Chapter 21: The Arena Part 2

A figure in a white officer’s uniform stood before her, looking down. “Having a nice chat, are you?”

A familiar voice. Sang Ling kept looking up and found, sure enough, Jiang Yunzhao, hair dyed a blazing red.

Jiang Yunzhao had two lightweight folders tucked in one arm, two pens clipped on top—clearly just out of a meeting.

Sang Ling craned her neck, looking past Jiang Yunzhao and down—and discovered that the Alphas below, who had been a chaotic mob moments ago, had snapped into formation in an instant. They now stood solemn and silent, under review by the officers who had just adjourned.

The two combatants on the ring had separated as well, standing at ease with hands clasped behind their backs, eyes forward. Blood ran slowly down their foreheads, itching unbearably—and not one of them wiped it away.

Jiang Yunzhao, displeased at being ignored, rapped Sang Ling’s head lightly with her folder. “What are you looking at?”

Sang Ling marveled: “They formed up so fast.”

Jiang Yunzhao scoffed. “What else? You think everyone’s as undisciplined as you?”

Sang Ling pursed her lips and was about to say something when another voice cut in.

“Well, well. So this is the Pretty Boy you filed overnight paperwork to recruit?”

The two of them turned toward the voice together.

Another officer in a white uniform. Compared to Jiang Yunzhao—red-haired, but buttoned to the very top, wrapped up tight as a proper young lady—this one looked far more lax: three buttons undone, the air of an old soldier gone to seed, a small squad of similarly styled soldiers trailing behind her.

“Zhao Er,” Jiang Yunzhao told Sang Ling. “Captain of Task Force Unit 2. Nobody knows her real name—she’ll only ever be second to me anyway, so just call her Zhao Er.”

Zhao Er was several years older than Jiang Yunzhao yet held the same rank. Jiang Yunzhao commanded Task Force Unit 1, she commanded Unit 2, and Jiang Yunzhao even seemed to be edging ahead of her—so she had long made a habit of disliking the Eldest Miss Jiang.

The Eldest Miss could certainly fight—she was a favorite for the all-forces martial championship, and her Liquid Metal Exoskeleton was a marvel to behold—but she simply didn’t look like a serious soldier.

Raised in silk and privilege, the Eldest Miss Jiang’s features were delicate enough already—and on top of that she had skin that refused to tan no matter the sun, her whole body practically stamped with the words “pampered nobility” and “Pretty Boy.”

Captain Zhao, whose own skin had been baked bronze and whose muscles showed plainly, therefore despised everyone of the Pretty Boy type on principle.

She looked Sang Ling over, then turned back to Jiang Yunzhao with a smile. “The Pretty Boy you recruited really does look about like you.”

Her soldiers behind her snickered into their throats.

Jiang Yunzhao’s face showed nothing. She was a young lady with a truly terrible temper—but she never lost her head over anything connected to the military.

On the contrary, she was remarkably restrained. She didn’t rage at Captain Zhao’s provocation; she simply gave Sang Ling’s calf a light kick.

Sang Ling took the hint and stood, hearing Jiang Yunzhao say, offhand: “No reaction to her insulting you?”

Sang Ling ignored Captain Zhao entirely, answering Jiang Yunzhao with complete sincerity: “I take being called a Pretty Boy as her heartfelt tribute to my beauty.”

“You should be happy too. She thinks you’re good-looking.” She said it to Jiang Yunzhao in perfect earnestness.

Captain Zhao’s face went black. Who asked you?

The Eldest Miss Jiang hadn’t expected that answer either—but on reflection, it was exactly the sort of thing Sang Ling would say.

So she laughed too, and told Captain Zhao, “Our thanks for the compliment.”

Captain Zhao ground her teeth, faced with these two Pretty Boys whose hides were thick as city walls.

There was no winning a sarcasm contest against them. She could only cut straight to it, chin high:

“We are soldiers. War is decided by ability, not faces. What good does pretty do you? You’ll be the first to die.”

Sang Ling turned to Jiang Yunzhao, wounded. “She’s cursing me.”

“She’s so jealous that I’m better looking than her, she’s resorted to wishing me dead.”

Jiang Yunzhao’s smile had been growing since the very start; now she said, in perfect earnest, “Mm. She’s a bad person. We won’t play with her.”

Captain Zhao had reached the end of her rope. She bellowed, “Enough!”

“Do you think this is a kindergarten? This is a military base!”

Then she gathered in every trace of expression and said, with full gravity:

“As it happens, the arena’s up today. Captain Jiang—willing to let your new recruit test herself against one of my soldiers?”

Our kindergarten has very well-behaved babies, and well-behaved babies don’t fight, Sang Ling thought. But before she could open her mouth, Jiang Yunzhao answered for her: “Fine. And the stakes?”

Captain Zhao said, “The Task Force just got approval on a new S-class Liquid Metal Exoskeleton, and no decision yet on whether it goes to Unit 1 or Unit 2.”

“Free combat. If your recruit wins, the exoskeleton goes to Unit 1. If she loses, it’s ours.”

“Well?”

Not well at all, Sang Ling thought. I don’t even need an exoskeleton.

