Beyond the Zenith

Chapter 74 - Blood Gourd Boy’s Battle for Dignity

Even though the military had given the recruits half the day off to rest and recover the next day, the morning formation, roll call, and the routine of shouting the Coalition’s motto to raise morale couldn’t be skipped.

As always, the recruits lined up on the training ground, called out their numbers, and shouted the Coalition’s motto. The window facing the field on the fourth floor of an old building not far from the training ground showed no sign of movement.

The instructor watched for a moment, then looked away and called out loudly, “You’re too quiet! Even a chicken’s louder than you! The man’s not awake yet!”

This was a tradition at the Ninth Army’s combat training base. Even this half-classical, half-colloquial quip was a fixed part of the routine[1], though no one knew which generation of soldiers had first come up with it.

The recruits snapped to attention in perfect unison, their uniforms rustling as they saluted and repeated at the top of their lungs, “For all who still draw breath, we fight with no retreat, our bodies shielding the sky!”

This time, the window was pushed open.

Shen Fengting—the retired former army commander of the Ninth Army whom Han Qingyu had met once before and who tried to play matchmaker for him—stood at the window in a gray thermal undershirt and long underwear, his white hair in complete disarray. “Oh, shut up! What the hell are you yelling about?! Are you going to shout a Sharpie to death?! Can’t a man get some sleep around here?!”

Quiet laughter rippled through the ranks. With that, the ritual was complete.

The instructor smiled and clapped his hands. “Morning drills. Start running.”

Morning drills consisted mostly of running and stretching for an hour without devices. They were dismissed afterward for breakfast.

The rest of the morning was free time. Recruits could wander around the living quarters, check out the female team leaders, do their laundry, or mail letters. As long as it didn’t interfere with afternoon training, nobody cared even if you went to the bar for a drink and a chat.

On top of that, the combat training base’s living quarters sold local specialties from all over the country. Many soldiers bought products matching their mail forwarding addresses and sent them home to support their cover stories.

As Han Qingyu had a sparring match scheduled after breakfast, he didn’t dare eat too much. After the meal, he and Wen Jifei took a requisition slip from their new acting head instructor, Lao Jian, and went to the equipment hall to pick up his source energy maneuvering device.

He only took the device and not the dead iron straight blade that Wen Jifei had claimed to be a match made in heaven for him.

The Coalition’s simulated combat required full gear, but used ordinary iron blades. Two combatants fought, and the first to shatter their blade against the other’s body was the winner.

Han Qingyu’s match with Lao Jian would also be the first time the combat training base’s arena was opened to recruits. Under normal circumstances, soldiers had to use their own energy cores for simulated combat or settling disputes in the arena. Ninety-nine percent of recruits didn’t have any of their own, so in practice, the arena was only open to veterans.

That offhanded remark Han Qingyu had made in the dorms the night before had led to news of the match spreading by the time morning drills started.

The strongest recruit the Ninth Army had seen in ten years, Han Qingyu, versus the ten-year veteran, platoon leader of District 752, and acting head instructor of the Regiment 425 recruits, Lao Jian.

It seemed like a nonsensically lopsided fight. Nobody understood why it was happening. No matter the outcome, the whole thing felt forced.

News of this fight only spread further throughout breakfast and sparked heated discussion.

“Why are they fighting?”

“Because they have a grudge. You didn’t know?”

“Really? I thought Instructor Lao recruited Han Qingyu?” The speaker paused, having the sudden thought that people surnamed Lao weren’t fit to be instructors. [2]

“Bullshit. Where are you getting your information?” someone cut in. “Han Qingyu wasn’t a volunteer. He said so himself.”

“Yeah, he’s the only son in his family too. Instructor Lao held a knife to his throat and forced him to enlist. He even hid the fact that the Azure Coalition had other options that didn’t involve the front lines.”

“Well, that explains it then.”

“Right. Their dorm secretly calls Instructor Lao... Blood Gourd Boy.”

“Blood Gourd Boy? Why?”

“No idea. Probably just a random insult they made up because they hate him.”

