0018 A Unique After-School Job

Sliding in the magazine, releasing the safety, raising the gun to aim—within a single second, Hou Rui had flawlessly completed his shooting preparations. What followed was a rapid-fire burst, the sharp crack of shots ringing out like a string of firecrackers. He didn’t fire slowly, one shot at a time, as others did; instead, Hou Rui let off two quick rounds to start, then emptied the entire magazine in a single breath.

Those first two shots were a test, meant to gauge the unfamiliar S92’s mechanical condition. On Zero Island, Instructor Martin’s very first lesson had told the trainees that each weapon was unique in its quirks and wear; precise shooting required preliminary test shots. From those first two rounds, Hou Rui realized that, thanks to the intense use during training, the rifling of this S92 was already worn. So, for the remaining shots, he made a subtle adjustment, and his accuracy immediately improved dramatically.

While a thousand thoughts raced through Hou Rui’s mind, the instructor standing to the side was momentarily stunned. Only after twenty-three seconds did he come to his senses, his embarrassment turning to fury as he snatched the empty pistol from Hou Rui’s hands. “What on earth do you think you’re doing? Is this how you’re supposed to shoot? You think you’re in an American movie? Even a veteran of thirty-four years wouldn’t dare to empty a magazine in one go—how could you possibly be accurate? Hou Rui, you’ve violated training discipline. Your shooting privileges are revoked immediately!”

Having just vented his pent-up frustration, Hou Rui was savoring a rare moment of calm. He couldn’t be bothered to argue, and wordlessly stepped to the back of the line, leaving the instructor to continue his tirade.

“Target report! Last round, rapid fire, 50 meters, 15 shots, 134 points.” The instructor’s walkie-talkie crackled to life at his waist.

“What? 134 points—are you sure?” The instructor’s face froze, then shifted through a range of incredulous expressions. He yanked off the walkie-talkie, shouting into it.

“Confirmed: 134 points.” With the confirmation, the instructor forgot his anger, striding with long, urgent steps to Hou Rui and grabbing him by the arm. “Hou Rui, did you serve in the military, or have you had special pistol training?”

“Neither.” Hou Rui’s expression and tone remained dispassionate.

“That’s impossible! You got 134 points out of 15 shots with no training?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Hou Rui pulled his arm free and slipped back among his classmates.

While the instructor was still processing this “stroke of luck,” Hou Rui was instantly mobbed by his classmates, led by Ma Siyuan.

“Hey, Monkey, didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Yeah, you must be from a military family compound, right?”

“Come on, Monkey must be a competitive marksman, isn’t that it?”

“You’re amazing, Hou Rui!”

Facing this group of classmates—people he’d be with for years—Hou Rui could only throw out another excuse. “Uh, I need to use the bathroom. We’ll talk later.” With that, he used the classic “bathroom excuse” to escape, wandering alone toward the edge of the range.

He’d just begun to enjoy a few seconds of peace when a familiar WeChat notification chimed in his pocket. Hou Rui absentmindedly pulled out his phone, but the moment he read the message, his body stiffened and his face flushed red in an instant, the veins at his temples throbbing.

“Draw attention again and the chip will be activated.” That one short sentence was all it said, but cold sweat poured from Hou Rui.

They’re watching me! The Organization has members here, in this school, in this very class—who is it? Who? Several thoughts flashed through Hou Rui’s mind. He held his breath, eyes wide, scanning each student and instructor in turn, searching for any hint or clue.

But everything looked perfectly normal: students who’d just finished shooting laughed and shouted, those still waiting chatted in groups, a few girls uninterested in guns fiddled with their phones. Everyone seemed ordinary, unremarkable—no one looked like a member of the Organization.

“Who are you?” After several minutes of fruitless observation, Hou Rui gave up and sent a message on WeChat.

“We've always been by your side!” came the reply, and after that, nothing. Hou Rui sent several voice messages in pursuit, but there was no further response.

With trembling hands, he put his phone away, repeating to himself, It’s fine! It’s fine. Just keep your head down, be inconspicuous, and everything will be all right.

So, for the last two days of military training, Hou Rui seemed like a different person. His performance in drills was lackluster, and his shooting was all over the place. In fact, whenever Hou Rui picked up a firearm, the safety officer became especially nervous, and his classmates in the Photography Class 2 stood stock-still, barely daring to breathe—rumor had it that when Hou Rui fired, keeping still was the safest option!

Soon, the month-long military training ended smoothly, and the Photography Class 2 was about to begin normal lessons. But just as Hou Rui was looking forward to a simple routine of dorm, cafeteria, and classroom, that damned WeChat message arrived again.

“Monday, 7 p.m., No. 75 Youxie Avenue, Tomorrow Shooting Range.” The message was as curt and cryptic as before, but Hou Rui knew he had no right to refuse. With a quiet sigh, he tucked his books under his arm and joined Ma Siyuan and the others on the way to class.

