In the dead of night, Qingliang Mountain camp lay quiet.
Apart from faint lanterns flickering at a few sentry posts, the rest of the barracks had long since sunk into pitch-black silence.
Most of the men barely knew one another. That evening, aside from the proctors on the ground floor who had turned in earliest, the floor above was brimming with noise and excitement. After the brief shared ordeal of the afternoon's training, everyone had quickly grown closer.
"Hey brothers, first day in camp—aren't we going to head out and stir up some fun?" Song Mingyang lay on his bunk, mumbling lazily.
"Brother Mingyang, there are regulations. We aren't allowed to leave camp at night," Lai Tianyou cautioned, craning his neck as he held an account ledger in his hands.
Zhu Shiqing had just finished washing up. While he had been at the washbasin, the clamor from the two adjoining rooms had made his head feel ready to burst; they had clearly rounded up a bunch of oddballs next door.
Song Mingyang was without a doubt the most eccentric recruit Zhu Shiqing had met since arriving. He possessed some strange charm, leaving Zhu Shiqing constantly curious what manner of nonsense would tumble from his mouth next.
"Song Mingyang, where are you thinking of going? With both sides making such a racket, getting a good night's sleep is probably out of the question anyway. I actually wouldn't mind going for a walk."
"See that? Brother Shiqing gets me!" Song Mingyang grinned ear to ear. Pulling on his shirt with one hand and holding his belt in the other, he clattered down the ladder of the bunk bed, each step thumping loudly.
Seeing Zhu Shiqing agree, Lai Tianyou shoved his ledger under his pillow, shouted, "Count me in!" and began clambering down with equal commotion.
"Are we really going?"
Sharing the lower bunk with Zhu Shiqing, Fang Wenjian looked somewhat surprised. Zhu Shiqing was usually so careful and prudent; how had he suddenly decided to break the rules? But seeing him throw on a black coat, Fang Wenjian knew there was no stopping him, so he rolled out of bed and threw his own clothes on as well.
Once the four were dressed, Lai Tianyou yanked the dormitory door open—and let out a sharp gasp, nearly fainting on the spot!
Zhu Shiqing's heart jumped. He hurried forward to steady Lai Tianyou and looked out the doorway, only to find Zhong Yifeng standing there with three men at his back.
*Motherfucker,* Zhu Shiqing cursed under his breath. Opening the door in the dead of night to four scowling dark faces was enough to scare anyone half to death!
Fang Wenjian caught Lai Tianyou, quickly helped him over to the nearest bunk, and patted his cheeks. "Tianyou! Tianyou!"
"Zhu Shiqing, isn't it?" Zhong Yifeng wore a thin smile. With his hands clasped behind his back, he took a few steps forward and poked his head into the room to look around. "No, Brother Zhu, I should say. What happened between us today isn't settled yet."
"Good evening, Brother Zhong," Zhu Shiqing replied with an equally polite smile, offering an exaggeratedly deep bow as he said with dripping sarcasm, "It was my humble eyes that failed to recognize Mount Tai earlier, unaware that Brother Zhong was Committee Member Zhu's nephew. I was insolent enough to offend you—my sincerest apologies."
"You bastard, you remember the handout but forget the beating, don't you!" Fang Wenjian was a blunt man. Having settled Lai Tianyou, he surged to his feet, ready to pummel Zhong Yifeng, only to be held back by Zhu Shiqing's firm grip.
"No fighting, no fighting! Harmony brings wealth, harmony brings wealth~" Song Mingyang chimed in from the back in a thick Sichuan drawl, waving his hands to diffuse the tension.
Zhong Yifeng shook his head and said, "Zhu Shiqing, I didn't come here to brawl with you tonight. I came to let you know that I'll beat you in this camp on my own merits."
With that, Zhong Yifeng turned on his heel and led his three companions into the adjoining room.
Zhu Shiqing stood frozen for a moment before giving a wry shake of his head. He gently shut the door and looked back at Lai Tianyou, who had already drifted into a sound sleep.
Knowing there was no going out tonight, Song Mingyang could only crawl back into his bunk in frustration, muttering, "Bedtime, bedtime! Brother Shiqing, pay no mind to that lunatic Zhong. Back at the General Staff, he's always been a troublemaking busybody."
