Chapter 20 - Breakfast

Han Qingyu gripped the rod about two-fifths from the base. The far end had just parted from the impact. The difference in their heights meant the blow had landed on the brow bone.

Han Qingyu thought about the series of events that had just occurred.

The atmosphere on the grounds had been charged and tense. Head Instructor Zhang had kept goading Wen Jifei with escalating intensity. The overall mood had built ever upward.

Then, Zhang Dao’an bent down to seize the rod from Wen Jifei’s hands, tossed it over to Han Qingyu, and taunted, “Come on.”

Bang. Just like that, it connected.

Han Qingyu was certain he had not drawn on any source energy for that one. The arc of his swing hadn’t been enough for full force either. However, thanks to the absorbed source energy having steadily refined his constitution, the strength behind the blow was still considerable. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been so fast, nor would it have made that sound.

Han Qingyu glanced down at the rod in his hands, his expression a little sheepish.

Meanwhile, Zhang Dao’an was running through the whole sequence in his mind, slowly raising a hand to gingerly massage his forehead. He hissed slightly when he felt the swollen bump.

This wasn’t enough to actually hurt him, of course. He had over a decade of combat experience and a body tempered by source energy.

Is he really that fast? Or was I just too relaxed? Zhang Dao’an wondered, eyeing Han Qingyu with a coolness that hid a trace of bewilderment.

Silence permeated the grounds.

Then, a strange, hacking laughter came from Flying Plague Chicken, still lying face down on the ground. This laugh embodied his fatigue, frustration, and satisfaction. It broke the stillness of the scene.

Voices slowly filtered in from the balconies of the buildings in the distance.

“Did he just get hit?”

“Yeah. It was a fast one.”

They were shocked.

On the training ground, Zhang Dao’an said, “Again.”

Han Qingyu swung the rod once more, with no source energy drawn but no excessive restraint either. Unlike before, he only held back a little bit, fearing too much restraint would be apparent to trained eyes.

As Zhang Dao’an focused on dodging, he thought to himself, Not bad, he’s actually not that slow.

“Again.”

Swing.

“Again.”

Swing.

Quite a few people, including Wen Jifei and the others, the veterans on the balconies, and even the two Azure Coalition soldiers standing not far behind Zhang Dao’an, were secretly hoping for another hit to land. That would truly make this night both more absurd and also more worthwhile.

Unfortunately, it never came.

Han Qingyu swung and missed yet again. This time, Zhang Dao’an reached out to catch the rod, wrenching it toward him.

Feeling the incredible force, Han Qingyu let go without hesitation, but Zhang Dao’an’s left hand was already reaching for his collar.

Han Qingyu dodged sideways as quickly as he could.

It didn’t help.

It was like something from a wuxia novel or television drama. Zhang Dao’an’s hand shifted course mid-reach, even leaving afterimages. Simply put, he was fast. Shockingly so. There was no avoiding him.

The fast-moving arm swept sideways and caught Han Qingyu’s collar with precision.

Then a yank, a release, and finally a left fist snapping forward like a powerful retracting whip.

Han Qingyu, balance momentarily lost from the pull, took the punch on his left shoulder. The instructor had undoubtedly been holding back, but he still stumbled.

Zhang Dao’an gave him almost no time to react or recover. The right leg of his towering form made a lateral sweep directly at Han Qingyu.

Han Qingyu barely managed to throw his arms up in a block.

The kick connected with a whump, sweeping him clean off his feet, causing him to tumble across the ground several times before coming to a stop.

In the silence that followed, Han Qingyu peeled himself off the ground, brushed the dirt off his clothes, and stared up at Zhang Dao’an with an uncomprehending look, as if not quite grasping what had happened. Their head instructor had lashed out at him.

The others in Dormitory 11 had the same stunned reaction. Was the head instructor such a sore loser? That was an immediate act of revenge!

“What are you all looking at?!” Zhang Dao’an snapped. “I said if anyone landed a hit on me, this matter would end here. Did I say I wouldn’t hit back?! Get back to bed.”

With that, Zhang Dao’an turned and left the training ground, face stony. The two bulky soldiers hurried along behind him.

