Two days before the group moved in.

Yang Zhenggang had gotten the list of performers from the production team and brought it to Lin Luxiao, suggesting he look it over and get familiar with the names — otherwise when the people arrived he’d still be unable to put names to faces. These performers were none of them top-tier celebrities, and their fame fell far short of the truly popular stars of the moment. For someone like Lin Luxiao, who paid no attention to celebrity news, he’d likely not recognize most of them at all.

Six profiles. Yang Zhenggang spent one evening doing some light research and installed himself at Lin Luxiao’s shoulder as commentator.

Lin Luxiao turned through the pages, one after another, without expression.

Yang Zhenggang droned on: “Zheng Ping, twenty-three years old, the kung fu kid — entered the Shaolin Monastery at age five, knows some martial arts, has been in quite a few action films. Word from the production team is he’s a solid, decent young man.”

Lin Luxiao glanced at him and kept turning pages.

Yang Zhenggang continued: “Mu Ze — fresh-faced newcomer, twenty-two years old, just graduated from film school, got a following doing online livestreams…”

Lin Luxiao frowned. “What’s a livestream?”

“You’re kidding me! Even an old man like me knows what that is! It’s when you broadcast live on the internet and your fans send you money.” Yang Zhenggang stared in disbelief. “You’ve never heard of it?”

“…No.”

“What do you do on leave? No internet? No phone?”

Those few years out in the county supporting other units, he’d lived at the station. He barely used his phone. On days off, he’d play ball with his squadmates or sleep. He didn’t even use WeChat much, let alone Weibo.

Yang Zhenggang was understanding: “Fair enough. Livestreaming only blew up relatively recently. Wasn’t around years ago.”

Lin Luxiao kept turning pages.

Yang Zhenggang decided to walk him through all six, since this man might genuinely not recognize any of them.

“This is Liu Xiahan, twenty-nine years old, trained at the PLA Arts Academy — appeared in a lot of war films.”

The man in the photo had thick brows, well-proportioned features, and couldn’t be called particularly handsome, but he projected a distinctive, forthright quality.

“This is Xu Ya, twenty-one years old, university student at the Communications University — appeared in one web drama. I heard a few guys in the unit talking about her last night. Said she was quite a looker.”

Xu Ya’s appearance was youthful with a slightly wayward quality — a classic type for a certain demographic.

“This is Yan Dai, twenty-four years old. Comes from a wealthy background. From what I understand, she’s a little spoiled. The management company put her on this to knock some of the edges off.”

Yang Zhenggang turned to the last page: “And now, the main event —”

His voice took on an inexplicable note of drama.

The last profile: a one-inch photo, delicate features, no makeup, light brows and eyes — but refined.

The form bore two characters: Nan Chu.

“This one is something else.”

Lin Luxiao stared at the photo, lit a cigarette and tucked it between his lips, then said in a flat tone: “How so?”

Yang Zhenggang said: “When the senior officer gave me this stack yesterday, I noticed something different about this girl and looked more carefully. Turns out she’s the actress Nan Yueru’s daughter. Keeps a low profile, but the negative coverage around her is enormous — open any search page and it’s nearly all negative: born abandoned by her father, whose alleged underworld connections; the street racing from just a few days ago; a string of rumored relationships. And now apparently she’s on this show because of the investor’s connection — all murky implications.”

Lin Luxiao drew on the cigarette, exhaled, and said nothing.

Yang Zhenggang shook his head and sighed. “It turns out everyone’s treating our unit like a rehabilitation program. They come here to get fixed!”

Lin Luxiao took the cigarette from his mouth, flicked ash off the end, and said: “Gossip in a disciplined unit — want to run extra laps?”

Yang Zhenggang hissed in: “You little brat — daring to threaten a veteran? When I was walking into fire, you were still rolling around in the mud!”

Yang Zhenggang had enlisted early. He was now thirty-five and, after being injured in the line of duty, had been reassigned to the special tactical unit as political instructor. In terms of words spoken, he had a point. In terms of rank, he was one grade below Lin Luxiao.

But Lin Luxiao always respected him and almost never pulled rank.

Yang Zhenggang tossed the stack of profiles at Lin Luxiao’s chest and walked away. Lin Luxiao had an armful of paper shoved at him.

After two steps, Yang Zhenggang came back, remembering something: “One more thing I need to warn you about — Yan Dai and Nan Chu. The two of them are from the same company. They had some bad blood over a man at some point. Keep an eye on them and don’t let them embarrass themselves in a military unit.”

“You really did your research.”

A contemptuous tone.

Yang Zhenggang shook his fist: “Every bit of this I dug up was for your benefit. Some drama kicks off in the next little while and that’d be good for you — don’t forget your exam at the end of the month!”

Lin Luxiao, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, curved the corner of his lip: “Understood. If either of them starts trouble, I’ll file the report and expel them both.”

