Beyond the Zenith

Regiment Commander Li put over twenty years of friendship on the line for the sake of one recruit. He couldn’t even wait for the midterm ceremony to end before grabbing a few bottles of liquor and driving off toward Ninth Army Mountain, toward the Wall of Heroic Spirits.

Regiment Commander Li had gone to “threaten” his old comrades.

Back at the office, the mood was light. Everyone was chatting and laughing, openly poking fun at his expense.

“It’s not really about that,” the regiment lead advisor interjected with a faint smile. “He’s so happy, but there are things he can’t say to people like us. It was eating him alive, so he rushed off to brag to his old pals from the 425th.”

“I see...” Everyone thought about the ever-graceless Regiment Commander Li and figured the “can’t say” probably didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to, but that none of them would truly understand even if he did, or at least not as deeply.

The regiment lead advisor continued. “Also, he’s nervous. Couldn’t you tell? Under all that excitement, Regiment Commander was actually quite tense.”

“I think you’re right.” The group thought back to his behavior, then said more firmly, “Yes. Definitely.”

Someone recalled a detail that their brain had glossed over at the time. Li Wangqiang had taken that half-window with him when he left.

A glance at the empty window frame confirmed that he had indeed taken it.

“It’s not surprising, really,” the regiment lead advisor said, nodding slowly with a trace of emotion in his voice. “After all, the 425th once had the Red Erasers. They were famous throughout the entire Oriental Republic Army Group back in the day, but the 425th has never seen a repeat of that era.

“Old Li came up through the 425th. He’s been here for over twenty years and has been in charge for five of those. Given his age, the possibility of 425th standing tall again under his watch will likely come down to the next few days.”

The regiment lead advisor quietly shoved his own trembling fists, shaking from excitement and nerves just the same, into his pockets, then stepped outside to check on preparations for the next day’s departure to the testing site.

Still, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from wandering. B-rank or above. As long as it’s just B-rank or above... Given the qualities, character, judgment, and potential this kid has shown, from Supply Depot 700 to these past weeks, the 425th could have a real shot at building another elite platoon. Another “color plus eraser” call sign.

In a sense, one’s source energy integration level alone wasn’t everything. Even among the 425th’s own Red Erasers, only the platoon leader had actually been a top-tier combatant. Despite that, the platoon had still outperformed many teams with higher average integration levels and more high-level members, standing at the very top.

There was, however, a floor—a foundation, a baseline that couldn’t be ignored. Without a mature combatant of at least B-rank, a platoon could never reach the top, regardless of how flawless their coordination was.

For example, Lao Jian had recently been going on about how Platoon 752’s track record this year would likely rank them in at least the top twenty platoons of the entire military. Regiment Commander Li had shot him down without mercy, citing one reason: the platoon leader was too weak, at only C-rank.

Of course, not every B-ranker or above became a top-tier combatant. In fact, fewer than one in ten B-rankers ever reached that level.

Source energy integration levels were completely random. Every individual differed so greatly in temperament, character, ability, luck, and life experience that the source energy’s impact on their future growth also depended on starting potential.

Put simply, getting a B-rank or above meant a chance, though not a certainty, of becoming top-tier. Anything below a B-rank meant no chance at all, at least at this stage, even if there could admittedly be vast differences in actual strength even among individuals of the same rank.

Still, like Regiment Commander Li Wangqiang, the regiment lead advisor was certain of one thing. If that kid had a B-rank integration or higher, he would almost certainly become the 425th’s next top-tier combatant.

This was the true reason behind their excitement and nerves.

***

Han Qingyu himself was not aware of the expectations being placed on him.

He didn’t even realize that his performance—from his encounter with Lao Jian, through the night at Supply Depot 700, all the way to this half-term as a recruit—was considered impressive.

After all, his first glimpse of the Azure Coalition had been a proper battle. The overwhelming shock and impact of that experience meant he had subconsciously set an incredibly high bar for himself, measured against a ten-year veteran like Lao Jian and his Platoon 752.

Once the commotion had settled, Zhang Dao’an stood on the podium and finally explained to the recruits the reason for the raw food, as well as the origins and purpose of Tradition Night.

The moment felt like the closing of a chapter. Murmurs of shock rippled across the field.

The other seven members of Dormitory 11 had no time to dwell on any of that. Without meaning to, they all turned to look at Han Qingyu in unison, alarm in their eyes.

Han Qingyu had no choice but to put on a suitable display of concern and unease to reassure them. “They said it only has a tiny effect. Tiny! And I only had one bite. It’ll be fine. Besides, what’s done is done. Regretting it won’t help, so let’s just not think about it.”

Everyone thought Little Qing’s nerves were made of iron.

In truth, there really was nothing to worry about. Eating the meat had zero effect on Han Qingyu, and he knew it.

If Zhang Dao’an’s words were true, and every person only got one chance in their lifetime to have their source energy integration level tested, then Han Qingyu had already had his first time long ago.

It was just that the first time had been in the midst of chaos, and he hadn’t even noticed a thing until afterward.

His second time coming into contact with source energy had also been under tense and chaotic conditions. So, this time, he was determined to take it all in.

With that settled, Han Qingyu followed orders and went up to receive the pennant.

Judging by how hastily it had been dug out of a box and how wrinkled it looked, they hadn’t expected to be giving it away today. It had probably been sitting at the bottom of that box for years.

This was also the only pennant awarded that day in the entire boot camp of Class of 1990 in the 425th Regiment, Ninth Army, Only Witness Legion of the Azure Coalition.

Ugly as it was, the writing on it was rather interesting. Instead of the usual award categories and rankings, or anything resembling a certificate of merit, it bore a single vague phrase: Your starlight is on its way.

