Chapter 332 Sore Loser

Chapter 332: A Sore Loser

It wasn't a straight shot, but an almost artistic calculation that zeroed in on the one fleeting opening in the jade ring's swing!

"Ding—crack!" The jade ring shattered with a sharp crack, and even his topknot was torn loose.

The arrow grazed Han Meng's neck as he went rigid, trailing a torn ribbon behind it.

With a dull thud, it buried itself in the ground before him, the shaft quivering with a persistent hum.

Han Meng sat frozen on his horse, his face ashen and hair disheveled, the sting of the arrow's wake on his neck.

But none of it matched the humiliation burning in his chest.

The whole training ground went dead silent.

Everyone was stunned by this reversal and sheer display of skill, their eyes on Cheng Ge now held nothing but awe.

A sudden gust swept the field, kicking up sand.

The sheer veil of Cheng Ge's wide-brimmed hat and the red ribbon on its brim lifted together with the wind, whipping wildly in the air.

Han Meng sat rigid, his disheveled hair whipped into chaos.

He still clutched his prized longbow, his knuckles white from his death grip.

But at this moment, the bow felt heavier than a thousand pounds—even the wind seemed to whisper a thousand taunts, mocking his arrogance and failure.

The silence lasted barely a heartbeat.

Then, like boiling oil hitting ice, thunderous cheers erupted!

"Yeah—!" Someone bellowed first.

Immediately after, the entire training ground exploded like a boiling pot. All the soldiers, faces flushed, waved their arms and roared with everything they had.

The roar swelled into waves that nearly blew the roof off the sky.

"Godly shot! Now that's a godly shot!"

"Did you see that?! The timing! The power!"

"He even shot off his topknot! That's insane precision!"

"The General's Wife... no, Instructor Cheng! It's Instructor Cheng!"

All the earlier doubts and sneers, wiped out by that one arrow, turned into near-fanatic worship and awe.

Someone took the lead, and the soldiers began rhythmically striking the ground with their scabbards, chanting in unison:

"Hail the Instructor!"

"Hail the Instructor!"

"Hail the Instructor!"

The sound shook the fields, their morale skyrocketing.

Amid the deafening cheers, Han Meng looked utterly alone and pathetic.

His face was pale as paper, sitting rigid on his horse with hair disheveled.

Each cheer struck his face like a resounding slap, shattering the last shred of his dignity.

Cheng Ge sat upright on his horse as the wind gradually subsided, the veil and ribbon slowly settling.

In the midst of the thunderous cheers, Han Meng suddenly raised his head.

His bloodshot eyes locked onto Cheng Ge, lips trembling as he muttered to himself: "Impossible... this is absolutely impossible!"

His voice was low at first, then suddenly rose sharply, carrying a shrillness on the verge of collapse.

"My archery... I've trained hard for over twenty years! How could this be! It's all fake! You used some trick!"

He couldn't accept it—couldn't bear that his most prized archery skill was so utterly powerless before this person!

This thought gnawed at his sanity like a venomous snake.

He abruptly kicked his horse's flank, charging to a spot not far in front of Cheng Ge.

Ignoring the cheers and the needle-like gazes falling upon him, he shouted hoarsely:

"That was me not giving my full effort! Let's compete again! A fair and square match!"

Cheng Ge sat upright on his horse, the veil concealing his expression.

He had originally seen that this man's archery did have some foundation—though his character was somewhat narrow-minded, he showed promise.

But now, seeing this sore-loser frenzy, the faint appreciation in his heart vanished instantly, leaving only complete disdain.

The moment Han Meng's words faded, Cheng Ge casually raised his hand, without even deliberately aiming.

An arrow was already nocked between his fingers, and with a short, crisp twang, the arrow had already left the string!

The arrow's fletching grazed Han Meng's ear, missing by a hair's breadth!

Han Meng could even feel the searing heat of the arrowhead splitting the air. He flinched, tucking his neck in fright.

Then, he felt a chill at his temple—a lock of hair was whisked away by the wind, vanishing into the dust.

Cheng Ge slowly lowered his bow, and from beneath the veil came a clear, cold laugh.

The laugh was not loud, yet it carried bone-chilling disdain and undeniable contempt:

"Compete again? Even if you competed with me ten thousand times, you would still be destined to be my defeated opponent."

These words stabbed Han Meng's heart like an ice pick! This wasn't a refusal—it was pure contempt!

It trampled his pride and perseverance underfoot, grinding them to dust!

"You...!" Han Meng's face shifted from white to green, then from green to purple, his chest heaving, yet unable to muster a single word in reply.

He could feel the gazes around him growing more complex, and overwhelming humiliation and utter despair flooded over him.

He abruptly turned his horse around, casting aside all dignity and composure, and fled the training ground in a panic.

Han Meng fled in disgrace, but on the training ground, Cheng Ge's prestige among the troops was firmly cemented.

That single arrow had shattered the jade ring and pierced every hidden doubt and defiance.

His archery instruction never dealt in empty talk; everything he taught was practical skill distilled from life-and-death combat on the battlefield.

How to read the wind, how to predict a moving target's path, how to stay alive in the chaos and nail a precise shot...

Despite bearing the title of "General's Wife," he had zero arrogance about him.

When a soldier drew his bow wrong, he would personally step in to correct it, fixing their angle and strength by hand.

Even at mealtimes, he would squat down with the common soldiers and eat out of the same big pot.

Other than his bowl being a bit big, he was utterly without fault—he was just super approachable.

And since that day on the training ground when he established his authority, Cheng Ge's position as "Archery Instructor" was firmly secured.

New brooms sweep clean, and Instructor Cheng's broom swept hard.

He basically camped out at the training ground, showing up before dawn and not heading back to his tent until the stars were out.

Cui Ji, as the Chief Commander, was just as swamped, often not getting back until late at night.

Cheng Ge was so wiped that he passed out the second his head hit the pillow, and by the time he woke, the spot next to him was already empty.

All that was left was a faint, cold, sharp scent to prove the other had been there.

The two shared a tent, but their schedules were so misaligned that they went three full days without crossing paths.

One day, after finishing drills, Cheng Ge felt his arms too heavy to lift.

After a hasty wash, he fumbled his way into bed, on the verge of immediate sleep.

Just as his consciousness began to blur, the tent flap was gently lifted, and a gust of cold air swept in.

Cheng Ge jolted, instantly more alert, instinctively curling up slightly and squinting toward the entrance.

It was Cui Ji.

Dusty, with unmelted snow still clinging to the shoulders of his dark cloak, and tucked against his chest was a food container.