Chapter Eleven: Driven to Fury for Love

“A true man does not put his own small family above all else; his first concern is for his country and his people. A true man has mettle in his veins. He places the interests of the nation above all, and holds his honor and integrity dearer than his very life.”

“He may not be the best husband or the best father, but when people speak of him, they all give a thumbs-up and say, ‘He’s a real man.’”

“A real man in society, a true man in the army—now, tell me, is there anyone among you who wants to argue when I say none of you here are real men yet?”

By the instructor’s definition, we really couldn’t call ourselves true men. Yet something about it didn’t sit quite right with me.

“If I sign up for the army, does that make me a real man?” someone in the ranks called out. At that moment, a flash of understanding struck me—I realized the instructor was trying to persuade us freshmen to enlist after graduation.

“Joining the army means you possess the basic prerequisites to become a true man, but it doesn’t make you one just yet. True men are forged through blood and sweat, with each honor earned as a badge on their chest.”

“All right, enough talk. As the first group to arrive at the barracks, you’re fortunate enough to get a tour of the armory. Remember, no one is allowed to touch any of the firearms without my permission.”

The opportunity to see firearms up close made everyone’s eyes light up. Our exhaustion vanished, replaced by a surge of excitement.

“Good, everyone, follow me.” Soon, we were led to a massive warehouse. On the door, bold letters proclaimed: Military Area—Keep Out.

Two soldiers in uniform, rifles slung over their shoulders, stood guard at the entrance.

“Show your identification.” The sentries spoke without expression.

The instructor seemed used to this, pulling out his credentials without hesitation.

“Go in, and keep your people in line,” one guard said.

The instructor nodded and waved us forward. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

Under the watchful eyes of the guards, we formed our lines and entered the so-called armory.

“Wow, a tank!” No sooner had we stepped inside than we were awestruck by the tank parked just ahead. A sense of awe crept into our hearts.

The tank’s barrel pointed straight at the door, giving everyone who entered a subtle sense of unease.

“This way,” the instructor said, leading us down a corridor to the right. As we entered the next room, the sight of firearms mounted on the walls stunned us—pistols, rifles, submachine guns of all kinds, and even machine guns set on the floor. The sheer display left us breathless.

So this is what a real gun looks like.

The instructor seemed quite pleased with our shock.

“Take a look at this pistol: the Type 92, 9mm, with a 5.8mm caliber. It was evaluated in ’87 and finalized in 2000. Ordinary soldiers don’t get to touch this—only officers at regimental level or higher are issued one.” As he spoke, there was a clear longing in his eyes. It seemed he’d admired this sidearm for quite some time.

“Now, this rifle—QBZ-03, a 5.8mm automatic. It can fire single shots or bursts, effective range up to four hundred meters…”

...

Amid our exclamations, the instructor gave us a full introduction to the armory’s weapons.

We could fully sense the power of these guns.

The only regret was that we’d never get to own one ourselves.

“Would you like to try one of these yourself?” the instructor asked, grinning.

“Yes!” The answer was unanimous—everyone there wanted to handle one.

“If you want that chance, do well in military training. Those who stand out may get to fire off a whole magazine themselves.”

At his words, my imagination soared. I pictured myself gripping a rifle, the staccato bursts echoing—da-da-da-da-da.

---

“All right, it’s been long enough. The others should be here soon. Time to gather up and eat.” The instructor’s words made me check my watch—it was already past one o’clock.

“Old Hei, that’s not fair! You brought your squad early and even took them to see the armory.” As we exited, a stout, short man bustled over and gave our instructor a friendly punch.

Our instructor brushed his hand off, looking disdainful. “Then why didn’t you bring your own troops first? If you can’t, don’t complain.”

“What could I do? I’m in charge of the nation’s delicate flowers—raise my voice a little and someone starts bawling. If I’d known, I’d have let you take charge of the girls.” The stout man ignored the provocation, busy grumbling.

“And why don’t you mention I had to walk eight extra kilometers?” our instructor shot back.

The stout man was left speechless.

Soon, all the groups had assembled. When the others heard we’d already seen real guns, their envy was palpable.

Everyone was soon led to the dining hall and seated.

The aroma from the kitchen drifted through the hall, making everyone’s stomachs growl in anticipation.

