Volume One, Chapter 15: Defying One’s Superior

“Excellent!”
“Such skill with the blade!”

Wei Wentong’s applause echoed abruptly across the training ground. He stepped onto the platform, slowly approaching to press five taels of fragmented silver into Zhang Muyang’s hand.

That old fox!

Zhang Muyang cursed inwardly, itching to stab him twice over. He just couldn’t understand why Wei Wentong was so fixated on Su Ying. If it were simply because she was a woman from Yan, there was no need for such elaborate fuss. Something was definitely amiss.

“Thank you for your generous gift, Lord Du,” Zhang Muyang said, feeling deeply honored, holding the silver with both hands as he bowed deeply.

“No need for formalities,” Wei Wentong said, patting his shoulder with just the right firmness, an undeniable authority in his gesture. “Work hard. I have high hopes for you.”

“Your kindness humbles me, sir. But... I don’t even have a decent leather armor to wear yet. I’m afraid I’m letting you down.”

“That’s easy to fix.”

Wei Wentong kicked Zhang Kui’s corpse with a smirk playing at his lips. “Our Jingbian army’s armor is precious—every piece is invaluable. This tanned leather armor is yours now.”

Damn it!

Zhang Muyang almost ground his molars to dust.

That old bastard was ruthless to the extreme—using Zhang Kui like a tool when he was alive, not even sparing his intact leather armor after death.

Had he known it would come to this, Zhang Muyang might have just cut his own throat. Now, with the tanned armor cracked, he’d have to sew it up himself. Still, he couldn’t show a hint of dissatisfaction; he had to keep thanking Wei Wentong as he stepped down from the platform.

All the new recruits and veterans watched him with burning eyes. On his very first day of service, he’d been made a squad leader.

That position came with a monthly salary of one tael of silver—enough to buy four dou of coarse rice, equating to half a year’s worth of grain for a peasant family.

Who wouldn’t envy that?

“Squad Leader Zhang!”
“Brother Muyang!”

Su Ying, Zhang Xiaobei, and a dozen young men from Zhang’s Village surged forward, their faces flushed with excitement.

Zhang Xiaobei was so thrilled he could barely speak coherently. “Brother, that strike you just made was incredible—quicker than the wolf king’s pounce I saw deep in the mountains!”

Zhang Muyang raised his hand to quiet them, then strode directly to Tian Chong’s side and knelt on one knee. “Subordinate Zhang Muyang, reporting to Chief Sergeant.”

“Get lost!”

Tian Chong kicked him irritably. “Don’t try that with me! Just now, on the platform, I saw the look in your eyes—you’re already coveting my squad leader position, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” Zhang Muyang replied with a smile, brushing snow from his knees. “I’m your squad leader now. Wherever you point, I strike. My loyalty is unwavering.”

“Cut the crap and get back to training!”

Tian Chong turned and left, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. This kid was definitely more pleasant to look at than that fool Zhang Kui.

The Jingbian army in the county town of Sifang numbered one thousand: five hundred veterans hardened by battle, and five hundred fresh recruits just conscripted. The supreme commander was Battalion General Wu Kexiong, reportedly at the early stage of the Refining Pulse realm, wielding a strength of 2,500 jin, renowned for both wisdom and courage, and famed throughout the Northern Frontier.

Under him were ten squads, each commanding one hundred men.

Chen Xiucheng was one of them, with a dozen veterans under his wing and over eighty new recruits. He divided the hundred men into ten squads, each led by a squad leader, leaving only a terse warning: “Monthly assessment—those who fail will feed the horses.” Then he turned and returned to the barracks.

The nineteen young men from Zhang’s Village were assigned to Tian Chong and Qi Zhiyuan’s squads.

The two squad leaders merged their teams, since they were all from the same hometown, making training easier.

---

“Everyone, get your spirits up!”

Tian Chong raised his battle sword and stood by a wooden stake, his voice stern. “There’s no room for carelessness on the battlefield. I don’t show mercy, and neither do the blades of Northern Yan!”

Before he finished, he struck suddenly.

The battle sword sliced through the air, cleaving the wooden stake with a sharp crack.

Tian Chong weighed his sword and barked, “No fancy moves in battle! If you can’t kill the enemy within three strikes, you’re waiting to be killed!”

His technique was simple, almost crude, but effective—battle-hardened experience distilled into brutal efficiency.

Silence fell over the training ground. The recruits were spellbound.

“Great swordsmanship!”

Zhang Muyang clapped vigorously, eyes glistening with a hint of tears, as if not watching a squad leader demonstrate, but worshipping a war god’s descent.

Su Ying, Zhang Xiaobei, and the others quickly joined the applause and cheers, the training ground erupting in acclaim.

Tian Chong blushed from the praise, cursing the sycophants, but straightened his back and injected more vigor into his demonstration.

The entire afternoon, the training revolved around just three moves: chop, thrust, slash.

