Stewed Beef

Milla spoke excellent Mandarin, but perhaps... she still lacked a grasp of how certain nuances and double entendres could be spun out and expanded in this country's language. How could the prize she had dangled possibly be described as a mere flatbread? When she said those words, she had been wearing nothing more than a skimpy little vest... swelling and full, with a deep chasm down the middle. Besides, the parts that normally didn't see the sun were so fair... Where would you ever find a flatbread that white? Dormitory 11 had just come back to life from their stunned silence, parched and dry-mouthed, looking at one another. "Don't try to hide it, you definitely want to see," Wen Jifei said, first pointing at the grave robber. "You guys who dig up burial mounds, isn't what's hidden inside the twin mounds the exact thing you want to look at most..." Before the grave robber could speak up and deny it, he turned to Han Qingyu. "Don't act innocent. You're the biggest hypocrite when it comes to this stuff. Back then, whenever I shoved a photo book at you, you always claimed you had no interest... but later, the dog-eared pages I secretly marked in my book were all flattened out." Han Qingyu opened his mouth to defend himself, but in the end he just chuckled and said nothing. "Hehehe, ch-ch-ch, giggles..." The group gradually broke into snickers. They had to admit it was a little crude. A blonde stunner in uniform—and their superior officer to boot. There was no denying it: Milla looked gorgeous standing in the sunlight with wet hair, and she was even more captivating as she focused on drying her hair in military trousers and that little vest. And then, when she strode past carrying that glistening, pitch-black heavy autocannon, the intense contrast of it all was enough to send the blood rushing straight to young men's heads. As for why she chose Dormitory 11... Was it because her custom autocannon happened to be called the Milla 11? Or perhaps she had caught wind that someone here had bashed Zhang Dao'an on the head? If they couldn't figure it out, they simply stopped dwelling on it. In fact, starting that afternoon when the recruits began formal training, everyone discovered that each recruit squad had been assigned a direct drill instructor. All of them were veterans who, perhaps with future promotions in mind, used their leave to take on minor assignments that kept life interesting, had some fun, and honed their leadership skills. Naturally, there were also female soldiers among them, including pretty ones. Yet Milla remained exceptional, not only for her blonde hair and Western features... but also for her combat record of serving across four squads and acting as vice-captain. With her rank of second lieutenant, her tier and strength completely outclassed everyone else. As for her intentions in condescending to join the recruit camp, the veterans were all well aware... Occasionally, some playful ones would come over and prematurely call out "Captain Milla," to which Milla didn't mind at all, answering each time with cheerful, even bubbly delight. "Have you guys noticed that our Milla seems kind of simpleminded?" During the rest break after training, Wen Jifei sat on the ground and shared the conclusion he'd reached after observing her for half a day. Everyone fell silent, more or less agreeing. Han Qingyu thought about it and kindly said, "You can't really put it that way. She probably just doesn't understand our people's habits of thought and social etiquette." It was true. With thousands of years of tradition, if one of their countrymen were up for a promotion, they would definitely keep a low profile until it was set in stone—never mentioning it themselves, let alone letting others bring it up. "True," Wen Jifei pondered, then said, "Doesn't matter anyway, as long as she's pretty." If he hadn't said anything, it would have been fine, but the moment he spoke, everyone in Dormitory 11 glared at him. Because just earlier, Plague Chicken had sneaked off during a training break to roast beef... and gotten caught. Now, Dormitory 11's "lead" over the second-to-last place in the overall competition had already climbed to double digits. "I really must have dug up your family's ancestral grave, you Plague Chicken," the grave robber Lai Shitou grumbled resentfully. Dormitory 11 had gone through hardships together, after all, so they had grown close quickly and had few reservations around one another. Everyone chuckled. "Hey, rookies, get over here." Under a tree branch not far