The military showdown was a time-honored army tradition, with major tournaments held every four years. This year's event, however, was an anomaly. International criticism of the nation's oversized military prompted inevitable downsizing. Typically, camps like the Capital Military District were spared, but last year's high-level leadership summit raised the issue.
The proposal called for equal treatment across all forces. The capital, home to the General Military District and six sub-academies, was deemed bloated. Suggestions surfaced to disband two academies, reallocating resources to boost combat efficiency.
Though laced with private agendas, the plan appeared fair on its face. Despite knowing it could harm the Leis, Grandpa Lei didn't object. At such a lofty position, while partial to family, he upheld selfless duty to the nation.
Consensus formed to let this year's martial contest decide the academies' fate. Strength would prevail—losers would be cut, no grounds for complaint.
With many interests at stake, this smaller-scale showdown outshone the quadrennial General District tournament, crackling with fierce rivalry. The atmosphere was electric, and some opportunists even set betting odds for the six academies, sparking a shadowy gambling frenzy.
Perhaps sensing the contest's gravity, Lei Qiuping and Wu Xiaomin insisted Lei Zhengyang attend to anchor the Fifth Academy. To them, he was their stabilizing force—a veritable pillar.
The event unfolded at the General District's parade ground, meticulously prepped. Beyond top military commission brass, several Politburo state leaders would attend, necessitating ironclad security. Non-military figures like Lei Zhengyang required special clearance.
For a scion like him, this was no hurdle. As he entered the grounds, two familiar faces approached. Leading was Lin Zhouwei, whom Lei Zhengyang had once thrashed. Beside him was his cousin, Lin Kuang, whose face twisted with cold fury, fists clenching with a bone-cracking snap, still smarting from his defeat at the Yaochi Club, itching for a rematch.
Lin Zhouwei, despite his past humiliation, was all smiles, stepping forward eagerly. "Well, if it isn't Third Young Master Lei! Heard your Fifth Academy's training is top-notch. Any shot at the top three? Hope you don't get knocked out early, missing a clash with the First Academy." The First's instructor, Ning Buluan, was hailed as the army's best. Though Knife's mystique was formidable, his low profile kept him lesser-known.
Lei Zhengyang saw through Lin Zhouwei's taunt—a cheap shot to needle him. Unfazed, he mused whether to find another chance to pummel the guy. Not out of personal grudge, but to warn him: Song Yingfei was his woman, so keep any crooked ideas at bay.
"The First Academy's got Instructor Ning, so it's tough," Lei Zhengyang replied coolly. "But I hope the Fifth won't let you down. If we lose, the Leis lose face. But if the Fifth somehow beats the First, your Lin family might need to crawl into a hole."
Lin Zhouwei laughed loudly. "Third Young Master Lei's got jokes! Hear that, folks? The Fifth beating my First! Word is, bets are flying outside. How about we play, too? Let's make it fun—say, a billion. Just pocketed some cash, so losing's no sweat."
Seizing the moment, Lin Zhouwei's casual tone left no room for retreat. If Lei Zhengyang balked, he'd lose face—a critical currency in the capital's elite circles.
"A billion? That's steep," Lei Zhengyang said, feigning hesitation.
"Too much? Third Young Master Lei, you're a Lei heir—don't tell me you can't scrape that together. People might think less of you," Lin Zhouwei sneered, goading him to take the bait, knowing a loss would sting.
Truth was, Lin Zhouwei didn't have that sum either. His recent windfall was half a billion, but he was confident. No one in the capital could outmatch Ning Buluan—he trusted him implicitly.
"Fine, let's do it. Who's scared?" Lei Zhengyang, seemingly provoked, flushed and agreed.
Lin Zhouwei clapped, shouting, "Everyone heard that! My bet with Third Young Master Lei—witness it!" A crowd of notable capital offspring had gathered, not on par with Lin Zhouwei or Lei Zhengyang, but prestigious enough. Their presence ensured no one could welch, lest they lose all standing in the capital.
"Third Young Master, see you later. Have that cash ready," Lin Zhouwei said, strutting off, acting as if the billion was already his.
Lin Kuang hissed, "Lei Zhengyang, you'll crash hard."
Lei Zhengyang stayed silent. The Lin brothers—one cocky, one arrogant—were no real threat. But their patriarch, Old Man Lin, was a cunning fox, outwitting even Grandpa Lei. Grandpa's status was forged in youth's battles; Old Man Lin's came from a lifetime of political maneuvering.
Lei Qiuping and Wu Xiaomin, already present, saw the Lin brothers corner Lei Zhengyang. Lei Qiuping nearly charged in, but Wu Xiaomin held him back, half-laughing. "Let the youngsters clash. You want in? Forgotten your role? You're Zhengyang's uncle, not his brother."
Wu Xiaomin knew the capital's power plays well. Each tier had its battles. If Lei Qiuping intervened, it'd escalate, smacking of bullying. Besides, Lin Zhouwei was already Lei Zhengyang's punching bag—no cause for worry.
Lei Qiuping knew he was an uncle, but old habits died hard. "Right, I'm his uncle—no squabbling with kids. Let's grill Zhengyang and teach those Lin brats a lesson," he said, rushing over as the Lins left.
Hearing the bet, Lei Qiuping's face fell. "Zhengyang, a billion's huge. Ning Buluan's the First's ace—ten years undefeated. Can we take him?"
"Lei Qiuping, show some spine!" Wu Xiaomin snapped. "No fight yet, and you're caving? No wonder the Fifth's been dead last for years—with your spineless attitude! Don't call yourself my man."
Though a woman, Wu Xiaomin's fierce spirit burned. Lei Qiuping's defeatism made her want to deck him.
Lei Zhengyang gave a wry smile, equally frustrated. "Strength-wise, Ning Buluan's First Academy is superior. But the Fifth's no slouch. It'll come down to who ignites their team's spirit first. Once that fire's lit, the weak can topple the strong. Betting's fun only when the outcome's uncertain."
He knew the First's solid foundation outclassed the Fifth. But the Fifth's special forces, tempered in the Yilin Mountains' life-or-death battle, had tasted blood. That crucible could unleash a killer instinct. If sparked, the First would crumble. Real combat trumped training every time.
Lei Qiuping, ever the hands-off boss, shrugged. "Zhengyang, you've got this figured out. Today's pep talk is yours. I'd just lose face if we flop—you're out a billion. Damn, people are loaded these days. A billion, not pocket change!"
Lei Zhengyang was floored by his uncle's priorities. A win would bring family glory, worth more than billions, yet he fretted over cash, ignoring the honor. "Fine, if we win, I'll cover your wedding and honeymoon costs. Generous enough?"
Lei Qiuping lit up, grabbing his hand. "Zhengyang, I won't say no! Here's to your victory—Third Uncle's cheering!"
Wu Xiaomin, fed up, shoved him aside. "Get lost! Don't show your face today!" His words implied the contest was Lei Zhengyang's alone, forgetting the Fifth represented him, not his nephew.
"Zhengyang, ignore your deadbeat uncle," Wu Xiaomin said. "Let's plan the special forces' lineup. We have to win—the Leis can't afford the shame." Her fierce loyalty, even before joining the family, shone through, prioritizing their honor.