Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The scene just now had been as shocking as Lin Daiyu uprooting a willow tree—how could anyone believe a little girl could punch straight through such a massive tree with a single blow? Even the elite soldiers in their unit couldn’t manage that!

Feng Xia, under the crowd’s intense gaze, felt no intimidation—only hunger. She turned to Qian Jun and asked, “Can I go eat breakfast first?”

Qian Jun’s mouth twitched in disbelief. “Comrade Feng Xia, we’re in the middle of a serious discussion about which unit you’ll join. Please take this seriously—don’t think only about food.”

“Oh,” Feng Xia replied flatly, kicking a pebble idly. The round stone bounced and struck Little Black squarely on the head. The small snake slithered out from the grass, coiled tightly around Feng Xia’s wrist, and lay still.

The officers had witnessed it too—and couldn’t help but shiver. Little Black had grown longer; its pupils glowed orange-yellow, edged with blood-red, radiating menace. Though the battalion commanders weren’t afraid, an involuntary chill ran down their spines—especially under Feng Xia’s indifferent expression. For a moment, the pair seemed utterly uncanny.

In the end, no decision was reached. Chen Hua descended holding an enamel mug, glanced at the little girl, and said, “This child is only ten years old. How can she train alongside us? In my opinion, let’s send her to school for a couple of years first—and she can train with us on weekends. What do you think?”

That meant supporting her without expecting any contribution. Qian Jun naturally objected. He had a wife and children; raising another girl didn’t sit right with him. Besides, he’d recruited Feng Xia specifically for the Assault Team precisely because her youth made her unpredictable—and therefore, invaluable.

Chen Hua disagreed, his face darkening. He believed a child her age belonged in school. Even if she joined the army later, illiteracy would be shameful.

The two began arguing. Nearby battalion commanders dared not intervene, standing respectfully while watching their superiors clash. Feng Xia, meanwhile, grew increasingly irritated. She’d come to the army because she’d been told she could eat as much as she wanted—but this was what she got? She felt like going home.

So she said it.

“I don’t want to join the army anymore. I want to go back.”

“What did you say?!” Two roars echoed simultaneously. Feng Xia didn’t flinch—she stood there nonchalantly, her eyes as cold and still as a winter mountain stream.

Qian Jun was furious. Chen Hua was defying him, and now this girl refused to obey orders. His anger boiled over: “Why do you want to go back? Comrade Feng Xia, this is undisciplined and disorganized! The army isn’t a place where you can come and go as you please!”

Feng Xia wasn’t afraid of him. She shot back, “Didn’t you say I could eat whatever I wanted here? That’s the only reason I came. I never wanted to come in the first place. Now you won’t even let me eat anything. I’d rather be home. I’m leaving—I’m not staying.”

Chen Hua added, “Comrade, once you join the army, you must follow its rules. You can’t just leave whenever you feel like it. Don’t say things like that again.”

Feng Xia grew more and more annoyed. These people were insufferable. She’d grown accustomed to freedom during the apocalypse—and clearly, the army wasn’t for her. She couldn’t take it anymore. She slipped Little Black—still coiled around her wrist—into her pocket, a clear sign of extreme agitation, then turned and walked back the way she’d come.

Qian Jun saw it and bellowed at the battalion commanders, “Stop her! See if she dares defy us!”

Like hawks diving for prey, the battalion commanders lunged at the small figure of Feng Xia. All large, muscular men, their charge was terrifying—yet one by one, Feng Xia threw them off. With raw strength overpowering skill, she tossed them aside as if they weighed nothing.

In the apocalypse, superpower users all shared a fatal weakness: when their powers drained rapidly, their emotions would swing wildly—eventually plunging them into a frenzy, transforming them into emotionless, thoughtless killing machines.

Unseen by the others, Feng Xia’s eyes slowly reddened. The pure white of her irises gradually stained crimson, and her human emotions faded, bit by bit. Had anyone glimpsed Little Black in her pocket, they’d have noticed the snake’s body had stiffened—frozen in hibernation, utterly motionless.

