Chapter 37: The CrossFire Mall Officially Opens

"I'm sorry, Instructor. I didn't do well."

He Chen Guang, whose performance was riddled with mistakes, showed no sign of disappointment or regret. His calm was unfathomable, as if he had energy to spare, even glancing at Xing Xiao Long—who'd inexplicably taken the blame—and offering a small smile of apology.

After that, his gaze turned indifferent, fixed ahead. He made no further remarks or gestures, as though he had already accepted it all long ago.

While He Chen Guang seemed utterly unconcerned, the new recruits were thrown into turmoil. None of them could believe that the platoon's famed sharpshooter, in the most crucial assessment, had not only failed to shoot a perfect score, but had even missed a target entirely.

A seven or eight would have been understandable, but missing altogether was simply beyond comprehension.

Still, no matter how off He Chen Guang's performance was, an assessment was an assessment. Each person had only one chance. In the end, only the bullet holes on the target mattered; there would be no retests.

Gong Jian and Old Hei, no matter how much they regretted it, could only conclude the young man had been too restless, his performance suffering as a result.

"How did Wang Yan Bing and Xing Xiao Long do?"

With their top sharpshooter candidate out, the prospect of joining the Sharpshooter Company Four was slim. Gong Jian could only pin his hopes on the two remaining promising recruits.

"Let me see."

Old Hei called over the record keeper, flipped to the results for Squad One, and finally revealed a rare smile. "Xing Xiao Long, ninety-nine rings. Wang Yan Bing, ninety-eight rings. Even Li Er Niu did well—outperformed himself with ninety-two."

"Phew." Gong Jian let out a sigh of relief, forcing a bitter smile. "At least two of them performed as expected. Otherwise, we wouldn't have enough for the Sharpshooter Company Four this year."

Hearing this, and Old Hei's recent announcement of the scores, Xing Xiao Long released a long breath—first place was his, secure.

Wang Yan Bing, who should have been pleased, instead wore a deep frown. There was no joy in his expression as he gazed thoughtfully at He Chen Guang.

Even when the assessment ended, he remained uneasy.

After Old Hei announced the results, Xing Xiao Long stared at the screen before him. The smile that had been blooming across his face was slowly replaced by an inexplicable sense of melancholy.

...

With the live-fire shooting assessment over, three months of recruit training had finally ended. The recruits returning from the range all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Now, all their thoughts turned to where they'd be assigned.

After the celebratory meal marking the end of their training, Xing Xiao Long walked alone through the soon-to-be-farewell camp, fairly certain he'd be assigned to the Sharpshooter Company Four.

But he was far from happy.

Reflecting on the past months—fighting, arguing, competing with Wang Yan Bing, Li Er Niu, and He Chen Guang, only to become steadfast brothers in the end—he felt a pang of sorrow.

The Four Swordsmen had grown close over time; parting now was inevitably bittersweet.

After all…

This farewell might be forever.

But Xing Xiao Long had no other choice. He was but a traveler in this world; his true home lay elsewhere, where his real family and friends awaited.

He had wanted, before leaving, to ask He Chen Guang why he’d missed the target, to uncover why Wang Yan Bing, despite earning second place, seemed so troubled, and to chat idly with the straightforward Li Er Niu.

But the special training ended suddenly, and Xing Xiao Long had to let all that go.

"I’ll just slip away quietly, then. Hah—"

Letting out a deep breath to ease his melancholy, Xing Xiao Long stood on the slope behind the camp, recalling how the four had bonded over Wang Yan Bing’s candid confession, ultimately forming the Four Swordsmen. His lips curled into an involuntary smile.

Such is friendship—if one finds one or two true friends in life, it is enough. In the future, these memories would be a treasure.

With this fondness in his heart, Xing Xiao Long gently rubbed the golden ring on his left index finger, activating the CF Store within.

[Congratulations, player ‘Red Star Street Sniper’. You have successfully completed the special training mission. Store access is now authorized. Upon return to the main world, link will be auto-loaded. Countdown to departure: 12,543…12,542…]

[To leave early, please click confirm!]

No longer did the translucent screen display Backpack One or the most prominent task panel, but instead featured two new text boxes.

One had a string of numbers, ticking down like a stopwatch.

The panel’s instructions were clear—Xing Xiao Long had already reviewed them thoroughly. He tapped the “Confirm” button in the early departure panel without hesitation.

Whoosh—

The world spun; everything shifted.

The camp vanished, replaced by a kaleidoscopic, lightning-swift stream of light and color. Xing Xiao Long barely caught a glimpse before dizziness overwhelmed him. He clutched his head, closing his eyes to ease the discomfort.

When the intense discomfort in his mind faded, Xing Xiao Long shook his throbbing head and opened his eyes.

He was back—familiar, yet now strangely foreign.

Though he’d been gone for over three months, nothing in the airplane wreckage seemed to have changed.

The snarling wolf’s head within arm’s reach, the half-dismantled passenger seats, the raindrops frozen in midair, the pitch-black stormy night illuminated by lightning, the stench of blood and decay, the sharp pains all over his body—

He could clearly feel and see it all.

Why was there such a disconnect between the timelines of these two worlds? Three months had passed in the main world, yet nothing had changed—the scene remained frozen as before. What secret lay behind this?

The CF Store offered no explanations, nor did any intelligent system step in to enlighten Xing Xiao Long.

So the answer remained elusive.

Still, looking at this motionless world, Xing Xiao Long was instantly reminded of a "missing airplane incident" he’d once read about in the world’s unsolved mysteries.

It happened in the late 1940s: a British passenger plane carrying forty-eight crew members took off from London for the United States, but disappeared near Bermuda.

Before vanishing, the captain sent out a broken, intermittent distress signal; afterward, there was no trace.

Forty years later, adventurers found the lost plane in a desolate region. Though all aboard were gone, the aircraft itself was perfectly preserved, nothing like a relic abandoned for half a century.

Books, newspapers, clothing—all remained scattered on the floor, as new as the day they were left.

The strangest detail: a water glass still held untouched distilled water, sparkling clear, not a speck of dust—as if it had just been poured, not left for forty years.

Science could not explain it; no concrete theory had ever been offered.

Comparing this to his own situation, Xing Xiao Long found the parallels uncanny. Clearly, this world harbored some kind of temporal fault, or perhaps existed in a different dimension entirely.

The flow of time here was completely unlike that of his own world.

Perhaps it ran dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of times faster or slower. Enter a world where time moved quickly, and the world where it moved slowly would seem to stand still.