The old man chuckled, "Back in the day, I fought with the Boxers and scrapped with warlords. These skills? Learned 'em young in the Boxer Rebellion. Never figured I’d be hawkin’ ‘em on the streets for chow."

　　Dong Yaoting’s heart sank. "Old master, if you’ll have us, take us as disciples? We’ll learn to kill them Japs!"

　　The old man smiled. "Son, you’re book-smart. One day, you’ll serve this country right. These war-torn times?" He spat. "Learnin’ to fight ain’t bad. Got no complaints? Starting today, I’m takin’ you three on."

　　Dong Yaoting’s spirits soared. Whirling to Third Master Dong and Zhang Facai, he barked: "Get over here! He’s taking us as disciples! Teachin’ us combat!"

　　The pair grinned like fools. Zhang Facai—battle-scarred grunt—had seen true skill in the trenches: brothers with martial arts training holding their own in close-quarters bayonet combat. That was the real deal, skills no tenderfoot could fake. His eyes blazed.

　　The old man was called Zhang Jinzhi. Dong San-shao’s courage in seizing the blade from Zhang’s granddaughter to fight the Japs had struck a chord with him.

　　Witnessing the boy kill three targets at the city gate—two Japs and one traitor—from over 100 meters away without aiming his rifle? That proved true mastery. A born sharpshooter.

　　Zhang Jinzhi had already resolved to take them as disciples. Passing down his martial arts to kill Japs would settle an old debt. So when Dong Yaoting asked, he agreed instantly.

　　Privately, Zhang considered his own plight. Age gnawed at him—a wandering life in the jianghu couldn’t last. With his granddaughter growing more lovely by the day, trustworthy disciples could safeguard her. Should death claim him, he’d rest without regret.

　　Dong Yaoting’s scholar-turned-warrior journey ignited Zhang’s hope. “When youth thrives, China thrives.” He admired the young man’s grit. Where Dong San-shao relied on brute strength, Dong Yaoting’s learning and insight shone. This one might truly achieve greatness.

　　Zhang bought them pork-stuffed buns—three for each. They devoured them, grease glistening on their chins, while Zhang Hanzhi giggled nearby. Dong San-shao loved her laugh—it echoed Young Mistress Dong Yuwan’s voice in his mind.

　　“Eat your fill, boys!” Zhang Jinzhi puffed his long pipe, eyes crinkling. “Plenty of buns here!”

　　Dong Yaoting's heart swelled with gratitude. Wiping grease from his lips, he grinned: "Master, from now on you're family! Hanzhi's my sister—I'll care for you like my own grandfather."

　　Zhang Jinzhi chuckled. "Martial arts ain't learned overnight. Six months... a year... even three or five years. You boys got that grit?"

　　Dong Yaoting's smile faltered. He stayed silent a long moment. "Master... that’s too long. We’re soldiers—gotta report back and kill Japs."

　　Zhang nodded slowly. "Right then. I’ll teach you moves to chop off Jap heads. Three to five days—learn the basics. Drill on your own later. When you face those little devils in bayonet fighting?" His eyes narrowed. "Taking heads won’t be hard."

　　Dong Yaoting grinned. "That works, Master. Train three years? We’d miss killing Japs before they’re driven out!"

　　After the meal, the old man led them to a ramshackle hut behind the alley. "Disciples, this is where I rest. This afternoon, you’ll earn coppers performing with me and Hanzhi. Tonight?" He tapped his pipe. "You learn combat."

　　Dong Yaoting clasped his hands. "Rest first, Master. We’ll see how the county handles those dead Japs and traitors. Besides..." His voice tightened. "Japs have reached Madang. Pengtse will see bloodshed soon."

　　Zhang Jinzhi took a long drag. "Go. Just remember the way back."

　　Dong Yaoting led Dong San-shao and Zhang Facai toward Pengtse County’s government office—Headquarters of the 16th Army Commander Li Yuning. Zhang Hanzhi stayed behind with her grandfather.

　　Truth was, Dong Yaoting didn’t care about the dead Japs. He wanted cash. Hawkin' skills on the street with his master? No damned way.