The battalion commanders, having been thrown aside, exchanged glances, gritted their teeth, and charged together. By now, Feng Xia’s pupils glowed with an eerie red light. She swung her arms—and before they could even touch her, they were sent flying again. They tried once more, but Feng Xia kicked a nearby pine tree. About as thick as a man’s wrist, its yellowing, half-dead leaves rustling faintly, the tree snapped cleanly under her kick with a sharp crack. The battalion commanders felt their bones ache—and an inexplicable pain spread through their bodies.

Now, no one dared stop her.

Qian Jun and Chen Hua stood stunned. This was the first time Feng Xia had revealed the full extent of her combat ability—and it was terrifying. One person could match an entire platoon. How could Qian Jun not covet such a soldier?

Chen Hua and Qian Jun exchanged a look. This Feng Xia couldn’t be trained like an ordinary soldier. She required special handling—exceptions, accommodations. This girl might become the trump card of their Field Army’s 1st Regiment.

Feng Xia returned to Old Lady Wu’s place without incident. When she arrived, Old Lady Wu was washing clothes. A woman in her thirties stood chatting with her at the door. Seeing Feng Xia approach with a gloomy expression, the woman frowned in confusion—Old Lady Wu had always lived alone; where had this little girl come from?

Feng Xia walked up and said, “Granny Wu, I’m back to get my things. I’m going home.”

Old Lady Wu was stunned too. She’d only arrived yesterday—and already she was leaving?

Earlier, Qian Jun had briefly explained Feng Xia’s situation to Old Lady Wu—her extraordinary strength, their desire to recruit her, how she’d saved a soldier. She was a future talent. Yet she hadn’t lasted even a day before wanting to leave?

The old woman stopped hanging laundry and followed the girl inside. Watching Feng Xia pack her clothes and dictionary into a bundle and sling it over her back, she asked, “Can’t stay here? Want to go home?”

“Yeah, there’s no food here. I’m going home.” Feng Xia smiled brightly—the earlier violence gone without a trace. Carefree with her bundle, she looked utterly unimpressed by the coveted green army camp.

Just as she stepped out, two figures came sprinting from a distance—Qian Jun and Chen Hua.

Chen Hua wore a warm smile. Gazing into Feng Xia’s eyes, he spoke gently, “Comrade, let’s talk properly. Our earlier arrangements were inappropriate. You can tell us any requests you have. We truly value your abilities—and want you in our 1st Regiment. We’re sorry for what happened earlier, and we sincerely apologize.”

With that, Qian Jun and Chen Hua solemnly saluted Feng Xia. She remained expressionless. Chen Hua draped an arm around her shoulder—like a father with his daughter—and led her back to the office. On the desk sat steamed buns, stuffed buns, and a large bowl of pumpkin porridge—all prepared specially for Feng Xia.

Seeing the food, Feng Xia’s mood lifted. She sat down without setting down her bundle and began eating.

A spoonful of porridge, a bite of stuffed bun, a piece of steamed bun. The pumpkin porridge was sweet and smooth; the stuffed buns had thin, delicate skins and generous, juicy fillings; the steamed buns were chewy and soft. Having been hungry all morning, Feng Xia ate without lifting her head.

It was a common trait among apocalypse survivors: they couldn’t endure hunger. Hunger made them irritable, angry—and desperate for food.

Qian Jun spoke cautiously, “Comrade Feng Xia, your abilities are outstanding. The Political Commissar and I have discussed it—and decided to send you to the military elementary school. Even though you may be slightly older than typical elementary students, it’s never too late to learn.”

Chen Hua added, “As for tuition—you saved Xiao Zhao earlier, and the army rewarded you with money and ration tickets. That should cover it. Your meals will be covered by me and Old Qian for now. You can repay us when you have money. But that means you can’t eat as much as you want—we don’t have unlimited ration tickets. How about two jin of grain tickets and one meat ticket per meal? Is that enough?”

Feng Xia finished a stuffed bun, wiped her mouth, and said lazily, “You don’t need to pay. I’m not going to elementary school.”

She opened her bundle, pulled out a dictionary, and pointed to a section where two-thirds of the pages were folded. “I’ve memorized everything up to this page. You can test me—if you don’t believe me.”

