[First Week of 60 Days]
Lujing Village, "Training Zone 1"
Dawn on the first day of Lujing Village's new era began with the sound of screaming.
Not screams of terror. But screams of muscle failure.
"AGAIN!"
Chen Fu's voice boomed across the village square. Thirty-three men, now calling themselves the "Lujing Militia," were performing the most basic exercise Long Wei could remember from boot camp: push-ups.
"I... can't... do any more, Captain!" groaned Li Er, his thin arms trembling violently against the dew-damp earth.
"The Wolf King... doesn't... care... if you're tired!" Chen Fu retorted, giving Li Er's leg a light kick. "The Commander said... wars... are won... with legs... and lungs! ON YOUR FEET!"
Across the village, the scene was one of organized chaos.
Long Wei stood on his tree-stump command post. He had not slept. His sharp eyes watched every moving part of his new machine.
Li Er's Construction Team (after their morning drill) was digging foundations behind the earthen rampart, preparing for the first stone wall.
Healer Chen's Logistics Team was already in the fields, harvesting the wheat with frantic speed.
The "Eyes Team"—children over ten—were running the forest perimeter, acting as eyes and ears, reporting every squirrel's movement as if it were an invasion.
Lujing Village was now functional. But it was a machine that screeched. And Long Wei was there to oil it.
[Day Two: The Smithy]
Long Wei's first priority wasn't the soldiers. It was the steel.
He walked to the workshop of Uncle Wang, the village's old blacksmith.
"Your... steel... is brittle," Long Wei said, without preamble. He picked up one of the captured swords. "This... is... scrap... iron. But... it's... better... than yours."
Uncle Wang, a burly man with arms as thick as thighs, was offended. "I've... been smithing... for 40... years, Commander. Steel... is steel. Heat. Hammer. Quench."
"Wrong," Long Wei said. "Your... steel... is dirty. Full... of tiny... holes. It's... why... your axes... crack... in the... winter."
Long Wei picked up a piece of charcoal. "You... need... more... carbon. And... you... must... fold it."
He didn't know the exact chemical formulas for Damascus or Tamahagane steel, but he was a weapons engineer. He knew the principles. He knew superior steel was made by repeatedly folding the metal to hammer out impurities and mix the carbon evenly.
"Fold?" Wang laughed. "You... fold... blankets, boy. Not... steel."
Long Wei ignored him. "Heat... this." He pointed to the captured sword. "Until... it's white. Hammer... it flat. Sprinkle... this... charcoal... powder. Fold it. Hammer... again. Repeat."
For five hours, the smithy was filled with the sound of an angry hammer. Uncle Wang thought this was a fool's errand. He followed the orders, cursing under his breath, folding the glowing metal over on itself, hammering it flat, heating it, folding it again.
Long Wei's body screamed in protest. The heat from the forge made his unhealed wounds itch and throb. But he didn't move.
After twelve folds, the piece of metal no longer looked like a trashy sword. It was a small, dense billet of steel with a faint, watery ripple pattern on its surface.
"Quench," Long Wei ordered.
SSSSSHHHHH!
Wang picked up the cooled billet. He stared at it. He struck it with his small hammer.
Instead of the dull 'thud' of normal iron, the metal rang.
The sound was clear. Like a bell. Tiiiing.
Uncle Wang's eyes went wide. He grabbed one of his old axes and swung it down hard on the new billet. The axe bounced off, leaving a tiny scratch, while the axe-head itself... was dented.
Uncle Wang dropped his axe. He looked at Long Wei with a new gaze. It was no longer the look for a commander. It was the look of a disciple for a divine master.
"You..." Wang whispered. "How... did you... know this?"
"Not... important," Long Wei said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Now... make... a blade... for... this."
He pulled out the charcoal drawing of the crossbow design he had perfected. "And... teach... your apprentices. We... need... 100... of these... trigger... mechanisms. Yesterday."
[Day Four: The Firing Range]
Spear training was going well. Chen Fu had a natural talent for military discipline.
But the bow training was a disaster.
Long Wei had assigned Hou (the prisoner) to teach the farmers how to use the captured bows. Hou, still tied by a long rope to a post, seemed to be enjoying their suffering.
"Not like that, you idiot!" he cackled, laughing as Li Er loosed an arrow that shot straight into the dirt, five meters in front of him. "You... draw... a bowstring, not... pull... your cow's udder! Hahaha!"
"Shut up, bandit!" Li Er growled, his face red.
Long Wei, who had been inspecting the wall's foundation, sighed. He limped over.
"Hou. Quiet."
Hou went instantly silent.
