Technology and Ruthless Means

After buying the nails meant for hunting, Chen Jue had thought about inviting Jiang Zhe to stroll down Trash Street in Binjiang by the riverside, to reminisce about the past together.

Unexpectedly, as soon as the workday ended, Jiang Zhe rushed home to take care of his child, flatly rejecting Chen Jue’s suggestion.

Most likely, he’d been spending too much time at Jingtang Hui lately and his wife had put him under strict house arrest.

Still, just mentioning Trash Street brought back a flood of memories for Chen Jue.

Back then, they had just graduated from university and arrived in Hangzhou—two fresh-faced kids with empty pockets. They couldn’t afford high-end restaurants, so come weekends, their favorite thing was to indulge in street food from the stalls.

How did that saying go? The night market is the Michelin three-star for the penniless student, roadside massage parlors are the spas for the down-and-outs, and budget hotels are the five-star palaces for students.

Unable to afford the luxury of upscale venues but craving a treat, they could only satisfy themselves with "junk" from the vendors’ carts.

Of course, street food was always a blend of questionable technology and bold improvisation—it tasted fantastic, but you could be sure that the next day you’d be running for the bathroom.

In those days, fresh out of university with little savings, Chen Jue lived frugally. Occasionally, on weekends, he’d grab some time with Jiang Zhe to sample a few bites of street delicacies.

He was selective, mostly seeking out the glutinous rice and lean meatballs that tasted like home.

As someone from Wenshi, drifting in Hangzhou far from his roots, it was only natural that he’d long for the flavors of his hometown over time.

But once their salaries increased, the two rarely frequented Trash Street anymore.

Partly, it was age—broader horizons, healthier eating habits, and no more need for "junk" food.

Partly, it was a bit awkward to admit, but after years at a desk job, they’d both developed minor issues with hemorrhoids and didn’t dare risk it anymore.

...

Since he couldn’t find anyone to join him, Chen Jue drove slowly to Binjiang University Town, guided by memory. By then, dusk had already fallen, and the lights of passing neighborhoods and office towers twinkled on.

But as soon as he arrived, Chen Jue was taken aback.

He hadn’t been here in years, and Trash Street, once a place of filth and squalor, had changed dramatically.

The food carts of his memories were gone, replaced by neat, square stalls. A domed food court had been built, complete with proper seating and a stage for performances.

From outside, he could see the vibrant neon signs flashing everywhere, the air thick with the mingled scents of food and the bustle of university students. The enticing aroma of cooking drifted through the crowds.

“La Xi Street?”

“Eat and you’ll be running to the toilet!”

“Whoever came up with that name is a genius!”

After finding a parking spot nearby, Chen Jue was nearly blinded by the glaring sign above the food court entrance.

He’d intended to come here to practice his dart skills and add a little interest to his otherwise dull nightlife, but he hadn’t expected the place would have changed so completely.

Following his memory, he found the stall that sold Wenshi snacks. The same two owners, husband and wife, were there, though both looked much older after these few years.

Running a night market stall is grueling work—facing smoke and fire every day, working hard from dawn till late at night. It only makes sense that they’d age faster than most.

Even Chen Jue, a white-collar office worker, found his physical age nearly three years older than his actual age! Let alone those who work in food service day in and day out.

But judging from the busy business and the contented smiles on their faces, they were clearly making a good living off the students.

Don’t underestimate these stall owners; with enough foot traffic, they can earn quite a sum over the year!

...

He ordered a serving of glutinous rice and lean meatballs, found a seat, and ate slowly.

The flavors were the same as he remembered, but the prices had skyrocketed. Two snacks cost him thirty yuan—back when he’d first come to Hangzhou, it had only been twelve. In just eight years, the price had nearly tripled.

“Street food quality at city prices.”

“Truly keeping up with the times!” Chen Jue couldn’t help but sigh.

——

Perhaps worried that customers would complain about the high prices, the management had arranged seating for those dining in.

At the front of the tables, a university band performed on stage—their playing was decent, and every song ended with cheers and applause from the audience.

After listening to too much melancholic internet music, it was a refreshing change to hear live performances; it carried a unique atmosphere.

...

Finishing his meal, Chen Jue considered that his dinner done and settled in to watch the performance for a while.

By now, the crowd was growing. Students from several nearby universities filled the street and the food court, and even families with children joined the throng. Seats were hard to come by.

With the surge in people, the area’s sanitation quickly declined.

Disposable utensils lay scattered on the ground, along with the occasional scrap of food.

Still, there were staff cleaning up, and Chen Jue hadn’t yet spotted any potential targets for his “wild hunt.”

Once his food had digested, Chen Jue left his seat and fetched a box of nails from his car, slipping them into his pocket.

Despite the street’s new orderliness, some things went deeper than appearances.

After all, what street food vendor doesn’t have kitchen waste?

