Day seventeen after getting up.

Lin Yu'an walked to the corner of the shelter and took out a long, sturdy canvas bag.

He took out the components one by one: a bow handle, and two composite bow limbs, and began to expertly assemble this detachable recurve bow.

"A 60-pound recurve bow. Unlike a compound bow with complex pulleys and cables, this means that in temperatures below minus tens of degrees, there are almost no mechanical parts that could fail."

"Simple structure, absolutely reliable, and powerful enough to kill any animal on this land, including a moose."

He precisely fitted the ends of the bow limbs into the notches on the bow handle, then tightened the screws to secure them.

Next, he took out the bowstring, hooking one end onto the string groove of a bow limb first.

He placed the other end of the bow against the inside of his ankle, used his knee as a pivot against the bow handle, and then forcefully and smoothly bent the bow, easily hooking the other end of the bowstring as well.

The whole set of actions was smooth and effortless, showing his incomparable familiarity with this weapon.

A hunting bow full of power and modern aesthetic was thus formed in his hands.

He carefully checked if the arrowheads of each arrow were secure and the fletching was intact. He strapped the bow on his back, dressed properly, put on his snowshoes, and walked out of the shelter.

He strode towards the quiet white forest he had never ventured deep into before.

His goal today was very clear: to take the initiative to find any possible food source, especially those animals that can provide valuable fat.

Wearing snowshoes, he moved very efficiently, quickly passing through the area where he had previously checked traps, into a completely new area.

Here is a sunny slope, sparsely grown with some low shrubs, mainly willows and birches.

"This kind of place is the Thunderbird's favorite habitat." He slowed his pace, lowered his body, and his voice became extremely soft.

"They are the most common ground-dwelling birds on this northern tundra and one of the most reliable sources of protein in winter."

"The lyrebird is a survival master of the North, especially adept at disguise. They are one of the few birds that undergo seasonal molting to adapt to their environment."

"In summer, their feathers are mottled brown, perfectly blending into the tundra and rocks."

"But now, entering winter, they have changed into pure white feathers, almost merging with the snowy ground."

"Only their eyes and beak are black, with a bit of black remaining at the tips of their tail feathers."

"Trying to spot them directly with your eyes in such an environment is almost impossible."

"So, to find them, one must not rely on 'seeing,' but on 'reading,' interpreting the information left on the snow."

He began to carefully scrutinize the ground like an experienced detective.

He wasn't looking for the birds themselves but for the traces they left behind from their activities. Soon, under a bunch of willows, he found what he wanted.

"Look here." He pointed at a string of extremely subtle traces on the snow.

"These are Thunderbird footprints, very typical with three toes forward and one toe back. Also, beside the footprints, there are marks of wings dragging over, indicating they stayed here."

"And look at these." He pointed at the bare ends of the willow branches.

"See these neatly cut buds? These are feeding traces of the Thunderbirds. In winter, they mainly feed on these willow and birch buds."

With a small twig, he picked out several black, strip-shaped droppings from the snow.

"Very fresh. This indicates that a group of Thunderbirds was feeding here not long ago. They are nearby."

Having determined the general direction, Lin Yu'an immediately entered hunting mode!

He began to cautiously track along those intermittent footprints.

However, things did not go as he imagined.

He tracked for about a hundred meters when that clear string of footprints suddenly broke off in a wind-swept, hardened snow-covered area.

"Trouble." He squatted down, touching the snow as hard as an ice surface with his hand.

"The wind hardened the snow here, and the Thunderbirds walking over it wouldn't leave any trace, the clues have been cut off."

He didn't give up but began a sector-shaped radiational search centered at the point where the clues disappeared.

"In this situation, we can't rely on footprints. We must think about where the Thunderbirds would go."

As he carefully searched, he analyzed: "Their main predators come from the air, like falcons and snowy owls. So, they wouldn't stay in open areas for long."

"Their most likely destination is another place with food and cover, such as a willow grove, rocks, or dense forest."

He raised his head, scanning the surrounding terrain like a radar. To his left front, about three hundred meters away, there was a denser thicket, close to several huge rocks.

