Chapter 542 - The Girls' Squad

The side courtyard housed rows of barracks. The structure and layout were similar to Lu Cheng's accommodation in the quarantine camp, except each room housed only eight people—a vast improvement over the crowded bays of twenty-plus in the quarantine camp. Since there were only six female cadets out of the forty-odd total, they were all assigned to a single dormitory.

Having lived in the quarantine camp dormitories, everyone was already disciplined. As soon as they dropped their backpacks, they hastened to organize their personal space: arranging cups, hanging towels, making beds, and folding quilts. Then came the election of a dorm head—no one wanted this responsibility-heavy, thankless task, so Lu Cheng, the lone outsider not from Bairen Commune, was volunteered for the role.

The roommates were all girls from Bairen Commune. In fact, she was the only one in the entire recruitment batch who wasn't from Bairen.

The members of Bairen Commune were the indigenous people who had attached themselves to the transmigrated collective earliest. Whether local villagers or immigrant refugees, they had been most deeply assimilated by the transmigrators' influence, so it was not surprising they were the trendsetters in local fashion and thought.

Lu Cheng felt these girls looked down on her. Hearing she came from the newly established Jialai Commune, their tone took on a distinct air of superiority.

"What's there to be haughty about?" Lu Cheng thought to herself. Then the Bairen girls began discussing which scent of the Cooperative's latest soap smelled better—jasmine or rose. One girl even proudly claimed she had used transparent soap.

Lu Cheng felt firmly put in her place as a rustic; she understood nothing of what these girls were discussing. She knew soap—sometimes the Commune assigned work for women to wash bedding and clothes, distributing large rugged blocks of it—but she had never heard of scented soap, let alone transparent soap.

Next, a girl took out a few paper-wrapped candy balls from her pocket to share. This girl was named Yao Yulan. Her parents worked in the food factory; her father was a technical backbone in the bean products workshop, earning a high income, so naturally, her consumption level was a cut above the rest.

"It's top-grade fruit candy!" Yao Yulan haughtily offered Lu Cheng one.

Lu Cheng didn't know what fruit candy was. Imitating the others, she peeled off the paper. She had never seen such beautiful confectionery—a crystal-clear yellow orb that seemed to capture the light.

"Eat it!" Yao Yulan said triumphantly, satisfied with her reaction.

The fruit candy was indeed delicious, sweet with a palatable tartness and a faint fruit fragrance. Lu Cheng couldn't help but exclaim, "It's good."

The girls all laughed. Lu Cheng had an easygoing nature and laughed along, which melted the ice significantly. Among the six girls, Yao Yulan was the only non-indentured servant—her family originally ran a small tofu shop in Foshan. Later, due to the war in Liaodong, bean prices soared, and seeing the business failing, her father was moved by Liu San's recruitment of artisans to Lingao with promises of excellent benefits. Yao Yulan's father signed up. Finding life in Lingao prosperous, he quickly moved his family and remaining assets there.

Because of this comfortable background and her loose spending money, Yao Yulan generally looked down on everyone.

There was also a girl named Yang Cao, the oldest of the group. Everyone was surprised when she revealed she was twenty-three—a woman that age was usually either a widow or a mother.

But looking at her appearance: a full figure and eyebrows devoid of fine downy hair, she was clearly no virgin.

This immediately piqued everyone's interest. Under the girls' relentless interrogation, Yang Cao hemmed and hawed before admitting she used to be an opera singer. She had been sold into a troupe since childhood, and the troupe leader never allowed her to marry.

"To make money for him—" Yang Cao said in a dull voice. "If I married, I couldn't make money for him." Yao Yulan clamored for stories about the troupe, but Yang Cao ignored her, silently organizing the items in her issued backpack.

Lu Cheng had faithfully followed the resident police officer's instructions and brought nothing but the clothes on her back. Yao Yulan, however, had brought a small satchel. The satchel was old and showed signs of mending, but Yao Yulan treasured it—Lu Cheng knew this was exclusively for "cadres." She had seen it on the resident police officer in her village, and the village head and militia captain also wore them proudly when going to meetings.

Because of this bag's specific nature, it became a status symbol. People specifically sought out eliminated, beat-up bags for their own use, turning it into a fashion statement of political consciousness.

This bag was likely a hand-me-down from some cadre. Lu Cheng knew that to get such a bag, one either had family or relatives who were cadres or had special "connections" and some spare cash.

Most of the girls had brought some private items: candy, soap, rouge, handkerchiefs, combs, and similar trinkets dear to young women.

