Chapter Four: Such Is Fate

Inside the camouflaged military vehicle, Chen Fugui, his large sunglasses covering nearly half his face, sat in the passenger seat, resting his hand on the window. He watched Chen Cao, who was walking away but kept glancing back every few steps, as well as the sorrowful elders and youths left behind. Turning to the lieutenant colonel beside him in the driver’s seat—whose facial features seemed at odds with his impressive chest muscles—Chen Fugui asked, “Jiang Qing, what do you think of my nephew from the Chen family?”

Jiang Qing scratched his sharp chin and chuckled. “Lieutenant, I think the kid’s got some potential. Why not bring him into our regiment?”

“You think you have that kind of pull? News to me!” came a deep, thunderous voice from beside them, so powerful it made the vehicle tremble.

“Heh, Lin Xiong, how many years has it been? When was the last time your regiment ever won the Red Banner? All you lot do is charge forward like bears—no finesse, no tactics!” Jiang Qing turned his head, flashing white teeth at the burly lieutenant colonel in the backseat.

“Damn it, you question the strength of Special Forces Regiment Two? I ought to flatten you!” The giant known as Lin Xiong could not bear the provocation.

“Not going to argue with you today. Let’s see what the lieutenant decides.” Jiang Qing grinned, pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and said no more.

With a click, the door opened and Chen Cao called out, “Excuse me, coming through—wow, sir, your build is massive!”

Looking at Lin Xiong, Chen Cao thought he probably wouldn’t even come up to half the man’s height if they stood side by side.

“All packed and ready, Master Chen?” Chen Fugui smiled at his only remaining relative in this world, apart from Chen Fusheng.

Jiang Qing and Lin Xiong shivered involuntarily at that smile. They knew the old lieutenant too well: except for rare occasions before the commander, he almost never smiled. And when he did, it usually meant someone was about to die.

“All set, Uncle. Sigh, but I haven’t even met my sister yet!” Chen Cao’s face fell, turning sorrowful again.

“Enough, let’s head to the airport. Xinyou is waiting for you there.” Chen Fugui maintained his slight smile and waved to Jiang Qing.

The car sped away, leaving dust in its wake.

...

“You’re leaving.” Though Chen Xinyou was the same age as Chen Cao, a doctor’s mistake at birth had made her his younger sister. Now, dressed in business attire, she looked every bit the elite white-collar woman—her appearance outclassed her age. She had completed both high school and university by fifteen, and after three years running a company, her queenly demeanor was unmistakable.

She simply asked, “You’re leaving?” As a plane roared into the sky.

“Yes, probably for several years, little sister.”

“I’ve told you, in public, just call me by my name. Please, thank you.” Chen Xinyou brushed her bangs aside and rolled her eyes at Chen Cao. “Actually, it’s not so bad. All the women in Central State aged sixteen to forty can finally breathe a sigh of relief.”

“Sis, I’m about to leave. Can’t you say something nice for once?” Chen Cao pouted, unhappy.

“No,” Chen Xinyou replied, biting her lip.

At that moment, Chen Fugui ended a phone call nearby and walked over, putting a stop to the siblings’ brief and pointless exchange.

“The plane will be here soon, Xinyou. Time to say goodbye. Try to call often if you have time.” Chen Fugui patted her on the shoulder.

“Uncle, please take care of this brat,” Chen Xinyou said politely, bowing slightly to the uncle she didn’t know well.

“Of course,” Chen Fugui replied, even more succinctly, though inside he sighed. “Ah, this girl—how did Fusheng raise her? She keeps everyone at arm’s length.”

The roaring of a helicopter interrupted any further words.

“Wow, a helicopter! And in camouflage—so cool!” Chen Cao watched the helicopter slowly land at the private airfield.

Although his family owned helicopters and planes, none could compare to military ones. He felt a yearning for military life, slung his bag over his shoulder, said a quick goodbye to Chen Xinyou, and ran toward the helicopter.

Chen Fugui, finding conversation fruitless, simply shook hands politely with Chen Xinyou, then led the two elite regiment commanders toward the aircraft.

With a thunderous roar, the helicopter rose higher and higher. Chen Cao watched as the familiar scenery below shrank, and silently said to himself, “Central State, home, farewell.”

...

Republic of Dacheng, Seventh Group Army, 0611 Special Forces Training Grounds.

