Chapter 2 – Military Training

6

After three days of military theory training, on the eve of September 11th, we were hauled off to a training base in the desolate outskirts of Fangshan.

Judging by the towering smokestacks, the base seemed like an abandoned factory repurposed by the school. State-owned enterprises were never just enterprises, so the place had a massive sports field, four dormitory buildings, two office buildings, two dining halls, a bathhouse, an auditorium—everything you could think of—and even an office area with a sign for a certain fire brigade.

The place was practically cut off from the outside world, but thankfully, there were a few TVs in the dining hall.

To create a proper military management atmosphere and alleviate crowding in the dining hall, we had to eat in shifts. Only after the first group cleared out could the second group enter. On September 11th, after being cleared out, the six of us from our dorm sneaked back into the line behind another group to keep watching the news.

A training supervisor in camouflage at the entrance pointed at Xiang Lei and walked toward us: “You there, didn’t you just eat? And the rest of you?”

Unbelievable! With so many people coming and going, he actually recognized us!

Xiang Lei turned around and stuck his tongue out at us. The rest of us muttered, “What the hell!” and slunk back to the dorm in embarrassment.

Those who glanced back probably thought we hadn’t eaten enough and shamelessly tagged along with another group!

That morning, we had physical exams. Liu Chong kept begging in the dorm for someone to take his blood test for him, but no one responded. Then he pestered Xiang Lei, who seemed like an easy target, saying that in high school, he’d lived with a buddy who later tested positive for hepatitis B. He might’ve caught it too, and if it showed up, he could get expelled. Xiang Lei asked, “Didn’t you get tested before the college entrance exam?” Liu Chong said he’d had a childhood friend take the blood test for him back then. If he’d known there’d be another test in college, he’d have brought that kid along.

None of us had ever heard of hiring a proxy for a blood test. Xiang Lei seemed too polite to refuse and eventually agreed, letting them draw blood from both his left and right arms.

Liu Chong grabbed Xiang Lei’s hand and thanked him endlessly. “Hey, during training, I’ll cover all your nutritional needs! And if you need to call your girlfriend, skip the phone booth line—my cell’s yours to use!”

Liu Chong was the only one in our dorm with a cell phone, so we all agreed: that vial of blood was worth it.

That afternoon, we were scattered like beans across the scorching sports field for a mental health lecture. Amid the grumbling, someone handed out a questionnaire. To us, who still thought of ourselves as innocent high schoolers, the questions were downright shocking, sparking hushed discussions. The field buzzed with chatter.

“Do you masturbate? How often? Do you feel guilty about it? Are you insecure about your size? Have you had sex? Was the partner male or female? Can you define your sexual orientation?”

Someone whispered that such a survey couldn’t possibly yield honest data. Of course not. People around us treated it like an open-book test, sharing and even copying answers. Only Xiang Lei sat cross-legged, frowning in concentration, looking dead serious. When He Fei peeked at his answers, Xiang Lei hurriedly covered them up.

Maybe, at first, Xiang Lei hadn’t planned on coming out to us later.

So, back then, Xiang Lei quickly made close friends.

Liu Chong was a given—he waited for Xiang Lei every day to go shower, eat, even use the bathroom. I thought Xiang Lei was a kind, honest guy, like a younger brother, so I naturally gave in to him on a lot of things. After dinner, Zheng Dongming would always chat with Xiang Lei under the starry sky on the sports field, one walking backward, the other forward, circling the track. After lights-out, He Fei would climb onto Xiang Lei’s bunk, and the two would talk late into the night, swapping wild high school stories.

Looking back, some of those interactions might seem cringeworthy now, but at the time, nothing felt off about them.

7

Once training started, Xiang Lei became the idol of nearly every guy and girl in our class. In every drill and movement, Xiang Lei was always the first to master it. The instructor often had him demonstrate the correct form, then let him sit out and watch while the rest of us got extra training.

