Chapter 51: The Legendary Arrow of the Old Xue Family

With a sharp whoosh, the arrow flew swiftly and powerfully. Covering the distance of over ninety paces in the blink of an eye, the arrow struck the bullseye—though slightly above the exact center. It wasn’t perfect, but Pei Min was quite satisfied; after all, it had been a long time since he last handled a bow, and some clumsiness was inevitable on his first attempt.

“Grandpa Xue, what do you think?” Pei Min asked with a smile.

Xue Ne smiled faintly but said nothing. Instead, he fetched another bow, slightly larger than Pei Min’s.

The bowstring twanged sharply as Xue Ne shot an arrow into the sky. Without hesitation, he swiftly fired a second and then a third…

Rapid consecutive shots?

Pei Min watched in awe, yet puzzled. If Xue Ne’s rapid shots had hit the bullseye, Pei Min would have been so amazed as to exclaim in admiration, for only a master marksman could perform such a feat. But shooting arrows into the sky—what purpose did that serve?

Just as he was lost in wonder, Xue Ne calmly drew three feathers from his quiver, holding them in his hand as he nocked the bowstring...

An indescribable thought flashed through Pei Min’s mind: Could it be...

Before his thoughts could finish, Xue Ne’s actions confirmed his suspicions.

With barely a pause and almost no aim, Xue Ne released the string.

The three feathered arrows shot off in different directions. The arrows already in the sky were losing momentum and began to fall. At that moment, the three newly fired feathers arrived first, precisely severing the falling arrows in midair.

“This…” Pei Min’s mouth fell open, speechless. After a long moment, he finally asked, “How is that possible?”

Xue Ne chuckled, “This is a secret technique of the Xue family. Honestly, what I just did is nothing. When an arrow’s force is spent, I use three arrows fired simultaneously to shoot the feathers off. The truly remarkable feat belongs to my father—he could shoot three arrows in rapid succession, then fire three more simultaneously, arriving later but overtaking the earlier arrows to split them in two.”

Pei Min couldn’t believe it. The image of this miraculous skill Xue Ne described flashed in his mind. Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he exclaimed, “The general’s three arrows that settled Tianshan, the hero’s long song entering Han Pass—when General Xue fired those three arrows at Tianshan, could it have been this very technique?”

In Pei Min’s mind, Xue Rengui was a legendary figure. He knew the historical tales in great detail: the wise strategies that ended wars, the three arrows that settled Tianshan, the heroic conquest of Liaodong, the benevolent governance of Goryeo, the care for the people of Xiangzhou, the fearless retreats before overwhelming odds—these were all well-known events. Among them, the story of the three arrows settling Tianshan was most wondrous. The nomadic tribes, led by the fierce Tiele clan, were renowned horse archers. When Emperor Gaozong of Tang ordered Xue Rengui to lead troops to Tianshan against the nine Tiele clans, Xue Rengui killed three generals with three arrows, terrifying the Tiele forces into submission. The grasslands were ruled by cavalry archery, their expertise unrivaled. That Xue Rengui needed but three arrows to break their morale spoke volumes of their power.

No ordinary person could imagine the might of those three arrows without witnessing it firsthand.

Xue Ne’s archery had already amazed Pei Min, yet he had no idea just how fearsome Xue Rengui’s skill truly was.

Xue Ne nodded with a smile, “Indeed.”

Pei Min’s eyes gleamed as he struggled to speak.

Seeing this, Xue Ne laughed heartily, “Since you call me grandpa, there’s no point in keeping this secret. But this technique cannot be performed without masterful archery as the foundation. I’ve practiced horseback archery since childhood, fought alongside my father from the age of thirteen, and only after thirty years on the battlefield did I fully master it. If you want to learn, it’s not too late to train hard now, but without talent and perseverance, it will be difficult.”

Pei Min understood well—the more formidable the skill, the higher the requirements. “Mastery beyond the ordinary archery,” he said, pounding his chest, “Grandpa Xue, you need not doubt—I lack not talent.”

“Big talk!” Xue Ne shot back mercilessly. “In my eyes, your archery is barely at an entry level.”

“Impossible!” Pei Min was taken aback, looking at the arrow still on the target, certain he hadn’t missed. He felt puzzled.

Xue Ne explained, “Your archery is the Confucian ‘Six Arts’ style—a refined, cultured practice—not the martial archery of warriors.”

“What’s the difference?” Pei Min asked humbly.

Xue Ne answered, “Confucian archery aims to cultivate oneself and strengthen the body. Our warrior archery is meant to kill! People are alive—they move and dodge. When you shoot, you take half a lifetime aiming before releasing. On the battlefield, your enemy would either shoot you first or escape—there’s no time to take careful aim.”

Pei Min was stunned, a cold sweat breaking out. It was true. Though he could shoot, his technique came from the cultured Six Arts tradition—it wasn’t useless in battle, but vastly different from true warrior archery. He hurriedly said, “Please, Grandpa Xue, guide me!”

Xue Ne nodded approvingly. “Warrior archery aims only to kill. Like martial arts, it demands speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness. Your eyes must see, your habits must guide your aim… Watch.” He looked at a distant target, smoothly drew his bow, and released. The arrow, as if guided by its own eyes, struck the bullseye a hundred paces away.

“I understand!” Pei Min said. “You mean drawing the bow and shooting must become instinctive, a habit. No need to look or carefully aim—just rely on feeling. Once you remember and get used to that feeling, the arrow will naturally fly where you want.”

“A promising pupil!” Xue Ne said. “This state is not achieved overnight—it requires years of practice. I don’t expect you to master it quickly, but you must train this way. If you can reduce your aiming time by even a breath, you must. The greatest taboo in archery is distrusting yourself—knowing you’re ready but hesitating to aim slowly and carefully. That’s the worst mistake…”

Pei Min nodded. “I understand.”

He looked at the target, drew his bow, glanced briefly, judged quickly, and released almost without thinking.

Swish!

The arrow missed the bullseye by about three inches.

Undeterred, Pei Min shot a second arrow in the same manner, which landed on the edge of the red circle.

His face grew serious as he fired a third, again hitting the edge—this time below the circle, whereas the second had been above.

On the fourth shot, he finally struck the exact center.

Satisfied, Pei Min stopped to close his eyes and search for the earlier feeling.

The fifth arrow hit the bullseye again; the sixth missed slightly but remained near the center; the seventh—another bullseye.

Xue Ne watched silently, recalling Pei Min’s earlier words, muttering, “Is this truly a prodigy?”