Chapter 170: Sweating All Over, Brother

"You're called Lu Yang, right?"

"Come, Little Lu, have a seat with us, eat here."

At mealtime, Lu Yang was warmly invited into the Cafeteria and ate together with the others.

Originally, he had planned to sit with Squad Leader Zhang and Zhao Chuanwu, but he didn't expect Company Commander Jiu and the Instructor's hospitality to be impossible to decline.

So Lu Yang could only sit at the table where the company's senior officer dined; fortunately, Zhao Chuanwu was also invited.

Facing this table of unfamiliar officers gave him an inexplicable feeling of attending a grand banquet—like arriving late and having no seat, forced to sit at a table of unfamiliar elders.

"Little Lu, have you ever studied martial arts before?"

"Never."

"So you must have fought in school?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then how did you manage, after only a few hours of learning, to take down Zhao Chuanwu, a trained practitioner?"

"Right, I saw your final grappling move; it looked clearly practiced, not something you just learned."

Zhao Chuanwu felt a bit embarrassed, even though he had usually won more than he lost before.

But as a martial practitioner, he was the company's recognized benchmark for combat strength.

Losing even once makes it hard to regain face.

He also didn't expect Lu Yang to become more daring after setbacks and deliver a lethal counter at the crucial moment.

Back then, because his progress in boxing was slow, he took countless beatings, which gave him his current skill.

He didn't expect that Lu Yang, after only a few hours of study, could already apply the techniques of the fist art flexibly in real combat.

It truly proved his saying: to learn to punch, first learn to take hits.

Lu Yang explained that after enlisting, he systematically learned some grappling combat techniques.

Combat is all the same in principle, a hundred styles are linked; perhaps unknowingly a tiny universe bursts forth, enabling an occasional unexpected turn.

Faced with such a vague explanation, the Company Commander and Instructor exchanged glances, unsure what to say.

In any case, up to now they hadn't seen a soldier with Lu Yang's extraordinary talent, learning so quickly.

Thus they could only categorize him as having a terrifying learning gift, or perhaps a once‑in‑ten‑thousand martial arts prodigy.

The Instructor scooped a big chicken leg into Lu Yang's bowl: "Come on, don't be shy. Being here is like being at home. Try the company Cafeteria's cooking and see if it rivals what your unit has."

After chatting and getting familiar, they naturally became less restrained.

Lu Yang happened to be hungry, shoveling rice and vegetables in big mouthfuls.

He proved with his actions that the unit's food remained consistently up to standard.

During the meal, Lu Yang even poured soup for the Company Commander and Instructor; his considerate demeanor made the two like him immensely.

Seeing the well‑mannered Lu Yang, and then seeing Zhao Chuanwu with rice all over his mouth, eating loudly and smacking his lips, the Company Commander and the others truly felt that comparing people ends in death, comparing goods ends in throwing them away.

They're all excellent, all brought back results; why do the other unit's soldiers look so pleasant, so steady, so so desirable?

The Company Commander took a sip of soup, smiled, and asked: "Little Lu, I'm curious—how does your company normally train to produce such outstanding soldiers in such a short time?"

Lu Yang modestly raised his head: "Our company's training is actually fine—we run five kilometers each in the morning, noon, and night; do frog jumps, squats, high‑knees, thirty sets, plus some military skills. Overall it's pretty relaxed."

"My dear!" the Company Commander's voice rose sharply: "Five kilometers each morning, noon, and night—that's fifteen kilometers a day, right?"

"Our company's soldiers, doing two five‑kilometer runs a day, are on the brink of death, saying they can't run; frog jumps, squats, high‑knees—after four or five sets they're already exhausted."

"A shell weighing over a hundred jin has to be carried by two people over a hundred meters, then they run a few steps to rest—like a bunch of old men."

"No wonder your Iron Foot consistently ranks in the top three for the Division's five‑kilometer run, and no wonder you secured a good rank after only half a year of service—that's all trained?"

The Company Commander's voice rose so high that the entire Cafeteria could hear.

Immediately, many veterans choked on a bite of food and had to sip soup to swallow.

Zaxi Nima of the Third Squad's Mandarin wasn't standard, and with his eyes full of food, he didn't even realize the Company Commander was deliberately mocking them.

It turned out his own Squad Leader kicked him under the table; Zaxi Nima only then, belatedly, put down his chopsticks and looked at others with a puzzled, confused gaze.

Lu Yang noticed everyone in the Cafeteria had set down their chopsticks, giving him an inexplicable feeling of being treated like a gun; for a moment he didn't know how to continue the conversation.

The Company Commander added another dish for him, said "Eat yours," and then asked.

"Does your company have communal meals on weekends, and do you add extra training?"

"We have both communal meals and extra training."

"What's the method?"

"We eat until we're full, then we go out running until everything in our stomach rots; usually it's an armed 15‑kilometer cross‑country run, and during holidays we even do 25 kilometers."

Lu Yang answered sincerely; it wasn't mysterious, just a fact known throughout the regiment.

Back when they were in the training brigade, the meals suddenly became lavish, and the veterans' first reaction was that they were about to suffer.

But they didn't expect his commonsense answer to make every soldier, including Zhao Chuanwu, break into a cold sweat.

"Oh dear!" the Company Commander's voice rose again, and with a sidelong glance he said sarcastically to the others: "You train even harder on weekends than on weekdays; no wonder your company is called Iron Foot, no wonder your regiment has a title—these are the battle results forged by the soldiers."

"Not like us—on weekend mornings a three‑kilometer run already sparks complaints; from Squad Leader to Platoon Leader all they think about is sending texts, playing MP3s, reading those crappy novels, crappy novels!"

"Just knowing how to have fun and entertain, and still improve scores and achieve good results in competitions—that's really uncanny."

The Cafeteria fell silent, and many veteran Squad Leaders broke out in cold sweat.

Because their company's management and training were indeed far more lax compared to Lu Yang's unit.

Weekends are weekends, holidays are holidays, communal meals are communal meals—the focus is simply relaxation and rest.

It's not that they don't want to compete internally; the entire 441 Regiment has that atmosphere, and nearby companies arrange the same.

Otherwise, why would other regiments have titles, other companies have numbers, while they have nothing—just plain and unremarkable?

Realizing the nuance, Lu Yang felt a bit embarrassed; he hadn't expected that, by accident, he'd become "the soldier from another company that parents talk about."

But the Special Third Regiment's overall training atmosphere is tense and serious, and the training volume is far greater than that of ordinary units.

Before he came to the 441st Regiment to find Zhao Chuanwu to learn things, he also didn't know what other regiments were like.

Naturally, he also didn't know—this company's requirements were so lax, its training so relaxed?

It really bore out that saying: tight infantry, loose artillery, scattered vehicle troops.

Lu Yang took the initiative to make up: "9th Company Commander, actually in the Regiment, our company's training is also considered somewhat above standard."

The Company Commander nodded: "With pressure comes motivation; without a sense of urgency, what kind of unit is that? Isn't that just a nursing home?"