Chapter 82: Not Taking a Single Needle or Thread from the People

When night fell and dinner was over, Xu Wenshan ordered the soldiers to gather on the training ground once more.

The soldiers, uneasy and apprehensive, assumed there would be more drills under the cover of darkness. The day’s training had already been taxing, and above all, they dreaded making mistakes and being reprimanded.

Xu Wenshan’s method was to praise individuals for their achievements but punish an entire squad for a single person’s error. If one made a mistake, the whole group repeated the drill. After experiencing this once or twice, the soldiers all felt the weight of responsibility.

This fine tradition, of course, was something Xu Wenshan had learned from military training in his previous life.

Such a tactic fostered a strong sense of collective responsibility. When a personal mistake brought punishment upon the whole squad, guilt became a powerful force, uniting them as one.

At the same time, he encouraged rivalry between squads, ensuring that competition would drive each soldier to improve.

Yet tonight, Xu Wenshan did not order further training. Instead, he had them sit on the ground and initiated a recreational activity.

This was another tradition he’d brought with him from before—since there wasn’t much entertainment in the barracks, singing competitions at night not only built camaraderie but also provided an opportunity to instill military discipline.

“Tonight, I’m going to teach you a song,” Xu Wenshan announced with enthusiasm. “It’s called ‘The Three Main Rules and Eight Points of Attention.’”

Learning to sing was not difficult. Soon, the scattered sound of singing drifted through the camp.

“Every soldier of the Deer-Crane Army must keep in mind,
The Three Main Rules and Eight Points of Attention.
First, obey every command—march in step for victory.
Second, never take a needle or thread from the villagers—the people’s support will follow.
Third, all spoils go to the public store—ease the people's burden…”

Indeed, this song was an adaptation, with only slight modifications made in certain places.

A soldier raised his hand and asked, “Are these the rules we’re to follow?”

“Yes,” Xu Wenshan replied. “You must learn them, sing them well, and remember them.”

“But the song says not to hit or curse people—what if we’re fighting? How can we not hit or curse the enemy?”

“These are our guidelines for dealing with the people, not the enemy,” Xu Wenshan explained.

Another soldier raised his hand. “Who are the people?”

Xu Wenshan answered solemnly, “The people are those from our own Deer-Crane Gully. Folks from other villages are not included.”

“Oh!” The soldiers responded with sudden understanding.

“So can we trample the fields of other villages? Can we take anything from their homes?”

“That depends,” Xu Wenshan replied. “If they are enemies to be eliminated, show no mercy—take everything except a needle or thread. But if it’s a region we’re about to occupy, make good relations with the locals—not a needle or thread may be touched.”

After his explanation, the soldiers found it all quite novel, though Xu Wenshan himself felt somewhat at a loss.

This song was written for a people’s army, but what he was building was an imperial army, destined to become a colonial force. For this song, it felt all too unworthy.

In the future, he would definitely need someone else to help with the ideological and political work of the troops.

...

Once Wu Yi joined the Deer-Crane Guard, it was as if his life had been cut off from the outside world.

Every morning he rose at a set hour, washed and ran with the others, ate breakfast together, and began a full day of training. Every night they slept at a fixed time, with barely a spare moment to return home.

Xu Wenshan’s rule was one rest day every ten days, and Wu Yi’s turn had yet to come. But that was just as well—going home only meant facing his shrewish wife, so there was no real reason to return, Wu Yi thought.

He quickly adapted to this regular life and began to feel himself integrating into the group.

The only thing that frustrated him was that Xu Wenshan still hadn’t allowed them to train with weapons.

Though Wu Yi had never been a soldier, he knew that battles depended on arms; how were they to fight if they never practiced with them?

Moreover, Xu Wenshan had them practicing only two formations, as he called them: the line formation and the hollow square.

They shifted endlessly between the two, marching back and forth. Wu Yi was growing weary of it, but Xu Wenshan remained endlessly patient and demanded absolute precision.

He was strict to the point of pickiness; if a single step was off, the whole squad had to repeat.

For squads that performed well, he would have the kitchen reward each member with an extra bowl of meat stew. For the sake of that stew, everyone in the squad gave it their all, but they were almost always beaten by Li Dazhuang’s team.

Wu Yi noticed that, depending on the squad leader’s temperament, each squad developed a distinct style.

Lei Tiger’s squad was bold and rough, the most imposing in appearance.

His own squad was the most meticulous—nimble and lively.

Li Dazhuang’s squad had no immediately obvious style, but they were the most solid and precise.

Wu Yi found these subtle differences amusing but kept his observations to himself.

What impressed him most, however, was that Xu Wenshan truly kept his promise—the food he ate was exactly the same as what the soldiers had. Whatever they ate, he ate as well.

That alone was enough to win Wu Yi’s respect.

He suddenly realized that perhaps being a soldier wasn’t so bad after all.

The one thing that puzzled him was where Xu Wenshan managed to find so much grain.

...

“The 138th breeding trial, begin.”

In the quiet room, Lu Ze’s solitary voice echoed.

In the room with him was Saya, reclining with her eyes closed in repose, and a cluster of venomous insects.

Strictly speaking, these were no longer ordinary venomous insects. They looked quite different: their pincers were thick and sharp, with a pair of shovel-like claws and wide jaws.

Once Lu Ze announced the start of the breeding, Saya’s closed eyes twitched, and the insects immediately set to work—using their mouths to carry tiny wheat seeds, crawling into sand trays filled with loam, digging holes with their claws, depositing seeds, and covering them up.

These insects were a new type that Saya had evolved. Xu Wenshan had named them “worker bugs.”

The idea for these “worker bugs” came from Xu Wenshan, though he only provided the general concept. Saya worked out the details of their evolution herself, and the current generation was the result of five failed attempts.

However, Xu Wenshan had no intention of widely deploying these worker bugs. First, the peasants were still wary of monsters, so it was not the time for large-scale introduction. Second, controlling the insects consumed much of Saya’s time and energy, which was detrimental to her cultivation.

For the mother of venomous insects, the best environment for cultivation was one rich in fats and oils. Xu Wenshan had stockpiled animal fat from hunters’ previous catches, but Saya quickly exhausted it. To maintain her progress, he would need a steady supply of animal or plant fats, such as through canola cultivation or pig farming.

Xu Wenshan pushed open the door. Lu Ze glanced at him, yawned, and said, “You’re here?”

Xu Wenshan nodded. “How’s it going? My grain stores are running low.”

Lu Ze pointed to a pair of potatoes nearby. “The potato breeding has met your requirements. Now we’re working on wheat.”

Xu Wenshan’s spirits lifted as he picked up a potato. Its size was already comparable to those sold in supermarkets in his past life.

The progress was far faster than he had ever expected.