Chapter 12: Military Life

The grand walls of the imperial capital rose before them, imposing even from a distance. After eight days of travel through provinces of increasing prosperity, Zhao Yang and Wei Lan had finally reached their destination. The Great Qin Empire's capital, Jincheng, sprawled across the valley floor, its buildings stretching from riverbank to distant hills, surrounded by massive stone fortifications that had withstood countless sieges throughout the empire's three-century history.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Wei Lan remarked, noting Zhao Yang's wide-eyed assessment. "Five million souls within those walls. More people in one city than you've encountered in your entire life combined."

Zhao Yang nodded, trying to process the sheer scale. Nothing in his studies at Xuanqing Palace had prepared him for the reality of such human concentration. Even from here, the energy was palpable—not the refined spiritual essence of cultivation, but the raw, chaotic vitality of countless mundane lives interwoven in complex patterns of commerce, politics, and social interaction.

"We won't be entering today," Wei Lan continued, consulting the position of the sun. "The gates will close soon, and new arrivals after dusk face excessive scrutiny. We'll stay at the Wayfarers' Rest tonight and enter with the morning merchants."

As they approached the sprawling inn complex that serviced travelers waiting to enter the capital, Wei Lan guided their horses to a less populated side entrance rather than the bustling main courtyard. A stablehand appeared immediately, bowing with the practiced deference of one who served a diverse clientele.

"Mistress Wei," he greeted her with obvious recognition. "Your usual accommodations are prepared. And for your companion?"

"Adjoining rooms," Wei Lan replied, dismounting with fluid grace. "And I'll need a private messenger before sunset."

After settling into their rooms, Wei Lan summoned Zhao Yang to a small private dining area overlooking a secluded garden. As they shared a meal of surprising quality for a roadside establishment, she unrolled a detailed map of the capital city.

"Our first fragment is here," she said, indicating the Imperial Library in the governmental district. "Unfortunately, access is restricted to officials, scholars with imperial certification, and those with special dispensation."

"How will we gain entry, then?" Zhao Yang asked, studying the complex layout of the city.

Wei Lan smiled enigmatically. "There are always multiple paths to any destination. The direct approach would require connections we don't have time to cultivate. However," she traced a different route on the map, "there is another way that aligns with your overall mission and training."

Her finger stopped at a large compound on the city's eastern edge. "The Training Grounds of the Imperial Army. Young men of talent are regularly recruited, and those who show exceptional promise can rise quickly. Within three months, if you perform as I expect, you could attain a rank that grants access to the Imperial Library for 'tactical research.'"

Zhao Yang considered this carefully. "You want me to join the army? Become a soldier?"

"Temporarily, yes. It serves multiple purposes." Wei Lan counted off on her fingers. "First, it provides legitimate access to our target. Second, it offers practical experience in the mortal power structures. Third, it creates a verifiable identity and background should anyone question your presence in the capital. And fourth," she added with a knowing look, "it aligns with your master's intention that you gain diverse experiences in the mortal realm."

Though unexpected, the plan had merit. Military training had been part of his education at Xuanqing Palace, particularly under Seventh Sister Qin Shuoyue, who emphasized that combat skills were essential regardless of one's cultivation path.

"How long would this commitment require?" he asked, already calculating how it would affect his overall mission timeline.

"Three months minimum to achieve the necessary rank," Wei Lan replied. "Though your... particular talents... may accelerate the process."

She leaned forward, her expression serious. "Remember, you must restrain your cultivation abilities to appear merely exceptionally talented, not supernaturally gifted. Too rapid advancement would attract exactly the kind of attention we wish to avoid."

By the time their conversation concluded, the plan was set. Wei Lan would use her contacts to ensure Zhao Yang was noticed during the army's next recruitment drive, scheduled for three days hence. In the meantime, they would enter the capital, establish basic lodgings, and gather intelligence on the Imperial Library's security protocols.

