Chapter Seventeen: Death

Faced with the strange man’s question, Chen Cao did not respond directly. Instead, he let his eyes wander up to the low ceiling overhead. The ceiling was yellowed and close, a far cry from any room he’d ever called home. From as far back as he could remember, he’d never lived anywhere so cramped or dilapidated. Yet now, here he was, about to end his life in this very place. Flashes of memory—the past few months—flooded his mind, each one vivid and unforgettable. It was as if the rest of his eighteen years had been wasted, as if he were meant to conclude his life here, in this humiliating manner.

His eyes stung, but he fought hard not to weep. Tears had become a luxury he could no longer afford. Instead, his lips curled into a faint smile as he realized—absurdly, yet undeniably—he was smiling.

The middle-aged man, of course, was Old Duan. Dressed deliberately in black from head to toe, he avoided his usual military attire, careful not to further wound the pride of the boy before him. Chen Cao’s self-esteem had already been shattered by the sight of that uniform. Old Duan’s presence was meant to help him rebuild his confidence, though this too was part of a larger plan. It was cruel, perhaps, to treat an eighteen-year-old with such severity, but if one hoped to mold a spoiled youth into an elite among elites, there was no alternative.

After speaking, Old Duan simply smoked in silence, his gaze fixed on Chen Cao, who lay on the flimsy wooden cot, as lifeless as a corpse. In Old Duan’s eyes, Chen Cao was already dead.

To be reborn, one must first die.

Only when the cigarette butt burned his fingers did Old Duan flick it to the ground and slowly leave the shack. Black Kui, his loyal dog, wagged its tail and followed at his heels, panting.

All around, the grass was fresh and green. It was early winter, but in this tropical forest, birds and flowers were ever-present, as if this were some lost paradise.

Old Duan crouched down. Despite his prosthetic limbs, he moved with a surprising agility, as if he’d long since overcome their limitations.

“Little Black,” he said, patting the dog’s head, “the boy still needs a harsher remedy. But that medicine... I’ll need those other kids to help administer it.”

The dog barked furiously, as though understanding his words.

...

“Hurry up! Run! You wretches, do you know you’ve been branded as failures? You are the shame of 0611! Don’t think that having a general or a commander in the family gives you the right to grovel here. To me, you’re all failures, so you’d better train harder! Only then will you erase the mark that dead man left on you. Only then will this humiliating training end. Do you understand? Otherwise, go home and nurse at your mother’s breast!”

On the training ground, everyone was undergoing obstacle training. Guo Qianshuang stood with a high-pressure water hose, blasting the trainees as they ran, shouting all the while.

Behind him, a line of instructors waited coldly for their turn to oversee the next drill.

For three days—three entire days—these recruits had snatched only four hours of rest. The rest was relentless training, over and over.

The military ambulance’s lights flashed in the background, always ready to haul away any recruits who collapsed. Inside, the army nurse Feng Wuyang—big-eyed and striking—turned away from the scene, unable to watch such brutality.

It had been years since this place had seen such cruel, even perverse, training. The regimen of 0611 was already far harsher than that of regular special forces, though it was always scientific and never risked the trainees’ health. But this—this was closer to self-destruction. Feng Wuyang had never seen anything like it. She wondered: if not for the deep-rooted beliefs passed down through these children’s families, would these pampered youths have lasted even this long?

At least, in the three days since the ambulance had been stationed here, not a single trainee had needed emergency aid.

They all endured, and all for the sake of one person.

Feng Wuyang straightened her cap, thinking of the boy with the mischievous smile.

“Stop!” At the sound of the assembly whistle, every trainee—male and female—halted at once. Early winter’s chill, combined with water-soaked uniforms, left them shivering.

Zhou Anshi stepped forward, his face stern but smiling. “Cold, aren’t you? Now, free sparring. Losers can go rest. If you fall, it means your skills aren’t up to standard after two months. More training for you! And by the way—” he stripped off his shirt and faced them— “I’ll be joining in too!”

It was hard to imagine how the trainees felt, seeing Zhou Anshi’s half-smile. They remembered all too well how he’d thrown Chen Cao about with merciless efficiency, breaking his leg in just three moves. The fear was palpable.

