When the second and third shots rang out, Zhao Jun couldn't see a thing, but he could hear the wild boar's pained squeals and roars.
But as the gunshots continued, the boar fell silent.
Zhao Jun worked the bolt and reloaded, but then he engaged the safety. He slowly got to his feet, slung the rifle over his shoulder, and began to carefully back away.
He had no choice but to retreat. His leftover flatbread was still in his satchel. Besides, when he'd left the bag, he had spotted a fallen, weathered pine tree nearby. He could chop some resinous splinters from it for a torch.
As for the Pig God, it was probably dead. But if it wasn't, if it had run off, there was no way he could continue the hunt tonight.
Zhao Jun slowly felt his way back along the path he'd taken. A few times, he took out his matchbox, struck a match, and held it up to the surrounding trees.
How much light can a single match really provide?