　　They stepped from the ramshackle hut into the dusty street. Zhang Facai spat. "Dong Yaoting, what good’s this fool’s errand? Them officers don’t give a damn about us. Like the blind man lightin’ a lamp—total waste of oil."

　　Dong Yaoting’s lips curled. "Depends how you spin it. Sure, brass ignored us before. Not this time. Now we got victories on our side. Get it? No us three—those Jap bastards would’ve slipped clean outta town!"

　　Zhang Facai grinned, tapping his temple. "That brain of yours twists fast, Dong Yaoting! I'd bet my rations—you're officer material!"

　　Dong Yaoting swelled at the praise. Dong San-shao just chuckled silently. Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the 16th Army HQ—Resistance Military Academy training base. The sentries recognized Dong and Zhang. One smirked: "What you fools want now?"

　　Dong Yaoting snapped rigid. "Report to your superiors! We request an audience!"

　　The sentry scoffed. "Brass's busier than a one-armed paperhanger. Piss off!"

　　Dong Yaoting’s face hardened. This wasn’t some child’s game. "Report or we march in ourselves!"

　　Two bayonets crossed like scissors. "Not happenin’, pal."

　　Rage boiled in Dong San-shao. Goddamned ingrates—we bagged Japs, and this is the thanks? He hissed to Zhang: "Old Zhang, let’s wrestle those dog-fucked rifles away! Fire warning shots—whole command’ll come runnin’!"

　　Zhang Facai shook his head violently. "You fuckin’ moron! Play that game, you lose your goddamned head! Stand down!"

　　Dong San-shao spat. "Yellow-bellied sack of shit! Watch me do it!" He lunged behind a sentry.

　　The guard spun, snarling: "The hell you think you’re doin'?"

　　Dong San-shao flashed teeth. "Just borrowin' your rifle!" His right arm shot out, choking the guard’s throat.

　　The soldier thrashed. The second sentry thrust his bayonet—but Dong San-shao yanked the guard like a rag doll. Left. Right. Every lunge met human meat. The bayonet wavered, frozen mid-air.

　　Zhang Facai’s courage hardened. No backing out now. He seized the second sentry in a chokehold from behind.

　　Dong Yaoting raised his palms. "Stand down, boys. Things get ugly? You’ll be chewin’ lead for breakfast."

　　The sentries slowly surrendered their rifles. Dong Yaoting nodded to his men. "Release ’em. This shit ends now. Last time."

　　Dong San-shao snatched a rifle. One shot thundered into the sky. Twenty soldiers burst from the building, bayonets circling them.

　　Dong Yaoting raised his hands. "74th Army! Misfire!" The major emerged, waving back his men. He glared. "Spit it. What’s the play?"

　　"Sir. No travel funds. No weapons. Can’t return to Dean."

　　The major grinned sourly. "So you strong-arm my sentries for cash, you little shits?"

　　"Report denied entry, sir. No choice."

　　"Got balls, kid. I’ll bite. Few coins make you fuck off?"

　　"Reporting to duty, sir. Not fuckin’ off."

　　The major barked a laugh. "Wait here." He disappeared inside, returning with a gray cloth pouch—silver dollars clinking inside. He pocketed five, then flung the bag at Dong Yaoting. "Take it and scram. Touch my men again, I’ll peel your skins."

　　Back at the shack, Dong Yaoting thrust the pouch at Zhang Jinzhi. "Master—ten silver dollars. All yours."

　　The old man stared. "Where’d this come from?"

　　Zhang Hanzhi’s eyes went round. Enough to build a house. Buy rice paddies. More money than she’d ever touched.

　　Dong Yaoting explained the showdown. Zhang Jinzhi finally chuckled. "Clean money, then?"

　　"Clean as dawn, Master."

　　Zhang Jinzhi tossed the bag to his granddaughter. "Girl—stash this. Buy good meat tonight." His pipe jabbed toward the yard. "No street shows today. We train."

　　Zhang Hanzhi beamed, clutching the coins. Zhang Facai scowled inwardly. Fuck me—my cut’s in that bag! Wanna send some to the old lady... But he kept silent. Seven years Dong Yaoting’s senior, yet the kid’s glare put a twist in his gut.