Cursing Up a Storm

In the office of Commander Lu Wuzheng of the Ninth Army, Azure Huaxia Front, flowers and greenery flourished alongside hung calligraphy and paintings—a rare and unconventional sight in the Sole Witness Legion. At this moment, Qi Shantong, Chief Combat Training Instructor for the armor-attuning phase of recruit training across the entire army, wore an expression of intense dissatisfaction. He gesticulated wildly with both hands, pacing back and forth in front of Lu Wuzheng’s desk. “Don’t do this, Old Lu! Why are you bringing them back?!” “Just let them stay there, keep them at 1123... Once the quarantine and cleanup are done, continue the field exercises right on the spot.” “Opportunities like this are rare. Don’t let them walk out of fear and pain so easily. Don’t... We could even have them clean up the battlefield.” Qi Shantong paused, then brought his left fist slamming down into his right palm. “Yes, exactly that. Just let them do it... That’s guaranteed to forge a batch of exceptional soldiers.” With that, he turned, fixing a feverish and expectant gaze upon Lu Wuzheng behind the desk. Though both held the rank of major general, the final say naturally rested with Lu Wuzheng as army commander. Lu Wuzheng raised his head to meet his gaze. “This will really forge good soldiers.” Meeting Lu Wuzheng’s eyes, Qi Shantong pressed the point once more, adding, “I feel terrible about what happened too, but Azure needs to look forward, needs to—” “Azure does need good soldiers, but even more than that, it needs human beings with warmth.” Having said his piece, Lu Wuzheng pointed stiffly toward the office door. Seeing that Qi Shantong had no intention of leaving and was gearing up to argue further, he had no choice but to add, “They’re already on their way back... In the Ninth Army, I am still the one who calls the shots.” Qi Shantong glared at him for a moment, then turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. *Bang!* The sound was jarring, seeming to rattle the very walls. Lu Wuzheng stared blankly for a while before slowly shaking his head with a bitter smile. Such was reality. Even among people belonging to Azure, united under the same overarching goal, there were bound to be disagreements in philosophy and style when it came down to specific methods and countless operational details, simply because there were so many people involved. For instance, within Azure International's scientific research divisions, scientists would, every few years, subtly or openly propose the same initiative: to research and cultivate mindless Azure soldiers devoid of personal consciousness, better suited for the demands of despair warfare... beginning when those warriors were still children. That proposal had never been put into practice, not even as an initial trial; every time, it was sternly denounced and suppressed. And yet... it had never lacked supporters. Take Qi Shantong, who had always maintained an openly supportive stance toward the idea, convinced that the wars Azure would face in the future were far beyond what the current caliber of soldiers could ever handle. Likewise, when discussing how to respond "in the event of total collapse," several factions existed within Azure. One camp argued that they should simply let the invaders land... and then use nuclear weapons to plow Azure from end to end, perishing together in mutual destruction. People of this persuasion were known within Azure as the Broken Jade Faction. Whether it was the mad scientists or the Broken Jade Faction, their proposals had never been accepted. Yet the people who held them were tolerated, permitted to exist and serve as comrades-in-arms and colleagues. Because so long as their core objective was aligned and the mainstream was preserved, Azure... would always need differing viewpoints, as well as people with diverse personalities and minds. Otherwise, Azure would become insular, corrupt, and stagnant. *At least everyone is fighting to defend Azure, aren't they? And the core mainstream has never wavered.* *Still far better than those sons of bitches in the Cleansing Faction.* Lu Wuzheng surged to his feet and hurled a cup from his desk against the wall. Amid the crash and spray of shattered porcelain, he vented the rage and suffocating gloom pent up in his chest. Commander Lu had scores to settle and hatred to repay. Sitting back down, he picked up the phone and dialed Qi Shantong, with whom he had just parted on such bitter terms. “I’m handing Old Wu over to you for interrogation,” he said, his tone flat yet tinged with a grim ferocity. “Understood.” Qi Shantong gave a single-word reply from the other end, his voice humming with excitement. The "Old Wu" of their conversation was a colleague of many years and a veteran of the Ninth Army, serving as deputy director of the Information Control Center... but he belonged to Snow Lotus. He was a Cleansing Faction operative who had lurked conscientiously for fifteen or sixteen years. During this battle in Area 1123, the most horrific in recent years, he had been on duty. After receiving the distress call, he judged this to be the finest opportunity of his years of dormant infiltration; the anticipated value of the event was well worth blowing his cover. So he had murdered the four colleagues on duty alongside him, jammed all communication signals out of