In the northern reaches of Yan, the cold wind cut like knives. Winter was approaching, yet in the new recruit camp, fifty thousand freshly enlisted soldiers still drilled against the bitter wind, day and night without rest.
As one of the many ordinary recruits, Ning Fan trained alongside the fifty thousand new soldiers, exhausting himself every day.
Having known nothing but reading since childhood, Ning Fan was even frailer than ordinary people. At first, after each day's training, he was so tired he could not even lift a finger.
However, after half a month of training, Ning Fan's body gradually grew much stronger, and his skin had darkened considerably as well.
At night, as the cold wind swept past, Ning Fan took an ancient book from beneath his pillow inside the tent and began reading it intently.
The ancient book had only ten pages, yet they were densely carved with words. Ning Fan carefully studied the writing upon its pages, his eyes filled with contemplation.
"Ning Fan, you read that broken old book every day. Have you figured anything out?" asked a young man about Ning Fan's age beside him.
"Not really."
Ning Fan shook his head. "Ever since I could remember, this book has been by my side. But I have never understood what was written on it."
"Can I take a look?" Zhu Ye asked.
Ning Fan thought for a moment, then nodded. "All right."
Zhu Ye took the ancient book and flipped through it. Seeing the densely carved, strange ancient script, he lightly furrowed his brow.
"Can you understand it?" Ning Fan asked.
"No."
Zhu Ye shook his head and returned the ancient book.
"Go to sleep early. We still have training tomorrow," Ning Fan said with a smile.
Zhu Ye nodded, lay down beside him, and