DNSTU 14. Training

Training

The training room was located in the basement of the guesthouse, completely soundproofed.

Xiang Ye received the first gun of his life, but he felt no joy at all. His instructor told him, “You’ve got good potential,” yet during demonstrations, that same instructor would crush him with sheer strength and precision. More frustrating than that was the fact that his expression never changed. Serious and cold, giving no room to relax. He showed no scorn, no amusement, just a quiet, undeniable message: This is the gap between us.

Then he continued teaching. “Don’t aim for the head. Aim for the chest.”

Xiang Ye asked, “Because it’s a bigger target?”

Xing Zhou replied, “That’s part of it. The chest cavity holds the heart and lungs. A shot to either one will have effect. More importantly, your goal is not to kill. It’s to wound. Xiang Ye, tell me, what is the Enforcement’s purpose?”

Xiang Ye rubbed the grip of the gun. “To stop Lu Ye?”

Xing Zhou shook his head. “To save lives. Every punishment we deliver exists for one reason. To save. We need captives, not corpses. We need information so we can save more people.”

Xiang Ye stayed silent, seemingly turning the words over in his mind.

After some time, his hands and arms had already begun to ache. It was a typical beginner’s problem. Because of the fracture, he trained seated. Xing Zhou knelt beside him, adjusted his grip, and corrected his posture by guiding his hand.

They were close. Xing Zhou’s presence was overwhelming. Commanding, yet not hostile. It was harder to resist than aggression. Xiang Ye held his breath, palms slick with sweat, lips pressed tight, brimming with stubborn defiance.

Xing Zhou’s voice came again, right beside his ear. “Xiang Ye. Remember. Your gun is not meant to kill.”

There it was again. That damned lecture tone.

Xiang Ye pulled the trigger. Missed the mark.

“Focus,” Xing Zhou said flatly. “Keep going.”

Xiang Ye drew a long breath and re-aimed. He was not the type to respond to taunts, nor did he easily rise to provocation. But for some reason, he could not ignore Xing Zhou’s calm. The calmer Xing Zhou was, the more seriously he took it. And besides, this was about his own survival. Of course he had to train well.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Round after round fired. At last, Xiang Ye started to feel as if something settling into place. But then Xing Zhou caught his wrist and said, “That’s enough. We’re done for today.”

Xiang Ye said, “Let me keep going.”

Xing Zhou said nothing. He simply broke his hold. Xiang Ye’s hand relaxed on reflex, and the gun fell neatly into Xing Zhou’s palm. Taken.

Only now did Xiang Ye fully understand why, when Xing Zhou first said the words “training begins,” Jueming had gone quiet and even Chen Junyang had straightened up.

So this was what they called the fear of being dominated, a feeling the top-scoring Xiang Ye had never experienced before.

It was oddly refreshing.

Xiang Ye was not angry at all. Smiling, he looked at Xing Zhou and said, “My hand’s a little sore. Might hurt too much to use the crutch. So maybe… you can carry me back?”

Xing Zhou instinctively sensed something off about that smile. It was the same one Xiang Ye had worn when speaking to Chu Lian in front of the camera. But Xing Zhou did not dwell on it. A little temper from a kid was normal.

So he turned around in front of Xiang Ye and crouched down.

Xiang Ye froze for a moment, until Xing Zhou, waiting too long with no weight on his back, looked over and asked, “Your hand doesn’t hurt anymore?”

Even if it did not, it had to now.

Xiang Ye climbed onto Xing Zhou’s back and answered calmly, “Let’s go.”

Xing Zhou stood and walked out, unconcerned about being seen. And so everyone saw it. Chen Junyang and Chen Juntao, who were in the training room next door. Little Bear, sweeping the floor. Wen Yue, tending to the courtyard plants. All of them turned to watch.

Xing Zhou carried him with the upright formality of a soldier. Xiang Ye rolled his eyes the entire way. Why had he even decided to push back against Xing Zhou in the first place?

That question still had no answer, even after he had been carried all the way to his room and gently placed on the bed.

Soon, Xing Zhou returned with a box in his hand, filled with a paste that gave off a strange smell.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

“What is that?” Xiang Ye frowned.

“A salve mixed by Zong Mian. It promotes circulation and relieves swelling and pain.” Xing Zhou, aware that Xiang Ye might be put off by the smell, added, “Everyone in the Enforcement has used it. It’s not poisonous.”

Zong Mian?

That must be the one Jueming and Wen Yue called Big Cotton.

“I’ll do it myself,” Xiang Ye said.

“Do you know how to massage? Can you find the right acupoints?”

Xiang Ye stayed silent.

“Hand.”

Xiang Ye gave up. He extended his hand and let Xing Zhou apply the grayish-green, oddly scented salve across his palm and wrist. At first, everything felt normal. But once Xing Zhou started massaging, Xiang Ye began to feel uncomfortable.

It was the first time he had ever been this physically close to another man. Sure, they were both male. Showering together wouldn’t be a big deal, but this was different. He could not quite explain how, only that it felt strange.

