Chapter Twenty-Seven: Aerial Cable Maneuver Training

Was it that female instructor who kept staring at me during the cafeteria fight?

Du Huaishan’s impression of this female officer was quite vivid. After all, in an instructor group otherwise filled with burly men, a woman of such alluring figure and striking beauty stood out all the more.

“The first round of recruit training this afternoon will be under Instructor Zhou’s command,” Lai Yanlong announced briefly, handing over command to the female instructor.

“Hello everyone, my name is Zhou Zhong’ai. I graduated from the 139th class of the Jiangwu Academy’s Army division and currently serve as the leader of the first platoon, Reconnaissance Regiment, 1st Cavalry Brigade, 57th Division, Yingzhou Army. In the coming days, I’ll be assisting you in mastering close-quarters maneuvering and zip-line combat as quickly as possible.

“I’m not as strict as the other instructors. Outside of training, you can call me ‘Sister Zhou’ or ‘Brother Zhou’—whatever you prefer. If you have any questions, feel free to come to me privately for advice!”

Every smile and gesture from Zhou Zhong’ai radiated a mature woman’s innate allure. Especially that last word—“privately”—spoken from her red lips, brimming with temptation, instantly set many of the young men in the recruit ranks swooning.

“This lady is something else!” Wu Ming whispered within the formation.

“Old Wu, Instructor Zhou’s skills are formidable. Don’t mess with her!” Tan Hai warned just as the commotion among the male recruits became impossible to contain.

“Instructor Zhou, can we really call you Sister Zhou?”

“Sister Zhou, are you married?”

“Yeah, are you single, Sister Zhou?”

“Sister Zhou, you’re especially beautiful when you’re silent, but even more so when you speak!”

Laughter erupted all around.

Seeing that Zhou Zhong’ai spoke in such a gentle and seductive tone, the young men grew bolder. Zhou Zhong’ai shook her head. “I’m not married.”

A cheer broke out among the men.

“But…” Zhou Zhong’ai interrupted, her tone suddenly curious. “This is training time, and didn’t Chief Instructor Lai teach you this morning that you must report before speaking to an instructor?”

Silence fell. Those who’d been howling just moments before froze as if struck by paralysis, mouths still agape, drawing giggles from the female recruits.

“The few recruits who didn’t report just now, step forward.”

A handful of the men shuffled out of the ranks, visibly trembling. Zhou Zhong’ai smiled with narrowed eyes, her red lips parting: “Disregarding military discipline requires punishment. But since it’s your first offense with me, I’ll give you all a demonstration. Let’s try out the training equipment!”

Only then did the recruits notice a group of soldiers—no one knew from where—arriving with stacks of equipment, depositing them on the open ground: long, high-legged wooden bridges and welded metal cages.

They looked like children’s playthings. What was so scary about that?

“We’ll go in order of who spoke. You’re up first!” she called.

“Yes, Instructor Zhou!” The long-faced recruit at the front straightened his back and strode toward the equipment.

Soldiers opened the cage, locked him inside, and instructed, “Sit tight, hold on!”

Zhou Zhong’ai produced a silver pocket watch. “Begin!”

That was the last thing the long-faced recruit heard. The next moment, two soldiers grabbed the cage bars and began spinning it faster and faster.

With increasing force, the cage spun so quickly that the figure inside became a blur.

A full minute passed. At Zhou Zhong’ai’s signal to stop, the soldiers halted the spinning, opened the cage door.

“Come out. Cross the balance bridge at the side.”

The recruit was already ashen and dazed, barely aware of who was speaking. He gripped the cage doorway, struggling out, but before he could take a step, he collapsed to the ground and vomited violently.

The remaining men recoiled at the stench and the pitiful sight, terror-stricken. Zhou Zhong’ai, however, seemed unfazed. “Carry him off. Next.”

“Impressive, Tan Hai, you really called it!” Wu Ming whispered, sweat beading on his back. “Good thing we didn’t flirt just now. Instructor Zhou may seem gentle, but she’s a real femme fatale!”

Du Huaishan watched the whole process, a vague sense of familiarity stirring in him.

Pilots!

This was pilot training equipment, used to test balance and sense of direction!

In his previous life, a childhood friend had qualified as a civil aviation pilot and often complained about the grueling physical training at the flight academy—after four years, Du had heard it all.