Area 1123, and broadcast a message to every other sector: [Crisis averted. Area 1123 is now secure. Relief operation aborted... Crisis averted. Relief aborted.] “Qi the Madman, haven’t you always championed cruelty?... Don't disappoint me this time.” Hanging up the phone, Lu Wuzheng muttered softly to himself. Then he leaned back against his chair and propped his legs onto the desk... Closing his eyes, his expression twisted in agony, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. *** The transport rattled over the road all night. This time, no one spoke. Han Qingyu said nothing. For the first time, he felt no joy at acquiring source energy, even though he could distinctly sense that his physical constitution had advanced to another plane. He Tangtang said nothing. Looking back over the journey, he felt utterly useless. Liu Shiheng... His straight blade had been returned to his hands. It was a very strange feeling. Liu Shiheng had never imagined that one day he would have to stake his life, to hack at a Great Spike. Yet his blade had already done so, and against more than one... and the man who had wielded it was named Zhang Dao'an. The blade seemed impossibly heavy. Liu Shiheng even felt unworthy to hold it; the moment his fingers curled around the hilt, he felt unsettled and disturbed. “Get ready to disembark,” Milla’s voice called out, sounding somewhat haggard. The truck came to a halt. It was dusk, and the sky had begun to darken. They were back. Some would never return. The headquarters staff of Regiment 425 had arrived before them. Regimental Commander Li Wangqiang, who was still in the dark about the exact details, stood at the gates of the combat training base alongside several regimental staff officers. Lao Jian was there as well... They watched the recruits walk over, raising their hands only to let them fall again, speaking not a word. Han Qingyu walked past. Li Wangqiang reached out and patted the back of his shoulder in silence. Lao Jian reached over and ruffled his hair. He Tangtang walked past. Li Wangqiang reached out and patted the back of his shoulder in silence. Liu Shiheng walked past. Li Wangqiang reached out and patted the back of his shoulder in silence. ...Just like that, he counted every single recruit from 425, watching them file past him one by one... until the very last one had gone through. Li Wangqiang stood on tiptoe, craning his neck to peer into the distance. “Is there another truck?” “Are there more trucks behind this that haven't arrived?” “There must be more.” “Let’s wait a little longer...” An officer responsible for escorting the recruits back from the field exercise walked over, stepped in front of him, saluted, and said: “I’m sorry, Commander Li... Th-this is all of them.” Li Wangqiang stood there with his head lowered for perhaps three to five seconds. Suddenly, “*Aaargh!*” A heart-wrenching wail burst from his throat. He crumpled down onto his haunches on the dirt. “Gone! Just like that, I lost seven instructors and sixty-nine recruits! They... they’d only just attuned their armor! *Aaargh!*” Even as a frontline sighting combat regiment, even with the landing frequency of Great Spikes surging this year, Regiment 425 had never suffered such catastrophic losses in a single stroke... Regimental Commander Li wept openly and unrestrainedly. After crying for a while, he rose, pointed at the Ninth Army headquarters building, and began hopping on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs: “Fuck your mother, Lu Wuzheng!” “Fuck your mother, Qi Shantong!” “Give me back my men...!” Behind him, the tearful regimental staff officers rushed forward to restrain him and cover his mouth, but Li Wangqiang tore himself free and kept screaming curses... Inside the headquarters building. “Commander Lu?” a guard asked cautiously. “Let him curse... He has every right to,” Lu Wuzheng said. “Has my accountability report been submitted to high command?” “Yes, sir,” the guard nodded. *** As Han Qingyu and the others walked along, they spotted Wen Jifei standing by the roadside leading to the cafeteria. They walked over to him. “I heard... Old Zhang didn’t make it back?” Wen Jifei asked. Han Qingyu: “...Yeah.” “Sigh. Come to think of it, the day before you guys left, he hid out in my quarters, peeling peanuts and chatting with me... When he was about to leave, I said, 'Why don’t you take this bag along to snack on, and give some to Qingzi too?' He said, 'What kind of nonsense is that? I can't let them see me looking like that.' He had his dignity to maintain, you know...” Wen Jifei paused, then said, “Go on and get something to eat first.” Then he added, “So you see, in this godforsaken place, being these godforsaken soldiers, you really never know which ordinary meeting, which casual goodbye... will turn out to be the last time you ever see someone in this life.” “All right, see you tomorrow... Give it time, and it'll get better.” With that, he waved his hand, turned around, and walked off alone toward the equipment depot. As his head dipped along the road, he likely wiped at the corners of his eyes... for the head instructor who had once forced him to admit he was useless, who had swindled him with dried tofu and pickled mustard greens, and who had once said that, as a young man, he had been a lot like him—Head Instructor Zhang, Zhang Dao'an, Old Zhang.