Beyond the Zenith

“So, you’re really going on a blind date with the old army commander’s granddaughter? Sounds like you’re about to make it big time, Little Qing.” Wen Jifei grinned with sleazy excitement.

“No.” Han Qingyu glanced around to double-check that the dorm was empty, then lowered his voice. “At the time, Regiment Commander Li was sitting there, and he secretly held up one finger by his thigh and waved it side to side, silently signaling me not to take the bait.”

“Huh.” Wen Jifei thought about it. “Why, though? Did you ask Regiment Commander Li about it later?”

“I did. He didn’t say.”

“What if he sees you as a rival and is trying to sabotage you?”

Han Qingyu laughed bitterly. “If I were good enough to be Regiment Commander Li’s love rival, I wouldn’t mind giving up the lady.”

That can’t really be it, can it? he wondered to himself. Or could it be that his idea of what counts as “about my age” is skewed, and his granddaughter is actually older than my mother or something?

After mulling it over for a beat, Wen Jifei agreed, “That’s fair. Did the regiment commander say anything else?”

Han Qingyu nodded. “He also told me to never lend the old commander energy cores if he asks to borrow them. At least, not unless I become truly wealthy and don’t expect them back.”

“Oh, those kinds of loans are definitely never repaid. My dad does business with officials and knows all about that sort of thing,” Wen Jifei rambled, then suddenly caught himself. “Wait, where did you get energy cores?”

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet.” Han Qingyu waved him over as he got up and started walking. “Come, I’ll show you. They actually gave me a medal—silver—and ten thousand yuan. I’m planning to mail the money home tomorrow. I’ll just say it was a merit award. It wouldn’t even be a lie.”

The joy and satisfaction he felt saying this was far greater than when he had learned about his A-rank integration results.

Wen Jifei wanted to laugh, but he understood.

“There’s also this.” Han Qingyu opened his assigned locker, lifted the pile of clothes, and revealed four blue crystal energy cores underneath. “They gave me four at once. They said I’ll get one every quarter from now on, and that’ll continue for five years.”

“Oh, so this is what military-issued energy cores look like?” Wen Jifei asked, a little dazed as he picked one up to examine more closely. “They look nice.”

“Yeah. Once your test results come back and you get your device, we’ll split them. Two each,” Han Qingyu said.

Non-combat energy cores could be used to slowly condition the body and build a foundation. Han Qingyu had specifically looked into it and learned that people like Lao Jian and Regiment Commander Li all relied on their devices to gradually absorb it. That was why the Coalition traditionally used the word “condition” for this process.

Ordinary soldiers didn’t get any source energy allocation beyond what was needed for combat, which was why Han Qingyu wanted to set aside two cores to help Wen Jifei build up his foundation.

Wen Jifei didn’t bother with pleasantries, simply nodding. “Sure.”

They were still chatting when Lao Jian called up from downstairs.

Han Qingyu hastily threw the clothes back over the cores, locked the locker, and headed downstairs with Wen Jifei, making sure to grab the two bottles of liquor they had bought earlier before they set off for Zhang Dao’an’s place for dinner.

That was right, they were headed for Zhang Dao’an’s place. The only thing not for sale at the base was food. There were no restaurants, because the mess hall catered to any taste the soldiers could want. Banquets, late-night suppers, drinks, all of it was welcome there.

Zhang Dao’an was the only person in the 425th who didn’t eat at the mess hall. It wasn’t that he was unwilling, but that the head cook, Old Geng, wouldn’t allow it.

Still, it wasn’t like Old Geng physically stopped him, either. Whenever Zhang Dao’an showed up, Old Geng would call over that big yellow dog named 34473 and have it sit next to the man, feeding it the same thing he ate.

***

“Hey, Lao Jian, I have a question,” Han Qingyu suddenly said on the way to Zhang Dao’an’s place. “Is there a culture of leaders borrowing energy cores from the soldiers under their command?”

Lao Jian’s reaction was intense. He practically spun around, grabbed Han Qingyu by the arm, and fired off a string of questions. “Why? Did you run into the old army commander? Right, he was delivered the medal... Did he ask to borrow your energy cores?! Did you lend them to him?!”

Han Qingyu paused for a moment. “No. I just heard about it.”

“Good...” Lao Jian let out a breath of relief and released his grip. “As long as you didn’t. Just don’t go around asking too many questions. The old commander has his own difficulties.”

“Oh.” Han Qingyu dropped the matter. His principle was simple. If it didn’t concern him, let it go.

Wen Jifei, however, couldn’t hold back and asked incredulously, “That doesn’t add up. He’s an army commander! How could he be short on energy cores? Even a village head back where we’re from wouldn’t—”

Lao Jian interrupted his implied words with an uncharacteristically cold laugh.

“The principle of fair and transparent source energy distribution is the very foundation and bottom line of the Azure Coalition’s survival. Do you understand?” He paused, with a solemn air about him. “No one is exempt. The penalty is death.”

Han Qingyu drew a quiet, deep breath, willing the sweat not to show. “Fairness is good.”

“Right,” Lao Jian agreed. “By the way, you’d better keep those energy cores safe. You’ve got quite a stash.”

“Is that a lot?” Han Qingyu asked, genuinely startled.

“You don’t think so? Four at once up front, plus one per quarter going forward for five years, and that’s not a lot to you?” Lao Jian asked in disbelief, pointing at himself. “Look at me.”

Han Qingyu looked.

“I’m a district platoon leader with a Captain’s rank. You want to know how many I get per year outside of combat needs?” Lao Jian held up a hand. “Five. Just five. Do you understand? I’ve been at this for ten years.”