At the first entertainment event, the instructor didn’t hesitate before ordering Xiang Lei to sing. “Don’t let this guy’s innocent look fool you,” the instructor said. “I bet he’s got some moves.”

Xiang Lei was terrible at performing solo. Whenever he realized he was the center of attention, his face would turn red—whether demonstrating a drill or singing in front of a circle of people.

The instructor asked which guys had girlfriends. Everyone just smirked silently. When his gaze landed on Xiang Lei, he laughed and said, “I can’t speak for the others, but this guy definitely has one—maybe even a whole platoon! Xiang Lei, how many do you have?”

As you’d expect, Xiang Lei turned red from his forehead down to his chest under his camouflage collar.

Maybe it’s because Chinese kids grow up steeped in military worship, but every training session seemed to spark intense admiration for the instructors. Our instructor was short, scrawny, and kind of a punk, with an average face, but he still captivated everyone in our class—guys included.

Xiang Lei didn’t have to suck up like the rest of us to win the instructor’s favor from the start. When we pissed off the short-tempered sergeant, we’d get punished with half-squats or standing at attention—but Xiang Lei was always the first to be let off, and he’d even get to rest in the only patch of shade by the field.

“Anyone who’s not happy with that, just perform half as well as Xiang Lei!” the short instructor barked at us.

When squad drills began, the school got word that a Central Military Commission leader might inspect the students’ training results at the end. So the military training leadership decided to handpick an eight-man drill squad for intensive training, to perform during the final review.

That afternoon, all the school and military officials lined up on the field in two rows while every squad marched past in formation. On the first pass, Xiang Lei got picked. On the third, He Fei was chosen. After that, no one else from our department made the cut.

At first, everyone was jealous, and the two couldn’t help but feel proud. But soon, the 20-man drill squad had to train overtime, with breaks cut from 10 minutes to five. Since they still had to participate in regular squad drills, the workload was brutal. Worse, one or two slackers got kicked out of the drill squad daily—a humiliating fate. Getting booted mid-training was worse than never being picked at all, so everyone pushed themselves to the limit, drenched in sweat, refusing to half-ass anything.

Every night around 8 or 9, He Fei and Xiang Lei would stagger back to the dorm, leaning on each other dramatically. After splashing themselves with water in the bathroom, they’d collapse onto their bunks, groaning in agony.

Xiang Lei would lie on his stomach, muttering “dog shit instructor” under his breath. We’d tease him, asking why he called the instructor that, and he’d say he couldn’t be bothered to explain. Then He Fei would burst out laughing, so we turned to him instead.

The drill squad’s handpicked instructor was desperate! With less than 10 days left, he was supposed to whip a group of untrained students into near-professional shape—and they’d even added extra drills like pivoting while marching, which weren’t even part of the original plan. These moves were hard enough to master normally, let alone with such little time and inexperienced students.

The instructor snapped, “If we don’t go full demon mode, there’s no way we’ll hit the target!” To his credit, he didn’t wait for the students to call him a “devil instructor”—he owned the title himself. So the guys didn’t hold back, calling him “Devil Instructor” to his face during breaks. A few days later, Xiang Lei felt the instructor was singling him out, even deliberately making things hard for him, so he upgraded the title to “dog shit instructor.”

The instructor told Xiang Lei dozens of times a day, “Number four, chest out, out, out!” Xiang Lei would puff out his chest, only for the instructor to roar, “Stomach in, in, in! Who told you to stick your ass out?!”

The guys in front and behind him would tremble from stifling laughter, while Xiang Lei turned red with embarrassment.

Xiang Lei wasn’t exactly scrawny, but as he put it, his muscles were dense, so his frame didn’t look particularly broad. No matter how much he puffed his chest, it never seemed to make much difference.