Han Qingyu thought about it and figured the odd phrasing was probably a direct translation from the original language. The Azure Coalition had, after all, originated in the West, meaning that Westerners had established many of their miscellaneous traditions.

As it happened, there was a Westerner in the crowd right now.

Mira stood among the recruits, beaming radiantly up at him.

The sight left Han Qingyu feeling uneasy and guilty. He couldn’t help but genuinely want to make her happy in this moment, because unbeknownst to her, he had already shattered her dream of becoming a platoon leader with his own hands. At the very least, he had been the starting point of that dream’s collapse.

He stepped off the podium and stood before the blissfully unaware Mira.

“This is... for you,” Han Qingyu said with earnest effort, managing a clumsy sentence in English.

With his left hand holding the pennant and right hand raised in salute, he continued in Chinese, “I fight for you, Platoon Leader Mira...”

He wanted to fulfill her dream of becoming a platoon leader, if only this once. The hesitancy at the end of his statement was because he wasn’t sure whether to follow “platoon leader” with another honorific.

“Your Highness” sounds out of place. Would “Your Excellency” work? Or is that still too much?

While he wavered, Mira had already snatched the pennant with a joyful leap, kissed it, and turned back to Han Qingyu with a brilliant smile. “Thank you.”

Fortunately, she kissed the pennant. Not Han Qingyu.

The other seven members of Dormitory 11 exhaled in relief. Heroes and beauties and all that. It was the most nauseating and annoying trope in existence.

When the crowd dispersed, Mira avoided the others and found Han Qingyu again.

“Your family needs money, right?” she asked. “You mentioned prize money the other day, and I didn’t get a chance to respond. I actually do have some savings, though not a lot...”

“That’s alright. I told you, it was a joke. Here, I almost forgot to return your watch.” Han Qingyu kept his expression easy and casual, handing back the watch before turning to walk away.

“I only have about twenty thousand,” Mira called from behind him.

Twenty... thousand?!How is she that rich?! Han Qingyu stiffened up, as if suddenly stepping in thick mud. He fought hard not to turn around and succeeded, but found that he also couldn’t pull his feet free.

Wen Jifei jogged over from nearby and, seeing his strange, frozen pose, asked, “What’s wrong with you, Little Qing?”

“Nothing. It’s just that the fight earlier was pretty intense. I’m a little tired, and my legs feel heavy. I can’t really move,” Han Qingyu said. “Help me out. Give me a pull.”

“Was it really that intense?” Wen Jifei asked, puzzled, but reached out and tugged him forward.

“Yes, very intense.” Han Qingyu finally wrenched his feet from the muddy temptation of money and walked away, aching with regret.

The two of them walked side by side for a while.

The rest of Dormitory 11 soon caught up, and the group headed for the dormitory together, laughing and chatting, ready to pack their things for the next morning’s departure.

Mira stayed where she was, watching their backs from a distance. The training ground was full of young silhouettes like theirs at that moment. A few were alone, but most walked in groups of three, five, seven, or eight, wearing different expressions as they moved through the last glow of the setting sun.

The sunset stretched their shadows into long shapes across the ground.

Mira suddenly remembered the one time she’d seen the old man they called “Mountain Goat.”

He had been standing on a stage.

“The Azure Coalition may look like a military force on the surface,” he had said, “but it isn’t truly one. It makes room for greatness and for pettiness, for the sacred and the mad, for love and family, for rebellion and confusion, for hope and despair. The people of the Azure Coalition get to live full lives. Things are very different here. But if the Azure Coalition were to be run like a normal army, it probably would’ve ceased to exist a long time ago.”

***

The recruits had trouble sleeping that night, caught between excitement and unease.

Meanwhile, Regiment Commander Li got drunk at the Wall of Heroic Spirits on Ninth Army Mountain. The disabled veterans keeping watch over the cemetery didn’t bother chasing him away. People got drunk in front of the Wall of Heroic Spirits all the time.

“You know what? If that kid had been holding a dead iron blade today, he would’ve killed that veteran. Killed him. A veteran wearing a simplified device. And it only took him five seconds. Impressive, right? Look at my eye for talent.

“Third Brother, don’t rush to talk. I know you’re going to disagree, saying you also landed a hit back in the day, but it’s not the same. This kid scored a clean kill. A proper kill. Yours? A knife thrown from between your legs. What even was that?

“Seriously, though, do me this favor. Help me bless that kid with a B-rank or above. Can you?

“Listen, I’ll tell you something tonight I’ve never been willing to admit. The truth is, ever since that time I held up against that Sharpie for three minutes by myself, I’ve been half-broken. But the 425th... we can’t keep going on like this. It’s not right.

“My brothers...”

The next morning, Regiment Commander Li had to be carried onto the truck for departure. It seemed he had tried to outdrink all of his old comrades.

The trucks were the same ones as before, covered in dark green canvas tarps. This time, there was a line of over a dozen of them, and the canvas stayed drawn the whole way, with veterans sitting at the end of the trucks to stand guard.

People sat crammed on the pitch-black cargo bed.

In television shows and novels, skilled characters could memorize their route even in conditions like these, tracking every turn in their minds.

Han Qingyu couldn’t manage it. At best, he could tell from the rocking and speed of the truck whether they were on a main road, a smaller road, or a winding mountain pass. Besides, the truck trudged on for a long time, and he needed sleep.

Sometimes they’d be let out to stop in some uninhabited mountain clearing to wash up, relieve themselves, and stretch. Then they’d eat a meal of raw mixed provisions that couldn’t be poked through with a chopstick if he tried.

These stops usually came at night, under skies full of stars.