As the helicopter’s thunderous rotors hovered and then landed, Chen Cao could only describe the place with one word: “Silent.”

There were no bustling machines, no soldiers drilling urgently—only the barren landscape of earth, sweat, hills, trees, and weeds. The whole place radiated a sense of struggle and combat. The gloom was Chen Cao’s most immediate impression.

Yet he could still hear the shouts of men—chilling, soul-stirring cries from deep within.

Chen Cao clicked his tongue. According to the conscription system, he would be here for five years. That meant at least five years, isolated from the world, crying out in this wilderness.

“We’re here.” When his uncle Chen Fugui spoke, there was no trace of a smile on his face; his swarthy features had become ever more resolute.

“Um, Uncle, can’t you get me assigned to logistics? I’d even be fine raising pigs!” Chen Cao joked, trying to mask his anxiety. Five years here—he’d go crazy without medication.

With a smack, Chen Fugui turned, placing a powerful hand on Chen Cao’s shoulder, nearly making him faint. Chen Cao had no way to evade.

“Child, this is your destiny. From the day you were born, you were bound to fulfill this promise.” As he spoke, his eyes flashed, and whatever long speech Chen Cao had prepared—about being the only heir, about bloodlines, or any number of excuses—was swallowed back down.

Chen Fugui released his grip, held up two fingers, and said sternly, “Two years. If you can make it through two years and finish all the training, you can leave. You’re a son of the Chen family—don’t disgrace us, understood?”

Without another word, he waved at Lin Xiong beside Chen Cao, put on his sunglasses, and sat like a war god, silent and unmoving.

Lin Xiong opened the hatch and leapt out. “Come on, kid, off the chopper. Don’t dawdle!”

Chen Cao suddenly felt like laughing out loud. “Damn it, promises—what do they have to do with me? That was a deal the old man made just to get me into the army. I was still in diapers back then! I won’t keep their promise. I’ll turn this camp upside down within three days, and then they’ll have to let me go raise pigs. What are they going to do—kill me?”

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder, jumped neatly from the chopper, and turned his back on his once-beloved uncle with a cold snort.

What was happening to the world? Why force two years of a life that wasn’t his? And why did it have to come so suddenly and decisively, even from the uncle who’d always doted on him? For the first time in his life, Chen Cao felt a deep and genuine sorrow welling up from within.

Jiang Qing watched Chen Cao’s defiant back, still stroking his chin, and said to Chen Fugui, “Looks like your nephew’s going to hate you from now on. I heard he’s admired you ever since he was a child.”

Chen Fugui, sunglasses nearly covering his face, sat ramrod straight with hands resting on his knees. After a few seconds, he finally spoke slowly. “Jiang Qing, how long have you been a soldier?”

Caught off guard by the question, Jiang Qing began counting on his fingers. “Twenty-one years—no, wait, twenty-two!”

Before Jiang Qing finished, Chen Fugui answered for him. “Twenty-one years. I’ve been a soldier for twenty-two. If you weren’t in the military, with your skills, you’d be a martial arts master. What do you think of this kid’s talent?”

When it came to martial arts, Jiang Qing was an expert. He grew serious. “Though I’ve only seen him for a few hours, I can tell—he has a calm presence, steady mind, and though he’s glib, he’ll be a fine blade after some tempering.”

Chen Fugui exhaled deeply, leaned back, and rested his hands on his stomach. “Yes. Though Chen Qingzhi, Wang Husheng, and Tang Fu aren’t top-tier by military standards, they’ve spent years teaching him. Chen Qingzhi’s swordsmanship, Wang Husheng’s mastery of feng shui, Tang Fu’s famed Bajiquan—each has a reputation in the martial world. He’s had one-on-one tutelage at home, a pure environment to learn in. My brother Fusheng spared no effort.”

Jiang Qing, hearing this, seemed to understand. “You mean...”

Chen Fugui sighed. “Yes, Fusheng is atoning for his wife’s sins. He raised Chen Cao in this unique way to return him to the Cao family, to fulfill their promise. Now, I suspect that once my nephew takes this step, he’ll never come back. That is fate.”

Jiang Qing sensed that Chen Fugui didn’t mean Chen Cao’s life was in danger, but that perhaps someone else would return in the future. With all he knew about the history of Chen Fusheng and Chen Fugui—one a general commanding thousands, the other a tycoon rivaling nations—they still could not escape the clutches of destiny.