Compared to these basic tools, modern flight school training was much more advanced and scientific.

Clearly, operating maneuvering zip-lines demanded keen balance and spatial awareness.

Du Huaishan ran a mental simulation of how a zip-line would be used. Indeed, when the cable is fired upward, and the user is pulled off the ground, suspended with no solid footing, all kinds of dangers arise: pendulum effects, spinning, loss of orientation, and so on.

Maintaining balance and a sense of direction was absolutely crucial. Otherwise, you’d be retching before even facing the enemy—a most humiliating sight.

As the four punished men underwent the test, Zhou Zhong’ai explained the rationale for these devices, her reasoning echoing Du Huaishan’s own analysis.

Of the four, only two managed not to vomit after the spinning cage, but even they fell off the balance bridge, meeting a “heroic” end.

Zhou Zhong’ai shook her head and turned to the ranks. “Anyone else want to try?”

For a moment, not a single hand went up. Understandable—pilots are one in a hundred, the elite of the army.

Just as Zhou Zhong’ai was about to give up, a voice rang out: “Reporting, Instructor Zhou! I’d like to try!”

The recruits turned to see a short-haired female soldier raise her hand. She had pale skin, striking features, a bold and confident air—and, most notably, large, pale-red irises.

Du Huaishan vaguely remembered her as the first woman to throw a punch during the cafeteria brawl.

Zhou Zhong’ai nodded.

The short-haired woman stepped out, skirted the puddle of vomit, and slipped into the cage.

“Begin!” Zhou Zhong’ai ordered.

Under the soldiers’ hands, the cage began to spin, faster and faster.

A minute passed. The short-haired woman emerged, unsteady but not sick. She approached the balance bridge, took a deep breath, and stepped onto it, arms wide for balance. She wobbled and swayed, but her pace was deliberately slow and controlled.

Step by step, she made her way across.

Finally, she leaped off the far end and landed on the ground.

“Completed successfully!” Zhou Zhong’ai pressed her watch. “Good performance! Anyone else?”

“Reporting, Instructor Zhou!” Another hand shot up in the ranks.

“Another woman?” Yang Anfu blurted out in surprise.

This time it was a woman with her hair in a bun, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old. She was the opposite of the previous recruit: coldly beautiful, slender, and athletic, with an air of aloofness.

Her irises, too, were a strange, patterned blue-gray.

“Begin!”

As she entered the cage, Zhou Zhong’ai started her watch.

A minute later, the bun-haired recruit emerged—no vomiting, no pallor, utterly calm. She strode to the balance bridge and stepped onto it.

The recruits couldn’t help exclaiming. Her steps were astoundingly steady, as if walking on level ground rather than a narrow bridge—especially impressive after spinning in the cage.

She finished the crossing and landed lightly.

Zhou Zhong’ai stopped her watch, a flash of admiration in her eyes. “Excellent! Two points for the female recruits!”

A cheer went up, sparking the male recruits’ pride and competitive spirit.

“Who’s going to stand up for the men?”

“Not me, I get lost on the way to the mess hall! If I get in that cage, I’ll be dizzy for sure!”

“I’m not doing it. Throwing up in front of everyone is too embarrassing!”

“Reporting, Instructor! I’ll try!” In the midst of the chatter, a tall recruit raised his hand.

Zhou Zhong’ai nodded.

Stopwatch. Into the cage. One minute. Out.

No vomiting.

Great! The first hurdle cleared!

The men sensed hope—their honor could be reclaimed!

But just as the tall recruit set foot on the bridge, after only a few steps—he vomited.

Groans and sighs rippled through the ranks.

“Huaishan, why is it that even the female recruits have succeeded, but none of us men have managed it yet?” Tan Hai whispered.

“Because the female pelvis is relatively wider than the male’s, so their center of gravity is lower and they’re more stable. That gives them a slight edge in balance,” Du Huaishan replied, recalling lessons from sports theory class.

As he spoke, Zhou Zhong’ai once again addressed the ranks. “Well? Anyone else want to try?”

The men hesitated.

Seeing this, Zhou Zhong’ai glanced to the west side of the formation, her lips curving into a smile. “Du Huaishan, would you care to give it a try?”