The drill instructor got so frustrated he stopped calling commands. “I refuse to believe you can’t stick that chest out,” he growled, storming over to Xiang Lei. He grabbed Xiang Lei’s shoulders, shoved his back, jabbed his stomach, and even kneed his butt. Xiang Lei, defiant, would relax his posture the second the instructor let go. The instructor snapped, “Fuck! Goddamn it! Treat his nearsightedness only for him to go blind instead!”

Fuming, the instructor yanked off Xiang Lei’s belt, tightened it a notch, and strapped it back, barking, “Stomach in, in, in! More! More! Keep going!” as he cinched it tight. The result was ridiculous—Xiang Lei’s upper body puffed up like a balloon, while his waist was squeezed into a tiny ring.

“I can’t even breathe past my throat—I’m suffocating!” Xiang Lei complained to us.

Zheng Dongming picked up Xiang Lei’s belt and measured it with his hands. “Only about 23 inches.”

“Damn, Xiang Lei, you’ve got a wasp waist!” Liu Chong exclaimed.

The dorm erupted in laughter.

Xiang Lei was ready to wage war on the devil instructor! During drills, he’d move his mouth but not make a sound. The instructor glared at him, but Xiang Lei kept at it. Finally, the instructor stormed over, red-faced, and hissed, “Don’t think you’re fooling anyone with this crap! Step up front and see for yourself—it’s obvious who’s shouting and who’s not!”

Xiang Lei didn’t react, standing tall and staring straight ahead—but inside, he was thrilled. Pissing off the devil instructor till he turned red? That counted as a small victory.

Every day, someone dropped out of the drill squad, but the instructor never kicked Xiang Lei out. He Fei said that in terms of precision, rhythm, and coordination, Xiang Lei was outstanding—the instructor actually valued him and held him to higher standards. Xiang Lei scoffed but didn’t argue.

He Fei and Xiang Lei made it to the end. Though no Central Military Commission leader showed up for the final review, the drill squad’s performance was still a highlight of the closing ceremony.

That day, most of us who hadn’t made the squad realized our earlier schadenfreude had been a lie. Watching them bask in the crowd’s awe on the field, not a single one of us wasn’t jealous.

We asked Xiang Lei how he’d gotten so good at drills. He said he’d done military training in elementary school and again in high school. His uncles and cousins were all veterans, and his close friends had enlisted too. It was just in his blood.

The drill squad’s group photo went up on the school’s official website and student network, and it stayed on the publicity screen by the basketball court for nearly half a semester. In the photo, the devil instructor was all smiles, and He Fei and Xiang Lei became known among the girls in our department.

8

During National Day, the devil instructor and the short sergeant came to visit our school, sending the girls into a frenzy all afternoon. But when they left, the two instructors sneaked off without telling anyone in our class and took He Fei and Xiang Lei out to eat. At the table, the devil instructor pointed at Xiang Lei and said, “This kid drove me up the wall back then!” Xiang Lei just grinned awkwardly. “But he also made me proud!” the instructor added.

Later, Xiang Lei told us the devil instructor was his ideal dream guy—tall like Pei Yong, with sharp, masculine features, ambitious, determined, and… well, he used a lot of adjectives. We teased him about why he hadn’t made a move instead of picking fights. Xiang Lei just said, dead serious, “That’s not realistic.”

Realistic? To us, Xiang Lei was usually an out-and-out idealist. But sometimes, we had to admit, he knew the difference between fantasy and reality.

Maybe Xiang Lei’s judgment and his desires were split—the former ruthlessly logical, the latter hopelessly emotional. The latter made him lose himself in idealistic fantasies, while the former stopped him from paying too steep a price for them.

In a way, that split wasn’t so bad. At least it made Xiang Lei more interesting than most. Years later, we might forget the names of some classmates we spent four years with, but no one would forget Xiang Lei—so unique because he was so layered, or so layered because he was so unique. The stories about him would hit differently in hindsight:

Like, why did I laugh back then? Why wasn’t I moved? And why wasn’t I his brother?