After the others had moved on, the soldier turned and strode into the gate. A little while later he reappeared and addressed the roughly fifteen of them, saying, "Line up just as you are now. Follow me, and once inside you are not to wander, not to speak out of turn, and not to whisper among yourselves. If you do, you'll be eliminated on the spot. And if your behavior manages to infuriate the General, you'd better be prepared to take a good beating."
That single, piercing glance he cast over them sent shivers down their spines—even though he was but a soldier, his eyes betrayed a history of having taken many lives. The cold, lethal aura he radiated was nothing these inexperienced youngsters could possibly defy. As Li Yan felt that penetrating gaze sweep over him, he could almost sense every pore on his skin bristle with fear. All he knew was that the look was terrifying—a look borne not of idle cruelty but of hard-won battle experience.
After his admonishment, seeing the group of youths meekly echo his words with nervous "Yes, sir," the soldier offered no further commentary and turned to go. The group quickly fell in line behind him, every step taken in extreme caution so as not to make even the faintest noise.
Once they had entered through the gate, the young men could finally take in their surroundings. Though described as a courtyard, the space was really an open square—one large enough for horses to gallop at full speed. They found themselves at the entrance of this vast plaza. Ahead, a raised platform stood with tables and chairs arranged upon it. Along the edge of the stage, every few paces a tall flagpole was fixed in place, its banner fluttering fiercely in the wind. Some of the flags bore embroidered characters like "甲," "乙," or "丙," while others sported bold totemic images such as ferocious tigers or mythical creatures.
"This must be what people call the 'military training ground,'" Li Yan thought to himself as he took in the scene.
On the square, about 110 young recruits were arranged into three rows. On the far right, a small row of roughly five or six men had formed—Li Yan's group made up the tail end of that line, with somewhere around seventeen or eighteen men in total. The middle row numbered about forty to fifty, while the leftmost row was the largest, containing roughly seventy to eighty men. In front of each row, several soldiers supervised the orderly formation, and along the perimeter of the square, neatly aligned troops in gleaming armor stood guard, their stern faces and unswerving eyes ensuring complete order.
High atop the platform, behind a long table, sat a burly, larger-than-life man in a wide chair. His skin had a yellowish tinge, and he was completely bald—the sunlight seemed to cast a subtle golden glow over his head. His broad face, framed by a rough beard, featured a long scar that ran from his right temple down to the corner of his mouth. The scar, its twisted muscles almost resembling a writhing centipede, lent him a fearsome air. Seated with an upright posture that exuded authority, his very presence seemed to dominate the entire square.
Even as Li Yan struggled to absorb every detail, his attention was drawn to something on the stage. The man's gaze was fixed on the left-hand corner of the platform, where a small tent was pitched. That tent, positioned directly opposite the row in which Li Yan's group stood, clearly played a pivotal role later in the proceedings.
Still standing at the back of his line, Li Yan stole glances at the stage. The details were a bit hazy from his far-off position—but he made out the table area and the imposing figure seated behind it. It wasn't until then that the soldier who had led them inside spoke in a low, commanding voice:
"You must be careful. The man on that stage is Marshal Hong. Do not roam about or look around casually. Once the first group of recruits has come out from the tent, then the rest of you, in order, may enter."
He paused, a troubled expression briefly flickering across his face, then pointed toward the middle row—comprising some forty or fifty men—and explained, "After exiting the tent, line up behind that middle row. You will then be examined, and those who pass will join the leftmost row." He gestured toward the left, where the largest grouping of men had gathered. "Those who fail will be eliminated—they will exit through the rear side door. Details will be further explained to you later." With that, he nodded curtly to the soldiers leading the front and turned back toward the gate.
Standing at the back, Li Yan listened carefully but couldn't help feeling that something didn't quite add up. He mulled over the soldier's words: they were to first enter the tent and then join the middle row for examination. That middle section, he noticed, lay just before a high wooden fence that completely enclosed the area—inside which nothing was visible from his spot. Yet from the platform, one could oversee everything inside the fenced-off area. Surely, that was the examination venue. Li Guoxin had mentioned on the road that the tests would involve tasks like hefting stones, running, and perhaps some basic martial techniques. Li Yan, with his rugged constitution honed by years of mountain hunting and some informal training from local hunters, was confident he could manage those physical tests.
But his mind was not on the tests themselves—it was busy puzzling over the arrangement. "So the recruits who pass the exam join the leftmost row, while those waiting for the exam line up in the middle. Then what is the purpose of the row I'm currently in? Is this simply where we registered? The soldier only said to enter the tent and then proceed to the middle row," he reasoned silently. He recalled that the soldier had spoken with a rather odd demeanor, and every moment of that exchange he'd been watching intently, desperate not to miss any hint of what was really at stake.
Lost in thought, Li Yan barely noticed when a voice suddenly barked in his ear, "Hey, you at the very back—what are you just standing there doing?"
Startled out of his reverie, Li Yan realized that the others had already advanced as new arrivals continuously entered the tent. He was now the last in line, conspicuously lagging behind. A nearby soldier strode up and chastised him. The other young recruits at the front, upon hearing the rebuke, exchanged nervous chuckles under their breath. Though competition was fierce—even though only 150 men were being recruited for the Imperial Guard—it was rare for them to be able to openly strike at one another; a sly laugh was sometimes the only way to get in a bit of jibe at a rival.
Flustered, Li Yan managed an apologetic smile at the soldier and hurried to merge back into the line, pretending not to hear the muted laughter behind him. The soldier shot him a disapproving look, snorted, and as he passed the few raucous youths, he sternly warned, "You think you can get eliminated just like that? If you don't want a beating, you'd better behave yourself." His words were enough: the laughing ones suddenly went pale and lowered their eyes, not daring to meet the soldier's gaze again. Satisfied, the soldier moved on toward the front.
Finally at the very end of the line, Li Yan mused to himself, "This must be the registration area. But it feels so cramped. In such a vast training ground, why wouldn't they set up more registration desks to speed things along?" Almost in passing, he recalled that earlier the soldier had mentioned "Marshal Hong"—yes, Marshal Hong himself. The man on that stage was none other than the legendary figure of their region—a sort of deified military hero who had repeatedly thwarted the enemies from Meng State. Although Li Yan had only heard boastful tales about him back in the village, in his young heart the General had assumed an almost godlike presence.
Quietly, Li Yan lifted his eyes to regard the stage. Now that he'd moved a bit closer, the details of the man seated there began to come into focus. In his inner thoughts he marveled, "So that's what Marshal Hong looks like—so imposing, so undeniably authoritative. It's no wonder he can terrify enemy forces."
As he continued to watch, Li Yan noted that Marshal Hong rarely seemed to watch the group entering the wooden fence for the examination. Instead, he inclined his head toward the tent where Li Yan's group was stationed. Every time someone entered or emerged from the tent, the Marshal would raise an eyebrow—clearly weighing each movement, as if silently passing judgment.