Tian Chong and Qi Zhiyuan repeatedly stressed, “There’s no time for fancy moves on the battlefield. If you can’t kill within three strikes, you’ll be the one lying dead!”

Zhang Muyang nodded vigorously. “You’re right, squad leaders. It’s freezing cold—why don’t you get some rest? I’ll take over here.”

Tian Chong raised an eyebrow. “You think you can handle it?”

Zhang Muyang waved his hand, and Su Ying and Zhang Xiaobei stepped forward, performing the three moves with precision. Their chopping strikes even had a fierceness surpassing the veterans.

“All right, you’ve got this,” Tian Chong said without pretense. In this freezing weather, standing outside for half an hour made their bones ache. He exchanged a glance with Qi Zhiyuan and returned to the barracks with other squad leaders to warm up by the fire.

Once they were gone, Zhang Muyang’s expression darkened. “Three moves? Listen up... Tian’s swordplay can save your life, but mine can kill!”

Tian Chong’s style was practical but lacked relentless sharpness. The Killing God Blade was different—its strikes were like lightning, its chops thunderous. Even against experts, speed granted the advantage.

Zhang Muyang combined special forces combat techniques with the camp’s blade training, crafting a method more suited for real battle: power generated through footwork during chops, waist sinking and hip turning on thrusts, even adjusting breathing rhythm—three inhales to one exhale—to unleash maximum strength when striking.

“Remember, the first rule to survive the battlefield is momentum!”

“You’re fiercer than your enemy, and he’ll fear you.”

“If you chicken out, you’ll die faster than anyone else!”

This...

Zhang Xiaobei and the others weren’t impressed, but Su Ying’s gaze shifted. Such military tactics and discipline would make even Su Hu, Governor of Northern Yan, envious.

Is he really just a villager from Zhang’s Village?!

Zhang Muyang jotted these points on scraps of paper, planning to compile them into a booklet: The New Recruit’s Guide to Survival in the Jingbian Army. If widely adopted, it could boost recruit survival rates by at least thirty percent.

Of course, that was no overnight feat.

Su Ying stammered, “Squad Leader, you... you’ve read books?”

“Does the Analects count?”

“Confucius said: In a fight, strike with the blade; aim for the head; don’t strike randomly; if you miss, strike again!”

Zhang Muyang glared at Su Ying and barked, “Practice your swordplay!”

Real men!

Su Ying smiled at the corner of her mouth, her strikes growing faster and stronger.

The blade flashed like snow, wood chips flying.

Zhang Xiaobei’s woodcutter’s blade carved marks, some deep, some shallow, into the wooden stake.

On the thirty-seventh strike, the rough skin beneath his hand rippled like earthworms, firm yet tinged with a cold hardness.

Zhang Xiaobei gasped, “Brother Muyang! What’s happening to me?”

Zhang Muyang stepped forward, pressing his palm to his back. “Don’t speak. Feel the flow of qi and blood!”

Zhang Xiaobei sensed a warm current surge along his Governing Vessel channel, as if war drums thundered in his ears. When he opened his eyes again, the world seemed extraordinarily clear, and boundless strength coursed through him.

“This is...”

“Refining Leather Realm!”

Zhang Muyang smiled with satisfaction. “From today, you have truly set foot on the path of martial arts.”

It wasn’t until sunset that they finally went together to the mess hall for a meal.

Zhang Muyang’s squad leader meal was coarse rice mixed with thirty percent bran, floating on a thin layer of oily vegetable soup.

Su Ying, Zhang Xiaobei, and the others still ate watery porridge with only a few grains of bran.

Zhang Muyang felt awkward sitting at a different table from Su Ying... Now that he was a squad leader, staying too close to “Private Zhang Ying” would invite suspicion. As he ate, his mind churned for a way to help Su Ying get promoted—at least to squad leader—to escape this constant hunger.

Returning to the barracks, the place was already filled with thunderous snores.

A dozen or so soldiers squeezed onto the large communal bunk, the mingling scent of sweat and foot odor stinging the eyes. No lights, no entertainment—after a day’s exhaustion, everyone collapsed into a heavy sleep.

Zhang Muyang, however, had one secret pastime.

In the darkness, he quietly shifted, his hand just brushing through a gap in the straw bedding.

Su Ying’s body instantly tensed, muscles coiling as she whispered, “Squad Leader, do you want the entire camp to know your private soldier is a woman?”

Zhang Muyang’s hand hovered an inch from her waist. He hummed, “I’m holding my own wife. What’s there to fear? Or do you want to commit insubordination?”

“You...”

“Someone’s coming!”

Sure enough, footsteps rustled outside the tent.

Zhang Muyang grabbed his Cold Feather Blade, rolled off the bed, and whispered, “Who’s there?”

“Brother Muyang, it’s me.”

Gousheng staggered through the entrance, his voice hoarse. “I killed the two officers Wei Du Bo sent to Zhang’s Village and found a letter...”