It hadn’t occurred to him before, but now that he was making comparisons, Lao Jian couldn’t help but feel as though his own life appeared increasingly pitiful since he’d met Han Qingyu.

“What about your Black Iron medal?” Han Qingyu asked. “You have two of those, don’t you? Do those come with energy cores?”

“No,” Lao Jian answered sourly, his heart swelling with an irrepressible sense of injustice. “Bronze and above is when they start adding them. Two per year.”

“What about Gold?”

“Gold?! You’d get—You’re dreaming!” Lao Jian barked, then realizing he’d lost his composure, took a breath and adjusted his tone. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Little Qing. Gold is extremely difficult. The Oriental Republic Army Group has to decide that Silver isn’t enough and submit a recommendation, and then the International Coalition Council has to approve it. Basically, because it involves source energy, any medal starting from Bronze is never given lightly.”

“Oh. What about rank, then? Military ranks come with energy core allocations, right? Is it hard to get promoted?” Han Qingyu switched angles. “Would the Silver Medal I got help with promotion?”

Lao Jian was speechless. “Yes.”

“Then—”

Lao Jian held up a hand to cut him off and shook his head. “Stop asking. I’m getting a headache. Wait until next year. The Coalition does rank evaluations once a year. This year’s round just finished in September.”

“Oh.” Han Qingyu felt a twinge of disappointment. The more he learned about the value of energy cores and the risks of stealing them, the more desperate he became for any legitimate channel to obtain them.

“What’s the rush? Even if evaluations were happening now, how high do you think they’d promote you? You’re starting from the bottom. Just a grunt, you know that?” Lao Jian asked, feeling a twinge of satisfaction as he proudly pointed at the captain’s star insignia on his shoulder. “You’ve still got a long way to climb.”

The three of them headed up the stairs of the instructors’ building.

The sizzle of vegetables hitting a hot wok could be heard as they ascended. A scent of pork lard soon wafted over as well.

Han Qingyu and Wen Jifei followed the sound and peered through the doorway of a small room at the corner of the second-floor hallway. They froze. The sight seemed absurd to them.

It was a tiny kitchen converted from what looked like a storage room, with two coal stoves. One had rice cooking on it. The other was the source of the sizzling. Greens had just been tossed into the wok with pork lard, sending up a pop-pop-pop and a rush of aroma.

A bald, muscular giant, standing at over one meter ninety, was hunched over the stove, gripping a spatula that looked comically small in his hands, stir-frying away.

None of them made a sound. They tiptoed back the way they came.

Inside the kitchen, Zhang Dao’an didn’t turn around, though his shoulders trembled slightly.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them carried the bottles of liquor back upstairs and knocked on Zhang Dao’an’s door. “Instructor Zhang, are you in?”

“Yes.” Zhang Dao’an opened the door.

The food was already laid out on the table.

“We, uh, Instructor Zhang... liquor.” Wen Jifei awkwardly held the bottles out with both hands.

“Good. Come in, sit down.” Zhang Dao’an accepted the bottles, gestured for the three of them to sit, then bent his head over the table and silently went about opening and pouring the liquor.

After dinner, Han Qingyu and Wen Jifei returned to their dorm. The results were expected in a day or two, and they couldn’t help but discuss the possibilities.

Then, around nine, Lao Jian came again and called them downstairs.

“There’s something I want to come clean about first,” Lao Jian whispered in the darkness. “It’s about the train station. The truth is, I’d barely spoken to that guy before I turned around and went after you.”

Lao Jian glanced at Han Qingyu, then at Wen Jifei.

“Then I saw him chasing after you from the other end of the train. I was the one who told the guards to step aside and let him follow you on board,” he finally admitted.

Han Qingyu said nothing.

Wen Jifei laughed. “Why the sudden confession? It’s not a big deal.”

Lao Jian stared at him. “Because the source energy test results just came in at the regiment. I had someone copy yours for me.”

He slowly unfolded a slip of paper in his palm—F.

“I... Damn, am I really that terrible?” Wen Jifei spun around and kicked a pebble.

Despite laughing about being tricked into boarding a train just moments before, this reveal was when he exploded, then deflated all at once.

“I definitely felt something, though! I-I concentrated as hard as I could, I was pulling it in—with everything I had!” he stammered, frantic. “This has to be wrong! Doesn’t F mean you didn’t feel anything at all?”

“Calm down,” Lao Jian said, looking down at the slip, continuing to unfold it.

E.

“What’s going on? How am I both F and E?”

Lao Jian said nothing. The slip kept unfolding.

D.

C.

B.

A.

The slip unfolded all the way to reveal a full row: A, B, C, D, E, F.

Every single rank was on the paper.

“Which one is it?” Han Qingyu asked impatiently, thinking Lao Jian was messing with them. “Which one?!”

“Yeah. Platoon Leader Lao, you’d better point to one of the better ones for me,” Plague Chicken added.

“I can’t point to any single one. It’s not any one of them. It’s all of them. All six. A, B, C, D, E, F. Every single one.” There wasn’t a trace of humor on Lao Jian’s face.

Han Qingyu stared. “How is that possible? Does this kind of result even exist? Has it happened before?”

“Yes. It exists, and it’s happened before. It’s rare, but there have been more than just one or two.” Lao Jian thought for a moment. “The Coalition even has a specific term for this kind of integration result. They call people like you Dice.”

“What does that mean?” Wen Jifei asked.

“It means you’re a die,” Lao Jian said, miming a dice throw with his hand, just in case the words alone weren’t clear enough.