HLM – Chapter 58 Gunman Old Wang

Wang Bo had made two mistakes: first, he held the gun with both hands, and second, he rested his index finger on the trigger.

“With handguns, if you want to become a sharpshooter, you must develop the habit of shooting single-handed. First, single-handed shooting allows for quicker reaction time and more relaxed muscles. Second, it creates a longer sightline, making aiming more accurate.”

“As for your finger, never rest it on the trigger. Instead, place it on the trigger guard. Only when you’re ready to shoot should you move it inside to pull the trigger. Otherwise, if it misfires, even the safest steel Durex won’t save your ass!”

Wang Bo listened carefully. When the cowboy stopped talking, he asked, “Is there more?”

The cowboy shrugged. “What more? The rest is just practice. You don’t think F1 drivers were trained by teachers in classrooms, do you?”

“Is there a secret to shooting well? Why are you so accurate?”

“Because I’ve been good at shooting since I was a kid!” The cowboy reverted to form and started wiggling his butt crudely.

There were plenty of rabbits at the ranch. To avoid startling the cattle and sheep, Wang Bo chose to practice shooting on the outskirts. The previous gunshots had already scared out quite a few pheasants and rabbits. After scanning the area, they spotted a moorhen sprinting about ten meters away.

Wang Bo mimicked the cowboy and fired a shot with a swing of his hand. The gun fired with a sharp crack, ejecting a shell. The recoil wasn’t too bad for him, but where had the bullet gone?

The cowboy looked surprised. “You’re a sharpshooter too?”

“No way…” Wang Bo looked into the distance. Could he have hit something by accident? But after searching a while, he didn’t see any animals—the moorhen had vanished.

Hearing that, the cowboy shouted, “Shit! If you know you’re not a sharpshooter, why don’t you aim properly before rapid-firing?”

Wang Bo smiled awkwardly. “I’m just trying to develop good habits for becoming one. Let’s keep practicing.”

Rolling hills and wide grasslands stretched around him. Standing amidst clumps of wild grass, Wang Bo surveyed the land—lush green as far as the eye could see, dotted with wildflowers blooming in vivid colors.

Ever since the ranch was managed by the Heart of the Ranch, the grass had grown much better. Inedible weeds had died off, replaced by more tender forage. The terrain had also become more even. Although thousands of cattle and sheep roamed the ranch, their impact was minimal, and the grass had grown even denser than before, clearly capable of supporting more livestock.

The biggest change was probably the taste and nutrition of the grass. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be attracting so many wild animals and birds.

But Wang Bo’s marksmanship was too poor. Despite the abundance of wildlife, he fired through two magazines and didn’t hit a thing—just a bunch of loud bangs.

That said, his goal was to practice. Now that he was used to the feel of shooting, he didn’t panic with a gun in hand anymore and was starting to get the hang of it.

Seeing the lack of results, the cowboy shook his head, took the gun, and said, “Forget it. Let me show you. Watch carefully.”

Wang Bo chuckled. “Heh, we’re out of bullets.”

The cowboy was stunned. “Only two magazines?”

Wang Bo shrugged—what could he do? The police department only issued him that much. Technically, he needed to file a report to use them, but in New Zealand, gun shops were everywhere, even online, so as long as he restocked promptly, the police wouldn’t bother with such a small amount.

So they only had two rabbits to eat. The cowboy was annoyed. Had he known, he would’ve fired more shots earlier.

When it came to roasting rabbit, the cowboy was clearly more experienced. Back at the castle, they set up a campfire in the inner courtyard and began preparing to roast the rabbits.

The cowboy took the lead, simply rubbing salt on the meat before skewering it over the fire.

Wang Bo shook his head. “That’s not how you roast it.” He went to prepare a seasoning mix—mincing scallions, ginger, and garlic, then combining it with the spice blend and stuffing it into the rabbit’s belly. He sewed the opening shut with wire and handed it back to the cowboy for roasting.

The cowboy slowly rotated the rabbit, basting it continuously with oil. The vegetable oil and rabbit fat mingled under the flames, creating an intoxicating aroma. The pink meat gradually turned golden brown.

Attracted by the scent, Zhuang Ding came bounding over, still gnawing on a chew toy, drooling uncontrollably. Its big brown eyes locked onto the roast rabbit, unblinking.

Just as the rabbit was getting warm, the cowboy tried to take it down to eat.

Wang Bo tore off a piece that still had traces of blood and fed it to Zhuang Ding in disgust. Zhuang Ding didn’t mind—he gobbled it up in one bite and stared up at his master with watery eyes: Feed me more!

“Keep roasting it—it has to be fully cooked!”

The cowboy protested, “No way. Medium rare is the most nutritious! Look, the juices are red and glistening—doesn’t it remind you of…”

“A woman’s time of the month?”

“OK, you win. Keep roasting!”

Once the rabbit was fully cooked, Wang Bo tore off two hind legs—one for himself, one for Zhuang Ding. The cowboy spread his hands in outrage. “That’s my hard-earned prize, you can’t just—Oh, shit!”

While he had his hands out, Wang Bo quickly snatched the rabbit, tore off a chunk of meaty breast, and again split it with Zhuang Ding.

The cowboy forgot to complain and hurried to grab the rabbit back, tearing at it hungrily.

Thanks to constant basting, the rabbit meat wasn’t dry. It was firm and chewy, with the marinade and greens stuffed in the belly adding flavor to every bite.

After tasting a piece, the cowboy couldn’t help but praise, “I didn’t expect this, Wang. Your cooking is amazing. But as far as I know, you Chinese don’t eat much BBQ. I’d bet you used to run a barbecue joint.”

Wang Bo grinned. “No way. I just did a summer job at our city crematorium during college… Eh? Why’d you stop eating?”

The cowboy stared at the rabbit meat in his hand, face turning green.

“Haha, I’m kidding.”

“I figured.” The cowboy chuckled.

“Yeah, I mean, how could anyone get into a city crematorium? I worked at the county crematorium.”

“For the love of God the Father—your mom’s blown up!” The cowboy mimicked the colonel’s favorite curse.

In truth, two rabbits weren’t nearly enough. Two grown men and one growing super dog only managed to eat half full.

Licking the meat grease off his fingers, the cowboy said, “Maybe we should go hunting at the ranch more often—great returns.”

Wang Bo, heading off with Zhuang Ding to find more food, replied lazily, “Nope, no more gunfire on the ranch. It’ll scare the cattle and sheep.”

“Then we’ll use traps,” the cowboy said matter-of-factly.

“Mm, that’s your job then. I don’t know how to set traps. Cowboys should know that stuff.”

“Of course cowboys know! Cowboys know everything!” the cowboy said proudly—then suddenly realized something didn’t sound quite right…