Chapter Twenty-Three: Plans and New Recruit Training

“I can’t go on, I’m exhausted!”
“Water! I need a drink!”
“Dragon Liar said we have to give a self-critique tomorrow before the new recruit training. He clearly wants us to embarrass ourselves in front of everyone!”
After a grueling five-kilometer run and a thorough cleaning of the mess hall before dinner, the members of Squad Eight finally dragged their weary bodies back to their quarters once Lian Yanlong finished his inspection.
Tan Hai threw himself onto the bunk, sprawled out, panting and cursing.
“Gulp, gulp... Whew! A new recruit’s self-critique? We’re all rough men. I wouldn’t know how to write such a thing.”
Wu Ming picked up the kettle, poured himself a large bowl of water, and drained it in one go. “Tingyu, you’ve studied with a tutor, attended school. Can you write a self-critique?”
Guo Tingyu nodded. “Leave it to me.”
Yang Anfu rubbed his stomach. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but even though he’d just finished dinner, he felt hungry again. He glanced at Du Huaishan, who was sitting at the table with a foreign fountain pen in hand. “Huaishan, are you already writing your self-critique?”
Du Huaishan shook his head. “I’ve no idea how to write a self-critique. I bought this to keep records.”
After the punishment and dinner, he’d stopped by the shop on the way back to the quarters to buy a notebook, a fountain pen, and a measuring ruler.
To his surprise, a single fountain pen cost a whole silver dollar—expensive indeed!
But there was no helping it. He truly couldn’t get used to writing with a brush.
“Army Academy Training Plan, drafted. Basic info: Name: Du Huaishan, Age: 16, Height: 175cm…”
Du Huaishan filled the pen with ink and began his first entry. As he wrote, he used the newly bought ruler to measure various stats on his body—not just height, but wingspan, arm circumference, leg circumference, neck girth, and so forth.
As a martial arts specialist and professional fighter, calculating these data points was second nature.
“I still don’t know the Academy’s training methods, but thankfully the infirmary has a scale. I’ll need to measure my weight daily.”
While Du Huaishan pondered this,
a soldier’s shout echoed down the corridor: “Ten o’clock! Lights out, everyone! Squad Seven, stop chatting—lights out!”
“Right. Feels just like being in a prison,” Tan Hai joked, starting to undress for bed.
Du Huaishan closed his notebook, blew out the lantern, and slipped under the covers.
Moonlight streamed in, illuminating a row of heads—no different from the bunks in the refugee camp, really.
Yet, somehow it felt much more comfortable.
Being a soldier, it wasn’t bad at all.
Dawn crept in.
Du Huaishan was still lost in sleep when a shout from the corridor startled him awake.
“All recruits, up now! Wash up, get breakfast from the mess hall, and assemble on the training grounds at seven thirty sharp!”
Reluctantly, everyone crawled out of their warm beds, suppressing their aches as they fetched water, washed faces, brushed teeth.
At the mess hall—
“Look around you!”
Tan Hai took a bite of food. “If you ask me, Dragon Liar ought to thank us.”
Du Huaishan glanced around.
Indeed, after yesterday’s midday brawl, the mess hall’s order had improved dramatically.
Both recruits and veterans lined up quietly for their meals, said little, ate, and left. Harmony reigned—
so long as you ignored the bruises decorating their faces.
Seven thirty arrived.
The recruits assembled on the grounds, forming ranks.
Except for Squad Eight, of course.
Because Du Huaishan and his group had already been hauled onto the stage by Lian Yanlong.
Lian Yanlong stroked his goatee and stood before the old copper-ring microphone, his voice stern:
“Before training begins, Squad Eight will deliver a self-critique regarding yesterday’s mess hall incident.”
No sooner had he finished than Guo Tingyu, holding the written critique, stepped up to the microphone. “Ahem, hello? Can you hear me?”
The recruits below felt this line was oddly familiar.
Lian Yanlong: “Get on with it!”
“Yes, sir! On the fifteenth of November, Year Five of Anguo, all members of Squad Eight, Class 173, due to youthful ignorance and ill tempers, behaved improperly…”
While Guo Tingyu read aloud,
the recruits below sized them up.
“These are the guys from Squad Eight who led the fight against the veterans yesterday?”
“Which one is Du Huaishan? I heard he took out four veterans by himself. That’s impressive!”
“The one reading is quite striking. I wonder how old he is—has he married?”
“I actually think the guy standing at the back, with sharp features and piercing eyes, is the one who truly caught my attention!”
“That’s Du Huaishan.”
“What? He’s Du Huaishan?”
…
The soldiers whispered, men and women alike, voicing admiration, awe, even secret affections.
Even Xing Zhenhao gazed at Du Huaishan with wide-eyed shock.
He’d heard about the mess hall brawl.
In the Academy of the Three Provinces, over more than a hundred years, recruits fighting veterans—especially on such a scale—had never happened before. Squad Eight was the first!
More astonishing still—
they’d actually won.
On stage, Tan Hai, Wu Ming, and the others sensed something was off.

Clearly, being made to deliver a public self-critique should have been humiliating, yet everyone seemed to be looking at them with admiration—as if they’d become heroes…
Du Huaishan watched the scene, recalling how he’d shattered the backboard playing basketball at university and been fined, his name posted throughout the school.
Money: -99.
Prestige: +9999!
“All right, enough. Get off the stage and back in line!”
Lian Yanlong booted Guo Tingyu off the platform, sending Squad Eight back to their ranks.
“Now, new recruit training officially begins!”
With a single command—
Boom!
Everyone snapped to attention, feet together, backs straight.
And so,
new recruit training began.
It was, in truth, nothing but ordinary new recruit training:
Military discipline and regulations, marching in formation, rifle salute, hand salute, attention salute, and—
distance running.
And it was—
nonstop.
After half an hour of running, a round-faced recruit finally collapsed, unable to continue.
“Get up!”
Lian Yanlong shouted.
“Chief Instructor, I can’t run anymore, my shoulder is injured…” The round-faced, bald recruit gasped for breath. “Besides, I don’t understand. We came to be soldiers—to fight the enemy, to slay demons—so why waste so much time learning etiquette, running? What use is it on the battlefield?”
“What use?”
Lian Yanlong repeated, then addressed all 1,500 recruits. “Do you all feel it’s useless?”
No one answered.
“Everyone, form ranks. To the East Hall!”
Du Huaishan wiped the sweat from his brow, exchanged puzzled glances with Tan Hai and the others, unable to guess what Dragon Liar was planning.
“Du Huaishan!”
Suddenly, a female voice called from behind.
Du Huaishan turned, and a woman soldier slipped a note into his hand before darting into the crowd.
He hadn’t seen her face. Opening the note, he found a line of delicate brushwork:
“The moment I see your eyes, I awaken. I love most the way you fight. Thank you for giving me strength!”