For a while, the dormitory seemed to be hosting a noisy exhibition. The girls showed off their treasures while Lu Cheng stood blankly to one side, empty-handed. She coveted their items; everything was so exquisite and beautiful. Her family's income wasn't low, but expenses were cut drastically for her brother's marriage fund, and Jialai Commune had no shops selling such luxuries. She felt a pang of melancholy. Especially Yao Yulan—just a "Tofu Beauty"! She herself had once been the young miss of a fabric shop, after all.

A while later, a female cadre entered the dorm. Her clothes were ironed crisp and stiff, but she looked very childish, seemingly younger than all the girls in the room. Lu Cheng knew this cadre was an indigenous person, not a Chief—female Chiefs were pitifully rare. Lu Cheng had seen a female Chief inspecting the quarantine camp: a tall woman, looking particularly sturdy, with very pale skin, differing physically from Great Ming women.

"Attention!" she shouted. The girls hurriedly stood up and automatically formed a line.

"I am He Chun," the female cadre introduced herself. Though she spoke loudly, her nervousness was palpable. "Political Security NCO Cadet, and also your Squad Leader." Her gaze swept the room. "Who is the dorm head?"

"I am—" Lu Cheng hurriedly raised her hand.

"Why didn't you shout 'Attention' when you saw me enter?"

Lu Cheng was flustered, freezing for a moment, unable to form a reply.

"I am your Squad Leader now!" He Chun tried hard to project "official authority." In truth, before being transferred here as Squad Leader, she had been chewed out again by Zhou Dongtian—Zhou thought she was too thin-skinned to handle preliminary interrogations and kicked her back to await reassignment.

Being returned for reassignment was serious for an intern; it meant an "incompetent" mark on her performance evaluation. As a Political Security NCO cadet, He Chun understood the importance of evaluations better than anyone. She viewed this Squad Leader assignment as a critical chance to rehabilitate her record. He Chun fully recalled everything she had seen, heard, and suffered when she was a refugee and a cadet, and she had even gone to the army training camp to absorb their methods. One could imagine what these girls were about to encounter.

"You are now cadets of the First Short-Term Training Class of the General Political Security Bureau!" He Chun tried her best to look severe, reciting a modified version of the induction speech she had heard during her own training. "Throw your civilian habits aside! This isn't a place for you to muddle your way into becoming cadres; it's a place for you to be reborn! This work requires a high degree of discipline and self-sacrifice. From now on, all actions must obey commands—first and foremost, my commands! Now, inspection of housekeeping!"

Then began the housekeeping bomb. She unceremoniously dumped everyone's bag upside down, scattering items all over the beds. Personal items that violated regulations were thrown directly onto the floor. A handkerchief Yao Yulan brought was not only thrown down but deliberately stomped on. Yao Yulan was so angry she shed tears.

The next day, training officially began. The training class was organized under the auspices of the Military-Political Academy. Zhao Manxiong designed the curriculum for each class and personally supervised its implementation. Each short-term class focused on specific professional training. Although the duration was short, the rigorousness was intense, bordering on harsh.

"Left—face!"

Over forty cadets repeated simple movements on the drill ground: left face, right face, mark time, forward march... For every ten people, a corporal took charge. Eyes wide, brandishing a rattan stick, he walked back and forth along the line. A wrong turn or a mistaken movement earned a sharp lash of the stick or a kick to the ground.

"Idiot! Fool!" Besides commands, the corporals shouted nothing but abuse.

Lu Cheng held a dummy gun inlaid with iron bars—this was a training rifle, 20% heavier than the standard Minié rifle used by the army. Even a man would find it heavy, let alone a woman. Her arms were so sore and numb they were losing sensation, but she stood straight, struggling to maintain her grip—if the gun tilted, Yang Cao, who was crying and trying to crawl up at her feet, was the best example of the consequences.

It was still early spring, but sweat had turned their blue cotton fatigue uniforms black.

The first item of the training class was military drill. The girls' squad received no preferential treatment—not in training rifles, time, nor content. The only privilege was that He Chun, as a young girl, was embarrassed to shout the fluent profanities used by the male corporals. But in exchange, the rattan stick waved more frequently. Lu Cheng's buttocks and thighs stung with pain; she didn't know how many hits she had taken. But she was better off than Yao Yulan—who was lying on the ground refusing to move. No matter how He Chun beat her, she wouldn't get up, until she was dragged aside and doused with a bucket of cold water.