Early the next morning, Wang Yan got up before dawn again. The routine he had maintained for a thousand years was still as regular as ever. In the morning, the natural energy of grass and trees was especially rich; with every breath, he became one with nature. He liked the mornings.
Even when they had previously performed on plateaus two or three thousand meters above sea level, he had never stopped. Every morning, he went out for drills with the local troops.
He had even sparred with some of them. Part of the respect he had earned came from that; the soldiers admired him greatly.
Nor did any soldier entertain useless thoughts. After all, Wang Yan's own father was a martyr. Once he came of age, Wang Yan had voluntarily enlisted. The organization had looked after him by arranging for him to join the arts troupe, not because Wang Yan himself wanted to be a deserter.
As the wake-up call and drill call sounded one after another, the arts troupe, silent through the night, became lively again.
The male and female soldiers all came out and found their respective formations.
"Wang Yan, up so early again?" Even from some distance away, Lin Dingding warmly greeted Wang Yan. Her voice was loud enough to draw glances.
"A day's plan begins in the morning." Wang Yan nodded at her and answered with a smile.
Noticing the looks from Little Ballet and the others, as well as the unusual behavior of Hao Shuwen and Xiao Suizi, Wang Yan asked curiously, "What's wrong with you all? Why are you looking at me like that? Have flowers grown on my face?"
Lin Dingding gave a charming laugh and lightly patted Wang Yan's arm, acting rather familiar. "Haven't flowers grown on your face? You've been in