With this skill, what kind of dragon can't you hit?"