away, a cluster of veterans squatted, waving them over. "Don't try to hide, you, and you too..." They were pointing at Han Qingyu and Wen Jifei. There was no dodging it. Wen Jifei stood up, saluted, and asked with a grin, "What is it, Squad Leader?" The habit of addressing all veterans as "Squad Leader" had actually been passed down from the regular military. "Got any money? Go buy a pack of cigarettes for your squad leader." The speaking veteran tossed over an epaulet. For reasons beyond understanding, the camp store wouldn't sell anything to recruits unless you could prove you were buying on behalf of a veteran, and what was bought and the quantity had to be registered as well. "Go on, what are you standing there for?" The words were directed at Wen Jifei. That said, the veteran didn't shortchange him and tossed over the cash as well. Then they turned to Han Qingyu, looked him up and down for a moment, and said, "Hey, you... Your squad leaders will play a game with you. How about we hit each other on the head with wooden sticks?" Han Qingyu stayed silent. Deep down, he actually wanted to play... The problem was his opponent—win or lose, he feared he would end up on the short end. It was essentially confirmed by now that within certain limits, the army tolerated veterans acting unreasonable and "bullying" recruits. Just as the chief drill instructor was permitted to strike, curse, humiliate, and provoke them, even the old man in the mess hall was arrogant and savage to an agonizing degree. This harsh, stifling atmosphere that constantly made people feel on the verge of collapse was like coarse gravel rubbing relentlessly against the recruits' nerves. "Hey, are you two mute?" The veterans grew impatient. Han Qingyu and Wen Jifei exchanged a glance. How about just having a brawl? Word had it that if you could beat the veterans... as long as nothing major went wrong, the army permitted that too. They were just preparing themselves and waiting for the other side to make the first move. "What kind of game? Why don't I join in?" Milla strode over in full uniform, twirling a dagger in the palm of her right hand. "Hitting each other on the head, right? Fine... How about this: you hit me, and he hits you." As she spoke, she turned and pointed at Han Qingyu. Han Qingyu thought this was quite an excellent proposal. Unfortunately, the veterans ultimately chose not to play. Muttering that it was "boring," they got up and left the training grounds. "See? Aren't I a great captain to you guys? You won't lose out being on my squad." Milla's psychological priming was a bit too obvious. Finishing her sentence, she turned, clapped her hands, and said enthusiastically, "Come on, let's keep training." *Keep training, my ass. Training literally just ended...* Wen Jifei rubbed his aching body and pretended not to hear, griping in his head. "Don't want to train? Then... want to play a game?" With a curl of her lips, Milla looked at him and said, "How about the two of us hit each other on the head?" Wen Jifei: "Well, you should play with Qingzi... Why don't you play with Qingzi?" "Because Qingzi... is willing to train." Milla turned her head, blinked, and looked at Han Qingyu with an earnest, pitiful gaze. She figured her reflexes couldn't surpass Zhang Dao'an's, so the odds of being hit were not small. She did want to try, but that would have to wait for private. An instructor still had to maintain face, no matter what. "Qingzi, are you willing?" Qingzi was his own brother; Wen Jifei was very confident about this. Han Qingyu said, "I do." He truly was willing, because Milla gave him private lessons, teaching combat techniques that the general field training was still far from covering... and they were the most practical techniques forged in actual battlefield experience. Not flashy, but useful. For Han Qingyu, this was precisely what he lacked right now. "Screw you," Wen Jifei cursed in frustration. "Did you think we were getting married? Qingzi... I'm not a priest! Qingzi, wake the hell up!" Han Qingyu flushed with embarrassment at the remark. Milla, on the other hand, had no inhibitions; finding it hilarious, she burst into loud laughter on the side. This beauty really was kind of simple. ... Day after day, training continued. Perhaps because of the three-dimensional maneuver gear, the army's honing of the recruits' nerves and stress resilience almost surpassed the physical endurance training itself, or perhaps the heavy volume of exercise in the early phase was primarily meant to forge their willpower. As