“Hold on, is any of that actually true?” A female soldier suddenly squeezed into the conversation, eager for gossip. “What we heard on the girls’ side is that Instructor Lao harassed Miss Mira back at the 425th Regiment’s base. He tried to make her his goddaughter, and Han Qingyu got angry about it. That’s why he challenged Lao Jian.”

“Uh, is it that serious? That doesn’t sound right. Instructor Lao issued the challenge.”

“Isn’t that just him being a bully then?”

“Yeah. Little Qing is strong, but he probably can’t win, right? The other guy is a district platoon leader and a ten-year veteran.”

The recruits’ estimate of Han Qingyu’s combat ability wasn’t as inflated as one would expect. After they’d returned from District 1123, the military had conducted a round of “corrective education,” with the core message being: do not jump.

From a practical standpoint, they had done their best to downplay the merit of Han Qingyu’s leap off the cliff to cut down the Sharpie, emphasizing that if First Lieutenant Mira hadn’t covered for him, it would have been pure suicide.

In short, don’t admire him, and don’t imitate him.

As for Han Qingyu managing to flee from the Glowing Blue Sharpie afterward, well, Instructor Zhang fought to the death to buy him time. Also, the Sharpie had been severely wounded, with two blades lodged in its back. Instructor Cao had even hacked one of its knees a third of the way through.

The bottom line was this: Stay grounded. Don’t try to be Han Qingyu.

“Forget it. Arguing won’t settle anything. Let’s go see for ourselves,” one person suggested.

The rest of the group naturally followed, and a crowd rapidly grew. When they noticed the number of people converging, many broke into a run, afraid of losing their seats. They sprinted toward the arena at the northwest corner of the base.

The arena was an old building that looked like it dated back to the 1950s at least. It had black tiles on the roof and unpainted blue-gray brick walls covered in vines. With autumn deepening, the vines had shed their leaves and withered, though the woody stems remained, lending the place an air of grim but desolate beauty.

A veteran standing outside the building described the interior to the recruits. Apparently, it used to be a basketball gymnasium for the soldiers, with bleachers and seats around the perimeter that could hold close to a thousand people. The court in the center had been raised to serve as a ring, though its length and width hadn’t changed.

Falling off the ring also counted as a loss.

“Why aren’t they letting us in?” a recruit impatiently asked.

They were all being kept outside.

***

“Are you afraid you’ll lose, Platoon Leader Lao?” Han Qingyu grinned, standing at the east end of the ring and gesturing at the empty arena.

The only people in the bleachers were Regiment Commander Li, Mira, Qi Shantong, Lu Wuzheng, and a couple of others. There were fewer than ten spectators in total.

None of his roommates had been let in.

“I’m afraid you’ll lose so fast that it’ll crush the recruits’ confidence.” Lao Jian drew his iron blade and swung it twice through the air with a smile.

Honestly, he hadn’t expected news of this “educational match” to spread this far. This raised the stakes. If the head instructor somehow lost in a match of his own doing...

He couldn’t lose.

“How about you first explain what a ‘Blood Gourd Boy’ is?” Lao Jian asked, a sour note in his voice. “I was originally planning to go easy on you to build your confidence, but you can’t blame me for going all out after hearing about that.”

Han Qingyu laughed.

“You still hate me a little, don’t you?” Lao Jian asked, raising his chin slightly.

“Of course I do. I’m not a volunteer,” Han Qingyu replied bluntly. “Don’t forget, you tricked both Plague Chicken and me into this. I should be in school right now, and he should be at a military academy.”

Lao Jian scoffed. “Bullshit. He scored 230 on the Gaokao. What military academy was he getting into?”

“That’s just bad luck. The dice didn’t land right that time. Don’t forget, he can just roll again.”

“So he rolls dice for his exams too. No wonder...” Lao Jian chuckled.

“By the way, why did you only load the combat cases with energy cores that were a fifth full? It’s not like I’m not giving them back when I’m done.”

“How many spare energy cores do you think I have? Or do you think you’ll last that long?” Lao Jian tilted his head, annoyed. “Anything more would be too expensive to burn through.”

