Chapter 696: Righteous-Proper Martial Academy, Opening (7)

It was a sudden declaration of disappointment.

Unlike in Qing’s hometown, an instructor’s authority at the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy was overwhelming; at once, within the assembly, there came a chill—one could almost hear eyeballs rolling—and a clamorous silence fell.

Qing felt very satisfied.

Ah, this is it.

I’ve made them watch my mood!

I can rule them!

So this is why company commanders are always disappointed.

I’d wondered if “being disappointed” was the job description—whether in officer training they teach you to be disappointed in everything.

Qing poured an even colder voice over the atmosphere gone cold.

“The Director has deigned to share precious words to serve as your guide in life—truly gold and jade, a most moving lesson he gladly bestowed—and yet, to cry out your gratitude, what on earth was that voice! Louder! With the resolve to bring down the heavens with your voice! Did you all skip dinner!?”

Qing, with gestures exaggerated yet rather elegant, flicked her hands, then made as if to cup an ear.

As if nothing had happened, it was a playful air.

It would be a bit much to clamp down on military discipline from the very first day.

To begin with, this isn’t an army, so there’s no reason to impose military discipline; even if the academy needs discipline, it won’t be too late to see how things go and set it then.

Hence, an out-of-season impression of an entertainment instructor.

Only then did the cadets relax their frozen expressions, fix their eyes that had been rolling about, and each took a strong breath—

“No!!” “No, sir!!” “No!!”

“Or is it that, after a daylong mountain trek, the cadets of the world-renowned Righteous-Proper Martial Academy have grown tired!?”

“No, sirrr!!” “Nooo!!”

“In that case—toward Director Yu, who has bestowed noble teaching, with hearts of reverence: a vigorous cheer to the front—fire as much as you are grateful!”

“WAAAA!!” “THANK YOU, SIR!!” “IT WAS TRULY MOVING!!” “WE RESPECT YOU!!”

And the fervent support poured down.

As if the cheers to this point had been nothing, a response like a shock wave truly shook the earth and made the dais hum and vibrate, boasting of its might.

Dagger-Sword Lord Yu Seonyeop’s pupils widened.

He’d heard, constantly, that he talked too much—but it was all for their good; having lived long, he urged them not to miss time the way he had, that was his heart.

Of course, he knew that many among the cadets showed signs of boredom and fatigue, and also knew that the Heavenly Flower Sword was making them raise their voices.

Unable to hide his delight, Yu Seonyeop stroked his beard with the corners of his mouth stretched wide.

The Heavenly Flower Sword has become quite the figure; these days the youngsters are frantic if they don’t stand out themselves, and don’t know how to attend upon their elders.

At this rate, all the elders of the world will have no choice but to join voices in praise. She’s a sprite, a sprite.

It was a most unreasonable phenomenon: the cadets shouted, and Qing took the points.

After Yu Seonyeop had enjoyed for a while the innumerable claps, cheers, and acclamation pouring his way, he raised a hand to signal that that was enough.

Only then did the voices subside.

Qing, with a big, crisp motion, took the half-palm salute.

“I have heard the cadets’ chivalrous spirit well! The fine words have already been given by the Director; anything I dare add would be nothing but a useless leg! Now, though I have here to my left and right instructors more excellent than I, seeing cadets so stalwart my heart cannot help but pound—so forgive the discourtesy, and I shall introduce myself first!”

And then—a deep breath.

“I am Ximen-line Qing! I am in charge of sword instruction! And the sword is the king of ten thousand soldiers, the supreme weapon! I shall gauge how far you agree by your volume!”

Those who had registered for the sword curriculum made it the day their throats would burst—Today I’ll shout and I don’t care if I lose my voice forever—and screamed their lungs out.

When that frenzy of cheering ended—

Peng Choryeo and Yu Uga exchanged a look and seemed to reach an instant agreement; Peng Choryeo stepped forward first.

“I’m Peng Choryeo, of the rivers and lakes! The sword is king of ten thousand weapons? That’s not something I can just let pass. To begin with, when you say sword, that’s the genteel toy a fop flaunts—would a true martial person, driven by chivalrous spirit, be pushed into using it only then? The saber is the strongest weapon! You all think so too, don’t you!?”

Again—A RIPPING ROAR!

The saber-curriculum cadets were outnumbered, but saber users are originally the type with booming voices.

Only after that round of bellowing passed did Yu Uga take his turn at last.

“I am Yu Uga of the Mount Tai Sect, who will teach fist. Weapons-arts? Are they not a miscellany of the weak who must take up a tool? The truly strong are strong in themselves. I will hear here the chivalrous spirit of the fist practitioners!”

Who knows when “chivalrous spirit” came to mean “voice.”

Thus, leaving a great psychic wound upon all the beasts along the mountain flank with massive nighttime noise, the entrance ceremony concluded.

Still, it was a mercy it was in the mountains with no civilian houses; had they done that in town, the authorities would likely have been dispatched for serious noise pollution.

After the ceremony, the academy’s martial personnel—who double as security and as operations/support—led each division’s cadets to their quarters.

Six-person rooms with six beds set to left and right; the large personal lockers were worn but spacious, faithful to their purpose.

Since the lodging was neither particularly good nor bad, squarely middling, the cadets’ impressions too were a certain indefinable subtlety.

It was a bit much to be disappointed, but also awkward to call it good—mm, it’s just lodging. Lodging it is.

Someone began sawing logs at once; someone else thought, We’re screwed—“That bastard snores disgustingly loud”—and realized it was a wrong meeting; someone else murmured in low tones.

What sort of martial skill do you think we’ll get to learn? It’s the famous Righteous-Proper Martial Academy—maybe not divine arts, but surely they’ll teach something not a whit inferior. By the way, the Heavenly Flower Sword was pretty. That talk about light shining from her face isn’t for nothing—she just suddenly slammed into my eyes...