"One last thing," Wei Lan said as they prepared to retire for the evening. "The military camp houses both male and female soldiers, though in separate quarters. Great Qin has allowed women in combat roles for the past century, and some have risen to significant rank."

She eyed him with a hint of amusement. "Given your unique upbringing among nine exceptional women, you might find yourself... unusually popular among the female recruits. Be prepared for attention you may not fully understand."

With that cryptic warning, she bid him goodnight, leaving Zhao Yang to ponder what challenges lay ahead beyond the martial training he had anticipated.

---

Dawn saw them joining the steady stream of merchants, farmers, and travelers entering Jincheng through the massive Eastern Gate. The inspection was cursory—the guards more concerned with tax collection than security—and Wei Lan's practiced interactions smoothed their passage without incident.

Inside, the capital revealed itself as a symphony of controlled chaos. Streets laid out in precise grid patterns filled with wildly diverse humanity. Merchants hawked wares from every province and beyond; officials in distinctive uniforms hurried on administrative errands; scholars debated philosophy in teahouse courtyards; laborers hauled goods on backs and carts; and everywhere, the distinctive red-armored soldiers of the Imperial Army maintained watchful order.

Wei Lan guided Zhao Yang through this urban labyrinth with the confidence of one intimately familiar with its patterns. They established lodging in a modest but respectable district, then spent the next two days in careful observation of the city's rhythms, with particular attention to the military presence and recruitment procedures.

On the third morning, they arrived at the Eastern Training Grounds as the recruitment officials were setting up their assessment stations. Dozens of young men from across the empire had gathered, ranging from farm boys seeking better prospects to merchants' sons avoiding family businesses to refugees from border conflicts looking for stability.

"Remember," Wei Lan murmured as they approached the registration table, "exceptional but not supernatural. Seventh place would be ideal—noticeable without being suspicious."

Zhao Yang nodded, mentally adjusting his self-restraint parameters. He had practiced similar control at Xuanqing Palace when sparring with junior disciples, holding back enough to provide them beneficial challenge without crushing their confidence.

The recruitment process was more organized than he had expected. After basic registration, candidates were divided into groups of twenty for preliminary assessment. Physical measurements were taken, basic literacy tested, and medical examinations conducted with surprising thoroughness.

By midday, the field had been narrowed by half, with Zhao Yang easily advancing to the combat assessment phase. Here, candidates demonstrated proficiency with various weapons and engaged in controlled sparring matches with current soldiers.

Following Wei Lan's guidance, Zhao Yang carefully calibrated his performance—showing clear skill but allowing minor flaws a truly trained eye would spot. He won his matches decisively but not effortlessly, using techniques that appeared to derive from conventional martial traditions rather than cultivation methods.

By late afternoon, the final selection was announced. From over two hundred initial candidates, thirty were accepted for immediate basic training. Zhao Yang placed eighth—close enough to Wei Lan's suggested position to earn her approving nod from where she watched at the edge of the gathering.

"Congratulations, recruits!" bellowed the recruitment officer, a barrel-chested man with impressive mustaches and the insignia of a Battalion Commander. "You are now soldiers of the mighty Great Qin Empire! Your training begins immediately. Say farewell to your families—you won't see them again until you've earned your first leave in eight weeks!"

A brief period of farewell ensued, with family members embracing recruits, mothers weeping, fathers offering stoic advice, and siblings promising to care for family matters. Zhao Yang stood slightly apart, having no family to bid goodbye, until Wei Lan approached with a carefully measured display of sisterly affection for any watching eyes.

"You've done well," she said, embracing him briefly. "I'll maintain our lodgings and continue gathering information. We'll communicate through the marked drops we discussed." She pressed a small package into his hands. "Personal items you're permitted to keep. Good luck, soldier."

With that, she departed, her gray cloak soon lost among the dispersing crowd, leaving Zhao Yang to his new military life.

---

The Eastern Training Barracks became Zhao Yang's home for the next phase of his journey. The thirty new recruits were organized into three squads of ten, each assigned to a Training Sergeant responsible for their transformation from civilians to soldiers.

