Rebirth of a Mercenary: The Ace Mercenary Forced to Be the Beloved of the Group

"Explain what?" Instructor Zheng interrupted him, his voice not loud but every word carrying undisguised contempt. "Three months of basic training, someone who excels in every other area, can only do five pull-ups? Where's your arm strength? Did you slack off during training? Or did you think your previous scores were good enough that you could just coast through this one?"

The queue was so quiet you could hear the hum of the wind blowing through the horizontal bar.

Xuanxiao took half a step forward.

"Instructor Zheng," his voice was very calm, but every word was pronounced clearly, "Bai Ye fractured his right arm two months ago, and we can retrieve his medical records from the military doctor. Today is his first time doing pull-ups since recovering from his injury."

Instructor Zheng glanced at him sideways.

"A fracture?" He repeated the word, his tone laced with undisguised sarcasm. "I saw him hanging there perfectly fine, both hands. If you're going to be standing on the testing field, don't use injuries as an excuse. I've seen plenty of recruits like you, making excuses for poor performance—it's always something hurting or uncomfortable, acting like you're some kind of delicate freak. Especially you—" He turned back to Bai Ye, "You did so well in the previous events, but you only managed five pull-ups? That's not an injury, that's faking it. Afraid of lowering the average score, you just pretended to be exhausted?"

Bai Ye looked at him and remained silent for two seconds.

He spoke, his voice still calm, but his speech was a beat slower than usual: "Instructor Zheng, I can redo it."

"Do it again?" Instructor Zheng sneered. "You're going to do it again now? How many are you going to do? Six? Or seven? Even if you barely manage to pass, it won't change the fact that you had such a bad attitude."

Xuanxiao was already laughing in anger.

"Instructor Zheng," Xuan Xiao said, pushing up the sleeves of his training uniform slowly and deliberately, his tone carrying a deliberate politeness, "you just said that this recruit company is full of useless people, not even one can do fifteen pull-ups, right?"

Instructor Zheng turned to look at him. Xuan Xiao didn't wait for his reply, but walked straight to the bottom of the horizontal bar, jumped up, and gripped the bar with both hands.

This time he did not stop at the twelfth.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—

Twenty-five, twenty-six—

Thirty. Xuanxiao's movements finally began to change—the pull-up range changed from his chin going over the bar to barely reaching it, and he could no longer fully straighten his arms when he lowered them. But with each pull, his chin steadily passed the bar.

Thirty-two, thirty-three. His face was flushed red, the veins on his forehead were clearly visible, and the veins on his neck bulged from his collarbone all the way to his jaw.

Thirty-five.

Thirty-six.

Thirty-seven.

Halfway through his thirty-seventh pull, his arm strength finally gave out. He hung on the bar for half a second, then let go and landed.

The entire training ground fell silent for a full three seconds.

"Thirty-seven." Lu Xiao's voice came from behind the crowd, unhurried and clearly enunciated each word. "Instructor Zheng, what was the standard you mentioned earlier? Fifteen? My math isn't very good, what's thirty-seven minus fifteen? Could you help me calculate it?"

Instructor Zheng's face began to darken.

Bai Ye didn't look at Xuan Xiao, nor at Instructor Zheng. He walked to the bottom of the horizontal bar, then jumped up and gripped the bar with his left hand.

Bai Ye's body hung vertically, his left hand gripping the horizontal bar tightly, his shoulder blades tucked in. Then he pulled himself up. The first pull was clean and crisp. The second was steady. The third time, the biceps and forearm muscles in his left arm were completely taut, and bluish veins rose from beneath his skin.

The fifth pull. The eighth pull. The tenth pull. The counting in the queue changed from whispers to a unified shout. With each pull, a number was called out, the voices growing louder and louder, as if trying to blast the sound directly into Instructor Zheng's ears. The fifteenth pull—the same number Instructor Zheng had said, fifteen, and it was done with one hand.

The sixteenth pull. The movement began to slow down, but his chin still steadily cleared the bar. The seventeenth pull—his left arm began to tremble as he pulled to the top, but his body didn't sway, his legs didn't push off; it was purely upper body strength pulling him up.

The eighteenth. His chin lingered for a moment as it cleared the bar for the last time, then he lowered himself down at a steady pace, landing firmly on his feet.

Bai Ye swung his left arm, moving his fingers which were red from being pressed against the bar. His breathing was a little rapid, but far from being unable to breathe.

He looked up at Instructor Zheng, his tone as calm as usual.

"One hand, eighteen. My hand was indeed injured—the medical record is with the military doctor, the fracture line is clearly visible, steel pins were inserted, the splint was removed in six weeks, and recovery took two weeks. Instructor Zheng can arrange it anytime."

The training ground was so quiet that only the sound of the wind could be heard.

Lu Xiao stepped out from the side of the line. He took the lollipop out of his mouth, walked up to Instructor Zheng, and his smile was dangerously bright.

"Instructor Zheng," he twirled the lollipop between his fingers, his tone light as if he were discussing the weather, "look at these results—Xuanxiao with both hands, thirty-seven; Baiye with one hand, eighteen—by your standards, does this recruit training exceed your expectations? Or do you want to raise the standard further? Fifteen isn't enough? Twenty? Twenty-five? You set a number, and I'll see if they can give you a few more."

Instructor Zheng's face darkened. His complexion changed from ashen to deep brown, his lips pressed into a straight line, and the record board in his hand made a slight creaking sound. He glanced down at the numbers on the record board, then picked up his pen, drew a line forcefully next to Xuan Xiao's name, and wrote a single character.

Thirty-seven.

He then drew another line next to Bai Ye's name and wrote four characters: "One-handed Eighteen".

He closed the scoreboard, turned and walked away. After taking three steps, he stopped, turned around, and tossed out a sentence: "Pass all."

The cheers that erupted from the queue drowned out the hum of the horizontal bar in the wind. Zhao Xiaohu hugged Qian Duoduo tightly, and Qian Duoduo hugged Zhao Xiaohu back. The two spun around before realizing who they were hugging. They let go at the same time, each patting their clothes in disgust, but still yelling at Bai Ye and Xuan Xiao.

Xuan Xiao leaned against the horizontal bar post, arms crossed, his breathing not yet fully steady. He turned his head to look at Bai Ye, a smile playing on his lips, his tone carrying an undisguised smugness, but more than that, something deeper: "Thirty-seven."

Bai Ye also turned her head to look at him.

"Eighteen with one hand."

"I don't care, I just did more than you."

"oh."

"What do you mean 'oh'? I just pulled up thirty-seven poops with all my might, and you only give me one?"

"Well done," Bai Ye said.

Xuan Xiao paused for a moment, then burst out laughing. It was a quiet laugh, not loud, just the kind that rolled out from his throat, unable to be suppressed, mixed with his still-breathing breath, and was blown away by the wind amidst the noise of the training ground.