"Ugh… I'm exhausted!"
Back at his host family's house, Zhao Zhan let out a miserable groan. He skipped dinner—his favorite dishes untouched—didn't even bother to shower, and collapsed straight onto the bed.
Seeing him like this, his wife hurried over, her face filled with concern.
Zhao Zhan was fifty-five years old this year, already considered past middle age by Chinese standards. He worked as an engineer on a state-owned construction project. Engineers of his generation who held a Level One Construction Engineer certificate were extremely valuable—so much so that even managerial positions required that qualification. Someone like Zhao Zhan, stationed at the headquarters, naturally enjoyed many privileges.
For instance, whenever he went out to inspect projects, local authorities and cooperating suppliers would always provide various "supplies."
Gift-giving was a microcosm of Chinese society—an unspoken yet indispensable custom.
When he was young, Zhao Zhan had served in the army as a reconnaissance soldier. Before the era of formal special forces, reconnaissance units were effectively elite troops. As a result, he had always loved guns and heavy weapons. After leaving the military, however, he lost access to firearms. Now, even though he had money, he often felt that something from his youth was gone.
Last year, an old friend told him about how enjoyable Winthrop was, sparking his interest. He visited once at the beginning of the year and found it genuinely fun—especially because he could visit the shooting range.
His shooting skills hadn't dulled much since his army days. Back then, they used Type 56 semi-automatic rifles—primitive compared to modern firearms. Now there were M16s, M4 carbines, AUGs, AKs, even Chinese Type 95 rifles.
To Zhao Zhan, Winthrop felt like paradise.
Since arriving, he spent nearly all his free time at the shooting range. But after firing at fixed targets day after day, even that began to feel monotonous.
So when he heard that Winthrop was organizing a real hunting trip into the mountains—targeting deer and wild boar—he was ecstatic.
In his youth, he had helped villagers hunt wild boars. Back then, wild boars weren't protected animals; they were considered pests. Besides the well-known "Four Pests" (flies, mosquitoes, cockroaches, and rats), there was also the saying of the "Three Pests": wild boars, sparrows, and rats. Many were killed in those years. Even when Jiang Hai was young, people still used bird nets in the forests.
Now, all of those animals were protected. Ironically, sparrows were still plentiful in the north, while wild boars had become rampant in the south.
Yet even then, ordinary people weren't allowed to hunt them. And even if they were—where would they get guns?
Zhao Zhan eagerly signed up for the hunting trip and even persuaded a few old friends to join him.
At first, they didn't take the foreign instructor who spoke Chinese very seriously. As his friend had said—they were customers, and customers were kings.
Unfortunately, today, the "king" was about to be skinned alive.
The instructor named Rogar began by having his men demonstrate the day's physical training.
Since these were tourists, not soldiers, expectations weren't extreme. The training consisted of just three parts:
First, cross-country movement—bending low while traversing forest terrain.
Second, standing shooting.
Third, crouching shooting.
That was all.
And yet, it was more than enough to break most of them.
Zhao Zhan managed just fine. He was motivated, had a military background, and could endure the strain. His old buddies, however, collapsed during the very first exercise. One of them sat on the ground and refused to move.
The instructor said nothing. He simply called over two policemen, who lifted the man onto a stretcher and carried him straight to the hospital.
After examination, the doctors confirmed there was no serious issue. His money was refunded on the spot, and he was politely informed that, given his physical condition, he was unfit to enter the mountains.
Refunded.
The man was stunned.
He wanted to go back—but sorry, he couldn't.
Yes, the customer was king. But what kind of king are you when the other party won't even take your money?
After hearing this, many people who had planned to slack off quietly shut their mouths.
They had come to have fun. Instead, they were being eliminated—and worse, humiliated.
To Chinese people, face mattered more than anything.
Some gritted their teeth and pushed through, relying on self-encouragement. But even with the reduced training intensity, their strength was nearly exhausted. Like Zhao Zhan, many returned home early.
That day, business at the bars and entertainment venues was noticeably worse.
Watching her husband lie motionless on the bed, Zhao Zhan's wife felt both heartache and helplessness.
"You're already this old—why are you pushing yourself so hard?" she said softly, massaging his sore arms. "Going into the mountains is dangerous. Maybe you shouldn't go."
After holding a rifle all day, exhaustion was inevitable.
"No way!" Zhao Zhan suddenly sprang up, eyes shining. "Do you know how rare this opportunity is? This is real hunting—deer and wild boar, deep in the forest!"
"If we send photos back, Old Li and the others will be green with envy! Xiao Jiang said that if we catch a deer, we can cut off the head and have the Native Americans make it into a specimen. I'll take it back to China and display it in my study—tsk, just thinking about it makes me excited!"
There was a smug edge to his voice.
"Fine," his wife sighed. "A little exercise won't hurt you."
Cocky already? Hunting deer? More likely the deer would hunt him.
"You don't understand," Zhao Zhan said proudly. Then he suddenly remembered something. "Oh—go to town and buy me a camouflage uniform, a helmet, a tactical vest, and military boots."
His wife froze.
"Are you going hunting… or going to war?" she asked, half-amused, half-exasperated.
"Just go!" Zhao Zhan urged impatiently. "Those Americans are lazy—they'll close soon!"
Reluctantly, she borrowed a bicycle and rode into town.
But when she reached the outdoor equipment store, she was stunned.
A long line stretched outside.
There were young people—and many middle-aged women like herself.
Confused, she locked her bike and walked over to someone she recognized.
"Sister Liu, what's going on?" she asked.
"What else? Buying gear," Sister Liu sighed. "All because of that mountain hunt."
Her husband, like Zhao Zhan, had returned home sore and complaining—but still refused to quit, forcing her to come shopping.
"My husband's the same," Zhao Zhan's wife said helplessly. "But why are we queuing?"
"You need the registration form your husband signed," Sister Liu explained. "Go inside, get a number, and wait for your turn."
Just then, a young man walked out holding a full set of equipment.
Camouflage uniform.
Helmet.
Military boots.
Tactical vest.
Water bottle.
Leg straps.
It was an impressive pile.
"Young man," Sister Liu called out, "is that everything? How much did it cost?"
"Four hundred and twenty U.S. dollars," he replied cheerfully. "Guns, maps, magazines, and bullets will be issued in the mountains."
"That's over two thousand yuan!" Sister Liu exclaimed.
Even Zhao Zhan's wife hesitated.
"Expensive?" the young man laughed. "Auntie, you've got it backwards."
"This uniform is U.S. Marine Corps gear—reinforced elbows and knees, breathable, durable. Just the uniform alone sells for at least three thousand yuan on Chinese military forums."
"The helmet, vest, and boots are all top-grade. I checked online—this full set starts at eight thousand yuan back in China."
"I already posted it online. Someone offered me eight thousand three hundred."
"If it weren't limited to one set per person, I'd buy more."
He grinned proudly.
(To be continued.)