“I imagine you’re all hungry,” said Chief Instructor Hua Wannian, and instantly all eyes turned to him.

“Let me make a few things clear. Listen carefully and remember.

First, you are not to eat a single bite before I give the order, even if the food is right in front of you. If anyone disobeys, no one eats lunch today.

Second, every meal lasts ten minutes.

Third, no leftovers. If you leave food, you won’t eat at the next meal.

Understand?” He finished laying out the rules and roared the last question.

“We understand!” Starving as we were, no one cared about the rules—we just shouted our agreement.

“Serve the meal.” At his command, three kitchen staff began placing plates of rice before everyone.

A dozen others came in, carrying large buckets that presumably contained the rest of the food.

The plates were soon handed out, and the bucket-bearers started ladling food onto each plate. The aroma of meat was strong, but it was all minced up, an unidentifiable stew.

“What is this stuff? Is it even edible?”

“Yeah, what is it?”

...

“Begin!” The chief instructor and his aides picked up their plates and began eating.

The students looked at one another, unsure.

“Come on, dig in. It actually tastes pretty good.” I took a couple of bites. Despite its unappetizing appearance, the dish was actually delicious.

Seeing me eat with relish, those around me started as well, and soon the whole dining hall was filled with the sounds of eating.

“Hey, it’s actually really good.”

“Delicious.”

...

A chorus of comments filled the room.

---

“Three minutes left—if you haven’t finished, hurry up.” The chief instructor, having already finished his meal and straightened his uniform, stood and announced.

We boys, ravenous as we were, had already wolfed down our food. Most of those still eating—or barely having touched their plates—were the girls.

“If you leave food on your plate, no dinner for you tonight,” the chief instructor barked.

“What?!” The girls who hadn’t finished cried out in disbelief.

Perhaps they’d thought his earlier words were just to scare them, but now that he repeated the warning, it was clear he was serious.

“Time’s up. Put down your chopsticks.” The chief instructor called out, checking his watch. Still, a few girls, nearly finished, tried to sneak in a couple more bites.

Without a word, Hua Wannian strode over to one such girl, and with a sweep of his hand, knocked her chopsticks and plate to the floor.

“What’s this? Didn’t you hear me?” Under his fierce gaze, the girl didn’t even dare chew the food left in her mouth.

“I di—I did…” She tried to say she’d heard, but her mouth was so full her words were garbled.

“No dinner for you tonight,” the chief instructor said fiercely.

Hearing that she alone was being punished, and in front of everyone, the girl’s face burned and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Cry again and you’ll lose breakfast as well.”

Far from stopping her tears, his words only made her sob harder.

“Chief instructor, aren’t you going a bit too far?” I spoke up. I hadn’t planned on playing the hero, but I knew the girl being scolded—Ruo Si.

This silly girl had put down her chopsticks when told, but seeing others still eating, and with just a mouthful left in her bowl, she’d picked them up again, afraid of missing dinner. Now, she’d become the scapegoat.

Out of loyalty to a friend and a certain unwillingness to see a girl being bullied, I stepped forward.

The chief instructor clearly hadn’t expected anyone to challenge him.

“Oh? Too far, am I? In what way?” he asked calmly.

“Though society values equality, girls are still at a disadvantage compared to boys. This kind of scolding will only have the opposite effect. Granted, it’s a small matter, but throwing her plate on the ground—that, I believe, is truly wrong.”

“A plate may be a small thing, just a vessel for food, but it can also represent a person’s dignity and pride. Is it right to insult someone’s dignity?”

“And you just told us to cherish our food, yet in the end, you’re the one wasting it. So, I think you were wrong. If you wish to punish me for pointing out your mistake, I have nothing to say.”

I had no intention of calling for total fairness, asking him to punish all who had not finished, or those who had kept eating after being told to stop. I wasn’t ignorant—I just couldn’t say that. If I naively spoke out, who knew if the instructor would be fair? Either way, I’d be remembered, and the next three years of high school would be difficult.

So, I stuck to the point.

For scolding the girl to tears, and especially for throwing her plate, I felt the chief instructor was in the wrong. It was not just a waste of food, but a blatant humiliation.

None of my classmates dared make a sound, fearful of being implicated. I had expected as much.

Ruo Si, still sniffling, looked at me in shock—someone had actually spoken up for her. The tears stopped, and she stared at me, wide-eyed.