In all honesty, Zhu Shiqing did not care much about the titles of squad leader or deputy leader.
Once training wrapped up, Zhong Yifeng hollered for everyone to assemble on the drill ground for their first squad meeting, exuding the posture of a man determined to claim the leadership for himself.
After Zhong Yifeng had cornered him at his dormitory door the night before, Zhu Shiqing knew full well that this privileged scion had set his sights on him.
The trainees sat in a wide circle. Zhu Shiqing sat among his close companions; at least half the men in the circle held no love for Zhong Yifeng's arrogant ways.
"Since Instructor He told each squad to pick a leader and a deputy, I'll put myself forward," Zhong Yifeng declared bluntly, making no attempt to conceal his ambition. "I am confident I can lead everyone to finish these three months of training with exceptional results."
No one spoke.
Far from feeling awkward, Zhong Yifeng pressed on. "First of all, I, Zhong Yifeng, have worked in the General Staff for nearly four years. I have a solid grasp of our various duties and have studied military strategy extensively. Second, as you all know, I certainly won't hesitate to help any of you out in the future."
At this, Zhong Yifeng's three roommates spoke up one after another: "Brother Zhong, if you take the lead, we have no objections."
Though the others kept their heads down, none showed any intention of stepping forward to contest him.
Believing his position was secure, Zhong Yifeng cast a glance toward Zhu Shiqing. "Brother Shiqing, what do you think?"
Zhu Shiqing, who had kept his head lowered all this while, looked up with an easy smile. "I have no objections," he replied gently.
"Why the hell should he?"
Beside them, Fang Wenjian had been fidgeting with a pebble for ages. Unable to hold back any longer, he hurled the stone hard into the dirt. "If you ask me, giving the squad leader post to you isn't half as good as giving it to Zhu Shiqing!"
Zhong Yifeng's face turned livid. Inwardly, he fumed: Why does this Fang Wenjian act like a damn lapdog? What kind of favors did that pretty boy Zhu Shiqing offer him to get such a capable bruiser in his corner?
"I support Brother Shiqing for squad leader," Lai Tianyou chimed in.
Zhu Shiqing had never intended to vie for the post. For one thing, he had not achieved anything noteworthy in military affairs yet; for another, his experience in officialdom had taught him that sticking one's neck out prematurely in an unfamiliar environment was the easiest way to take a tumble.
He had not expected Lai Tianyou's words to prompt several others to follow suit.
"I watched Zhu Shiqing shoot today. He was one of the few in our squad who actually hit the target," someone added, fueling the fire. "We all started from scratch, but Zhu Shiqing is improving fast. I believe he can lead us well."
Evidently, Zhong Yifeng's earlier brawling upon arriving at the training camp had utterly ruined his reputation. In contrast, Zhu Shiqing, on the opposing side, had won plenty of admirers through his calm demeanor and genuine concern for his fellow recruits. As one's standing rose and the other's fell, the sentiment of the crowd was plain to see.
Seeing that he did not have the crowd's backing, Zhong Yifeng refused to let the matter rest and immediately demanded a competition.
Yet they were all new recruits drawn from different sections—what could they possibly compete in?
Family backgrounds? Hand-to-hand combat? When it came to brawling, no one present was a match for Fang Wenjian, but that hardly meant Fang Wenjian should be the squad leader.
As the stalemate dragged on, Song Mingyang drawled, "We're all in the same squad, aren't we? What's the rush? Aren't we supposed to pick a squad leader and a deputy? One leader, one deputy—wouldn't that sort everything out nicely?"
Eager to head back and get some sleep, the others readily agreed with Song Mingyang's proposal.
"For now, let's just make Zhu Shiqing the leader and you, Zhong Yifeng, the deputy. That way, folks outside won't say we only picked you because we were scared of you. If the instructors and other trainees think you only won because of your connections, that wouldn't look good for you either, would it?"
Song Mingyang's thick Sichuan accent always lent a touch of comedy to even the most serious occasions, drawing muffled chuckles from several men.
His reasoning sounded sensible enough to Zhong Yifeng, who nodded in assent.