Yang Zhenggang glared at him: “You’re going to be the death of me!”

The drill field was ferociously hot. Not a cloud in the sky, a blazing sun overhead, the heat radiating off the ground — still air, so stifling it was hard to breathe.

Lin Luxiao’s voice sounded particularly heavy in the thick, humid air.

“My only two requirements: first, follow orders; second, observe military discipline. Anyone who violates either of these two will be expelled from the unit immediately.”

“Ugh…”

Someone gave a small, quiet groan.

Xu Ya. The girl was already drenched in sweat.

It successfully drew Lin Luxiao’s attention.

He scanned her. “What were the two things I just said?”

Silence fell over the six of them. Not a sound.

Yang Zhenggang wiped his sweat to one side. Not one of them was going to make it easy. Sure enough, they’d all come here to be reformed.

“Follow orders. Observe military discipline.”

A clear, composed voice. Lin Luxiao looked over — Liu Xiahan.

“Stand at attention.”

The six straightened.

Lin Luxiao said: “Everyone except Liu Xiahan — five laps of the drill field. Rank leader, take point.”

After half an hour standing in the blazing sun, the group was already wilting. Hearing they were now going to run in this heat, the men managed, but the women — excepting Nan Chu — were already muttering discontent.

Nan Chu stood at the front of the line. No one moved.

Lin Luxiao watched her with cold eyes. “Deaf?”

Since Lin Luxiao had come down, their eyes hadn’t crossed once — until now. Nan Chu gave him a proper look, and said with a languid air: “Which direction do we run?”

Yang instructor interjected: “You need to file a report before speaking to a superior officer.”

Nan Chu had a moment of enlightenment and nodded: “Report! Sir, which direction are we supposed to run?”

“That way?”

“Or this way?” She pointed her finger in two directions.

“Whichever you like.” Lin Luxiao remained perfectly composed, a faint almost-smile.

Five laps. Two thousand meters. Of the group, only Zheng Ping and Liu Xiahan had the foundation — martial arts and military training respectively. The rest were immediately exposed. Mu Ze had worse stamina than Xu Ya. Xu Ya was surprisingly good — the quiet type with unexpected endurance.

Hot on their heels was Mu Ze, then Nan Chu, with Yan Dai dead last.

When Yan Dai hit the finish line she nearly collapsed. She pitched straight toward Lin Luxiao, who was in the middle of speaking with Yang Zhenggang and the squad leader. He noticed the falling figure with a sweep of his eyes, extended one long arm, steadied her, and handed her off to the squad leader to take away and rest.

The squad leader was Shao Yijiu — from Beishan, twenty-five years old, four years in the special tactical unit. Square jaw, even features, dark complexion, small eyes, and when he smiled, a pointed canine showed.

He helped Yan Dai over, settled her carefully at the base of a tree, and asked with some awkwardness: “Should I get you some water?”

Yan Dai ignored him and hunched over, hand on her chest, and started retching.

Nan Chu bent forward with both hands braced on her knees, gasping. Her face and neck and collarbone were flushed and red. Nan Chu always turned red and swollen all over when she sweated. No one had changed into camouflage yet; they were still in their own clothes. Her short-sleeved shirt dipped slightly at the collar. Lin Luxiao glanced at her. “Stand up.”

Nan Chu caught her breath, waved him off: “Tired.”

“Did you forget the two points I just made?” He raised an eyebrow.

Nan Chu crouched there, tilted her gaze up at him for a moment, then exhaled a long breath and slowly straightened. Her voice was faint: “Yes, chief instructor.”

“Instructor.” He corrected her.

“Yes, instructor.”

Eyes rolling, eyes rolling.

Lin Luxiao stared at her. “Still unhappy — another five laps.”

“…”

What the hell — is he going after me specifically?

Nan Chu drew a controlled breath, stood straight, fixed her gaze past him with clear, tranquil eyes: “Report! Instructor! I’m satisfied!”

Inwardly: Well then. Quite the show of authority. I respect that.

After Lin Luxiao finished speaking, he left. Yang Zhenggang and Shao Yijiu led the new recruits back to the dormitory. Once uniforms had been assigned, the group was given an hour to rest and settle in. Xu Ya pulled Yang Zhenggang and Shao Yijiu into conversation.

Xu Ya, making friends: “Instructor, squad leader — how long have you been here?”

Yang Zhenggang: “Eight years for me. Yijiu — four. Why?”

“What about Squad Captain Lin? How long has he been here?”

“He did one year here, then was deployed to county-level support for three years, and came back at the beginning of this year.”

Xu Ya tucked her chin a little: “The squad captain is a little frightening.”

Yang Zhenggang patted her shoulder and laughed: “That’s just how he is — not great at interacting with people. You actually got the polite version. Back when he trained new recruits before, it was nothing like this. His temper’s softened quite a bit over the years.”

