The driver's seat was a statement. On the ride back, with Qiao Mingxuan watching, Qin Bing casually ordered Xiao Ke to take the wheel. It was a subtle, brilliant power play. Everyone knew you didn't let just anyone drive your vehicle. The driver was a confidant, someone inside the circle. By putting him there, Qin Bing was drawing a line in the sand, silently telling Qiao Mingxuan: He's mine. Back off.
Xiao Ke's hands were glued to the wheel at ten and two, his foot feather-light on the accelerator. He drove with a surgeon's precision, terrified of hitting a bump and jostling his commander. He wouldn't make the same mistake as a brute like Duan Canglong.
Qin Bing, however, seemed to melt into the seat, completely unbothered by the rough road. She watched the scarred landscape blur past the window, her eyes half-closed.
"You make it through okay?" she asked, her voice low.
Xiao Ke blinked. "Ma'am?"
"The Hellhounds," she clarified. "No injuries?"
"Not a scratch," he confirmed.
She nodded, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment. "Having Qiao Mingxuan swoop in and steal your thunder like that… must sting."
Xiao Ke risked a glance at her in the rearview mirror. "He outranks me, outmaneuvers me, and outguns me. There's nothing to be bitter about." He paused, his voice dropping an octave. "But what he took from me today… I'll get it back. Twice over."
He braced himself for a reprimand. Qin Bing had explicitly ordered them to drop it. But instead of anger, a slow smile spread across her lips.
"I knew you had an edge," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "The second you volunteered for this mission, the second I saw that hunger in your eyes to make Decurion… I knew you were ambitious. That's a good thing. But ambition without the power to back it up? That's just a fast way to get yourself killed."
"You're not… mad, ma'am?" Xiao Ke asked, surprised.
"About what?"
"You told us to let it go. But I can't."
"Of course you can't," she said matter-of-factly. "And you think Qiao Mingxuan is going to let it go? My order was about keeping up appearances. What you two do in the shadows… well, that's a game no one can stop."
Xiao Ke said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
By the time their convoy rolled back into Ginkgo Town, dusk was settling, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple. As he helped her from the vehicle, Qin Bing stopped him.
"My courtyard. Tonight," she said. "Your training's not over. It's just getting started."
Xiao Ke froze. He'd nearly mastered the standard military combat forms, the brutal dance of the army-issue saber. He figured his nightly sessions were about to end. But this wasn't an ending. It was an escalation. A thrill, sharp and electric, shot through him.
He snapped to attention, his back ramrod straight. "Yes, ma'am!"
Ginkgo Town was a portrait of grim resilience. The news of zombies on the perimeter had scared off the traveling merchants and their entourages, but the town's heart—the poor, the refugees, the scavengers—remained. They had nowhere else to go. Leaving meant starving in the wasteland; staying meant a fighting chance.
The town's defenses were bolstered by the arrival of Qiao Mingxuan's hundred-strong White Shark Battalion, who brought with them not just men but three heavy-duty trucks overflowing with ammo, food, and supplies—a godsend for Qin Bing's resource-strapped soldiers. The town master, Hu Benan, had already patched up the outer walls, a flimsy but necessary improvement.
After a quick, tense meeting where Qiao Mingxuan relayed their orders—hold the town for two weeks until imperial reinforcements arrived—Qin Bing got down to business. She tasked Hu Benan with conscripting 160 locals to refill her depleted ranks and put Qiao Mingxuan's battalion on watch duty for the night.
Later, back at the Killer Whale camp, she meticulously logged the casualties, commendations, and kill counts. A promotion wasn't guaranteed, but the promise of a fat imperial bounty for their work against the zombies was enough to lift the spirits of men who had stared death in the face just hours before. That night, the taverns were loud with the sound of soldiers trying to forget.
Everyone went drinking except Xiao Ke. When the moon was high, he slipped away and made his way to Qin Bing's private courtyard.
She was waiting for him, not in her battle gear, but in a formal Chiliarch dress uniform—a crisp white shirt, a black tailored jacket, and a matching skirt. In the moonlight, her features seemed sharper, more defined. When her face was a cold mask, she looked like a severe academy instructor. But when she smiled, as she was now, it was a devastating weapon.
Xiao Ke's heart hammered against his ribs. He dropped his gaze. "Ma'am."
"Relax," she said, her voice losing its hard, official edge. "Everything you've learned so far—the hand-to-hand, the saber techniques—it's just the basics. It's what we teach the cannon fodder."
Xiao Ke's head snapped up. Cannon fodder? He thought those skills were the bedrock of an imperial soldier.
Reading the confusion on his face, she paced the stone patio. "Have you ever heard of Martial Vein Awakening?"
"A little," he said. "Stories from the front. They say the endless war with the zombies triggered something in us, a kind of evolution. Awakened warriors can use something called Origin Force, channel it into their weapons until they glow like light sabers. They're the only thing that can reliably kill high-level zombies."
"Exactly," she confirmed. "To be one of the elite—to be a real soldier—you have to awaken it. You have to master the Force." She stopped in front of him, her eyes locking onto his. "Tonight, I'm going to teach you how."
His breath hitched. "Yes, ma'am!"
She tossed him a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid. "Drink it. It activates the nodes in your body. There are twelve of them, and the pathway connecting them is the Martial Vein."
He downed the potion in one gulp. A strange warmth spread through him, and suddenly, he could feel it—a hidden network inside him, a map of twelve distinct points of light, dormant but present.
"I can feel it," he whispered, his eyes wide.
"Good."
The Tiers of Power
"Those twelve nodes are the twelve levels of power," she explained. "Every time you ignite a node, you climb a rank."
Levels 1-3: War Soldier
Levels 4-6: War General
Levels 7-9: Valiant General
Levels 10-12: Grand General
"Your average elite soldier is a level 3 War Soldier. War Generals are the backbone of the army. Valiant Generals are the kind of power players that kingdoms fight over. And a Grand General?" She smirked. "They're the ones who can shake the world with a single step."
Xiao Ke was captivated, his mind racing. "So… what level am I?"
Her smirk vanished. "You haven't even ignited your first node. You're not even on the board."
The embarrassment was a physical blow.
"Now," she said, her tone all business, "we begin." She tossed him a slim, leather-bound book. Stamped on the cover in gold leaf were three words: The Tiger's Might Art.
"This is the official cultivation manual of the Imperial Army," she said. "It's not flashy like the secret arts of the noble houses. There are no shortcuts. It's slow, honest, and brutal. But the ones who have the talent and the discipline to master it… they can climb all the way to the top."
"Ma'am," he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him, "what level are you?"
She simply gave him a long, unreadable look. "Qiao Mingxuan, for all his lack of talent, is a fifth-level War General. If you don't take this seriously, and he decides to settle things with you privately… You won't last three moves."
A cold dread washed over Xiao Ke. He hadn't realized the gap between them was that vast. He clutched the book to his chest. "You have my word, ma'am. I will not rest."
A genuine, dazzling smile lit up her face. "Good. You're the first soldier I've ever taken under my wing, Xiao Ke. Don't make me regret it."