Chen Hua and Qian Jun were genuinely surprised. If Feng Xia had taught herself, she was exceptionally clever. Qian Jun selected several characters, wrote them down, and asked her to identify them. To their amazement, Feng Xia not only recognized each one—but recited definitions and compound words flawlessly, without hesitation. Chen Hua’s eyes lit up as he looked at her. This was a prodigy!

He asked how she’d learned to read—and Feng Xia explained how the village Party secretary had taught her pinyin. It was sheer luck. Even Chen Hua wasn’t very familiar with pinyin—proof that Feng Xia had been extraordinarily fortunate.

Qian Jun understood now. Feng Xia *had* to go to school.

In recent years, the fervor of the Cultural Revolution had cooled. Rumors circulated that within a year or two, cultural education would be emphasized again. He couldn’t let this child fall behind. Exchanging a glance with Chen Hua, they resolved more firmly than ever to send Feng Xia to school.

But training couldn’t be neglected. High-intensity weekend training was essential. Feng Xia wasn’t suited to train with regular soldiers—they’d have to make exceptions and design a tailored training plan for her. This was a new concept they’d learned from the Soviet Union. Even as regimental commanders, Qian Jun and his peers had to keep learning—new knowledge, new weapons.

Chen Hua, wearing his glasses, looked even more scholarly. He asked Feng Xia, “Comrade, can you write? Do you know how to write your name?”

Feng Xia could—but hadn’t held a pen in ten years, so she shook her head.

Chen Hua declared, “Then you *must* go to school. You can’t even write your own name!”

Qian Jun outlined the weekend training plan. Feng Xia didn’t refuse. She knew her strength lay in her superpower—but it could run out. Her hand-to-hand combat skills were only average, and she knew only how to kill. Learning more was something she was willing to do. Apocalypse survivors valued their lives above all.

The three parties reached an agreement—each satisfied. Chen Hua gave Feng Xia part of the army’s reward money and ration tickets, assuring her she wouldn’t need to bring ration tickets to the mess hall—they’d cover it for now.

Then Qian Jun took the child to register at the military school. Meanwhile, Chen Hua compiled Feng Xia’s traits into a report and submitted it to the division commander. If she possessed only super strength, it wouldn’t have warranted such attention—but she also had a razor-sharp mind. She wasn’t merely a human cold weapon; she was a human thermal weapon. Such a person could become the sharpest blade of the Field Army—unstoppable in the future.

Qian Jun’s two sons attended the military elementary school—one in third grade, one in fifth. But this was Qian Jun’s first visit to the school. His wife usually handled these matters. In fact, most children were dropped off and picked up by their mothers; fathers rarely appeared.

Qian Jun took Feng Xia straight to the school director’s office. The elderly director recognized Regimental Commander Qian and smiled, “Regimental Commander Qian—what brings you here? Are you enrolling this girl?”

Qian Jun nodded. The paperwork was ready. Feng Xia had a student haircut, wore a short-sleeved shirt and pants, and had clear, bright eyes brimming with childlike innocence. She was slightly tall, however—not quite the look of a new student.

The old director smiled and asked, “Have you studied before?”

Feng Xia shook her head. Qian Jun added, “But she knows many characters.”

The old director’s smile faltered slightly. He pulled out a third-grade textbook, pointed to a passage, and asked Feng Xia to read it. She read it expressionlessly—fluently, without a single mistake. He asked about the meaning of several characters—she answered correctly. He tested her on three-digit addition and subtraction—she responded almost instantly. Multiplication posed no difficulty either. Satisfied, the old director decided she’d enter third grade.

Qian Jun hesitated. “She doesn’t write well. Maybe she should start from first grade?”

The old director noticed the bruises on the girl’s arms and understood. She was a pitiful child—likely never held a pen at home, learning to read in secret. Without hesitation, he said, “It’s fine. This child is smart. I’ll give her a calligraphy copybook. She can practice tracing.”

He pulled out a regular-script (kaishu) copybook—its strokes clear and precise—and handed her a pen and notebook, instructing her to write one page daily. Feng Xia accepted them obediently and nodded.

She knew culture mattered—but during the apocalypse, when you couldn’t even fill your stomach, where was the time to read and write?

And so, Feng Xia smoothly became a third-grade elementary school student.