He followed the sanitation workers for a bit, circled around the neat front of the shops, and found a small waste station in the back alley of La Xi Street where kitchen scraps were piled up.

The environment was damp; several open-lidded garbage bins were stacked together haphazardly, liquid of unknown origin pooled on the ground, and the air was thick with the nauseating stench of food residue.

Swarms of flies buzzed overhead, and fat southern cockroaches crawled along the walls.

On the rims of the bins and near the drainage grates, a few large gray rats were feasting on the spilled scraps. Judging by their size, they were clearly long-time residents.

“Found them!”

Chen Jue’s face lit up.

Pretending to play on his phone, he waited until the cleaners left, then pulled a carpentry nail from his pocket.

It was three inches long, about the size of a small dart.

But trying to nail a moving rat at such a distance was a whole new level of difficulty.

The alley was dim and visibility poor, and the rats’ positions were particularly tricky—not like the green-headed fly he’d hit in broad daylight on an open table.

He didn’t have the headlamp like that urban hunter, Ah Fei; all he could rely on was his own eyesight.

Getting closer wasn’t an option either.

Within five meters, the rats would stop eating and raise their heads, their dark eyes watching the strange human warily. The slightest disturbance would send them darting behind the bins—a natural gift for counter-surveillance.

“A rat’s reaction speed is ten times that of a human.”

“Their top escape speed reaches eight meters per second.”

“They’re tough, highly adaptable, and among the top survivors of all rodents!”

“Their only real weakness is poor vision—about one-thirtieth that of a human. They can’t track moving objects well, which is why they’re so easily caught by cats.”

“But their night vision is six times stronger than ours. With eyes on the sides of their heads, their field of view is over 280 degrees—they’re born for the dark.”

“To land a kill, you have to hit with the first throw, and throw with all your strength!” Chen Jue muttered, glancing down at the data he’d found online about rats as he crept closer to the bins.

At about ten meters, the rats began to react, rearing up and sniffing the air.

“This is close enough.”

He took a step back—ten meters was as close as he could get, and also the edge of the rats’ night vision range.

Coincidentally, it was also about as far as his own nearsightedness allowed him to see clearly. Any farther, and the rats blurred into ghostly doubles, making it impossible to aim.

“I really need to keep training my eyes!”

——

“I wonder if there’s a way to improve night vision?” Chen Jue mused, making a mental note to research it later.

But for now, these rats had to be dealt with!

He raised his left hand, fist clenched, gripping the three-inch nail between his thumb and forefinger.

At this distance, the standard dart-throwing technique wouldn’t cut it.

He’d have to rely on brute force—a throwing motion.

With his level 5 master’s skill in [Hidden Weapon Throwing], the moment he picked up the nail, his instincts took over, guiding him to unleash its full potential.

He focused, sighted in on a rat perched on the rim of a bin, and with a sharp motion, flung the nail through the air.

With a “thud,” the plastic bin’s lid was pierced, the entire bin shuddering from the impact, and a bit of the rat’s tail was sliced clean off.

Startled, the rats scrabbled wildly at the hard plastic, scrambling into the shadows behind the bins.

“Missed?”

Chen Jue was momentarily stunned. He’d meant to get a closer look, but just then, a system prompt appeared:

——————
[ Ding~ ]
[ You have completed a successful nighttime hidden weapon trial. Target hit. Your skill has improved. ]
[ Hidden Weapon Throwing Proficiency +10 ]
——————

“Even taking off a rat’s tail counts?” Chen Jue stroked his chin, stepped back a bit, and drew out another nail.

He’d watched plenty of city hunter videos that afternoon and knew well the greedy nature of rats. As long as there was food, they’d risk anything—even their lives—to eat.

Some, tough as nails, would keep coming back for more, even after being shot by a slingshot, continuing to eat until internal injuries finally did them in.

Such is the wild animal’s instinct to forage.

Life is expendable—but food must be eaten first!

Sure enough, after just half a minute, the first rat emerged from the shadows.

It circled the bin warily, and, finding no danger, began to feast.

With the scout out, the others followed, including the one with the missing tail.

“Let the dance continue!”

Chen Jue chuckled to himself, creeping forward again.

He’d missed before, likely due to unfocused vision and unfamiliarity with long-distance throws.

This time, he adjusted his glasses, lifting the temple arm higher. The refractive angle changed, correcting his nearsightedness and sharpening his view.

He also took a bit more time to aim. Clutching the nail tightly, he hurled it with all his might.

With a “splat,” blood spattered—the nail pierced the tailless rat’s skull clean through. After a brief struggle, the rat tumbled off the bin.

A prompt appeared on his panel:

——————
[ Ding~ ]
[ Excellent nighttime hidden weapon trial complete. You have killed a small mammal. Your throwing skill has greatly improved. ]
[ Hidden Weapon Throwing Proficiency +100 ]
——————