When Qin Tiexin woke, that roar was still ringing in his head.
He opened his eyes and first saw the shed roof. It was built from bamboo and covered with thatch, with light leaking through the gaps. Every inch of him ached, as though a dozen men had taken turns pounding him all night. His left arm would not move-no, it could move, but it was wrapped in thick bandages from elbow to wrist.
He tried flexing his fingers. They were fine, no trouble there. He moved his shoulder, too. It hurt, but he could bear it. At least it would not interfere with forging.
The shed was fairly large, with ten sleeping places. They were called beds, but were really just straw mats laid over wooden boards. His was toward the back. Several beside him were empty, and folded clothes were piled on some of the beds. The air smelled of sweat and damp earth, mingled with the bitterness of medicinal herbs.
There were sounds outside. Shouts, running footsteps, and the sharp crack of a whip striking something.
Qin Tiexin pushed himself upright. His bones creaked. Gritting his teeth against it, he slowly shifted to the edge of the bed and set his feet down. The floor was hard-packed earth, cool beneath his feet.
He walked to the doorway and lifted the coarse hemp cloth serving as a curtain.
Outside was a dirt training ground. Nine people were crawling across it on their bellies, bulging cloth sacks on their backs, their bodies and faces covered in mud. A veteran stood at the edge with a whip in his hand. Three claw scars slashed diagonally across his face from temple to chin, looking hideously fierce.
The veteran suddenly turned, fixing Qin Tiexin with hawklike eyes.
"Form up!"
His voice was terribly hoarse, like air dragged through broken bellows.
As though granted a pardon, the men on the ground hurriedly scrambled up and formed a line in the mud. Qin Tiexin recognized several of them: Lin Feng, Zhao Ling, Chen San, Tu Dazhu, and five others whose faces he knew but whose names he could not recall. He had seen them all during the selection.
Lin Feng's eyes brightened when he saw him. His lips moved, and he whispered breathily, "You're finally awake! You slept a whole day!" Then he hastily straightened, eyes lowered to his nose and nose pointed toward his heart.
The veteran-the one with the scarred face-pointed his whip at the spot beside Tu Dazhu, right at the front of the line.
"You," he said, his hoarse voice like sandpaper scraping iron. "Stand here."
Qin Tiexin hurried over and stood ramrod straight like the others, hands against his trouser seams. He was the tallest, standing at the front like a pillar.
The veteran stared at him for a few breaths, then nodded.
"I'll say this one last time." Every word seemed forced out of his throat, raising goose bumps on those who heard him. "My name is Shi Meng. You can call me captain. I'm in charge of you. Understood?"
The nine behind him roared in unison, "Understood!"
Qin Tiexin was half a beat late.
The whip lashed out, striking the bandages on his left arm with a crack. It was not a heavy blow, but it burned.
Shi Meng stared at him. "Understood?"
"Understood!" Qin Tiexin roared back.
Only then was Shi Meng satisfied. He shouted again, "Train!"
The ten of them immediately turned and ran to the edge of the field to shoulder the sandbags on the ground. Qin Tiexin followed their example and picked one up-about forty jin, not particularly heavy. He followed everyone back down into the mud and began crawling.
The mud was sticky and slippery. With the sandbag weighing on his back, every inch forward took effort. At first Qin Tiexin could not get the knack of it. His breathing was ragged, and he could not put any strength into his legs. Ahead, Chen San crawled swiftly as a loach, barely raising his head. Lin Feng was behind him to one side, occasionally glancing up at him with eyes full of things to say, but he dared not speak.
Shi Meng walked beside the group, whip in hand. Whenever someone crawled too slowly or raised his head too high, the whip unfailingly lashed out. The blows were not vicious, but they hurt, cracking across backs and sending mud splashing.
Gradually, Qin Tiexin found a rhythm: breathe in, move the left hand and right foot forward; breathe out, follow with the right hand and left foot. Arch the back, keep the head low, and watch the heels of the man ahead.
He stayed in the middle of the pack. Not fast, but steady.
The whole morning crawled past like that. When the sun climbed overhead, Shi Meng shouted, "Up!"
The ten men climbed out of the mud, each looking like a ghost dredged from a mire. Qin Tiexin wiped his face, leaving a thick layer of mud on the back of his hand.
"Dismissed!" With that, Shi Meng turned and left.
Relieved of their burden, the ten men supported one another as they ran toward the eastern end of the field. A small river ran there, its shallow water clear enough to see the bottom.
They jumped in with a series of splashes. The shock of cold water made Qin Tiexin suck in a breath, but soon it felt pleasant-the mud washed away, exposing skin mottled with bruises.
Lin Feng swam over and lowered his voice. "Finally, we can talk!"
Qin Tiexin nodded, scooping up water to scrub the mud from his arms.