Zhao Yang's squad included men from remarkably diverse backgrounds: two farmers' sons with powerful builds but little formal education; a merchant's third son avoiding the family business; a former street thief seeking legitimacy; a refugee scholar from a border province; twin brothers from a military family; a blacksmith's apprentice with impressive strength; a quiet young man who revealed little of his past; and a nobleman's bastard son seeking to make his own name.

Their Training Sergeant, a weathered woman in her forties named Lin Mei, evaluated them with cold efficiency on their first evening. "I've trained twenty-seven squads over sixteen years," she informed them, pacing before their formation. "Some became elite soldiers. Some merely adequate. A few disgraced themselves and their ancestors. Which you become depends on how well you follow my instruction."

Her gaze lingered briefly on Zhao Yang. "Some of you showed promise during selection. That means nothing now. Here, you earn respect daily or not at all."

The training regime that followed was deliberately brutal—designed to break down individual identity and rebuild recruits as cohesive units. Predawn wakeups led to punishing physical conditioning, followed by weapons training, tactical education, and endless drills in formation movement. Every aspect of life became regulated, from bathroom breaks to meal times to the precise arrangement of sleeping mats.

For most recruits, the regimen pushed them to their physical and mental limits. For Zhao Yang, with his cultivator's enhanced physiology and mental discipline, the challenge lay in appearing appropriately stressed while not revealing his true capabilities. He carefully matched his performance to the squad's strongest natural member—the blacksmith's apprentice named Tong—occasionally surpassing him but never to a degree that seemed impossible.

By the end of the first week, Sergeant Lin had identified Zhao Yang as one of her most promising recruits, though her methods of acknowledgment involved more demanding expectations rather than praise. "Yang! Demonstrate the third spear form for these hopeless cases! Perhaps seeing someone perform it properly will enlighten their dim minds!"

The female soldiers' interest began subtly but intensified rapidly. During the limited co-training exercises between male and female squads, Zhao Yang noticed increased attention from the women recruits. Their Training Sergeant, a hard-eyed veteran named Feng, seemed particularly intent on pairing her soldiers against him during sparring sessions.

"They're watching you," observed his squadmate Liu, the quiet young man with the mysterious past, after one such session. "Every female soldier within five years of your age has found some excuse to assess you."

"Why?" Zhao Yang asked, genuinely confused. At Xuanqing Palace, he had grown accustomed to being the only male among females, but the dynamics there were entirely different—defined by strict hierarchies of seniority and cultivation achievement.

Liu laughed incredulously. "Are you truly that innocent? You're handsome, skilled, and carry yourself like nobility despite your common background. Half the female barracks has already invented romantic histories for you—a displaced prince, a young master fleeing an arranged marriage, a warrior-scholar seeking adventure."

Zhao Yang considered this with bewilderment. His education at Xuanqing Palace had covered many subjects in extraordinary depth, but male-female social dynamics in the mortal realm had received minimal attention, deemed largely irrelevant to his cultivation path.

The situation grew more complicated in the third week, when their training expanded to include mixed-squad exercises. Zhao Yang found himself appointed team leader for a tactical challenge, commanding both men from his squad and women from the female division. Among them was a capable soldier named Jun Yi, whose precise movements and tactical acumen suggested significant prior training.

During the exercise—a simulated village defense against superior forces—Jun Yi consistently positioned herself near Zhao Yang, offering suggestions in a manner just short of insubordination. Her tactical insights were sound, however, and with her help, their combined squad completed the challenge with the day's highest rating.

"Good leadership, Yang," Sergeant Lin commented afterward. "And good judgment in listening to Soldier Jun. She's the daughter of Commander Jun from the Northern Campaign. Military tactics are in her blood."

That evening, as Zhao Yang practiced sword forms alone in the auxiliary training yard (a habit he had established to maintain his more advanced skills in private), he sensed someone watching. Jun Yi emerged from the shadows, her posture revealing she had been observing for some time.