Zhu Shiqing did not answer. He slowly stripped off his outer clothes. Since Lai Tianyou had passed out on his lower bunk, he had no choice but to climb up to the top.
He hadn't thought much of it during the day, but that brief confrontation had given him food for thought. Zhong Yifeng's demeanor might be somewhat obsessive, but he certainly carried himself like somebody of consequence.
Lost in contemplation of the day's events, Zhu Shiqing rolled over, and his head struck something hard with a sharp thud. He let out a soft wince and reached under the pillow to pull out the account ledger. Stamped boldly across the flyleaf were the words: *Shanghai Youlai Chamber of Commerce*.
"Heh! Zhong Yifeng might be an official's scion, but we've got a merchant prince right here. Who's afraid of whom?"
Zhu Shiqing whispered under his breath. He carefully set Lai Tianyou's ledger aside and turned his mind to the road ahead. Zhong Yifeng had thrown down the gauntlet right in his face; if he didn't give this everything he had, he would fall behind. Over the next three months, he had no choice but to undergo a complete transformation.
And the rivalry between Zhong Yifeng and Zhu Shiqing had officially begun tonight.
***
The second day of training, three in the afternoon: shooting instruction class.
On the long table at the front of the firing range, various types of firearms were laid out. He Zhifeng explained them one by one:
"The Zhongzheng rifle. The National Army's bread and butter. Caliber 7.9 mm, length three chi three cun, effective range five hundred meters, five-round capacity."
"This one is the Hanyang rifle, also known as the 'Old Sleeve.' It was the mainstream weapon of the National Revolutionary Army in the past. Because it was produced earlier with outdated manufacturing techniques, its effective range is only three hundred meters."
"This is the Type 38 rifle, the Japanese soldiers' bread and butter. Length three chi eight cun, caliber 6.5 mm, effective range five hundred meters. Within three hundred meters, its accuracy is exceptional—it hits wherever you point it."
"The Czech light machine gun. Sighted range fifteen hundred meters, effective range five hundred and fifty meters, weighs a little over twenty jin, and can fire up to five hundred rounds per minute."
"The Taisho Type 11 light machine gun, commonly known throughout the army as the 'crooked-butt' machine gun. It's the standard machine gun of the Japanese forces. Unlike the Czech light machine gun, the crooked-butt cannot swap barrels, which means that in combat, each burst requires a cooling-off period before it can continue firing."
...
Zhu Shiqing looked toward the weapon and chuckled silently. The buttstock truly was crooked.
"That crooked-butt has a pretty stupid design," a recruit called out. "If you're in the middle of a firefight and can't pull back from the line, where are you going to find the time to wait for it to cool down?"
Hearing the trainee's question, He Zhifeng gave a helpless smile and explained, "What this recruit says is true. The crooked-butt has inherent design flaws, but the Japanese simply have far more guns than we do. Aside from reorganized divisions like the 36th and 88th that receive better equipment, the vast majority of our forces average only two light machine guns per company."
That was the disparity in firepower.
He Zhifeng wasted no more breath dwelling on the gap between opposing forces. He immediately ordered the guards at his side to distribute the Zhongzheng rifles; going forward, the standard weapon of the staff corps would be the Zhongzheng.
Compared to the Japanese Type 38, the Zhongzheng rifle's drawback was its shorter length, which put the soldier at a disadvantage during bayonet charges. Its advantage lay in its larger caliber; once the bullet struck flesh, it tumbled violently, dealing devastating damage to the enemy.
Zhu Shiqing took the Zhongzheng rifle in his hands. The last time he had seen one up close had been slung over the shoulders of the militia back in Jiangning County. Now that he too was a soldier bearing arms, a surge of emotion swelled within his chest.
Involuntarily, Zhu Shiqing raised the rifle before him. Following the techniques He Zhifeng had demonstrated, he flipped off the safety, cycled the bolt, aligned his sights, and squeezed the trigger.
The firing pin struck with a crisp metallic snap, as though a live round had already burst from the barrel.
Zhu Shiqing lowered the rifle with deep satisfaction. He had already found an intuitive harmony with the weapon, firmly convinced that when it came to marksmanship, he would yield to no one.
Chapter 23