Chapter 20: The Sharpshooter

The so-called “substantial reward” was only relative; it wasn’t like in later times, where someone performing an act of bravery would receive a government reward of 10,000 or tens of thousands of yuan.

At most, it would be in the single-digit yuan. Forget hundreds; even tens of yuan were difficult to come by.

Ultimately, the commune director rewarded Wang Jianguo with a brand-new enamel basin and a red towel, both imprinted with bright red characters: “Red Flag(Honqi) Commune Extermination Hero.”

This was a personalized item. Although it wasn’t worth much money, it was one-of-a-kind and held significant meaning. After all, this honor was above all else.

Wang Jianguo received his substantial reward, and naturally, the villagers were envious. Many people came to see what this “hero’s basin” looked like.

These two items were quite practical in the countryside. Many families had towels with numerous holes that they continued to use.

Returning home, Wang Jianguo handed the white-with-red-border basin and towel, imprinted with “Red Flag Commune Extermination Hero,” to his wife.

“Wife, look! The commune just gave this to me today,” Wang Jianguo said, showing her the new basin and towel.

Huang Yuelan smiled.

Although they weren’t short of basins, who would refuse extra items?

Moreover, this personalized basin, representing personal honor, was rare; others couldn’t buy it even if they offered a high price.

“My husband is amazing! This basin and towel are perfect for our baby. It’s like a newborn gift from you,” Huang Yuelan said, knowing that newborns have delicate skin and need a clean basin.

She planned to use the basin to wash the baby’s face and bottom and the soft towel to dry them—perfect.

Hearing his wife’s words, Wang Jianguo realized she was thoughtful. He hadn’t considered that.

“You’re right, wife. Let’s save it for our child,” Wang Jianguo said, placing the towel and basin on a shelf in the room.

As he left the room, he heard the production team’s loudspeaker emitting a “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh” sound.

This was Team Leader Fan Ming testing the sound; before every announcement, he would habitually blow into the microphone a few times.

After a few blows, the team leader’s voice boomed from the loudspeaker: “Fellow villagers, good morning! The year is coming to an end. We’ve received orders to hold a militia competition. Please gather for training these few days to strive for good results…”

At that time, the number of militia members was very large, numbering in the millions nationwide.

Militia members mostly participated in agricultural production with the villagers, but during wartime, they became soldiers and went to the battlefield, somewhat similar to the ancient system of garrison troops.

Each production team in the Red Flag Commune had a militia company. The militia competition, as the name suggests, involved each production team sending its militia company to the commune for the competition.

Since it represented the production team, it concerned the team’s reputation.

After all, whoever came in first was glorious, and whoever came in last was shameful.

Although the militia competition wasn’t held every year, it was held several times every few years. The perennial last-place winner was, without a doubt, the First Production Team.

Why? The reason was simple.

The First Production Team had the fewest people—only a few dozen households and a handful of militia members.

However, other production teams had at least over a hundred households, and the larger ones had five or six hundred, with a population more than ten times that of the First Production Team. Their militia members were all strong, making it hard for them not to win.

Therefore, while the first-place winner varied each competition, the last-place winner was always the same.

Upon receiving the notice, Fan Ming felt apprehensive.

After all, not participating was impossible; it was a commune order. Unless he was tired of being team leader and ignored orders from above, he had to grit his teeth and do it.

Returning home, the team leader saw the uneaten wild boar meat hanging on the wall, and his eyes lit up.

He seemed to have an idea, and his worries were instantly resolved.

Why not let Wang Jianguo participate? He could be added to the militia company and participate in the competition as a militia member. He might not win first place, but he certainly wouldn’t be last.

After all, the annual competition items were few: target shooting, running, bayonet fighting, etc.

Although Wang Jianguo hadn’t undergone systematic training, running only required legs.

And Fan Ming had witnessed Wang Jianguo run—incredibly fast, like a gust of wind. Before he could even see clearly, Wang Jianguo was gone.

So, as long as he excelled in one event, the overall result wouldn’t be too bad.