"After you passed out, General Li declared us the winners." Lin Feng spoke quickly. "Eleven were eliminated, leaving fifty, split into five squads. We're Squad A, and Shi Meng is our captain-I heard he used to lead a ten-man unit in the Formation-Breaking Camp. Those scars on his face came from fighting a wolf pack years ago. His throat was injured then, too."
Qin Tiexin looked into the distance. Shi Meng was already far away, his retreating figure lean and his steps steady.
"His nickname is Mute Wolf," Lin Feng continued. "In the army, they say, 'When Mute Wolf bares his teeth, the King of Hell gathers his ranks.' He's ruthless with his men. Training under him is no life for a human being. Yesterday we ran with weights early in the morning, crawled through mud and water all morning, practiced weapons in the afternoon, and still had to spar with him at dusk. At night, we had to gather for lessons, too." He glanced at Qin Tiexin. "You were lucky. You escaped a whole day. Starting today, you suffer with the rest of us. How is it? Your arm all right?"
Qin Tiexin moved his left arm. "It's fine."
"Good." Lin Feng let out a relieved breath, then pointed to the others in the river. "You should get to know those five, too-Wang Meng, from the cavalry camp, a good rider; Li Shun, from the reconnaissance camp, with a keen nose; Zhou Laowu, from the cooking squad. Don't underestimate him, he's slick with a blade. And Zhang Shan and Zhao Ziliang, both skilled infantrymen."
Qin Tiexin looked at them one by one and nodded. They nodded back. One dark, skinny man even grinned, showing a mouthful of white teeth.
Once they were clean, the ten men climbed ashore dripping wet, ran back to the shed to change into their own clean clothes, hung up their wet things, and headed together for the mess shed. With an air of mystery, Lin Feng told Qin Tiexin,
"They have your favorite thing here-all you can eat." He knew how much Qin Tiexin could put away.
Qin Tiexin's stomach was already growling. He had barely eaten on the day of the selection and had slept unconscious for an entire day. Now his belly was so empty it clung to his spine.
He followed Lin Feng south through a stretch of woods and caught a delicious scent.
It was the smell of meat, mingled with the scent of steamed wheat.
Lifting the mess shed's curtain, Qin Tiexin froze in the doorway.
Seven or eight large baskets stood inside, piled high with steaming white-flour buns. On a long table in the middle lay a roasted deer, golden brown and gleaming with oil, fat still sizzling on it. Beside it was a large pot of vegetable soup, wild greens floating on the surface.
Qin Tiexin swallowed.
"Eat as much as you like," Lin Feng said in his ear. "Just don't waste anything. Dazhu ate six buns and a jin of meat yesterday. You can definitely beat him."
Qin Tiexin could no longer make out what he was saying. He walked to the table and picked up a bun-fist-sized, fluffy, and piping hot. Then he tore off a large chunk of venison from the leg, oil running down between his fingers.
With the first bite, he nearly moaned.
The bun was sweet, full of wheaty fragrance. The venison was crisp outside and tender within, salted just right, filling his mouth with juices as he chewed. He ate quickly, though he was not quite wolfing it down, simply taking one bite after another without stopping.
A second bun, a third piece of meat.
Everyone else in the shed watched him. Tu Dazhu held a bowl of soup, forgetting to drink it. Zhao Ling's hands froze halfway through breaking a bun apart. Chen San squatted in a corner, his eyes perfectly round.
Qin Tiexin did not notice. He concentrated on eating, tearing off meat, dipping it in soup, and putting it into his mouth. His left arm was still not quite nimble, so he used his right hand, his movements steady but astonishingly fast.
When he reached his eighth bun, Zhou Laowu came over and quietly asked Lin Feng, "He... won't burst, will he?"
Lin Feng shook his head. "Just watch."
Qin Tiexin finished the deer leg and started on the ribs. He gnawed the bones clean and left them in a small pile at the edge of the table. After eating ten buns, he ladled himself a bowl of soup and gulped it down.
At last, he put down the bowl, wiped his mouth, and stood.
The shed was so silent not a crow or sparrow could be heard.
Qin Tiexin looked around at everyone. "What's wrong?"
"N-no, nothing." Zhou Laowu gave a dry laugh. "Full?"
"Mm." Qin Tiexin nodded. "Thank you."
He lifted the curtain and left, his steps steady and his back straight, showing no sign of having just stuffed down ten or so buns and an entire deer leg.
The curtain fell, and the shed erupted.
"Mother of mercy..." Tu Dazhu muttered. "Six fill me to the brim..."
"Is his stomach a bottomless pit?" Zhao Ling said.
Lin Feng laughed. "I told you before, he has the biggest appetite in the Craftsmen's Camp."
Outside, Qin Tiexin walked back to the training ground. The sun blazed overhead, baking the dirt pale. He stood at the edge and moved his left arm-it still hurt a little, but he could bear it.
He thought of the meal just now, all the buns he could eat, all the meat he wanted.
He grinned.
A little hardship was worth it.