Long Wei took the bow from Li Er. He felt the heavy draw. About 70 pounds. Not bad.
His left shoulder, where he'd been shot in his modern world, was still stiff. But he ignored it.
He took three arrows.
The farmers and Hou watched.
Long Wei took a breath. He didn't use arm strength. He used his back, proper technique. He held his breath for a second.
THWACK!
The first arrow buried itself in the exact center of the straw target, 50 meters away.
He didn't pause. Draw, breathe, release.
THWACK!
The second arrow slammed in right next to the first.
Draw, breathe, release.
THWACK!
The third arrow hit the nock of the second, splitting it. A Robin Hood.
The entire field was silent. Hou's jaw was open.
Long Wei lowered the bow.
"The problem... is not... in the arms," he said to the awestruck farmers. "The problem... is... here." He pointed to his head. "And... here." He pointed to his lungs.
"Focus. Breathe. Release... when lungs... are empty. Repeat."
He threw the bow back to Li Er. "And... you, Hou. Train... them. Or... the next... target practice... is... you."
[Day Seven: The First 'Peaceful' Night]
A week had passed.
The foundation for the first stone wall was visible.
Five high-quality steel blades had been forged.
The farmers could now thrust a dummy without stabbing their own feet.
The village was exhausted. But it was a productive exhaustion.
Long Wei sat alone at his command post, staring at the village map under the moonlight. He was planning new patrol routes for the "Eyes Team." He rubbed his temples. The ache in his ribs was a constant, dull throb.
"Commander."
He looked up. Chen Yue was standing there, carrying a wooden tray. This time, it wasn't just congee. There was a bowl of steamed rice, some salted vegetables, and—shockingly—a small piece of boiled chicken. A luxury.
She set the tray down on the table. She didn't leave immediately.
"You... haven't... slept. Again," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Much... work," Long Wei muttered, his eyes returning to the map.
"The work... will... wait," she said. "Your body... will not. My father... says... you will... collapse... before the bandits... come... if you... keep... this up."
Long Wei sighed. He looked at the food. "Why... do I... get chicken?"
"The logistics team... decided," Chen Yue said, a slight blush rising on her cheeks. "The Commander... needs... the most... strength."
An awkward silence settled between them. This was the longest conversation they'd had since the battle.
Long Wei, the military genius, decided to attempt... diplomacy.
He picked up a piece of chicken with his still-clumsy chopsticks.
"Thank... you," he said. "This... is... good tactics. Troop... morale... is important."
Chen Yue stared at him, confused. "Dinner... is... 'tactics'?"
"Yes. A... well-fed... army... fights... better."
Chen Yue sighed. She couldn't help it. A small smile—the first genuine smile since the battle—touched her face. "You... really... don't... know how... to talk... to people, do you?"
Long Wei froze, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "I... am talking."
"No," she said, her smile widening. "You... give... orders. Or... you give... technical... lectures. You... don't... talk."
Long Wei put his chopsticks down. His brain was stalling. He genuinely had no response. "I... don't... understand."
"I know," she said, now giggling softly. "That's... the problem." She pointed at his bowl. "Eat... your... 'tactical'... congee, Commander."
She turned to leave.
"Chen Yue," he called out.
She paused.
"Your smile," Long Wei said, fighting for the words. "It... is good."
It was the lowest-level compliment. Awkward. Stiff. But it was sincere.
Chen Yue looked at him, surprised. The blush on her cheeks was now burning. She said nothing. She just gave a quick nod, then hurried off into the darkness.
Long Wei was left alone. He looked at his food. For the first time in a very long time, he felt... a little warm.
Just then, Uncle Wang and Li Er ran up to him, their faces beaming. They were carrying something carefully.
"Commander! Commander! We did it!"
They placed the first prototype crossbow on the table.
It was ugly, made of rough wood and the new, polished steel mechanism.
"Test it," Long Wei ordered, the warmth instantly gone, replaced by an engineer's focus.
Li Er, beaming with pride, placed a bolt on the rail. He aimed at a bandit shield propped against a tree, 50 meters away. He pulled the trigger.
K-TWANG!
The sound was powerful and deadly. The bolt shot straight and true and slammed into the wooden shield.
It didn't just stick.
It punched through the shield... and the tree behind it.
The entire resting village went silent at the sound.
Chen Fu, who had been drinking water, choked.
Long Wei walked to the target. He examined the clean hole. He pulled at the deeply embedded bolt.
He turned to his team.
"Good," he said. A small, real smile—the satisfied smile of an engineer—touched his face.
"Now... make 99... more."