Veterans

"What... did I just hear someone say Grade A? Who?" That was the crowd's initial reaction. Most of them had been eagerly gossiping about their commander's ancient romantic history and hadn't heard clearly, leaving them momentarily sluggish and bewildered. "Yeah, Commander Yang Wudong of 439 said Han Qingyu's degree of fusion test result came back as Grade A." Those who had caught it spoke up to explain, though their tone was just as uncertain, merely relaying what they had heard. "Huh... but hasn't that not been officially announced yet? How does he know?" "Grade A? For real? How long has it been since 425 produced a Grade A?!" "It's Qingzi... Qingzi!" The murmurs around them escalated from low hums to the frenzy of buzzing bees, and finally went off like firecrackers. At the same time—*smack!*—the chief of staff threw his head back, slapped a hand over his forehead, and closed his eyes to the heavens, wishing he were dead. *Damn you, Li Wangqiang! Didn't we agree last night? We were supposed to go back and discuss it thoroughly... and you were the one who said we could suppress the news if necessary!* The situation was glaringly obvious. As his partner, the chief of staff could figure it out with his toes: Commander Li had been trading barbs with his old romantic rival, failed to get the upper hand... and wound up slapping the Grade A result right into the man's face. What a shameless bastard. On the other side, Commander Li had originally planned to strut over and keep gloating, but the moment he caught sight of the chief of staff's expression and gestures... his wits returned, and he froze where he stood, suddenly struck by guilt. That left Han Qingyu alone facing Commander Yang. "Are you saying my test result is Grade A?" Han Qingyu asked in all sincerity, because he truly didn't know his own results yet. In all of Regiment 425, no one knew aside from Commander Li and the chief of staff. "Yeah." Yang Wudong nodded, watching Han Qingyu's reaction closely as he explained, "Your commander said he and the chief of staff went and asked their senior sister last night... Guaranteed genuine." *Whoosh—* "It's really Grade A! It's actually Grade A!" "Incredible!" Amidst the wave of excitement and clamor, the future Captain Milla reached out both arms... froze... and let them drop. Her excitement turned to dejection. In the end, she stood quietly in the corner, nursing her sorrows alone: *It's going to be tough now. It's over... Why did I kiss that pennant back then? I'm a foreigner! I'm a Western girl! What was I being shy for?!* Regiment 425's euphoric reaction stung a little, but it was well within Yang Wudong's expectations. What caught him off guard was the reaction of the Grade A recruit standing right in front of him. *Isn't he excited at all? Or is he so overwhelmed that he's gone dumb?* Just as Yang Wudong was about to prompt him, Han Qingyu looked up first. "What about the others?" he asked with earnest anticipation. *So he actually has the mind to care about that right now?* Yang Wudong: "...How would I know?" "Oh. Thank you, Commander Yang." *Thank my foot,* Commander Yang thought. "...Wait," Yang Wudong said, hitting upon what he felt was the only possible explanation. "Do you even know what Grade A means?" Han Qingyu: "Yeah." "..." Yang Wudong froze. His mouth opened and closed without a sound, opened and closed again... Only after a dozen seconds did he finally figure out how to explain it. Pointing at himself, he said, "Look at me." Han Qingyu looked at him. "Me—degree of fusion Grade B-minus. My personal combat strength ranks in the top forty across the entire army... thirty-seventh, to be exact." Yang Wudong paused, leaned in closer, and whispered, "Your commander can't beat me right now." Understood. Han Qingyu nodded. He couldn't help glancing over at Commander Li, who was standing a short distance away, thinking to himself that it was a good thing his commander hadn't heard that. If he had... they probably would have started brawling. "So remember this: true strength isn't measured by a degree of fusion test, nor is it fed to you through source energy blocks... Train hard. I'll see you on the battlefield." "Lastly: Long live the Ninth Army. Long live the Erasers." With that, Yang Wudong turned to leave. To Han Qingyu's surprise, this Commander Yang, who had just been locked in a ferocious shouting match with his own regimental commander and had marched over looking as if he were out for blood, had only come over to say those words. "Thank—" he started to say. "How about I give you a kick so you can get a feel for it?" Yang Wudong suddenly turned back. "Huh?" "Ten percent power... Here it comes!" Yang Wudong shouted that last bit with unexpected volume. Then, before Han Qingyu could respond, Yang Wudong took a quick stutter-step and whipped his leg around—*whoosh*—sweeping it straight across. Han Qingyu barely had time to cross his forearms and brace himself to take it head-on. *Thud!* A dull impact. Pain. Heavy. *Screeech...