Yet Xing Zhou, with his upright demeanor, made Xiang Ye’s discomfort seem irrational.

In truth, Xing Zhou had never done this before either. Usually, it was Zong Mian’s job, pairing the salve with acupuncture, a few practiced movements and it was done. But with Zong Mian gone, Xing Zhou had no choice but to step in.

He could have left it to Xiang Ye, but that would have made the treatment less effective. Xiang Ye was still young. Twice he had encountered people from Lu Ye, and both times he had been injured. The second time had been worse than the first. If his body did not recover properly now, it would only cost him more later.

After the massage, Xiang Ye’s hand did feel noticeably better. Seeing that there was still time, he forced the cloudy thoughts from his mind and said seriously, “I want to visit the place where the old man used to live.”

The old man had been from Jingzhou. He and Chu Lian had known each other. If they visited the places he had lived, there might be traces of Chu Lian there as well. And besides, Chu Lian might still be somewhere in Jingzhou.

Xing Zhou had already considered the same. He had originally planned to have Xiang Ye stay and rest at the guesthouse, but he knew Xiang Ye would not listen. So he agreed.

Half an hour later, Xiang Ye set out in a wheelchair.

The first stop was the university where Xi Qi had once studied, Jingzhou Academy of Fine Arts.

The academy was open to the public. After parking the car, Xing Zhou easily wheeled Xiang Ye inside. Looking into a student’s records from twenty years ago was no simple matter. Xing Zhou could access the official file through certain channels, but the finer details were hidden in the memories of former classmates and teachers.

Or tucked away in forgotten corners.

It was the end of June. With summer vacation approaching, the school’s art museum was hosting a graduate exhibition. There were still many people walking around the campus.

The two of them kept to the quieter paths. Xiang Ye asked, “Is there any chance we’ll find his old classmates or professors?”

“I’ve already spoken to them,” said Xing Zhou. “He didn’t live on campus. No one knew about him and Chu Lian. They didn’t know much about his personal life at all.”

Xiang Ye remembered the Enforcement’s background report on Xi Qi. He had come from money. His parents were divorced. His mother had remarried and moved away. His father had married again and immigrated. Xi Qi was alone.

On paper, he was described as sunny, cheerful, and helpful, the kind of person you would expect everyone to remember. The kind who played basketball under the sun, handsome and full of life. But when they asked around, no one really knew him.

That was why Xiang Ye insisted on coming here in person.

Surface-level data could hide the truth. Someone who had nothing but money, who had seen the cruelty of the world too early, might really have been optimistic and resilient, but what had finally broken him and driven him into that abandoned building?

They arrived at the studio where Xi Qi had spent most of his time. According to the fragments they had pieced together, he had truly loved painting. He had talent and discipline, often staying in the studio all day. He liked to sit by the window.

Outside that window stood a massive cherry tree. From this second-floor room, if one sat by the window in spring, they would see blossoms filling the view.

Here is the English translation of the passage, strictly following your style and glossary guidelines:

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Xiang Ye had Xing Zhou wheel him over to the window. He looked outside, and for a moment, it felt as if he were back in that half-finished building. The old man had also liked sitting by the window. Without realizing it, Xiang Ye had been influenced by him and placed the only chair there too.

After the old man died, Xiang Ye would sometimes sit there and think of him.

Did he miss him?

Xiang Ye felt uncertain.

More than ten years had passed. There was no longer any trace of Xiang Qi in the studio, but Xiang Ye could still picture him sitting here, painting. The old man had been very focused when he painted. It was only then that Xiang Ye could truly feel he was still alive. That inside that worn-out shell still lived a vivid soul, not just a body near its end.

Xing Zhou noticed Xiang Ye spacing out but did not interrupt. He turned his attention to the studio. After some time, he heard Xiang Ye ask, “No one’s used this room for a long time, right?”

“Someone donated money to build a new wing,” said Xing Zhou.

The new building was not far from here. This old studio they were standing in was a small, three-story structure covered in climbing ivy, more symbolic than practical. The students had already moved into the newer facilities.

Xiang Ye had asked because he had noticed the dust gathering in the corners.

Just then, a middle-aged woman passed by outside. Seeing people inside the studio, she stopped and asked, “Which department are you from? What are you doing here?”

This old building really did not see many visitors anymore.

She was clearly talking to Xiang Ye. He looked just the right age to be a student. Calmly, he replied, “My father studied here.”

She asked, “Who’s your father?”

“Xiang Qi.”

“Oh, him.” The woman’s expression lit up with recognition. She softened as she looked at Xiang Ye and said, “Well, isn’t that something. I used to be his advisor back in the day. I didn’t expect his kid to be this grown already. Time flies. Oh, right, I even got a call from the police the other day. They said there was an issue with his household registration, so they were verifying it with the school. Nothing serious, I hope?”

