Chapter Twenty-One: Dearest, Save Me! (Part One)

“Darling, save me!”

In the quiet of a graduate dormitory at the National Defense University, An Jing gently unfolded a letter. The paper was of poor quality, yet it had been meticulously folded into the shape of a pair of birds flying side by side. Her eyes fell upon the familiar, forceful script, as bold as ever, and the very first line was a plea for rescue.

As she opened the letter, An Jing was almost reverent, but upon seeing that sentence, she could easily imagine Lei Dong’s mock-distressed face. The image made her chuckle, though a trace of worry and longing quietly settled between her brows.

Since their reunion, she and Lei Dong had still spent more time apart than together. One was juggling her new, demanding studies while serving as the first officially appointed cultural instructor at the Reconnaissance Academy; the other was caught in relentless cycles of training, training, and more training.

Even within the academy, chances to meet were few and far between. Still, they both felt not only their bodies but their hearts drawing closer. A fleeting meeting, just a few words exchanged, or even a distant glimpse of the other’s silhouette could fill them with boundless sweetness.

Unfortunately, that sweetness never lasted long.

A month after enrolling, having completed several foundational courses and drills, the newly formed Third Squad—brimming with rookies—was driven out of the academy by Lei Tiangang for a half-year of field combat training.

A month had passed since, and this was the first letter Lei Dong had managed to send.

“Guess what I was just doing? Heaven help me, I was digging up ant nests! That lunatic Huang Xiwen demanded we dig up ant nests right after a hundred-kilometer forced march—without a single breath to spare, while we were all dizzy and faint. And we weren’t allowed to kill a single ant! That maniac!”

An Jing’s lips curled into a soft smile. She knew Lei Dong well; what would come next was certainly a grand, earth-shaking bout of self-praise—and sure enough:

“Haha, what a shame, what a shame! He never learns. Does he even know who I am? I’m gifted, exceptional—no matter the challenge, I always find a way. On horseback with a gun in hand, I could snatch a general’s head from a million troops as easily as reaching into a pocket. What’s a little trick like this? The look on Huang Xiwen’s face—gaping, dumbfounded, utterly disbelieving—truly… exhilarating!”

“At last, this month’s training is over. Now I’m on a helicopter, transferring to who-knows-where. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what the place is or what we’ll be training for. The only thing that pains me is missing you, never knowing when we’ll meet again…”

The letter was short, written in obvious haste. An Jing read it over and over, her heart brimming with joy and tinged with faint worry. Where was Lei Dong now? What hardships was he enduring?

She could not have imagined that Lei Dong and his comrades had been cast into the endless desert. As An Jing read his letter, Lei Dong was sprinting madly under the blazing sun, weighed down by gear as heavy as a small mountain.

The sky was utterly clear—no clouds at all. The sun loomed immense and close, as if pressing down upon their very heads. Its color was neither the usual gold nor the red of sunset, but a dark gold veined with a harsh, pallid silver, and its heat was extraordinary. In the distance, the desert stretched for nearly a hundred kilometers, its endless dunes glowing a fiery red beneath the scorching sun.

Heat—nothing but pure, overwhelming heat!

The sun blazed, the sand beneath their feet scorched, and the air itself seemed afire! The temperature had climbed past forty-two degrees Celsius; the ground itself exceeded seventy. Even through thick desert boots, the heat seared their soles.

Surrounded by such oppressive heat, burdened with hundreds of kilograms of gear, this group sprinted across the vast wasteland, feeling as though the world itself was a boundless furnace of rolling heat. This was no ordinary heat—it was as if burning knives were stabbing into their skin, slicing through muscle, roasting even their innards with an agonizing fire.

“They’re trying to turn us into roast lamb!” Wu Yun moaned as he ran.

“Shut up! If you don’t want to die of thirst, stop talking—save your fluids!” Huang Xiwen hissed, his voice hoarse as if his throat had been sawed in half, rasping and harsh.

No sooner had Wu Yun’s daily complaints been silenced than Lei Dong piped up, “Why am I carrying so much? I protest! This is revenge!”

Huang Xiwen’s temper flared. “Enough nonsense! Who told you to be so strong? If I don’t push you to your limits, how will you break through them?”

“I—”

“One more word and I’ll have you carry the helicopter,” Huang Xiwen threatened.

Lei Dong shrank back, falling silent. Wu Yun and Lang Tianyu exchanged gloating grins and snickered among themselves.

After a few more words, Huang Xiwen’s throat felt scorched. He took a cautious sip from the hydration tube of his water pack—barely a drop, just enough to moisten his lips—then reluctantly let go of the tube.

There was less than a liter of water left, but over thirty days of training remained in the desert. Soon, they would venture deeper into the wasteland, where the real hardship would begin.

