Chapter 1: Entering West Point for the First Time

Chapter 1: Entering West Point Military Academy

Early 1936, at 6 a.m., the reveille sounded promptly through the loudspeakers in every dormitory at West Point Military Academy, located about 30 miles from New York State.

The cadets of Class 35, Year 1, Company 17 immediately climbed out of their bunk beds, yawning as they dressed, grumbling and cursing the reveille bugler as worthless scum, even wishing the person who invented the reveille were worse than stinking dog droppings.

Minutes later, a burly instructor stormed into the dormitory like an angry duck, striking a bunk bed with his riding crop and bellowing at an unlucky cadet who had just put on his shirt but promptly collapsed back to sleep, snoring loudly: “You stinking piece of garbage! If you don’t want to get up, then go home!”

Zhou Zhihan was long accustomed to this scene. American soldiers were notoriously lazy; almost every day, some cadet would be scolded as worthless for trying to steal a few extra moments of sleep.

Wiping the drool from his mouth, Zhou muttered, “I can sleep through training and morning runs just fine, so why the hell do you have to interfere and ruin my sweet dreams?”

Then he buried his head under the covers and dozed off again.

Watching that worthless cadet scramble out of the dorm in a mix of crawling and rolling, the burly instructor stormed out, not even sparing Zhou Zhihan a glance as he remained sound asleep.

Zhou Zhihan was among more than twenty other foreign students—China’s first group of flight cadets sent to West Point Military Academy. They had arrived in America three months prior, carrying the heavy hopes of the Chinese Air Force’s future on their shoulders.

Since the September 18 Incident, the highest command of the Chinese Air Force had been preparing for the inevitable conflict with Japan. They believed that air superiority would decide the fate of the forthcoming anti-Japanese war.

To counter the pressing threat of the Japanese navy and air force, the Chinese military had purchased hundreds of military aircraft from Western powers.

While planes could be bought, pilots could not be purchased. The Air Force headquarters selected promising soldiers and invited Western flight instructors to train them.

They clearly understood that to rapidly strengthen the domestic air force, a cadre of excellent Chinese flight instructors was essential.

Therefore, in the winter of 1935, the Air Force headquarters decided to select elite soldiers and university students to study advanced aerial combat techniques at West Point Military Academy in the United States, so they could return to teach more outstanding pilots.

No matter how good the aircraft, without skilled pilots, they were just scrap metal.

On the brink of the unavoidable war of resistance, the Chinese Air Force desperately needed a group of exceptional pilots.

Like the others, Zhou Zhihan, who was proficient in English and attending university, secured this government-funded study abroad spot through various connections.

In the 1935 Chinese military, pilots were the most scarce and highly prized talents—the dashing gentlemen among the elite, the generals among the commanders. Studying abroad to learn flight skills was the highest honor, promising an unlimited future upon return.

The other foreign students came from wealthy families; some had served in the military for years, while others had enlisted merely months ago to gain prestige by entering West Point. Zhou Zhihan himself enlisted just days before departure, without any training, never even holding a gun or knowing how to salute, yet somehow managed to hold the rank of sergeant.

Originally, all twenty-plus cadets, including Zhou, were to be assigned to West Point’s branch school—the Randolph Aviation Military Base, located fifteen miles west of San Antonio, Texas—to study flight techniques and theory.

But after just one week at Randolph Aviation Military Academy, half the group, including Zhou, were expelled and reassigned to the most basic non-commissioned officer school.

They were demoted because their military baseline physical standards failed to meet the minimum requirements for air force cadets, and so they were sent to infantry non-commissioned officer school to improve their physical fitness.

Without strong physiques, firm willpower, and calm minds, they could never endure the rigorous demands of air force training, let alone pilot an aircraft.

Physical fitness was the foundation for all these qualities. Without it, a cadet could never manage the strains of dive bombing, aerial dogfighting, or bombing runs.

At Randolph Aviation Military Academy, incoming pilots had to endure three to six months of basic military training, during which they could not fly and only studied theory.

Therefore, sending Zhou and the others to the NCO school did not conflict with their future curriculum.

After two months of effort, about a dozen students from this group, including Zhou’s peers, barely reached Randolph’s physical standards and returned to aviation training.

But Zhou, despite all efforts, showed no improvement; his physical indicators remained stuck as they were two months prior. He was forced to remain at the infantry NCO school.

The academy issued a final ultimatum: Zhou had one more month to meet the basic physical requirements of Randolph Aviation Military Academy, or he would be expelled and sent back to China.