On the training ground, Han Qingyu shook out his arm. If Zhang Dao’an had been a real enemy trying to kill him, would he even have had a chance to fight back or escape? Would drawing on his source energy have made a difference?

Han Qingyu ran through the events in his mind and came to a grim conclusion: No, it wouldn’t.

***

Zhang Dao’an came to a sudden stop on a dim path outside the training ground wall and asked, “What’s that recruit’s name?”

“Han Qingyu. Non-voluntary.”

“And the other one?”

“Wen Jifei.” The soldier glanced down at the roster in his hand, with the small photographs attached, taking note of those involved in the physical altercation earlier. “Then there’s Yang Qingbai and Liu Shiheng. All of Dormitory 11 are non-voluntary recruits.”

“Hm. Do you think I went too far just now?” Zhang Dao’an paused, then shook his head. “No, too far is what’s needed. You both should go get some rest. There’s no need to follow me.”

With that, he ducked his head, lit a cigarette, and walked alone down the long path.

The two soldiers exchanged glances. One reached for his cigarettes, gave one to the other, held a light for him, then bent his head and lit his own. After that, the two of them shifted over a few steps and leaned against the corner, smoking in silence.

“This is your first year with Captain Zhang, right?” one of them asked. “You probably find him strange, don’t you? I’ve followed him for years. I’m a Ninth Army military brat; I grew up here in the Ninth Army.”

The other one took the cigarette from his lips. “Yeah, he—”

“He became an instructor because his platoonmates kicked him out. That was seven years ago.”

“Huh?”

“Surprising, right? What’s even more shocking is that you’ve definitely heard of his former platoon. There’ve only been a handful of platoons that aren’t known by their number across the whole history of the Ninth Army. His platoon was called the Red Erasers.”

The other man’s eyes went wide. The cigarette in his mouth trembled, and ash drifted down.

The naming format of “color plus Eraser” meant a platoon had been recognized as the strongest platoon in terms of battlefield record and capability for an extended period. There had only been four such platoons in total across the nearly fifty years of the Ninth Army’s history.

“So why was Instructor Zhang kicked out?” he asked quietly.

“This is what my father told me, back when he was still alive.” The Ninth Army military brat hesitated, then asked very quietly, “Have you noticed what Instructor Zhang likes to say most when he’s laying into people?”

“Worthless.”

“Yeah. And?”

“You’re going to get your platoonmates killed.”

“Right. Word is, Instructor Zhang once got his platoonmates killed, his platoon leader too. My father didn’t know the details, but that’s how it ended up. After Instructor Zhang was kicked out, he came back to the base and started running recruit training. He became a different person after that.”

The other soldier fell silent.

“Some of the platoon died, and without their old platoon leader, the platoon fell apart not long after they kicked him out. The Ninth Army has had no Red Erasers since,” the soldier said wistfully. “Most of Instructor Zhang’s surviving platoonmates—not that there are many of them left around—haven’t forgiven him to this day.”

***

The next morning, Han Qingyu woke to a body that ached all over. His arm was slightly swollen and sore, though not enough to affect training.

His blow the night before had earned wide notice and high regard among the veterans, regardless of the element of luck or coincidence that could’ve played a role in hindsight. After all, not everyone could pull off that kind of hit even if the opportunity presented itself.

One might wonder if that meant the veterans would go a little easier on Han Qingyu, given that he had real potential to grow and a future ahead of him.

The answer was no. While that would’ve been the case out in civilian life, that would never happen in the Azure Coalition.

Rather than one day boasting about being on close terms with a certain recently famous person, veterans here would far rather wait to someday casually light a cigarette and mention to a new platoonmate in passing, “See that one over there? He used to run errands and buy cigarettes for me every day.”

Han Qingyu didn’t yet know that his troubles had just multiplied.

Fortunately, when it came to the new recruits, as long as Dormitory 11 didn’t say a word about the previous night, none of the others would find out anytime soon. Even if they did find out, no one would dare to spread it.

It was time for breakfast. The recruits fell in line and filed into the mess hall.

White porcelain bowls were already laid out on the tables in front of them. One might have expected noodles, congee, or steamed buns to be found in these bowls. Instead, each held a single piece of raw beef, still bloody.