Household registration. That would have been the Enforcement’s doing. Xiang Qi had altered his age, and the Enforcement had used that as a legitimate reason to conduct their investigation. They had not yet disclosed the fact that Xiang Qi was dead.

Xiang Ye shook his head, putting on his best well-behaved act as he chatted with her about Xiang Qi.

The woman grew more sentimental as she reminisced. “Your father was so talented. It’s a real pity he vanished like that. Now that his name’s come up again, a lot of the teachers say what a shame it was. Oh, right, Professor Qian from the oil painting department still has one of his works. He treats it like a treasure and won’t even let anyone see it.”

Xiang Ye looked at Xing Zhou. Xing Zhou gave a slight shake of his head. No words were exchanged, but the meaning was clear. This Professor Qian had not been included in the initial rounds of investigation.

The woman went on to ask about Xiang Ye’s studies, offering a string of earnest advice that was full of concern but ultimately not very helpful.

Xiang Ye politely took his leave and left the studio. He followed the flow of people toward the art museum. Along the way, some students were handing out flyers. They announced that in two days, an exhibition would be held here showcasing outstanding works from past graduating classes, and everyone was welcome to visit.

“Past classes…” Xiang Ye murmured. He knew full well that Xiang Qi’s name had bloomed like a night flower—brief and unnoticed. If the Enforcement had not started looking into him, no one would have ever brought him up again. His works were unlikely to appear at any formal exhibition either.

Steadying his thoughts, he said to Xing Zhou, “I want to see that painting.”

Xing Zhou replied, “Alright. I’ll have Jueming reach out.”

Xiang Ye nodded and said no more. The two of them wandered around the academy a little longer, but no new information surfaced, so they left.

Their second stop was Xiang Qi’s former residence in Jingzhou.

It was an old residential complex with poor security. As unfamiliar faces, Xing Zhou and Xiang Ye moved about freely. There were no surveillance cameras in the hallway, and the lock on the apartment door was so outdated that Xing Zhou easily dismantled it.

It was perfect. Simple and efficient.

Xing Zhou pushed Xiang Ye inside. As they moved through the space, a draft swept in, stirring the dust on the floor and carrying with it the weight of a decade left undisturbed.

The rose-tinted evening sun streamed unimpeded through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room, meeting the breeze midair. Time began to flow again, and fragments of the story resumed where they had once paused.

Even Xing Zhou had not expected the place to look exactly as it had ten years ago when Xiang Qi left.

On the coffee table sat a bowl of instant noodles. The leftovers inside had long since gone moldy, then were buried by layers of dust. A remote, a spoon, a few snacks, and other miscellaneous clutter were scattered everywhere. The trash bin was still full, and the slippers by the door lay in disarray, all signs that the owner had left in a hurry.

Xiang Ye picked up a flyer from the table and brushed off the dust. It was an advertisement for the grand opening of a fried chicken shop, dated July 12, 2012.

He could picture it clearly. Xiang Qi, on his way home, casually picked up the flyer and just as casually tossed it on the table.

Aside from the clutter around the coffee table, the rest of the apartment was orderly, proof that Xiang Qi had not been a messy person. Even if he was not the type to clean up himself, there had likely been a housekeeper who came regularly. The flyer had simply not been thrown out yet, not something that had been lying there the entire time. Since flyers are distributed before opening day, Xiang Qi must have left before the twelfth.

And the day Chu Lian betrayed the Enforcement was July 10 of that same year.

Xiang Qi must have heard something, perhaps learned what had happened to Chu Lian, left the apartment in a hurry, and never returned.

Xiang Ye began combing through the apartment in earnest. Eventually, he found a trace of Chu Lian.

In Xiang Qi’s bedroom, they discovered a laptop. It still powered on when plugged in. Besides folders of paintings and the usual art student software, it contained one video file.

The timestamp in the bottom left corner read June 5, 2012.

The first thing on screen was a familiar face.

It was a young Chu Lian. His features were delicate, almost feminine, enough to be called beautiful. But when he smiled, it was warm and gentle. He sat with a book in his hands by the window. The breeze stirred the white curtains behind him, brushing past his shoulder. He looked directly into the camera, a trace of helplessness in his eyes.

“Weren’t you going to paint? Why are you filming again?”

“Just documenting it. If I mess up the sketch later, I can use the footage to fix it.” Off-screen, a man’s voice replied. Though younger, Xiang Ye instantly recognized it. It was the old man’s voice.

“Fine,” Chu Lian said with a resigned smile.

“Just read your book. Don’t mind me.”

“Is this posture okay?”

“Of course. You don’t need to pose. Just do whatever you want.”

“Alright.”

The screen settled down again.

Chu Lian lowered his head to read, flipping page after page until he dozed off. Xiang Qi never appeared on camera. He called Chu Lian’s name once, softly, then seemed reluctant to wake him.

Only the sound of a pencil moving across paper remained in the room, a soft and steady scratching. The sunlight gradually stretched Chu Lian’s shadow across the floor. The entire scene was quiet and peaceful, almost unbearably beautiful.