West Point was not a place for incompetents—not because it tolerated no weaklings, but because it could not allow any to tarnish its illustrious reputation.

With no reward for hard work, Zhou gradually lost confidence, becoming restless, lazy, and self-destructive. Eventually, he stopped attending training altogether, sleeping fully each day before wandering aimlessly outside the campus.

As Zhou gave up on himself, the instructors lost faith in him. With many students to train, they had neither time nor energy to waste on one who had abandoned himself, and they began to ignore him.

Another reason was that Zhou was a foreign student from China, attracting little attention from the academy’s higher-ups.

Previously, among Chinese graduates from West Point, the most famous was General Wen Yinxing.

At that time, the American Congress had even passed a special law to allow Chinese students to enroll at West Point.

But the influence of Wen’s cohort was limited—they were few in number, and their country’s influence was weak, offering no strong backing.

China’s international standing was modest, and many Chinese Americans held second- or third-class social status in the United States.

A weak nation meant weak diplomacy, and overseas Chinese students naturally lacked standing.

Half a month ago, Zhou Zhihan’s soul was replaced by that of a man named Fan Wenbin.

Now, Fan Wenbin was gradually adapting to this new identity—Zhou Zhihan.

Fan Wenbin was Zhou Zhihan, and Zhou Zhihan was Fan Wenbin.

As the cadets’ running and chants echoed from the playground outside, Zhou suddenly rolled out of bed and performed a full set of military boxing in the spacious dormitory, breaking a light sweat and feeling his energy surge—a stark contrast to the frail constitution he had when he first crossed over.

Half a month into this new existence, Zhou felt his physical condition improving daily, as if being reborn, though outwardly he still looked like a delicate scholar.

Feeling the confidence and joy his body gave him, Zhou was certain this was the “golden finger” of transmigration.

Strength was confidence.

His absolute power, explosive strength, endurance, variable speed, vision, smell, alertness, and judgment had all undergone earth-shaking transformations. Every breath revealed subtle but wondrous changes bestowed by his golden finger, especially his IQ, which had reached the level of eidetic memory, further fueling his unshakable confidence.

Suddenly, amid the noisy running outside, Zhou distinguished five footsteps crossing the corridor, heading toward his dorm.

His hearing had improved again.

A life with a golden finger was simply different.

If it were anyone else, they would have been caught red-handed. Others were out morning running and drills, while he was alone in the dorm practicing military boxing. What was he up to?

The footsteps varied—some light, some heavy. Three he recognized; two were strangers.

Zhou’s mind raced, and within two seconds, he deduced their purpose. He quickly returned to bed, covering his head and pretending to be fast asleep.

His judgment was spot on.

Five people entered: three he knew—Sergeant Kim White, the dorm administrator; Steven Good, the company leader; and Second Lieutenant Jonas Hansen, the instructor.

Lieutenant Jonas Hansen was the instructor for Class 35, Year 1, Company 17—the burly man who had never given him a second glance, carrying a riding crop, waddling like a big duck, and fond of calling cadets worthless scum.

The other two were strangers. One wore civilian clothes, tall and slim, with brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses, smoking a black pipe, looking very refined.

The other was an Asian-faced cadet carrying a rucksack and holding washing supplies—clearly a new recruit. He was stocky, with a firm jawline, slightly bowed legs exuding a military aura, chin raised confidently, and eyes gleaming with an arrogant superiority.

“Bang, bang, bang!”

Lieutenant Hansen struck three knocks on Zhou’s bedside, then pulled back the covers.

Damn, luckily he hadn’t developed a habit of sleeping through everything, or he’d be in deep trouble.

Suppressing his irritation at the lack of manners, Zhou rubbed his eyes, feigning confusion for two seconds before springing up and saluting the officer.

Steven Good was upright, strong, and wore a deep red beret, full of vigor. He had often looked out for Zhou but found him hopeless—like a block of rotten wood impossible to carve.

“Zhou!” Steven’s eyes flickered with sympathy. “Since you cannot meet the requirements of Randolph Aviation Military Academy, the academy’s administration has ordered you to leave West Point today.”

Zhou remained calm—his own judgment had been correct; the final ultimatum from West Point had expired.

—End—

Friendly reminder: readers who dislike the first half may skip to Chapter Ninety-Nine for the grand air, sea, and land battle of the Battle of Shanghai.

(End of chapter)