"Your form is unusual," she said without preamble. "Not standard Imperial Army technique, nor any regional style I recognize."

Zhao Yang immediately adjusted his stance to the more conventional form taught in basic training. "I was experimenting with variations."

Jun Yi approached, her expression skeptical. "No one experiments that precisely without prior instruction." She drew her own training sword. "Spar with me. Without the restraint you've been showing."

This presented a dilemma. Refusing would seem suspicious, but accepting risked revealing too much of his true abilities. Zhao Yang opted for a middle path—accepting the challenge but maintaining his carefully calibrated performance level.

Their match began cautiously, each testing the other's defenses. Jun Yi proved exceptionally skilled for a mortal fighter, her technique refined and clearly influenced by formal military education since childhood. As they exchanged increasingly complex sequences, Zhao Yang found himself genuinely impressed by her adaptability and tactical thinking.

"You're still holding back," she accused after a particularly skillful evasion on his part. "No recruit moves like that instinctively."

Before he could formulate a response, they were interrupted by the arrival of Training Sergeant Feng, her authoritative presence immediately halting their unsanctioned sparring session.

"Jun Yi! Yang! Explain this unauthorized activity!"

"Training reinforcement, Sergeant," Jun Yi replied promptly. "Cross-squad skill assessment."

Sergeant Feng's eyes narrowed, clearly skeptical of this explanation. "Interesting. Perhaps such initiative deserves special attention." Her gaze swept over them both, calculating. "Report to Battalion Commander Zhao tomorrow after morning formations. He has a special assignment that might benefit from such... dedicated soldiers."

After she departed, Jun Yi turned to Zhao Yang with a mixture of excitement and suspicion. "Special assignment? Those usually involve real missions, not just training exercises." She studied him intently. "There's more to you than appears, Zhao Yang. I intend to discover what."

With that declaration, she left him alone in the training yard, her words hanging in the air like a promise—or perhaps a threat.

---

The special assignment proved significant indeed. Battalion Commander Zhao, a stern veteran with impressive battle scars and calculating eyes, had selected twenty promising recruits from the current training cohort for accelerated advancement.

"The northern border grows restless," he informed them, pacing before their assembled formation. "Intelligence suggests the Northern Di barbarians are testing our defenses, probing for weakness. We need fresh eyes and bodies at the forward outposts, but can't spare experienced soldiers from their current positions."

He gestured to a map of the empire's northern territories. "You twenty will undergo compressed advanced training, focusing on actual combat scenarios rather than basic drills. Those who perform adequately will be assigned to frontier garrisons under veteran leadership. Those who excel may earn field promotions beyond their years."

This development aligned perfectly with Zhao Yang's mission. Accelerated advancement could potentially grant him the library access he needed far sooner than Wei Lan had estimated. However, it also meant increased scrutiny from military leadership—and continued interaction with the increasingly inquisitive Jun Yi, who had also been selected for the program.

The compressed training proved far more demanding than the basic regime. Days began before dawn with advanced weapons instruction, followed by tactical simulations using real terrain, intelligence assessment exercises, and combat scenarios against experienced soldiers rather than fellow recruits. Evenings were dedicated to strategic studies that would normally be reserved for officers—map reading, supply logistics, and communication protocols.

Throughout this intensified program, Zhao Yang maintained his carefully calibrated performance—exceptional but plausibly so for a talented mortal. He established himself among the top three recruits, alongside Jun Yi and a formidable soldier named Wei Shan from another squad.

The female attention he had previously attracted intensified within this elite group. Six of the twenty selected recruits were women, and five of them found various pretexts to engage with him outside required training—offering partnership during exercises, suggesting additional study sessions, or "coincidentally" selecting the same mealtime.

Only Jun Yi maintained a more complex approach, alternating between professional respect, probing questions, and occasional moments of what seemed like genuine interpersonal interest. During one predawn tactical exercise, as they lay side by side observing a simulated enemy encampment, she asked quietly, "Where did you really train before joining the army? Your movements sometimes resemble ceremonial guard techniques from the western provinces."

