Chapter Fourteen: Special Training (Part Two)

Stretching his arm, which ached from being twisted so painfully, Zhao Qiang complained shamelessly, “Why did you fight back?”

“Did I ever say I wouldn’t fight back? Go on—if you don’t land a hit on me, there won’t be any dinner.” His voice was as cold as ever.

Climbing up from the ground, Zhao Qiang began to worry about his evening meal. Having witnessed Wei Tao’s terrifying killing skills, he knew that if Wei Tao didn’t fight back, he might have a sliver of hope to knock him down.

“There should be a process to everything, shouldn’t there?” Zhao Qiang argued.

Wei Tao snorted dismissively, utterly indifferent to Zhao Qiang’s protest. “Hit me, or go hungry.”

Zhao Qiang nearly lost his mind. With this cold-blooded man, arguing was always futile. He had once loved martial arts, had even trained in free fighting with a master for a couple of days, and thanks to his ruthlessness, Zhao Qiang had rarely lost a brawl in his youth. Was he being forced to fight dirty now? A grim smile crept over his face—if there were no restrictions, he’d show no mercy.

He started circling Wei Tao, searching for an opening. But though Wei Tao stood there unmoving, his gaze fixed into the distance, after several rounds, Zhao Qiang realized he couldn’t find a single flaw in the man’s defense.

At last, he grew impatient. Circling behind Wei Tao once more, he struck—his leg whipped fiercely at Wei Tao, who seemed utterly unguarded. After these days of physical training, Zhao Qiang felt confident in his strength; if this kick landed, even a bull would go down.

But Wei Tao simply lifted his foot with apparent nonchalance, nullifying Zhao Qiang’s attack. In a flash, he spun around and chopped with his hand at Zhao Qiang, who was off balance from missing his target. The blow landed on Zhao Qiang’s chest, sending him crashing to the ground again, with Wei Tao once more seizing him by the chin.

All afternoon, under Wei Tao’s relentless drilling, Zhao Qiang was left utterly exhausted. Again and again he got up, only to be struck down. He hadn’t managed a single effective attack, let alone knocked Wei Tao down. Whatever methods he tried—be they honorable or underhanded—Wei Tao always dissolved them with ease, then battered him with a storm of blows.

“Too slow! Too much showmanship!” Those were the words Wei Tao repeated most throughout the afternoon. Again and again, he taught Zhao Qiang that a strike should be precise and ruthless—one blow should be enough to take an enemy’s life. Glancing coldly at Zhao Qiang, who lay on the ground gasping for breath, Wei Tao said, “Remember, your enemies now are the zombies outside. Target their brains and spines—that’s your best option. Forget those useless tricks you learned from TV. You need to finish your enemy with the least effort and the greatest speed.”

Zhao Qiang lay on the ground, chest heaving, every inch of his body trembling with pain. He could no longer remember how many times in the past few days Wei Tao had slammed him into the ground. Hearing Wei Tao’s words, Zhao Qiang could only feebly raise his hand in acknowledgment.

The next morning, after getting up, Zhao Qiang suddenly realized that recovering too quickly was not always a good thing. He’d hoped to use his injuries as an excuse to rest for a day, but when he opened his eyes, he found his arm—swollen and battered from countless twists—had already returned to normal.

Time flew by, and within a week the scene returned to the training ring.

This time, Wei Tao could no longer so easily neutralize Zhao Qiang’s attacks. Zhao Qiang’s fists and feet moved like the wind, every move aimed at vital points—the eyes, the throat. His power and technique were well displayed; though his movements weren’t textbook, his precision and ferocity were now on par with Wei Tao at his peak.

At last, Zhao Qiang struck Wei Tao down hard—a hand chop nearly shattering his Adam’s apple. Wei Tao showed no surprise; the progress Zhao Qiang had made these days could only be called miraculous. He’d learned to drive in two hours, could drift a car into a parking space in less than half a day, and though he’d never had any formal training, he could now defeat a fully committed Wei Tao within three exchanges. Even with assembling firearms, Zhao Qiang could put together a pile of parts blindfolded, a half-second faster than Wei Tao himself.

Apart from shooting, where he was still a bit lacking, Zhao Qiang’s mastery of other military skills nearly matched Wei Tao’s. As for shooting, Wei Tao hadn’t given him much special training, knowing that all top marksmen are forged through tens of thousands of live rounds. With supplies now cut off, the best practice was for Zhao Qiang to hone his aim on the zombies outside.

Wei Tao called Zhao Qiang over to the retractable gate. Staring at the zombies that seemed to cheer for Zhao Qiang, Wei Tao said coldly, “Once you pass this test, you’ll be fully qualified.”

Zhao Qiang looked at the frenzied zombies. The gate, battered by their ceaseless efforts, was about to collapse. Unfazed, he asked, “What’s the test?”

Handing him a suppressed submachine gun, Wei Tao replied, “Use this to wipe them out.” He gestured toward the gate, where a hundred zombies had gathered. The special training had attracted nearly all the nearby zombies to the gate, their numbers staggering.

With a thunderous crash, the gate finally gave way after a week of resistance. A torrent of zombies surged in, most of them now capable of running.

Compared to the early stages, these zombies were much faster, but in Zhao Qiang’s eyes, their running was as slow as snails. Wei Tao had already fallen back, putting distance between himself and the horde, confident that the apprentice he’d trained could handle anything that came his way.

Zhao Qiang didn’t retreat. The moment the gate collapsed, he gripped his dagger tightly. With only a single magazine, Wei Tao’s gun was not worth wasting on these zombies.

Silent, Zhao Qiang had long since learned from Wei Tao to maintain absolute quiet before an attack. Without hesitation, he plunged into the zombie horde, as a lion leaps into a flock of sheep. His attacks were swift and effective—even the more agile zombies couldn’t withstand a single encounter.

Standing on the steps of the office building, Wei Tao watched his apprentice’s performance. A few clueless zombies rushed at him, only to have their heads lopped off in an instant—without a drop of blood touching him.

Thick, black blood trickled slowly down Zhao Qiang’s knife hand, and the corpses scattered across the courtyard bore witness to the fruits of his training. Over a hundred bodies lay strewn in every corner, the snow on the ground trampled into chaos. Still trailed by a dozen zombies, Zhao Qiang looked completely at ease—he hadn’t fired a single shot yet.

“You can use the gun now,” Wei Tao said coolly as Zhao Qiang passed him, casually felling another zombie that lunged his way. If his apprentice became overly reliant on cold weapons, it would eventually become a serious psychological problem.

Zhao Qiang stopped with a turn. The gun slung behind him swung into his hands with practiced ease. No need to aim—the weapon had become an extension of his arm, and at this distance, aiming was unnecessary. With precise bursts, each zombie took three bullets to the head. When the magazine was empty, he finished the last zombie by smashing its skull with the gunstock. The momentum sent the body flying a meter before it crashed heavily to the ground.

Watching Zhao Qiang’s performance, Wei Tao was thoroughly satisfied. Training an apprentice in a week to this level was his greatest achievement. Though his movements were still a bit stiff, in time, the blood-soaked man before him would become an invincible warrior.

“Assessment,” Wei Tao paused, “you’ve passed.”

“Any reward?” Even after dispatching so many zombies, Zhao Qiang remained at ease.

“Not killing you is your reward. What more do you want?” Wei Tao’s chill returned. “Fix the gate and clean up here, or there’s no dinner tonight.”