Chapter 25 - Tradition Night

“Little Qing...” Yang Qingbai said, already licking his lips, his meaning conveyed in full through his expression and tone.

“Little Qing, look,” Liu Shiheng hesitated briefly, then continued, “those people, they aren’t afraid at all, and we’re dead last anyway.”

The line “dead last anyway” sounded pretty tough, but this guy was also the person to claim raw beef tasted good, only to be the first to give up on it. They couldn’t even bring it up to him anymore. Over the past two days, he had even gotten to the point where he wouldn’t even eat raw fish, only vegetables.

Even the grave robber, Lai Shitou, the one they thought of as the most timid, stiffened his neck, stepped forward two paces, and stared at Han Qingyu.

“Even if Bald Zhang beats me to death this time, I’ll accept it,” Lai Shitou declared his resolve.

Without anyone quite noticing, Dormitory 11 had gradually gotten accustomed to letting Han Qingyu make the calls for them.

This was partially because he was the strongest. After all, in all these years, the number of recruits who had clubbed Zhang Dao’an over the head with a stick was probably not very large.

The other reason was probably owed to some kind of subconscious impression.

Internally, Wen Jifei had always thought, Little Qing can put on an act. Even when he’s so panicked he’s about to wet himself, he can still act perfectly steady on the surface. In short, he can keep his body under control even when fear or excitement makes it tremble—truly worthy of eighteen generations of ancestors who made their living catching snakes.

Dormitory 11 waited in anticipation as Han Qingyu seriously pondered over his decision.

He had always believed there was a purpose in making the recruits eat raw food; he just had never reached a conclusion.

Could it be to cultivate our bestial nature? he wondered, thinking back to something Zhang Dao’an had said during a lecture.

“You, him, and me,” Zhang Dao’an had said, pointing at the whole field of recruits. “All of us have been chosen to become beasts.”

If not, then maybe it was just a matter of pure psychological pressure, training their endurance...

“To hell with this,” Han Qingyu unwittingly blurted out his thoughts.

These few short words had about the same effect on Dormitory 11 as refugees hearing the authorities announce they would open the granaries. Every person in the room instantly perked up, growing increasingly excited.

“So, uh, how about we cover our faces?” the grave-robber kindly suggested before they headed downstairs.

Han Qingyu thought about it, then nodded. “No wonder you’re a grave-robber. Good idea.”

Everyone found one of their blue-and-white towels to cover their faces with.

When they turned around, they got a fright.

The grave-robber had a professional black face-covering. It seemed this was the same cloth he had worn when he had gone digging at the Azure Coalition supply depot.

With that sorted, they jumped down from the balcony like the group before them.

“Wait. With the way we look, will they take us for invading enemies if we get caught and just beat us to death?” The grave-robber peered up at the sky. “There’s no moon tonight either.”

“No, we’ve got our recruit uniforms on, and the towels are unit-issued too... anyway, just watch yourself,” Han Qingyu said with a wave of his hand.

Following his lead, the group crouched low and felt their way through the dark toward the kitchen. They had to hurry. If they arrived too late and that earlier bunch had already alerted whoever was watching the kitchen, they would not even get a chance at the beef.

“Who’s there?”

“Who’s there?”

Two groups nearly collided in the dark.

“Beef.”

“Friendly party.”

“Let’s go.”

The scene was reminiscent of the peasant uprisings that followed famines in ancient times, the starving rising in revolt and merging into one along the way.

Dormitory 11 ran into another five or six groups along the way.

A glance around the back door revealed even more groups.

“Impressive. This is at least a dozen-some dorms.” Wen Jifei grabbed the guy from that first group from their dorms earlier and asked in a low voice, “Why are you all still lying here?”

That guy pointed inside and hissed, “See for yourself.”

In the kitchen, beside the long, continuous stove and the red glow of the fire, a little cook slept fitfully, occasionally smacking his lips, scratching an itch, or rolling over.

The gurgling of the meat in the pot both covered the faint sounds outside the back door while also acting as a tempting lure that pulled hard at those waiting outside.

“What do we do, Little Qing?” Wen Jifei asked, turning his head.

“We’ll go in. There are so many people anyway. If we get spotted, just grab it and run. The chaos and the darkness mean that, even if somebody gets caught, most people will still get to eat,” Han Qingyu said.

The casualness with which these words came to him left even him stunned for a second.

Is this who I am? he wondered to himself. Could this be the obstinate streak Lao Jian said was hidden in me?

Still, his words seemed right. Everyone shared a similar thought process, and nobody believed they would be among the ones caught.

“Forget it.”

The first group rushed out.

Then everyone charged in.

“Aiyo.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Run!”

The lights in the kitchen came on with a click. The dozen-some groups were all penned against one wall.

Old Geng and a bunch of veterans were guarding the stove as well as the front and back doors.

This was actually a goddamn trap. How petty and bored could these people be?

“Heads down... heads down,” Han Qingyu instructed Dormitory 11 not to look up or get noticed, quietly shifting behind the crowd.

Meanwhile, someone had already started an argument with Old Geng, nearly weeping with rage.

“You ask us to eat raw food and drink cold water, then treat us like we’re not human. Do you take us for beasts?!” the man shouted, face covered in tears and jaw trembling, as if finally letting out the bottled-up grievance and pain.

For a moment, many of the recruits were moved, feeling that same pent-up frustration and anger.

Old Geng only gave a contemptuous little laugh. “Beasts... are you even worthy? Do you know how high a compliment ‘beast’ is in the Ninth Army? You bunch of useless—”

“We’re not! We’re not useless garbage!” the whole crowd roared back at Old Geng.