Perhaps because the semester had just begun, attendance in Photography Class 2 was perfect. Everyone was buzzing with anticipation for their first college lesson.

In the spacious lecture hall, Hou Rui sat with Ma Siyuan, Li Lei, and a few other boys, all heatedly debating last night’s gaming results. At that moment, an elderly professor with silver hair entered. After a quick roll call and brief self-introduction, he began in a calm tone: “Photography relies on framing, and framing cannot be separated from color. Today, we’ll start with the fundamentals of color composition.”

An hour-long lecture passed, followed by classes on the history of photography, Marxist philosophy, Western art appreciation, and so on. This was perhaps the most ordinary, uneventful day Hou Rui had experienced in months. Absorbed in this comforting normalcy, he hardly noticed how quickly the time passed.

In the blink of an eye, it was already six in the evening. Hou Rui mumbled a quick excuse to Li Lei, skipped evening study, and set off directly for No. 75 Youxie Avenue.

When Hou Rui arrived at the address, the sheer scale of Tomorrow Shooting Range took him aback. He’d known since his Vietnam trip that the Organization’s resources were formidable, but to build a shooting range covering hundreds of acres—parking lot alone the size of a sports arena—just outside the capital seemed almost absurd.

Steeling himself, Hou Rui entered and went straight to the front desk, but before he could speak, a tall woman in a tailored uniform addressed him directly. “Hou Rui, right?”

“Yes, I’m Hou Rui.”

“Your job application has been approved. You can start work today. The staff entrance is to your right—go report to Manager Yang of the Customer Service Department.”

Just like that, with a few brief words, Hou Rui was officially working. He had wanted to ask more about his duties, but the tall manager was already turning away to assist other guests, clearly uninterested in further conversation.

Left with no choice, Hou Rui followed the staff passage and soon found Manager Yang—a heavyset man in his thirties—amid a group of busy servers, berating them with gusto.

“Are you all useless? Even if you’re useless, you’ve still got ears, right? Still got a memory? Is the employee manual just for show? How many times do I have to tell you, as soon as a guest leaves the firing lane, you clean up the spent casings—immediately! And you—are drinks supposed to be left on the firing platform? And you, you—”

A few servers who’d apparently made mistakes were getting a thorough dressing-down, and the rotund Manager Yang was clearly in his element.

Hou Rui waited quietly on the sidelines for forty-five minutes before Manager Yang finally finished. Dismissing the servers with a wave, he turned his gaze to Hou Rui.

“And you—who are you? This is the staff area. Please leave at once.” With that, Manager Yang turned to go, but Hou Rui quickly followed to explain, “Manager Yang, hello, I’m Hou Rui. I’m starting work today.”

“Oh! Personnel told me about that. Come with me.” Manager Yang led Hou Rui to the staff locker room, pointed out a locker, and said, “Uniform and employee manual are inside. Your security card will be ready in a day or two. You’ll be working Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, 8 p.m. to midnight, mainly cleaning up. Study the manual—your real entry exam is in a week, and you won’t be a full employee until you pass. Any questions, ask Qiangzi.”

Qiangzi, as Manager Yang called him, was a shift supervisor who looked about twenty-six or so, and spoke with the slick assurance of a seasoned workplace operator. After a quick tour of Hall 3 and a rundown of customer service procedures, he left Hou Rui to fend for himself.

So, over the next few hours, aside from occasionally delivering drinks, fetching ammunition, and tidying up the firing lanes, Hou Rui spent most of his time poring over the employee manual, which was a full two centimeters thick.

As midnight approached, Hou Rui saw off the last group of customers and was cleaning up spent casings when Qiangzi appeared out of nowhere, placing two boxes of 9mm pistol rounds on the firing platform. “Before you leave, use these up.”

“What’s this for?”

“You didn’t really think you were here to work, did you?”

“So, you’re also—”

“No need to say more. It’s enough to know we’re the same.”

“And the shooting range?”

“As long as you don’t leave Hall 3, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Remember: don’t leave any ammo behind, and record the pistol in the log before you go.” Qiangzi patted Hou Rui’s shoulder and left, leaving him to process this unexpected turn.

After a moment, still not entirely willing, Hou Rui put down the broom, went to the firing platform, and opened the hundred-round box of ammunition.

The last customers had used two pistols—one a 9mm police revolver, the other a Browning 1903. Hou Rui picked up the 9mm revolver first, flicked his wrist to open the cylinder, and slowly loaded each round. Then, thumbing off the firing pin safety, he raised the gun one-handed and took aim at the human silhouette target fifty meters away.

Just before firing, Hou Rui recalled, in vivid detail, Lux’s dazzling rapid-fire technique back on Pirate Island—the precise motions, the subtle shifts. He reviewed every step in his mind, then squeezed the trigger without hesitation...