Chapter Fourteen: Ten Rings

"Good, it seems everyone is ready. Does anyone want to withdraw? This shooting practice is entirely voluntary; if any platoon is unwilling, your instructor can take you back to continue with your previous training," Hua Wannian declared, laying his words down firmly.

Seeing that the whole range was so silent you could hear a pin drop, and no one voiced any intention to leave, Hua Wannian finally spoke again, his face pained. "Honestly, I rather wish you all would quit, so we could save some bullets."

"But don't think that staying for shooting practice means you'll get to fire at will. Even in the army, training is never this extravagant."

"So, to avoid wasting ammunition, new recruits in the army have to aim at the target at least ten thousand times before they're allowed to shoot. Right now, you're no different from fresh recruits—practice is only going to be more, not less. If anyone doesn't want to participate, now's your last chance. One less person, a few bullets saved."

Yet, regardless of what Hua Wannian said, not a soul budged.

"Very well, you've chosen your own path. Each platoon, begin your training," Hua Wannian finished, then left.

Just as we were itching to get our hands on the guns, our black-hearted instructor spoke up.

"Are you all dying to go up there and fire a couple of shots?"

Everyone nodded.

"If you want to shoot, that's easy—first, practice the squat-and-hold position with your gun. Once you've mastered that, you can touch the gun."

At his words, everyone cheered and got down to serious practice.

Now, our goal was simple: not to fire a couple of shots, but to touch the gun.

After this period of training, even the tidiest girls would sit on the ground whenever they had a moment, and lying on the ground was commonplace. No one hesitated or questioned ground drills any longer.

We practiced these basic postures over and over the entire morning. According to our instructor, our bodies needed to memorize these simple movements.

Finally, when we were panting for breath, the instructor called for a break, promising that after we rested, we could touch the guns.

"Yu, have some water. You've been at it for so long," Luo Si, who'd already finished her break, came over with a bottle.

During the first two days, when Luo Si offered me bottled water, I didn't want to embarrass her, so I took a few big gulps, after which she'd take the bottle and drink the rest herself.

But lately, she'd been offering me her bottle, already sipped from, and then, without the slightest disgust, would take it back and finish it herself.

Under the curious and envious gazes of our companions, I couldn't help but think Luo Si might like me.

But I couldn't exactly ask her, could I? What if she didn't like me, and I told her not to, it would just be awkward for everyone.

Nor could I tell her that I liked Liu Xiaojie; that's not something you can say easily.

So, every day Luo Si brought me water, and every day I drank it.

"Sisi, I have my own water." I pointed at my bottle.

She pouted. "You work harder than most, one bottle isn't enough. I can't finish mine by myself, and it'd be a waste. Besides, you've helped me so much—I wouldn't feel right if I didn't do something in return. You wouldn't want to see me uneasy, would you?"

Hearing her say this, I couldn't refuse, so I quietly drank some water.

"Keep it up!" Luo Si clenched her fist to cheer me on.

"You too."

"Brats, time to go touch the guns," our black-hearted instructor waved us over. Amid the envy and jealousy of the other platoons, we were the first to step up for instruction.

The instructor said it was our privilege for being the first to run to the training ground.

"I'm going to explain the essentials now; the other platoons, listen closely."

"First, a rule for everyone to remember: no matter whether the gun is loaded or not, never point the muzzle at anyone. If I see anyone aiming at a comrade or instructor, that's the end of your lesson," the firearms instructor warned, his words carved into everyone's memory.

Everyone was itching to handle the guns and shoot; losing this chance would be a lifelong regret.

"In short, shooting is all about aligning three points, but just because you aim doesn't mean you'll hit the mark."

"Aiming is only the most basic part and will be the focus of your training in the coming days."

"Trigger control and grip are what decide whether your shot will hit the bullseye."

...

"Now, let me show you the right way to hold the gun, like this..."

"Next, it's simple: maintain this grip, aim at the center, and when your eyes see nothing but the bullseye, that's when you fire."

The instructor then started timing each platoon, half an hour of aiming practice apiece.

After half an hour, I reluctantly handed the gun to the next team for their turn.

"Listen up, there are only about forty guns. It's impossible for everyone to practice with real ones all the time. But we have plenty of wooden replicas—follow me," our instructor said, leading us away from the range.

He explained that we couldn't settle down to practice properly at the range. I had to agree; first-timers were all excited, and even those who'd held a gun before wanted another go. In this endless cycle of enthusiasm, concentrating was nearly impossible.

Out of sight, out of mind—it works wonders.

But when we saw the wooden guns with bricks tied to them, none of us could laugh.

"If you want to shoot well, the most important thing is to hold the gun steady. So now, everyone, shoulder your gun and hold it level. Except for when it's your turn to shoot, this will be your training substitute."

We exchanged glances, but eventually picked up the guns and followed the instructor's guidance.

But these wooden guns were nothing like the real thing, and with bricks hanging from the barrels, the center of gravity was far forward. This put a tremendous strain on our arms, and many soon struggled.

Yet, threatened with being denied live-fire practice, we gritted our teeth and persevered.

After three days, we could all hold a real rifle steady—an impressive improvement.

In the next two days, we learned to load bullets and disengage the safety.

Then, on a clear and sunny morning, we rose earlier than usual—today was a special day. Today, we could finally test-fire a single round each.

"The first team will start with Old Hei's platoon. Let's see what you've achieved," the head instructor announced, his favoritism drawing side glances from the other platoons.

But after so long with Old Hei, we’d all picked up his shamelessness and indifference. Ignoring their looks, we marched forward in perfect step, standing before all the others.

"Xu Wen, you're up," Old Hei said, pointing at the small, slight boy at the front of the line.

"Yes, sir!" Xu Wen saluted, stepped forward, picked up the gun, disengaged the safety, and crouched to aim.

Bang!

"Three rings."

As soon as Xu Wen fired, someone announced the score.

"Not bad, hitting the target on your first shot," the head instructor said, not stinting on praise.

Xu Wen re-engaged the safety, laid down the gun, stood up, saluted, and returned to his place.

"Huang Qi, go."

Bang! Five rings.

...

"Ma Liang."

"Eight rings."

"Yan Ruyu, your turn." At last, I heard the words I’d been waiting for. I saluted and strode forward, though I felt a pair of eyes in the ranks watching me intently.

I picked up the gun with practiced hands, disengaged the safety, half-crouched, shouldered the rifle, and aimed.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself completely, I squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

After firing, I re-engaged the safety, put down the gun, and stood.

"Ten rings."

"Excellent!" Hua Wannian clapped and congratulated me, bearing no grudge over our previous clash.

"Impressive, ten rings," Ma Liang nudged my shoulder.

"Just luck," I nodded at him and watched the others.

Ma Liang didn’t dwell on it, figuring I’d just gotten lucky.

Soon, our platoon's results were tallied—an average of 3.3 rings, with three people missing the target entirely.

When the other platoons saw our average, many thought it would be easy to surpass us—their eyes gleamed as they itched to overshadow our debut.