* This blow was completely incomparable to Zhang Dao'an's kick back on the training grounds. Han Qingyu dropped into a deep right lunge, fighting desperately to hold his ground while lowering his stance to disperse the force. Even so, he was still driven backward, his boots skidding across the dry yellow earth and plowing two deep furrows into the ground. "He held it?" "He held it!" Cries of shock broke out among the instructors... In their eyes, being knocked back was normal; what was surprising was that Han Qingyu had managed to keep his footing. Even Han Qingyu himself thought for a split second that he had held his ground. But no... Suddenly, a surging, monstrous power slammed into him. The sensation was like standing against a continuous, steady ocean wave—exhausting, but enduring it nonetheless—and then, without warning, an entirely different wave of sheer force and velocity crashed over him. *Boom!* The sound was something only Han Qingyu could perceive through his own senses. He didn't even have time to mobilize his liquid source energy. In the next instant, amidst gasps of alarm, both his feet finally left the ground, and he was hurled through the air at high speed toward the truck behind him. *Whoa!* Cries of panic erupted all around. Practically everyone from Regiment 425 was caught off guard. *He's going to get hurt!* Then Yang Wudong moved. As though he had anticipated this all along, his figure darted forward several paces in a flash, and he caught Han Qingyu by the clothes, yanking him back. Landing, the two of them stood very close. "Sorry about that. The kick was actually two layers of power... and just to be safe, I tossed in a surging wave," Yang Wudong whispered. Han Qingyu: "Understood." "Sorry to put you through that... I wanted to give my kids a little confidence. I actually looked into 439's results too, and the best we had was a single B-minus," Yang Wudong said after a pause. "I didn't want them thinking a Grade A was anything so special." Han Qingyu remained silent for a moment. "And think of it as giving your fellow recruits a little confidence, too. The vast majority of them don't have that kind of talent... Holding out and surviving won't be easy for any of them." With those final quiet words, Yang Wudong turned and walked back toward his own kids. "Forget it, let's yield the road... After all, your commander couldn't help himself and bullied a junior, didn't he? Haha!" he called out with a hearty laugh in the distance. "Still, you all saw that just now, right? As long as you're willing to train, degree of fusion doesn't decide everything!" *** Four days and four nights. The route back allowed Regiment 425 to arrive home two days and one night earlier than their departure trip. Though calling it "home" wasn't entirely accurate, because in a few days, once the degree of fusion results were formally announced, they would be leaving this place. Over a dozen trucks pulled to a halt inside the Regiment 425 base, one after another. Looking past the tailgates, the recruits spotted a figure: Zhang Dao'an. Likely because both the regimental commander and chief of staff had gone along, Zhang Dao'an, as chief instructor, had not accompanied them this time. "That's strange," someone muttered while climbing down from the truck. "What is?" another asked. "I actually feel a sense of warmth seeing Instructor Zhang. He beat the hell out of me!" "Ha... What, are you a masochist?... Wait, why do I feel that way too?" "Probably because we're slowly turning into veterans ourselves," someone else chimed in. Zhang Dao'an stood as rigid as a statue. The recruits filed past, greeting him and saluting. He returned each salute. It was the same for Dormitory 11... Except when it came to Han Qingyu, something unexpected happened: Zhang Dao'an saluted first, holding his hand raised without dropping it. Han Qingyu had no choice but to return the salute. "Instructor Zhang, you...?" "Thank you." "Huh?" "Seven years. Old Miao called me for the first time today..." Even in offering thanks, Zhang Dao'an's tone remained stiff, perhaps afraid that if he didn't keep himself tightly reined in, his emotions would spill over. "Old Miao said he couldn't come in person, so he asked me to give you this salute on behalf of him and Reserve Station 700." So it was about what happened before... The commendation paperwork had been approved, and the details of the incident and the people involved had been passed back to Reserve Station 700. And the Old Miao that Zhang Dao'an spoke of was the station master of Reserve Station 700, as well as one of the few remaining survivors from the Red Erasers of the past. He had even left Regiment 425 in bitterness and anger back then. Who would have thought that because of a single recruit, he would end up indebted to Regiment 425 once more? That evening, the mess hall prepared a sumptuous dinner for the recruits. Master Geng came limping over. *Thunk.* *Clatter.* He set down a bowl of beef noodles and an iron platter of roasted mutton. "These are the two things I make best," he said to Han Qingyu. "On behalf of Xiao Miao, thank you." Only at that moment did the recruits realize that the limping chef in the mess hall, Old Geng, was actually another veteran left behind from the legendary Red Erasers—the strongest squad Regiment 425 had ever known.