But Jiang Yunzhao had already nodded her agreement, smiling pleasantly, every inch a dignified commanding officer.

“But we captains must keep our heads. No brawling for its own sake—this is all friendly sparring, of course.”

The Jiang Family that bore Jiang Yunzhao was one of Capital Star’s oldest houses, with centuries of unbroken lineage. When she set out to nauseate someone with impeccable courtesy, she was a fish in water.

Only after Captain Zhao had turned and left with her entourage did Jiang Yunzhao lower her voice, lean in close to Sang Ling’s ear, and say through gritted teeth:

“You had better win today. Or you’re finished.”

Even standing on the arena, Sang Ling was speechless.

The Eldest Miss Jiang did whatever she pleased—why did she never treat anyone else’s opinion as worth anything?

But she had no intention of clashing with her direct commanding officer on her very first day in the military.

Besides, Captain Zhao’s attitude probably represented how most of the Alphas in this base saw Sang Ling.

Too frail. Can’t fight. Easy prey…

Once those labels stuck, she’d never turn them around—she’d sink automatically to the very bottom of the base’s contempt chain.

And at that point, even if she wanted to resist, to prove she could fight, she wouldn’t be facing one person on a stage anymore. She’d be facing an entire pack that bullied her.

Before transmigrating, Sang Ling had often heard a story.

In a prison, a new inmate who wanted to survive was best advised, on the very first day, to pick the biggest old-timer and beat him down in front of everyone—announcing to all: I am not to be trifled with.

Su Qingyue’s demonized portrait of military-base bullying had left its mark on Sang Ling. She decided to do the same: show her strength first, and let these people weigh her properly.

She stood in one corner of the ring, rolling her wrists, swaying her neck side to side.

For ease of movement she had long since taken off her uniform jacket, though she still wore the white shirt.

In the opposite corner, Captain Zhao climbed up with a soldier Sang Ling had never seen before.

She was an Alpha too—hair cropped short, tied up in a small high tuft, face angular and hard-edged, muscles plainly visible.

One look and Sang Ling knew she could fight. That face bore the telltale signs of long-term training—facial muscles compensating, jaw developed from years of clenching through impact.

Her opponent was at minimum a seasoned boxing enthusiast: boxing shorts, a fighter’s sports bra, defined abs on open display.

The short-haired Alpha bounced quick little steps in place, warming up.

Faced with a Pretty Boy who looked frail at a glance, Zhao Er couldn’t even be bothered to coach. She skipped the tactical briefing entirely and said only one thing to the short-haired Alpha: “Just wail on her. She’s a sophomore. Let her learn how high the sky really is.”

Sang Ling couldn’t even be bothered to mock how much Zhao Er sounded like a brainless villain from a cheap power-fantasy webnovel.

She stood where she was, rolling her knuckles, and after a few crisp pops of joint, she closed her eyes.

The nineteen-year-old Alpha’s face was calm, lashes long and straight. She still wore the white shirt, buttoned meticulously to the very top.

The pallor of her skin made her look scholarly, almost sickly—and with her eyes closed, the sharpness in them was hidden away, leaving her looking docile.

To any observer, this was very nearly a surrender.

Sang Ling herself was slowly evening out her breathing, feeling every muscle in her body in turn.

The blood gradually stilled. The heartbeat slowed. The muscles began to loosen.

She felt herself entering an entirely new state.

Patience returned, calm poured in—and she felt herself fill with… determination!

A light sound of landing came from beside her. Jiang Yunzhao braced one hand on the ring and vaulted up.

Sang Ling answered without opening her eyes. “Jiang Yunzhao.”

“Call me Boss.”

Regarding the outcome of this match, Jiang Yunzhao—who had seen Sang Ling fight Zerg—felt not a flicker of worry. She asked, leisurely, “What school of philosophy is this?”

“I was thinking—if I win, can that S-class Liquid Metal Exoskeleton be mine?”

Jiang Yunzhao’s brow arched. “An S-class Liquid Metal Exoskeleton isn’t something just anyone gets to use. A Reservist, and you dare to dream.”

“I won it with my own hands. Why wouldn’t I dare to dream?”

The Eldest Miss was genuinely curious. “And if I refuse to give it?”

There was laughter in Sang Ling’s voice. “Then I’ll just lose.”

“I’m only a second-year Reservist, after all. Losing isn’t shameful.”

“After all, I’ve got you—my Boss—the famously young Eldest Miss Jiang—standing in front of me, taking the hits.”

Her words were outrageous. But Jiang Yunzhao, who by rights should have been offended and furious, suddenly laughed instead.

She admired ambition. All of it.

“Good. Win it, and that S-class exoskeleton is yours.”

Across the ring, Zhao Er was still jeering. “Hey, Pretty Boy! Why aren’t you changing? Giving up already?”

A white shirt was obviously worse for combat than boxing gear—it would only hamper Sang Ling’s movements.

The young Alpha opened her eyes, a gentle smile on her face, and the words that came out were anything but.

“Change clothes?”

Her eyes curved as she smiled. “To beat you? Hardly necessary.”