At the same time, behind a dark glass window in the kitchen wall, Zhang Dao’an turned his head to give the assistant instructors and several regiment leaders observing alongside him a gratified smile.

Cultivating obedient, disciplined soldiers was a military’s natural mission, and this, of course, held true in the Azure Coalition as well.

However, they also admired the courage to resist that erupted from these recruits, formed over a long period under the inherent fear bred by high pressure, in a state of constant, cruel torment.

This kind of courage was far from enough, but it was a good start. If developed further, one day it would let them charge fearlessly at a Sharpie, blade in hand, while cursing “fuck you!”

It was precisely for this reason that Zhang Dao’an, Old Geng, and the others had built up their image in the recruits’ minds as savage, authoritarian, and downright villainous presences.

They were meant to be an unreasonable, fearsome, hateful existence.

Of course, any leader not directly involved in recruit training would never act this way. They were meant to be obeyed and trusted as the reliable unit backbones, the soldiers’ most solid backing. Always, and necessarily so.

Staring out the dark window, Zhang Dao’an suddenly let out a tsk, sounding somewhat conflicted.

He had finally spotted the person he was looking for, only to realize that person was keeping his head down hard, leading his dormmates to slowly inch along behind the crowd, edging toward the corner by the wall.

You’re too clever, and in the process, you lose even your courage, Zhang Dao’an thought to himself, feeling a little let down.

He preferred the recruit from that day, the one who had struck him right over the head without hesitation.

***

“The Ninth Army’s rules are simple.” A veteran with bronze star shoulder marks stepped forward, gaze sweeping over the crowd as he raised his fist. “Use your fists to win what you want, whether it’s meat or respect.”

The recruits quieted down and stared at him.

“Four against eight. Four veterans. Each dorm goes up as a group. Win, and you eat meat. Lose, and you go to the medical station. We won’t wear armor, but we will use full force.”

The whole place fell silent for a moment.

Four against eight wasn’t a fair fight by any means. It would still be a crushing rout if the veterans were outwardly handicapping themselves. Even Han Qingyu, relying on his body alone without using liquid source energy, leading the remaining seven of Dormitory 11, could not possibly win.

It only gave the recruits a chance to die on their feet.

“Scared?” the veteran taunted, exchanging smirks with the veterans behind him. “Then put your hands on your heads, line up, and go squat at the training ground.”

Laughter echoed throughout the kitchen, the veterans loitering in a slovenly way as they gazed disdainfully at the recruits.

One dorm stepped out. “We’ll go.”

“Good.” The veteran smiled.

That dorm just charged, all eight in unison, pouncing on one man first. They lasted less than twenty seconds.

It was an absolute victory. The veterans really did go hard. While their injuries were not lethal or crippling, the eight recruits ended up on the ground and could not get up for a while.

Their pained groans ground on all the other recruits’ nerves.

“Anyone else?” The veteran shook out his hand, standing firm with a smile.

From the crowd came the answer. “Bring it.”

The bronze-mark veteran was a bit taken aback, confusion evident in the way he eyed the group stepping forward.

“We think getting hurt and going to the medical station is better than walking away holding our heads for no reason,” the recruit said.

Behind the dark window, the crowd behind Zhang Dao’an stirred at these words. Even Zhang Dao’an himself laid his right fist across his chest, fingers turned toward his heart, his eyes alight.

The Azure Coalition’s everyday salute, like the military salutes of many nations, was the standard cap-brim salute. The salute Zhang Dao’an was performing, however, generally appeared only on occasions with a certain ceremonial weight, or in especially solemn situations, used to express loyalty or respect.

Zhang Dao’an then glanced once more at where Han Qingyu was still inching along against the wall behind the crowd and let out a sigh.

Unfortunately, the batch of recruits who had won Zhang Dao’an’s and the veterans’ respect did not, in the end, win against their fists. They soon went down too.

In fact, from the look of it, the veterans had a very particular way of expressing respect, as this group went down even harder than the last.

Once this round ended, the veterans, still not satisfied, started pointing directly at people. “Next group, come.”

The third group went up.

While this was happening, Dormitory 11 stayed huddled in the corner, watching the carnage while talking quietly among themselves.

Wen Jifei shifted over to Han Qingyu’s side and asked in a low voice, “What do you think, Little Qing? What should we do?”

“Grave Robber and the others just suggested that we surrender as soon as it’s our turn. What do you think?” Han Qingyu asked, turning around. “Do you agree?”

“I agree... because it was my idea,” Wen Jifei admitted earnestly.

Han Qingyu held back from making a sound, but his whole body shook with laughter, his shoulders trembling.

Then his smile abruptly stiffened. Crouching down, he leaped forward and, in one stride, made it from the corner to the side wall.

The lights went out with a snap.

The kitchen was plunged into near darkness. Only the red glow at the base of the wall behind the stove illuminated the space.

“What are you all standing around for?!” Han Qingyu shouted hoarsely. “Time to eat some meat!”

Within two seconds, the people of the dozen-some dorms all howled and lunged forward together. They were going to get beaten anyway, so they might as well charge and eat meat together.

“Guard the stove,” a veteran shouted. There were more than twenty of them.

“Charge!”

Nearly a hundred recruits lunged.

The sound of fists and feet mixed with the clang of pot lids and screaming.

Zhang Dao’an and the others could no longer make out the situation from behind the dark window. None of them spoke, only turning their heads to exchange bewildered or stunned looks.

The Ninth Army’s “Tradition Night” had seen plenty of surprises over the decades. There had been injuries and even deaths. Some years, everyone showed up, while others, no one did. There had even been three dorms that managed to beat the veterans.

But this situation, at least in the years they had been in charge... was definitely a first.

One regiment leader’s mouth twitched. “I suppose this approach can be called... a robbery?”