the program deepened, drills focusing on bodily agility and reaction speed under various conditions gradually took center stage. Compared to the others, Han Qingyu could accept many things more easily and calmly—the grueling physical training, the crude and unreasonable conduct of the instructors, veterans, and mess chief, as well as the absolute high-pressure psychological torment... Because his body had been remade by source energy, and he had personally experienced the battlefield. This allowed him to endure and understand many things that seemed unreasonable on the surface. The only thing that even he found difficult to continue enduring was the craving for hot, cooked food. For over a dozen days, it had been raw vegetables, raw meat, raw melons and fruit... Aside from the scalding sweat that dripped into their mouths during training, they hadn't even had a single sip of hot water. Everything was raw and cold. This sensation was hard to imagine for anyone who hadn't experienced it. The habits formed over Han Qingyu's nineteen years of life were rebelling. If he could only have a mouthful of cooked rice, a piece of cooked meat, or even just a boiled vegetable leaf or a cup of hot tea, he would be happy enough to weep. Everyone else was the same, if not worse off. "Did you hear? Today in the mess hall, someone suddenly charged forward like a madman just because he wanted a sip of the leftover broth from a veteran's beef noodles..." "I heard. Pity he didn't get to drink it in the end." "Sigh, don't even talk about it. It's totally normal. The other day behind the mess hall, I saw fresh slop dumped into the swill bucket, and even that made my mouth water. The steam rising off it... it had to still be hot." "Tell me about it. But we can't even get a sip of swill. They watch too closely. Even if you don't care about demerits, you can't get it into your mouth in time." In the middle of the night in Dormitory 11, everyone whispered in hushed voices. As long as it wasn't serious, things like losing discipline points didn't bother them in the slightest anymore. Their score was truly beyond saving... and their dream of seeing more was basically shattered. "Sniff, sniff..." Over by the other window, Liu Shiheng sniffed a few times, then sat bolt upright. "What's that smell?" "It's... beef. Stewed," he then said with utter certainty. Everyone caught the scent and sat up. In the darkness, they were spellbound, speaking as if in a daze. "A giant pot of stewed beef..." "Yeah, they definitely put in plenty of spices—star anise, cassia bark..." "Stewed with big marrow bones, the broth has to be rich." "Say, have you guys ever pulled cooked meat right off the bone? It comes off so easily. One tug and a whole slab peels away." "..." Suddenly, *tap, tap-tap...* A soft knocking came from the door. "Open up, brothers... Don't worry, the instructors aren't around," a quiet voice whispered outside. The grave robber glanced at the others for approval, cracked the door open a sliver, and asked, "What is it?" The guy outside squeezed in and said, "We're from the fifth floor. Lending your way to head down... Don't worry, if anything happens, we'll never say we went down through your place." Dormitory 11 was on the second floor. Without waiting for permission, the person who entered scrambled eagerly onto the balcony, hung off the ledge, and dropped down. Counting heads, an entire dormitory had mobilized. "Brothers, what are you doing?" Finally catching on, Wen Jifei grabbed the last one and asked. "Nothing," the guy said. "If you don't talk, we won't let you go." Han Qingyu grabbed him with one hand as well, holding him fast. Behind them, the brothers of Dormitory 11 nodded in unison. "Fine, just don't tell anyone..." The guy's Adam's apple bobbed. "The kitchen's stewing beef... Over a dozen big iron pots, all stewing at once... We saw it plain as day from upstairs. Old Man Geng took off right after tossing in the ingredients, and then two assistant cooks tended the fire for a bit before slipping off to the next room for a nap. Get it?" "...Got it." Han Qingyu and Wen Jifei numbly let go. "Just grab a bite and run, nothing will happen." Having said that, the guy swiftly slipped off the balcony. Aside from that faint sound, Dormitory 11 was as quiet as a grave. Han Qingyu and Wen Jifei both lowered their heads in silence for a moment. When they turned back around, they nearly jumped out of their skins... Behind them, six pairs of eyes glowing faintly green, like a pack of wolves, were staring right at them.