Lu Wuzheng called from the bleachers, “Hey! Are you two going to fight or not?!”

Laughter from the few spectators echoed through the empty arena.

“Let’s begin then... If you’re angry, let it out with your blade,” Lao Jian said.

“Fine.” The maneuvering device on Han Qingyu’s back hummed to life.

Lao Jian glanced at him. When Han Qingyu didn’t immediately charge in, a flash of relief and smugness crossed his eyes. Then, roughly seven or eight seconds later, he activated his own device.

Platoon Leader Lao was inexplicably terrified of losing.

He couldn’t parse where this fear came from. Was it because he’d read the Platoon 1123 combat report too many times? Or was it because the brat across from him was an A-ranker?

The weaker of Regiment 425’s instructors in the bleachers, including Mira, also activated their own maneuvering devices. Combat speed and transitions under device-assisted conditions were extremely fast. At Mira’s integration level and ability, she’d miss many of the finer details without device-assisted observation.

The two fighters closed the distance in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail of afterimages streaking toward each other.

Lao Jian swung his blade in a horizontal slash with his right hand.

Han Qingyu also held a blade in his right hand, pommel up, the edge standing vertically. A clang resounded as he blocked the first strike.

Then came a sharp and grating screech as the two blades slid over each other.

Han Qingyu’s iron blade rotated outward as he spun at blistering speed, blade and man together tracing a full circle, arcing toward Lao Jian’s neck.

Lao Jian leaned back nearly sixty degrees without moving his feet. His iron blade flipped upward, and he completed a rotation in his palm. ℯℯ𝘭.

Crack.

The edge caught Han Qingyu’s right arm mid-spin.

A hairline fracture appeared along Lao Jian’s iron blade.

The first clash in the ring ended with both fighters pulling back. Han Qingyu stared at the blade in Lao Jian’s hand. There hadn’t been much room for that strike to build momentum, so the impact hadn’t been heavy, and the crack on the blade was barely visible. It probably didn’t count as a severed arm. Still, Han Qingyu’s right hand was effectively out of commission for now.

Even though there was no referee to make the call, Han Qingyu took the initiative to switch the blade to his left hand, letting his right arm hang limp. He then dropped his shoulder and settled into a ready stance.

Normally, when a Coalition recruit, or even some veterans, took a hit like that in the very first bout and fell into a clear disadvantage, the instinct was to panic, then go all in and gamble on a desperate rush.

Han Qingyu did none of that. Instead, he shifted to a defensive posture, his expression and gaze focused as he searched for an opening.

Qi Shantong let out a few solitary claps from the bleachers.

1. The first part of the instructor’s dialogue, 声微，不如鸡?人未醒, refers to the Chinese internet meme 声微，饭否!(sheng1 wei1 fan4 fou3), which roughly translates to “Your voice is weak, have you eaten yet?” It’s used to tease someone for being too quiet or having a weak performance by jokingly implying they lack energy because they haven’t eaten yet.

The “half-classical” part likely refers to the origin of this meme, as the 饭否 part comes from Xin Qiji’s classical Song Dynasty poem 廉颇老矣，尚能饭否? (lian2 po1 lao3 yi3, shang4 neng2 fan4 fou3), meaning “Lian Po is old, but can he still eat?” This references the biography of Lian Po, a famous general of the state of Zhao.

After falling out of favor, the king considered recalling Lian Po to command the army. Before doing so, the king sent an envoy to see whether Lian Po was still physically capable. Lian Po reportedly ate one peck of rice and ten catties of meat to demonstrate his vigor. (Pulled from https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/%E5%B0%9A%E8%83%BD%E9%A3%AF%E5%90%A6)

The question “尚能饭否?” (“Can he still eat?”) basically asks, ”Is he still robust enough to shoulder military responsibility?” In modern usage, the expression asks if a once outstanding person is still capable and can be used for athletes and such, not just the military.

Tldr: the instructor’s dialogue is a meme that references a poem about an old general. ☜

2. Instructor Lao (劳教 lao jiao) is also an abbreviation for ‘labor camp’ (劳动教养) ☜