“I’m not a maniac like Lei Dong,” Huang Xiwen reminded himself, casting a glance at Lei Dong—running far ahead—and feeling a surge of envy and frustration.

Just last month, during mountain acclimatization, Huang Xiwen had realized that the standard fifty-kilogram load was a breeze for everyone—especially monsters like Lei Dong and Wu Yun, for whom it was no effort at all.

So he increased the load.

Endless ammunition, reconnaissance gear, rations, and every conceivable piece of equipment—even massive tree stumps and wet logs—were piled on, one after another.

By the time the burden reached two hundred kilos, most had reached their limit. Yet Lei Dong and Wu Yun moved as if unencumbered, still joking and bantering.

Unacceptable!

In the Angry Dragon Unit, the basic principle of physical training was to force everyone to their breaking point, then push them to break through again and again, striving for their absolute peak.

So the load kept increasing.

A few days ago, when the burden reached three hundred kilos, even Wu Yun could no longer joke. Yet Lei Dong, the monster among monsters, was still carrying over five hundred kilos—gear and weapons piled mountain-high—and remained utterly unphased.

Truth be told, ever since training in the cultivation techniques Lei Dong had taught, everyone’s bodies were strengthening steadily. In the past, Huang Xiwen could carry a hundred kilos on the Gobi; any more would have hindered him. Now, with twice the load, he found it even easier than before.

“Damn it!” Huang Xiwen cursed inwardly, working his tongue in a desperate bid to coax a drop of saliva into his parched mouth. He glanced up at the sky, then at Lei Dong, still sprinting like mad.

Lei Dong now carried four crates of pistol ammo, five crates of 7.62mm rifle rounds, fifteen crates of machine gun rounds, one crate of 12.7mm sniper rounds, two crates of grenades, a 05 pistol in each thigh holster, an assault rifle slung over each shoulder, a general-purpose machine gun in his left hand, a 12.7mm heavy sniper in his right, a six-barrel Vulcan cannon with tripod on his back, a 60mm mortar, a “Thunderbolt” shoulder-fired missile launcher, and all manner of reconnaissance gear, rations, and water. Even his legs were strapped with iron-sand sandbags.

He looked like an oversized camel, a mutant porcupine, or perhaps a mobile mountain—no, a walking fortress!

“What can I add tomorrow?” Huang Xiwen’s Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily.

It was three months before An Jing received another letter from Lei Dong. Once again, it began with his arrogant, sprawling script and a pitiful cry for help.

“Darling, save me—”

Lei Dong wrote:

“Guess where I am now? That’s right, I’m on a transfer flight again. But can you guess where we’re being sent? Bet you can’t! The instructors, generous as ever, didn’t keep it a secret this time. Next stop: the snowy highlands! I—insert expletives as you wish—these lunatics! They’re really trying to kill us!”

She could almost see Lei Dong’s exasperated face: “Do you know what month it is? December! The temperature out there has dropped to minus forty! Is there no justice in this world? I swear, this time they’ve pushed me too far—I’m going to fight back!”

“As you know, anyone who crosses me rarely ends well. This time will be no different. Yesterday, Wu Yun and I teamed up to repel a surprise joint attack from Squads One and Two. The look on their faces—pure disbelief—was priceless!”

Lei Dong, of course, didn’t tell An Jing that before writing this letter, he’d been thoroughly scolded by Huang Xiwen. After a grueling forty-eight hour forced march—four hundred kilometers, without rest, food, or sleep—the seven-man Third Squad, already smaller than most special teams, stumbled upon a tiny oasis in the desert.

A pale blue river wound through the sand, shimmering under the setting sun, shrouded in a delicate mist. Wildflowers danced on the grassy banks, swaying gently in the breeze.

The moment Huang Xiwen gave the order to rest, the squad cheered and rushed toward the river. Wu Yun and Bei Shiliang sprinted ahead as well.

Though their cultivation and physical strength had improved to monstrous levels, forty-eight hours of non-stop marching had left everyone but Lei Dong utterly exhausted, their bodies aching, throats burning as if scorched by fire.

Faced with the blue river, green grass, and fragrant flowers, how could anyone resist?

Except for Lei Dong, whose stamina was inhuman. Even burdened with nearly a ton of gear, he dashed ahead as though weightless.

Still hundreds of meters from the river, Lei Dong reached out, eager to touch the gentle waters twisting and turning through the desert.

Closer, closer—fifty meters, thirty, twenty…

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, flashing with danger. His right foot shot sideways, stamping hard into the ground. The explosive force stopped him cold. With a twist, he shifted his mountain of gear a meter to the right and crashed to the ground in a bizarre, rolling fall.

With a loud thud, a large-caliber training round sliced past him, slamming into the sand and sending a spray of grit into his face.