His goal was simple: not to win first place, but to avoid last place.

“You want me to participate in the militia competition? But Team Leader, I’m not a militia member of our production team,” Wang Jianguo said to Team Leader Fan Ming.

The team leader smiled. “What do you mean? From today onwards, you’re a militia member of our production team. The militia company Captain agrees!”

The militia company Captain was not only responsible for training the village militia but also for recruitment. Besides giving the team leader face, Wang Jianguo’s physique was perfect for the military; it would be a waste not to recruit such a talent.

Militia Company Captain Sun Dazhuang immediately agreed to Team Leader Fan Ming’s suggestion, willing to accept Wang Jianguo into the First Production Team’s militia company.

“But the house isn’t finished yet,” Wang Jianguo said, referring to his task of building the schoolhouse. Since several educated youths had come to the village, Team Leader Fan Ming planned to have them teach and build more classrooms so the village children could study locally instead of going to the commune school.

Team Leader Fan Ming said, “This militia competition is urgent. Go participate first. I’ll arrange for others to continue building the house.”

Others could also build the house, though not as efficiently as Wang Jianguo. But getting more people would solve the problem.

However, no one could replace him in the militia competition.

Wang Jianguo easily jumped down from the rafter, brushing off the dust. “Okay, Team Leader, I’ll listen to you. But I’ve never participated before, I don’t know anything. I’ll need the Captain to teach me.”

“Don’t worry, the Captain will teach you. I believe in you; you can do it!” Fan Ming patted Wang Jianguo’s shoulder, full of confidence.

Wang Jianguo smiled. “Okay, Team Leader, I’ll do my best.”

He didn’t want to boast. He meant he would try his best.

He was a responsible and dedicated person. He would always do his best to complete any task assigned to him, not wanting to disappoint others.

Furthermore, this competition wasn’t just about personal reputation; it concerned the reputation of the First Production Team. For the team’s honor, he would bravely fight.

Wang Jianguo arrived at the militia training ground—a small area with some wooden stakes and wooden rifles for bayonet practice.

Real bayonets couldn’t be used; they were too sharp, and accidental injuries were a real risk.

Wooden ones were used for practice; mastering the movements was key.

“Wang Jianguo’s here! Welcome, welcome!” Militia Company Captain Sun Dazhuang greeted Wang Jianguo personally.

Sun Dazhuang’s smile showed his admiration and welcome for Wang Jianguo.

It was like school—top students were welcomed by teachers in any school, but underachievers were wished away to avoid lowering the average score.

Although Wang Jianguo had not received any special training in target shooting, he did not shoot at fixed targets, but at flying animals and moving targets, and he used a bird gun, which is a homemade gun.

If he could hit wild animals with a crude shotgun, using a militia rifle to hit stationary targets would be a piece of cake.

“Captain, why did you let him participate? He hasn’t trained. It’s like trying to win at the last minute; he’ll only lower our average score,” one militia member said, disliking Wang Jianguo.

He was just a country bumpkin; how could he stand with them?

The militia company Captain said nothing. He handed Wang Jianguo a rifle. “Wang Jianguo, show us your shooting. I’ll demonstrate first.”

Bang! The militia company Captain scored six points.

Wang Jianguo nodded, took the rifle, aimed at the target, and fired two shots, both hitting the bullseye—ten points each!

The others were stunned!

Their Captain could only score six, sometimes nine at his best. This guy, on his first try, easily scored two tens.

He was a sharpshooter!

Seeing Wang Jianguo’s marksmanship, the Captain beamed and clapped. “Good! Good! Excellent!”

“I didn’t expect our production team to have a hidden sharpshooter. He doesn’t show off, but when he does, it’s amazing,” Sun Dazhuang said. He was generous and wouldn’t be jealous of someone better than him.

Learning that Wang Jianguo would participate, Huang Yuelan was excited to watch and cheer him on.

Wang Jianguo was happy that his wife would support him. He bought her some melon seeds and candies beforehand; the competition would take a while, and snacks would make the time pass faster.