And so, amidst all the back-and-forth, Zhu Shiqing found himself the head of the squad, dragging his rivalry with Zhong Yifeng from behind closed doors straight into the open.
Over the following week of training, Zhong Yifeng proved through his performance that he was indeed fully capable of the role.
Across marksmanship trials, physical fitness tests, and theoretical examinations, Zhong Yifeng consistently ranked near the top. With Zhong pressing so hard, Zhu Shiqing dared not slack off either; the drive to outcompete each other was mutual.
As their scores climbed in an upward spiral, the rest of the squad suffered for it, dragged out day after day by their leader and deputy for extra drill sessions.
The fierce contest between Zhu and Zhong quickly became a favorite topic of conversation among Ming Quan and the other instructors over tea and meals.
Zhong Yifeng possessed abundant resources and a relentless drive. While others rationed their practice cartridges at the firing range, he emptied magazine after magazine with reckless abandon, frequently wheedling Instructor Zhang Zhijie into giving him private coaching.
Zhu Shiqing started from a weaker foundation, but he possessed great stamina and unwavering perseverance. He tackled marksmanship, theory, and combat drills all at once, while also training in hand-to-hand techniques with Fang Wenjian every day, steadily rounding out his fighting skills.
Amidst this punishing routine, Zhu Shiqing, in his capacity as squad leader, also grew closer to that aloof northern marksman. The man was named Lin Hong, a native of Fengtian.
Lin Hong had served in the Northeast Army, where he had once been a platoon commander in Marshal Zhang's personal bodyguard, renowned throughout the Fengtian Army for his marksmanship. During the Mukden Incident, Lin Hong's family had been butchered by Japanese troops, and his twenty-year-old sister had been raped and murdered by Japanese soldiers.
Back then, the young Lin Hong had watched with his own eyes as the Japanese overran his homeland, yet under the blazing infernos of war, he had been forced to retreat from the Northeast alongside the army.
Six years had passed, but that hatred remained knotted in Lin Hong's heart, an inescapable nightmare that haunted him every night. From then on, he had become a man of few words.
Lin Hong's marksmanship was the finest in the entire Staff Corps, earning lavish praise from several instructors.
Under Zhu Shiqing, this squad gradually flourished, boasting an exceptional lineup of talent.
There were ferocious brawlers, peerless marksmen, sharp-witted thinkers, men of elite pedigree, wealthy scions, and even someone unnervingly accurate at fortune-telling.
Any outsider looking on could only marvel in genuine admiration.
Through countless shredded target sheets, mountain paths on Qingliang Mountain worn bare underfoot, and uniform footsteps marching across the drill ground, the Staff Corps was gradually transformed by every drop of sweat.
During his time in the corps, Zhu Shiqing made rapid strides. Well-versed in navigating officialdom, he built warm relations with instructors like Ming Quan and Zhang Zhijie, while his steady, tireless diligence earned him recognition as a model trainee of the corps.
Although the rivalry between Zhu and Zhong continued, deep down the two men had long since acknowledged each other's worth.
The only shadow lingering over Zhu Shiqing was that nearly a month and a half had passed without a single word from Sun Beifeng far off in the north. Whenever he thought of it, a chill ran through his heart, though the sensation was soon drowned out by the sheer intensity of daily training.
Time flew, and soon it was May in the twenty-sixth year of the Republic.
Order remained immaculate at the Qingliang Mountain camp. The trainees had long grown accustomed to spending their mornings handling paperwork at the Presidential Palace and their afternoons and evenings undergoing rigorous field drills. After several months of intensive training, they had been forged into a seasoned unit ready to be deployed to the battlefield.
Naturally, the Nationalist government would not send these meticulously cultivated officers to the front lines as ordinary foot soldiers; the Staff Corps had far more vital duties to fulfill.
Bathed in bright spring sunshine, Qingliang Mountain lent the camp an air of serene tranquility. Yet across the northern reaches of the same motherland, a tense and suffocating atmosphere blanketed all of North China, as if a great war had become entirely unavoidable.
When that moment arrived, not a single Chinese soul would be able to stand apart.
Chapter 25