Marshal Hong

After they left, that soldier turned and walked back through the gate. Before long, he came out again and said to Li Yan and the dozen or so others, "Line up just like this, follow me. Once inside, no wandering around, no talking, no whispering. If you do, you'll be kicked out on the spot. And if your actions anger the general, you'll probably get a few strokes of the rod as well. Understood?" He swept his gaze over them, and that single look sent a chill through them all. Though he was just a common soldier, he had clearly killed his share of men.

The killing aura he carried was not something a bunch of green youths like them could stand against. Li Yan felt his pores tighten when that gaze passed over him. What a fierce look, he thought. He only knew the look was terrifying, but he didn't realize it came from the killing intent of a veteran who had survived the life-and-death trials of the battlefield.

After the soldier asked his question and saw this group of half-grown lads nodding timidly in response, he said no more and turned to leave. The group hurriedly followed behind him, stepping carefully, afraid that even the weight of their footsteps might make a sound.

Once Li Yan and the others passed through the gate, they could finally see the layout of the yard. Though it was called a courtyard, it was really a plaza large enough to gallop a horse. They stood at the entrance of the plaza. Further ahead, there was a raised platform with a table and chairs set upon it. At the edge of the platform, large banners were planted every few steps, flapping and snapping in the wind. As the banners rippled, characters like "A," "B," and "C" could be glimpsed on some, while others bore totems such as ferocious tigers or flood dragons.

This must be the Military Training Grounds people always talk about, Li Yan thought.

At that moment, about a hundred people stood on the training grounds, arranged in three rows. Each row had about five or six people. On the far right, Li Yan and his group followed the soldier to the back of that line, bringing it to about seventeen or eighteen people. The middle row had around forty to fifty people. The left row had the most, about seventy or eighty at the moment.

In front of each row, a few soldiers were managing the three lines. Around the edges of the plaza, rows of armed soldiers stood at attention, their armor gleaming, their bearing dignified, their eyes fixed straight ahead. They surrounded Li Yan's group within the grounds, presumably to maintain order.

On the raised platform, behind the table, sat a broad-shouldered Strongman in a large chair. Even seated, he was taller than most ordinary adults. His face was slightly sallow, and his head was shaved bald. The sunlight from above cast a faint yellow gleam off his scalp. His face was broad, with a sparse, coarse beard. A long scar ran from his right temple down to the corner of his mouth, the flesh along it twisted outward like a gaudy centipede crawling across his face. He sat with his back straight, exuding an oppressive presence that seemed to dominate the entire field.

At that moment, his gaze was fixed on the left corner of the platform directly in front of him, where a tent stood. That tent was exactly what the row Li Yan stood in faced.

Li Yan stole glances at the whole scene and the platform. He stood at the very back of his row, and since their row was on the far side of the grounds, he couldn't see the platform clearly—only the table on it and the bald Strongman sitting in the large chair behind it.

Just then, the soldier who had led them in spoke in a low voice, "You'd better be careful. The one on the platform is Marshal Hong. Don't look around. Wait your turn. When the person in front of you comes out of the tent, the next one goes in."

The soldier paused, a strange expression flickering across his face. Then he pointed to the middle row of about forty to fifty people and continued, "After you come out, line up at the back of that middle row for the assessment. If you pass, you'll go stand over there." He pointed to the leftmost row of about seventy to eighty people.

"If you fail, you're out. Just leave through the side gate in the back. Someone will explain the details to you when the time comes." With that, he nodded to the few soldiers at the front of the row and turned to walk toward the gate.

Li Yan stood at the back of the line, mulling over the soldier's words. He had a vague sense that something didn't quite add up, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Frowning, he thought it over for a while, then suddenly realized: the soldier had said they needed to enter the tent first, then line up in the middle row for the assessment.

Directly in front of the middle row was an area enclosed by tall wooden fences. They couldn't see inside from where they stood, but the platform overlooked the entire grounds, so Marshal Hong could see everything there. That fenced area must be where the assessment took place. As for what the assessment involved, Li Guoxin had mentioned it on the road—lifting stone locks, running, and simple Martial Skills. Li Yan believed that with his years of hunting in the mountains and the basic boxing he'd learned from the village hunters, he should have no problem.

But that wasn't what Li Yan was thinking about now. He was pondering carefully: The soldier said that after going to the middle row, you take the assessment. Those who pass go to the left row; those who fail leave through the side gate. So the big left row must be the ones who already passed. The middle row is waiting for assessment. Then what's this row I'm in for? Registration? But the soldier only said to go into the tent, then stand in the middle row. And he had that odd look on his face when he said it. Li Yan had been watching the soldier closely when he spoke, afraid of missing anything important. Now, thinking back, he felt deeply puzzled.

Li Yan stood there, lost in thought, when suddenly a voice rang in his ear: "Hey, you at the very back, what are you standing there dumb for?" Startled out of his reverie, Li Yan realized that the people ahead of him had moved forward a good distance as one after another entered the tent. Lost in thought, he had forgotten to keep up with the line. Being at the very back, no one was behind him to urge him forward. Now he stood alone, conspicuously separated from the group. A soldier up front came over to scold him.

The young recruits at the front of the line turned their heads at the shout. A few of them snickered quietly. Since this recruitment was for only one hundred and fifty Imperial Guards, everyone here was a competitor. They had no reason to wish each other well, and if they couldn't directly harm a rival, mockery was a form of attack.

Li Yan quickly gave the soldier an apologetic smile and hurried forward to rejoin the line, acting as if he hadn't heard the snickers. The soldier shot him a look, gave a light snort, and said no more. But as he passed the few who had laughed, he barked sternly, "Want to be eliminated on the spot? If not, keep your mouths shut." At that, the laughers' faces went pale. They quickly lowered their heads, not daring to meet the soldier's eyes. Seeing this, the soldier withdrew his gaze and walked back to the front of the line.

Once Li Yan reached the last spot again, he thought, This must be the registration point, no doubt. But it's awfully stingy. With a training ground this big, they could easily set up a dozen tables in a row and speed things up.

Then, belatedly, another thought struck him. The soldier had said "Marshal Hong." Yes, Marshal Hong. The man on the platform was Marshal Hong—a living legend, a military god in these parts, who had repeatedly defeated the enemies of the Meng Kingdom. Though Li Yan had only heard a few things about him, that was enough to enshrine him as a divine figure in the young man's heart.

He secretly lifted his head to look at the platform. Now that he was much closer, he could make out the man on it clearly. So this is what Marshal Hong looks like, he thought. Truly imposing. No wonder he can strike fear into those enemy scoundrels.

Once a person fixates on someone or something, they develop a preconceived notion—either a good impression or a deep aversion. To most people, Marshal Hong's appearance would seem fierce and menacing, like a demonic deity. But in Li Yan's heart, he didn't seem evil at all—only overwhelmingly majestic.

Li Yan watched the platform for a while longer and noticed that Marshal Hong seemed very interested in their side. He rarely looked at the middle row entering the fenced area for assessment. Instead, he kept turning to watch the tent on their side. Every time someone entered or came out, his brows would twitch, as if he were mulling something over.