Thus the first day at the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy passed.

All they’d really done was hike a mountain, listen to a sermon, and then shout themselves hoarse.

Even so, to a one they were all swollen with a THUMP-THUMP sense of anticipation—This is the beginning.

DING-DING-DING—the academy bell: wake up at once!

The reason training facilities are in the mountains: first, land is cheap (permits are easy); second, even if you run, there’s nowhere to go; third, you’re free from complaints about noise.

It’s the same in the Central Plains or in Qing’s homeland; from morning, the great temple bell suddenly BOOMS enormity through the air.

And with it—

—After each of you finishes breakfast and washing, assemble in the Grand Drill Yard within one hour!

Outside, the shouts of the Martial Alliance’s men rang out loudly again and again.

It wasn’t so much that the men’s voices were loud as that the academy dorms, designed with the summer term in mind, had abysmal soundproofing to begin with.

At that, here and there, Auuugh, Urrgh—groans like those of corpse-ghosts sprang up in numbers.

They’d only just slept a single night, so of course their minds were unsettled and their bodies heavy and stiff; with eyes half-open and half-closed, they scratched only their heads with something like not-yet-opened eyes.

Academy lodging for staff—that is, the staff dorms—were another matter: single rooms, each with a wide bed and wardrobe, a low table and chairs, even a calligraphy scroll hung for taste.

You couldn’t call the rooms spacious, but unlike the six-person rooms of the cadets, the privacy they afforded was something indeed.

From early dawn came the BONG-BONG of the great bell.

The bell sounded faintly. On the wind, from far away. A clear sound tolling in a dream...

It roused Qing from deep sleep; awareness rose naturally.

It was a refreshing morning.

Of course, it helped that she had slept in a better room and on a better bed than the cadets—but Qing is a daoist of sorts herself; in fact, among daoists, a high-ranking great daoist.

For members of the Daoist and Buddhist orders, the start of the day is a knife-edged wake-up at dawn—the sky sharp in the dark-blue light before sunrise.

“Jayeo?”

It was Jayeo, planted squarely atop Qing’s torso, using that soft flesh as a pillow.

You might ask whether the two should be using the same room, but schools of this era are mostly private, and people of the Central Plains have that way of being infinitely lenient when it’s “among us.”

Besides, the Junior Division was closer to a summer training camp focused on fellowship rather than achievement.

“Jayeo Jayeo? Jayeo, are you awake? Jayeo, are you awake or not?”

At that, the child’s body trembled finely.

Qing is a true master; a true master has a mysterious, mighty, indeed omniscient power whereby she can distinguish from nothing but the sound of breathing whether a child is pretending to sleep or truly asleep.

And Jayeo’s habit of clinging to Qing and pretending to sleep even after waking was hardly a one- or two-day thing.

“Pretty sure you just laughed?”

“Jayeo is asleep.”

“This little one? Telling lies?”

Qing hugged Jayeo and tickled her.

The child burst into laughter and crumpled up, her face blooming bright from morning. KI-HIT, KHI-HIT—the slightly gloomy, muddy timbre of the giggle was a speck on the jade, but in any case—

And beside them, a woman sleeping like the dead—Seol Iri—who had, in the end, obtained the unprecedented position of the academy’s resident guest.

She’d shown up without being called by the Martial Alliance, declined the duty of squad leader herself, and then of course simply followed Qing up.

Qing wondered whether this was really okay, but in Sima Chunbong’s words, “Even so, she’s one of the Martial World’s Five Flowers; even if she does nothing in particular, just her presence helps.” Or something like that.

Well then, that’s exactly—what’s the term in the Western lands—tot—uh, how do you say it in the Central Plains? A spell statue? In any case.

Thus, even within the same fence of the Righteous-Proper Martial Academy, the morning scenes showed quite a dramatic difference.

But what’s wrong with the Martial Alliance spending money and manpower and treating their own members accordingly in a project run by the Martial Alliance.

In Qing’s homeland it might have become a controversy, but here it’s still a primitive society, and in this ancient age it was the most natural thing.

Why, East or West, they deliberately left records of generals eating with their soldiers: Look at this! The master eats the same food as the servants and even eats together! Wow, amazing! Truly a marvelous achievement and an unbelievable feat!—and they made sure to leave it to their descendants.

The cadets, not fully alert, shoved breakfast into their mouths with eyes half-closed; they didn’t know what it tasted like.

In fact, even if their taste buds had been awake, they wouldn’t have known what it tasted like; it was at that level of not particularly tasty, yet not particularly bad.

Then they gathered in the Grand Drill Yard and, along with the first morning muster, received instruction in the muster drill they would perform every day from now on.

You might ask what roll call is doing at an academy, but this has always been, East or West, the most effective way to account for heads in a group—an ancient piece of human wisdom.

Around that time, Qing at her leisure set foot in the academy dining hall.

Morning roll call? She knew of no such thing.

Because an instructor is someone who teaches, not the person who conducts roll call.

The four instructors took time to savor the dishes the Alliance’s professional chef had labored to prepare since morning, and to chat about the upcoming instruction.

From outside, faintly, came the cadence—one-two, one-two—of marching in step; “The cadets are truly diligent from morning,” “There’s nothing like running to warm up in the morning,” and suchlike remarks.

After that, Instructor Wolbong of the Junior Division rose first to take leave to account for the Junior Division headcount.

The Junior Division were already members of the Martial Alliance, so there was no need to go so stiff as to conduct roll call.

And then, as the sun rose and the day grew bright, only then did Qing head to the sword training ground for the first class.

It was the academy’s true opening.