"The clan-born find it shabby; the good-born find it grand."
Though a figure of speech, the line meant the Wuwei Camp held clan-born scions. After changing into red uniform, Zhou Yuan reported to the quartermaster. The quartermaster recorded his origin, age and name, gave him a wooden tally, and told him to come in two days for the proper bronze tally. For arms he got a yellow-birch foot-bow, thirty awl-head arrows, and one each of a fine steel blade and a green-oak iron spear. With this kit — the yellow-birch foot-bow alone was beyond an ordinary family's means, never mind the fine iron armor to come.
"Young man, three months of training, then armor at a hundred days; if you're still in this camp after three months, bring your document and come draw your armor. But don't idle these days — send one attendant-soldier to learn how to armor a fighting soldier and maintain the war-armor."
"Li Dazhuang, you stay."
After returning the gear to the dormitory and setting it on the rack, Zhou Yuan went to the camp's west hall. By the time he arrived, no few armored soldiers were already eating. The tableware here was crude — most used coarse clay bowls, a few finer ones. Those dining off fine ware clustered to one side of the hall, and passing soldiers gave them a wide berth, forming a sharply divided scene. Zhou Yuan guessed they were either officers or the so-called clan-born scions — though the two likely overlapped, since a scion entering camp surely came to be an officer, not a common soldier.
"Give me a portion."
"New here? You can take only one bowl of meat; the rest, take as much as you like, or you'll be docked pay."
The west hall's food wasn't varied, but the key was there was meat. Only after sitting down with his food and a bowl of brown-black medicinal broth did Zhou Yuan still feel it slightly unreal. The Jing'an army was simply too rich — or rather, their logistics were unreasonably well-off. A modern man, Zhou Yuan knew that on ancient productivity it was very hard to supply a local army with ample meat.
"Good grief — solid, even."
He turned it with his chopsticks; he'd expected, modern-style, meat on top and veg below, but here it was fat on top, lean below — all meat but for the broth. By contrast the Qiaoxi villagers' life simply wasn't up to scratch; what they couldn't eat even at the year's-end feast was commonplace in this Wuwei Camp. With ample meat, Zhou Yuan's "Food Replenishment" skill could finally come into play — what others ate as richness, he ate as health.
"Gulp, gulp."
That bowl of brown-black broth, though bland, carried a mingled acrid-sweet medicinal taste. Likely no fine tonic — not a few soldiers ignored the broth and went straight for the food. Asking the cook, sure enough: the tonic was one dose per ten days, boiled over and over, a bowl morning, noon and night; today's broth was a heat-clearing, qi-smoothing powder against the summer heat. On leaving, Zhou Yuan went to find a basin to wash his bowl, but a brisk auxiliary whisked it away — truly waited on like a young lord. And these privileges cost nothing; every month there was even pay. If one didn't have to take the field, it would count as a welfare post.
When the new recruits gathered that afternoon, Zhou Yuan learned this welfare wasn't easily had. After the camp drillmaster gave the regulations and his own name, he had the recruits line up and draw their bows. Simple drawing and shooting, any man fit for the Wuwei Camp could manage. But Drillmaster Hong made them draw empty to train strength, and any who dared dry-loose, damaging bow-limb or string, would have to pay for it. Zhou Yuan's yellow-birch foot-bow was a one-dan bow; with three points of Essence plus the boost of 【Great Bear Stance】, drawing it was child's play. The other recruits had it rough; after a while their arms ached and trembled, some unable even to bend a finger.
Drillmaster Hong ignored the recruits straining in pain and instead walked up to Zhou Yuan.
"This bow's too light for you, isn't it? I'll swap you a three-dan hard bow."
"Yes, sir."
In Great Wei one dan equaled 60 kilograms, so three dan was 180 kilograms — a 360-jin draw. Drillmaster Hong Hun had meant to blunt Zhou Yuan's edge and show him that a little valor counted for nothing in the army; he never expected Zhou Yuan to actually draw the three-dan hard bow.
"Hm, that's more like it. Keep training. Your bow's heavy, so I grant you leave to use your judgment — if you can't hold, ease off and rest the string; don't force it and cut your fingers."
Stern-faced, Drillmaster Hong finished and stalked off — only to drop the act the instant he met the other drillmasters.
"Brothers, how are your recruits? I've got an unmanageable one — what's to be done? The boy's a freak; first day in camp and he can draw a three-dan hard bow for strength training."
Though Drillmaster Hong said "trouble," the smile on his face was past hiding. How long had it been since such a youth appeared among the good-born farm-and-town sons? A three-dan hard bow — arrows loosed from it couldn't be called fletched shafts but fletched javelins. Before a three-dan bow, armored or not, an armor-piercing arrow drops you one shot apiece.
"Old Hong, how'd such a fine seedling fall to you? Wait here — I'll go report to the commandant and have the boy moved to the Shesheng Camp for careful cultivation."
"Don't — I haven't had my fill of this yet. At least leave him with me a couple of days, and see if the boy's got any talent for shooting. What if he's just strong with no aim?"
"Wrong, Old Hong. Aim is all trained. So long as he's strong, lasting, and not blind, sooner or later he'll train a fine aim."
"Fine, go report. I'll train him first. He's the only standout among these recruits — if not for the commandant, I'd never have told you lot."
"Heh heh, we've got to train this boy up — let the clan-born see the good-born have fine sons too."
The Shesheng Camp's commandant and the Wuwei Camp's were not the same man, and the two had different demands of their soldiers. The Wuwei Camp wanted men daring and valiant; the Shesheng Camp wanted men of surpassing arm-strength and ample endurance, ideally with a talent for archery. Zhou Yuan never thought that the moment he reached the Wuwei Camp, a Shesheng drillmaster would set eyes on him. Just now he was still holding the bow for strength training, unaware he was about to get special attention.
As dusk neared, the recruits drifted from the parade ground one by one; only Zhou Yuan was kept back by Drillmaster Hong.
"Young man, do you want to be an ordinary armored soldier, or an officer in this camp?"
"An officer, of course. Who'd stay a common soldier when he could be promoted?"
"That's the spirit. You can draw a hard bow and your endurance is good; I've recommended you to Commandant Li of the Shesheng Camp. Your transfer order should come down in a day or two — with your three-dan draw, you'll be at least a squad-of-ten leader there. And with a little archery talent, even centurion isn't out of reach. A centurion is Great Wei's lowest officer rank, commanding fifty fighting soldiers; below centurion you're a soldier, above it an officer. With officer rank and an officer's registry, a lad like you ascends to heaven in a single step. Dare you make the gamble?"
"Many thanks for Drillmaster Hong's recommendation. I could ask for nothing more — what is there to fear?"