"I had various teachers in my village," Zhao Yang replied with practiced vagueness. "One was a retired soldier who had traveled widely."

Jun Yi's skepticism was evident, but before she could press further, the exercise commander gave the signal to begin their simulated raid. The conversation was left unfinished, but her speculative glances continued throughout the operation.

As the special training program entered its third week, Zhao Yang received his first communication from Wei Lan through their prearranged drop system—a message rolled into the handle of a replacement training sword delivered with routine equipment.

*Progress satisfactory. Library guards reduced during upcoming festival. Accelerate if possible without compromise. Imperial Cousin arriving soon—increased security will follow.*

The message confirmed their timeline was tightening. Zhao Yang would need to achieve appropriate rank within the next two weeks to take advantage of the temporarily reduced security during the Emperor's Birthday Festival.

Fortune favored this acceleration the very next day, when Battalion Commander Zhao announced a competition among the special recruits—a comprehensive assessment combining combat skills, tactical planning, and leadership. The top performers would receive immediate field promotions to Squad Leader, bypassing months of traditional advancement.

The competition spanned three grueling days of increasingly difficult challenges. By the final round, only six candidates remained in contention: Zhao Yang, Jun Yi, Wei Shan, and three others who had distinguished themselves through particular specialties.

The decisive challenge involved leading a mixed team through a complex scenario combining defense, counter-attack, and civilian protection. When the assignments were announced, Zhao Yang found himself teamed with Jun Yi as his second-in-command—a pairing that brought knowing looks from other recruits who had noticed their complex dynamic.

"Work well together, don't you?" Wei Shan remarked with a suggestive tone as they prepared their equipment. "The commanders have noticed."

"We're effective tactical partners," Zhao Yang replied neutrally, unsure what exactly was being implied.

Wei Shan laughed. "Sure, sure. 'Tactical partners.' That's what we're calling it these days."

Before Zhao Yang could clarify this bewildering exchange, Jun Yi arrived to discuss their approach to the challenge. Her typically confident demeanor seemed slightly altered—a subtle tension in her movements, a barely perceptible heightened color in her cheeks when Zhao Yang suggested they plan their strategy privately.

The final challenge proved even more demanding than anticipated. What began as a simulated scenario transformed midway into an actual mission when messenger hawks arrived with news of a real border incursion. The training officers, needing to respond immediately, incorporated the special recruits into their operational plan.

"This is no longer an exercise," Battalion Commander Zhao informed them gravely. "A raiding party of Northern Di has breached the Stonewatch Pass and threatens several farming villages. Regular forces are en route but won't arrive for two days. Your teams will deploy immediately to evacuate civilians and delay the raiders until reinforcements arrive."

Suddenly, Zhao Yang's careful performance calibration faced a true test. The stakes were no longer advancement but actual lives. As his team prepared for rapid deployment, he caught Jun Yi watching him with an unreadable expression.

"Now we'll see what you're truly capable of," she said quietly, checking her weapons with practiced efficiency. "When real blood flows, training gives way to instinct."

Zhao Yang met her gaze steadily. "Then let our instincts protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Something shifted in her expression—respect, perhaps, or recognition of a shared value beyond their competitive dynamic. With a brief nod, she turned to rally their team, her voice clear and commanding as she relayed his orders with her own tactical refinements.

As they departed the Eastern Training Grounds at full march toward real combat, Zhao Yang reflected on how far his journey had already taken him from the rarefied peace of Xuanqing Palace. The military life he had entered as mere cover for his true mission had become unexpectedly complex and meaningful—presenting challenges not just to his cultivator's abilities but to his understanding of the mortal world and his place within it.

And beside him marched Jun Yi, a woman whose interest in him seemed to transcend simple curiosity or attraction—a potential ally, a possible complication, and perhaps something else he didn't yet have the context to properly comprehend.