Chapter 25: First in the Assessment, Is This What Talent Truly Means?

The next morning, at the break of dawn.

Within the mess hall barracks, new recruits arrived one after another, and the atmosphere gradually grew lively. In the center of the courtyard, Liu Wei was drenched in sweat, gritting his teeth as he held his stance.

"Brother Liu, you didn't go back last night?"

Liu Wei remained silent.

Yesterday, Xia He had stolen the limelight by hunting that wild boar, which had truly provoked him. Ever since the day he stepped into the mess hall recruit camp, he had viewed this man as a formidable rival. He had long since inquired about Xia He’s background—he was merely a common, impoverished townsman. A gambler, at that, who had only recently shown any signs of improvement.

Liu Wei’s family had been military slaves for generations. He had received the "Basics of Foot Soldiering" early on and had memorized the thirty-six fist-postures by heart. He had even spent a small fortune to learn a breathing technique; if he couldn't secure the top spot in the assessments, his training would have been a complete waste.

Three days! No, give him two more days, and he would be able to fully master the thirty-six postures and reach the Skin Refining stage. Then, the top spot among the recruits would still be his. No one would be able to steal his thunder!

As more people gathered, many began to point at Liu Wei.

"Practiced all night? He's insane!"

"But his progress is truly impressive—he's already at the thirty-third posture. It seems the top spot in the assessment is his for the taking."

Amidst the bustling crowd, Xia He and Wang Erpang strolled into the courtyard at a leisurely pace. Seeing Liu Wei’s desperate efforts, Xia He couldn't help but chuckle, though he didn't pay much attention. Wang Erpang, however, grew anxious.

"Hmph, what's he so smug about! I don't believe that dog-son is guaranteed first place!"

"Brother He, how is your training coming along? We lost a whole day going into the mountains yesterday—that won't affect anything, will it?"

Xia He, while munching on a meat bun Wang Erpang had brought him, replied casually, "It's alright."

"It's alright?" Wang Erpang didn't know what to say. He crouched beside Xia He, staring at the arrogant Liu Wei with a disdainful curl of his lip.

Once most of the recruits had arrived, Instructor Zhang made an unprecedented appearance in the courtyard. Seeing Xia He, he even walked over and offered a few words of praise with a smile. Xia He knew without thinking that the large piece of pork from yesterday had worked its charm. Regardless, Instructor Zhang was their direct superior for now. Having lived two lifetimes, Xia He handled such social nuances with ease.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Instructor Zhang nodded and turned to have everyone line up for training. Eight days had passed since the recruits entered the camp, and the disparity between them was glaring, causing the instructor to frown. The slackers were lazy, with some unable to even stand the first few postures steadily. However, these mess hall recruits were never expected to follow strict military discipline. With the imperial court withholding pay, both officers and common soldiers in the camp were desperate to scrape together money; a few words of instruction would cost dozens of copper coins, making such incompetence understandable.

As soon as Liu Wei saw Instructor Zhang approaching, he straightened his posture, chest puffed out, and declared, "Instructor, at my current pace, in two more days, I will have completely mastered the fist-posture technique!" He wore an undisguised look of triumph.

Hearing such confident words, Instructor Zhang nodded with satisfaction and smiled, encouraging him, "You're doing quite well."

Having received the instructor's approval, Liu Wei was even more smug. As he enjoyed the envious gazes of his companions, he searched the crowd for Xia He with a provocative look. However, the moment his eyes landed on Xia He, his pupils contracted sharply.

Meanwhile, outside the garrison, a group of soldiers was returning, travel-worn and dusty. Since Old Zhou had brought back news of the barbarians the day before, the Chiliarch had immediately dispatched a small scout team to investigate.

As they trudged back, they grumbled, "Damn it, what rotten luck! I should have been enjoying myself with the soft, warm bodies of the beauties at the Yingchun Pavilion last night, but instead, I'm here suffering..."

"Tell me about it. These barbarian scum pull this stunt every year! But mark my words, they don't have the guts to invade, what's there to fear?"

"Everyone, settle down." Old Zhou spoke up. Since he was the one who discovered the barbarians' tracks, he naturally had to lead the way. Unlike the restless youngsters, he felt the barbarians had some other objective. He feared a real war was coming.

"Oh, Old Zhou, it's not like I'm saying you're old and afraid of death! We get paid so little, and the court keeps withholding it—what are we risking our lives for?"

"Exactly! I heard your son brought home a wife? You should be thinking of ways to get money for his wedding!"

Facing the teasing of his colleagues, Old Zhou’s mouth twitched. Damn it, for his son to marry a good wife, he needed land and a house—that would be fine, but the useless lad had taken a fancy to a courtesan. If that got out, he would lose all his dignity.

"Eh? What’s all that commotion? Isn't that the direction of the mess hall? Are they serving food so early?"

"Forget it, look at the time! Just thinking about food! It looks like those greenhorn recruits are acting up, let’s go take a look."

Outside the mess hall, a crowd had gathered, craning their necks to look inside. In the center of the spacious courtyard, the sun shone down on a lithe and nimble youth. His movements were as fluid and agile as a swimming dragon, natural and integrated with his surroundings. With every punch, kick, and shift of position, an invisible momentum radiated from him.

The seemingly mundane fist-posture technique was performed with consummate skill, complete and seamless in his hands. Every move was precise, balancing hardness with softness, and brimming with latent power. The onlookers stared in stunned silence, forgetting even to cheer, completely immersed in the brilliant performance.

Old Zhou stood in the crowd, his eyes locked on Xia He, an expression of disbelief on his face. He could hardly believe that in just a few days, this lad had managed to master the basic fist techniques to such a degree. He knew that just eight days ago, Xia He had entered the camp, having never touched martial arts before.

Moreover, Xia He had returned from hunting a wild boar just yesterday and had made an impression on the Chiliarch.

"Is that the kid from yesterday? He’s mastered the postures?"

"If I remember correctly, the new recruits haven't even been here long, right?"

"He went hunting yesterday and still had time to practice? This kid is busy!"

Old Zhou’s face was stiff. He remembered clearly that he had only taught Xia He the breathing technique yesterday. Yet, after just one night, the boy had made such immense progress! Furthermore, he had lost a whole day hunting, meaning his actual practice time was less than seven days. If he had received the breathing technique earlier, would he have been even faster? Three days? Two?

Such talent and natural aptitude were inconceivable even to Old Zhou, who had been a soldier for decades.

In the center of the yard, Instructor Zhang was dumbfounded. Eight days to reach the Skin Refining stage? Had his mess hall really produced a prodigy with such exceptional martial potential? For someone without talent, it could take years to reach the Skin Refining stage! Even someone like Liu Wei, a multi-generational military slave, only seemed fast because he had a foundation from years of prior practice.

Is this what true talent looks like?