But as soon as he finished speaking, every single trainee charged at him with a roar.

Because of Chen Cao, they’d endured three days and nights of grueling training. Now, they needed rest—desperately.

...

Late at night, when all had finally collapsed into deep slumber, shadows moved swiftly under the faint moonlight, slipping into the jungle.

“Boss, do we really have to do this?” one whispered, crouched low.

Another voice answered, “Do you want to graduate from 0611 branded with shame, to be mocked by the upperclassmen? The only way is for him to die!”

His voice trembled with hatred as he spoke. How unfair it was—after eighteen years of preparation, after all the family’s sacrifices—now, because of an unworthy, lazy, good-for-nothing second-generation brat, his own record would be forever tainted.

This was the leader of the group, Chen Diwen. Beside him was Bear, who’d once been distant from Chen Diwen, but now followed him willingly, convinced by his abilities.

“I’m with you, boss. Lao Xiao, you in?” Bear looked at the thin young man beside him.

With a slight smile, the youth replied, “To rid the unit of its poison, I must do my part. Didn’t Instructor Guo say today that only his death would lift our disgrace? I see that as a hint.”

Chen Diwen scoffed, “Enough talk. Tonight’s our only chance—tomorrow, training starts again and we’ll have no opportunity.” He drew a sharp dagger, its blade dirtied to mask any trace.

With that, Chen Diwen led the way into the jungle.

...

It was the fourth night. Chen Cao felt his soul slowly drifting from his body, visions blurring before his eyes—shattered fragments that refused to come together. Eighteen years, and it was all a blank.

Suddenly, a face appeared in his sight—cold, so cold, yet strangely familiar.

“Is this a hallucination? Are you here to end me?” Chen Cao’s voice was lifeless, but his lips still twisted in a smile.

Chen Diwen’s face was expressionless. “Chen Cao, you have talent. In both military skills and leadership, you’re exceptional—even I’m jealous. During field training, even after just two days, I saw you with new respect. But now, because of the disgrace you brought, all of us are laughingstocks. If you don’t die, we can’t live!”

“So this is what you say before killing me, Chen Diwen? Don’t be so fake, not now.” Chen Cao closed his eyes, speaking softly. “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Now’s your chance. But don’t use a knife—have the guts to strangle me. That would feel more real.”

“Hmph.” Chen Diwen sneered. “As you wish. At least you’ll die whole. For the future of our sixty-some classmates, your death won’t be in vain.”

He wrapped his hands around Chen Cao’s throat, squeezing with a steady, practiced strength. Two months of training had elevated him to a new level.

Suffocation. The air gone. Let it end, Chen Cao thought. There was nothing left to live for. Let it be over.

Chen Diwen’s grip tightened, and Chen Cao’s consciousness faded.

Moonlight filtered into the room. Xiao Li, Chen Diwen’s frequent partner in tactical exercises, watched the scene in terror. The murderous aura radiating from Chen Diwen rooted Xiao Li to the spot.

“Chen Cao, you can’t just give up—not like this!”

Just as the moment of death seemed inevitable, a sudden shout rang out from outside, loud as thunder.

“Bao Li, what are you doing? Do you want us all to be trained to death?” Bear’s voice was followed by the sounds of a scuffle—he and Bao Li, who’d been standing guard outside, had come to blows.

On the edge of death, Chen Cao’s eyes snapped open. In the moonlight, they gleamed a deep, ghostly blue, terrifying Chen Diwen enough to loosen his grip.

In that instant, Chen Cao jerked his head aside and kicked Chen Diwen hard in the stomach, sending him reeling.

Coughing violently, Chen Cao clutched his throat, staring intently at Chen Diwen. For a moment, he felt a faint thread of longing for life—though he could not say why. The fierceness in his eyes faded, replaced by confusion.

“Chen Cao, big brother Chen, are you all right? Training’s been so intense lately... we haven’t had time—uh...”

When Zhou Hongye and Bao Li rushed into the shack, they were stunned by the scene before them.