Chapter 8: The Best Strategy Is to Flee

Chapter 8: The Best Strategy Is to Flee

The hanging leg raise on the pull-up bar test required a baseline of thirteen repetitions within one minute. Once the basic standard was met, trainees could continue practicing freely.

The hanging leg raise resembled a pull-up but was more challenging. It demanded that, after gripping the bar with both hands, the trainee bend their upper body and curl their legs inward, touching their knees to their elbows. Only when the body fully extended and descended in a straight line would the movement count as one repetition.

This exercise aimed to strengthen core power and grip strength.

Core strength is the fundamental force supporting the entire body in executing various movements.

The magnitude of core strength directly affected explosive power—the decisive weapon in single combat when launching sudden attacks against an equally armed adversary.

It was akin to the principle that speed conquers all in martial arts; the stronger the explosiveness, the higher the success rate of a surprise strike.

This test was scheduled last to increase difficulty.

After the first two tests had drained most of the trainees’ energy, performing the hanging leg raise then truly revealed the tenacity and absolute execution ability of an outstanding soldier.

Ryunosuke Sakamoto’s movements were simple yet effective, perfectly showcasing his ironclad muscles on the bar.

He was solid and sturdy, embodying the typical robust confidence of most Japanese, transforming the hanging leg raise into a display of powerful grace: tucking in the abdomen, curling the legs, knees touching the elbows, lowering the arms, body sinking, then fully extending to complete each repetition.

When the one-minute buzzer sounded, Sakamoto had done fifteen hanging leg raises. He didn’t know how many Zihan Zhou had completed, but he saw Zhou still hanging on the bar, tirelessly continuing the curling motion.

Since Sakamoto had met the basic one-minute standard, he could have let go and dropped from the bar. Yet, if he released first, he would concede momentum to his rival, especially not knowing Zhou’s count.

After persevering another thirty seconds, Sakamoto felt his form faltering. Continuing was pointless; distorted movements wouldn’t count and might invite ridicule.

Reluctantly, he released his grip.

At ninety-five seconds, Sakamoto’s final count was seventeen repetitions.

Two non-commissioned officers timing and counting for him compared watches and announced his score.

Sakamoto didn’t hear the instructors’ remarks. His dazed gaze remained fixed on Zihan Zhou.

Zhou’s movements were more complex, maintaining a steady pace and rhythm.

While Sakamoto touched both knees simultaneously to both elbows, Zhou used his waist and abdominal strength to twist his body, touching his knees to elbows alternately while sliding his chin ten centimeters along the bar from left to right.

Sakamoto fell silent, his composure shattered. Zhou’s technique demanded a level of fitness only seen in graduating trainees.

Though the variation added just two movements, the intensity increased by nearly a third.

Many trainees present believed they could manage the movement but only with great effort and a limited number of repetitions. Attempting a dozen or more risked muscle strains.

This hanging leg raise was also a progressive exercise.

Just like weightlifting requires gradual increments, jumping into heavy weights from the start, though possible, could inflict injury or lingering damage.

Sakamoto was at a loss. Zhou’s routine was far more difficult, and he had been utterly bested in this test. His pride, confidence, and ego suffered a severe blow.

A burning humiliation swelled within him, betrayed by the underdog’s hidden strength, igniting an unnamed fury seeking release.

Ten seconds after dropping from the bar, Zhou also dismounted, feigning heavy breaths.

Sometimes, modesty was necessary.

He now contemplated how to address the instructors’ inevitable questions.

Confronted with Zhou’s three test results, the instructors would surely be puzzled:

One month ago, his fitness was so poor he faced expulsion; now, in just thirty days, he had made a miraculous leap forward. What accounted for this transformation?

Given human physiological limits, no matter how hard one trained, it was impossible to transform from a slacker to a top athlete so rapidly.

There had to be a reason.

Either he had cheated.

Not only the instructors were skeptical; even Zhou himself would find it hard to believe without some “golden finger” aid.

America was a nation that prized innovation, valuing talent across all fields—a key reason their technology led the world and why they remained a global superpower.

Zhou’s rapid evolution from underdog to shark within a month surely made West Point’s leadership suspect he possessed some method to enhance physical ability.

West Point was a vital cradle for cultivating military talent, maintaining close ties with the armed forces. The school’s top students and those capable of making significant contributions were highly regarded.

Today, an underperformer had turned into a high achiever in physical testing. It was impossible for the school and military not to take notice.

They would want to uncover the secret behind Zhou’s sudden rise.

If this method were mastered by the school and military, it could elevate soldiers’ athleticism and combat effectiveness, delivering a qualitative leap to the U.S. fighting force.

Human progress relied on constant innovation. Those brave enough to innovate stood at the forefront of the tide; those who stagnated sank into the cold depths.

At this moment, the instructors and the 17th class trainees regarded Zhou with a complex, indescribable gaze.

Some were puzzled, some admired, others envied. Some refused to accept it, some even resented, bitterly asking, “Why him and not me? How did he become so outstanding in such a short time?”

For the trainees, it was like—half an hour ago—they were a group driving tiny hatchbacks, watching Zhou pedal a rusty bicycle, each feeling superior. Suddenly, Zhou’s battered bike turned into a sleek Mazda. Such a sudden reversal jolted everyone’s psyche.

The instructors wondered why Zhou’s recent decline was so obvious, yet today his performance surpassed more than half the room.

Everyone silently asked themselves: why?

When a perceived loser suddenly succeeds, the collective mindset inevitably shifts in myriad ways.

It was like a high school senior who had failed exams for two and a half years, even scoring zero in the final month before college entrance exams, only to outperform most peers in the actual test.

How could that be explained?

Men resent those slightly better than themselves but respect those far beyond their reach. Zhou’s current ability clearly eclipsed most classmates by a noticeable margin.

After the three tests, Zhou’s results not only allowed him to remain at West Point Infantry School but qualified him to return to Randolph Air Force Academy.

Mr. Don McLean released him on the spot.

Back in his dorm, Zhou began packing. Major Jeff Hunter and Mr. McLean had withdrawn their expulsion order, allowing him to return to Randolph Air Force Academy.

While other trainees continued classes, Zhou returned alone.

Of the Thirty-Six Stratagems, the other thirty-five paled beside the thirty-sixth: “Flee is the best strategy.”

He had to leave immediately before things grew complicated.

(End of chapter)