"There is the most likely place."

He immediately adjusted his direction, heading towards that thicket. This time, he no longer looked for footprints but focused all his attention on the overall observation of the environment.

He spent nearly fifteen minutes silently reaching the edge of the thicket.

He didn't approach immediately but first found a position downwind, sheltered by rocks, to hide himself, and then began a long period of patient observation.

Time passed second by second, the whole world was silent, with only the "whooshing" sound of the wind blowing through the treetops.

Just when he thought his judgment had failed, his eyes finally caught a tiny, almost imperceptible movement!

In a small patch of snow deep within the bushes, a small white, slightly raised snow pile moved unnaturally!

"Found it!"

He didn't act immediately but instead spent another five minutes carefully observing the area.

Not only did he confirm the location of that Thunderbird, but he also discovered several other almost indistinguishable Thunderbirds around—it was an entire flock!

At the same time, he was also planning his attack route.

"From here to their location, the straight-line distance is about fifty meters."

"This distance is too far; although my bow and arrow can reach, the accuracy will greatly decrease, and it will be significantly affected by the wind."

"I must shorten the distance to within twenty meters, preferably fifteen meters."

"But there are a few troubles on this path. It's an open snowfield with no cover."

"The wind direction is blowing from my rear side to their oblique front, although not directly against the wind, it could still carry my scent and sound over."

He devised an extremely bold and patiently filled plan.

He only took the bow and arrow, first retreating and drawing a large arc to move to a lower area where his figure could be completely hidden by a small snowbank.

Now, he would begin the most challenging part of the entire hunt, crawling stealthily through the snow.

He slung his beloved recurve bow with a thin strap diagonally across his back to prevent it from getting wet or damaged during crawling.

Then, he lay down face-first in the cold snow, using his elbows and knees, beginning an extremely slow crawl.

This process was extremely exhausting and a severe test of one's will.

The cold snow continuously seeped into his collar and sleeves, melting into icy water that stole away his precious body heat.

But he didn't care; in his entire world, only the bushes ahead and the desire for prey remained!

Every meter he advanced, he had to stop for half a minute, listening for the wind and observing the surroundings for movement.

When he crawled to that open, uncovered area, he became even more cautious.

He pressed his body even lower, almost completely flattened against the snow.

From fifty meters to twenty meters, that short thirty meters took him nearly twenty minutes.

When he finally reached the bushes as the last cover, he felt his body was almost numb with cold.

He lay in the snow, motionless, letting his breathing and heartbeat recover from rapid gasps to absolute calm.

He slowly lifted his head, peering forward through the gaps in the bushes.

In front of him, about twenty meters away, those inconspicuous little snow piles still lay there quietly.

They had no idea that Death God had already arrived by their side!

This was a perfect shooting range.

He quietly and silently took the bow from his back, then drew an arrow from the quiver at his waist, gently nocking it on the bowstring.

In an extremely slow, almost slow-motion manner, he transitioned from a crawl to a kneeling position, perfectly hiding his body behind the bushes.

Slowly, he drew the bow, the bowstring forming a full moon, the sharp arrowhead glinting with icy killing intent!

Just when he was about to release, an accident happened!

A sudden gust of wind blew against the bare branches of the bushes beside him, making a few faint "crack" sounds.

The Thunderbird closest to him became instantly alert! A pure white head suddenly poked out from the snow!

Lin Yu'an knew he couldn't wait any longer and released immediately!

"Whoosh!"

The arrow shot through the air! But the startled Thunderbird had already leaped half a second early, the arrow grazing its claws!

Then it plunged deep into the distant snowdrift, leaving only the arrow's tail feathers quivering slightly!

"Boom—!"

The entire snowfield seemed to explode! The remaining Thunderbirds took off in terror, flapping their wings and letting out "cluck cluck cluck" cries as they scattered away.

The first chance was thus missed.

Lin Yu'an did not immediately retrieve the arrow but remained kneeling quietly in place, carefully observing the direction in which the flock flew off.

"A mistake."

————

(Good morning! It's the end of the month, please cast your valuable monthly votes before they reset!)