Xu Ya pressed: “Does he have a girlfriend?”

Shao Yijiu paused: “I don’t think so. Though lately I noticed him on his phone quite a bit — chatting with someone. Don’t know if there’s something going on.”

“How old is the squad captain?”

“Just turned twenty-nine.”

Xu Ya smiled sweetly: “Then it’d make sense if he’s got something going on — after all, the squad captain is handsome and so masculine.”

The two nodded in agreement. Shao Yijiu said: “For sure. The squad captain’s only flaw is a bit of a short temper — everything else about him is great.”

“You two work hard too. I was already at my limit in just half a day — kind of want to go home.”

Shao Yijiu reassured her: “You get used to it. Just half a month — push through and it’s done.”

Xu Ya smiled in relief, then seemed to remember — there were still two others in the room. She turned to Nan Chu: “Nan Chu — are you alright?”

Nan Chu, who had been sitting off to one side lost in thought, was pulled back. She glanced at Xu Ya and nodded: “Fine.”

Xu Ya turned to the other side to ask Yan Dai, who was lying like a dead fish: “Yan Dai, are you okay?”

The figure on the bed didn’t move.

Didn’t even bother responding.

An awkward silence.

Shao Yijiu remembered Xu Ya’s performance during the run and jumped in to ease the moment: “Your stamina was impressive, by the way.”

Xu Ya smiled: “I work out occasionally.”

Yang Zhenggang, unusually, added a remark: “You really weren’t bad — the squad captain even mentioned just now that among the girls, you were the only one with decent fitness.”

Nan Chu: …

Yan Dai: …

Xu Ya laughed, a little embarrassed.

Yang Zhenggang said: “Alright, we need to get going. Rest for now. You can just wear your camouflage short-sleeves. No more training today — tonight there’s a film in the auditorium. After dinner we’ll take you over.”

“Understood.”

For dinner they lined up in the cafeteria. Large round tables, ten people to a table, ten or more dishes — quite a spread.

Nan Chu walked in and saw a row of large characters above the cafeteria window.

Who knows that the rice in the bowl, grain by grain, is born of hardship.

The group had barely sat down when Lin Luxiao came in through the door, walked to their table, took the empty seat beside Nan Chu, removed his cap, set it on the adjacent table, picked up the bowl in front of him, head down, and said: “Eat.”

Every single person picked up their bowls and chopsticks.

All three women ate little. Nan Chu had barely taken two bites before she felt full — for her, even that was a lot more than usual. She was about to set her bowl down when a pair of chopsticks appeared beside her, blocking the bowl. She turned to look. Lin Luxiao’s dark, deep eyes watched her impassively. “No wasting food.”

He then raised his chin toward the words above the cafeteria window.

Nan Chu: “I just don’t eat much.”

Lin Luxiao looked at her bowl with something faintly like contempt: “Are you a sparrow?”

“If I eat too much, I’ll look heavy on camera. Not flattering.”

“Looking good or staying alive — which matters more?”

Nan Chu: “Looking good.”

Lin Luxiao gave up trying to reason with her, looked away, and dropped the ultimatum: “Either finish what’s in the bowl, or go outside and run five laps.”

“…”

Nan Chu’s figure had always been maintained through controlled eating. She was the type that gained weight just drinking water. If she put away this entire bowl of food, Shen Guanzong and Han Beiyao would both fail to recognize her when she came back in two weeks.

And Shen Guanzong would chase her and beat her to death — because she had a show to attend within two weeks of returning.

A deathly hush settled over the table.

When Lin Luxiao turned serious, his brow furrowed that way — and no one dared say a word.

Xu Ya and Yan Dai, though silent on the outside, were inwardly cheering Nan Chu on — hold on, hold on, please hold on — that way neither of them would have to eat the other half of their own bowls either.

And then…

Nan Chu glanced at Lin Luxiao, sat back down, raised the bowl, and shoveled the entire contents into her mouth in rapid, efficient mouthfuls — a few bites and it was down.

Xu Ya and Yan Dai could only pick up their own bowls and, with tears in their eyes, shovel bite by bite.

Nan Chu finished, flipped the bowl upside-down to show Lin Luxiao the empty interior, then set it down on the table with a sharp crack.

Lin Luxiao had already finished eating. Arms crossed, leaning back in the chair, toothpick between his lips, he watched her at an angle, eyes narrowed.

Well now, this girl’s got an attitude.

He turned the toothpick over once, eyes glinting with something enigmatic, as if working something out.

“Actually, you’d be better looking with a bit more weight on you.”

When everyone had finished and stood to collect their bowls, Nan Chu heard something low and quiet pass near her ear — and when she turned, the man had already replaced his cap and was adjusting the last two buttons of his uniform shirt, expression perfectly composed, as if those words had been her imagination.