First Battlefield Commander! - Chapter 127
Chapter 127: Dad
A crowd surrounded Lian Sheng, clamoring for her to demonstrate again.
They rubbed their hands together shamelessly, recycling the same flattering phrases they'd used on the instructors without even changing a punctuation mark—utterly lacking in sincerity.
From a distance, an instructor pointed at them and lamented: "You lot! Have you no dignity at all?"
Compared to the unpredictable instructors, of course their peers were more reliable. An instructor might demonstrate once or twice at most, but a skilled classmate could show them repeatedly.
Lian Sheng shrugged—her sensors had been deactivated. There was nothing she could do now.
The students finally remembered this and were bitterly disappointed. They turned pleading eyes toward the instructors, hoping they'd reactivate the system.
As Lian Sheng tried to push through the crowd to get lunch, they grew agitated again: "Wait wait! Great One, stay a moment longer! Let us admire your skills!"
Lian Sheng said, "Admire what?"
"We're just too excited, don't mind us. Five minutes is enough!" A male student carefully maintained a respectful distance as he said, "Please explain the mech's actual parameters—how to grasp and apply them during movement."
Growing increasingly animated, a tall, burly boy waved his arms childishly: "How did you calculate it just now? And how did you apply it so quickly? One moment you couldn't do it, the next you were flying through like 'biu'! Sudden enlightenment? Or ascension?"
"The hell!" Lian Sheng said darkly. "Ascension means death."
"Ah, really? I meant you've become immortal!" The boy took an exaggerated step back. "Oh god! Bestow upon me your wisdom!"
The crowd chorused: "Oh god! Bestow upon us your data!"
Lian Sheng: "..."
These people were having entirely too much fun.
As for data—Lian Sheng genuinely didn't know. If they hadn't figured it out after half the session, she certainly couldn't identify it by sight. She wasn't the optical computer in a data analyst's hands.
"I was just imitating his movements—I don't know the deeper principles. Our failures came from incorrect positioning or posture deformation, causing the mech's center of gravity to shift and adding extra burden to our bodies," Lian Sheng said. "So just follow the standard movements. Doesn't all learning start with imitation?"
So she knew the how but not the why. Still, to memorize an instructor's entire sequence of movements and details after one glance was already incredible.
A boy said timidly, "Isn't this the kind of skill that only exists in martial arts novels?"
Lian Sheng raised an eyebrow. "Reality proves otherwise."
The boy pressed, "Wait! First tell me—is this innate talent, or something that can be learned later?"
"Break it up! What's all this?" An instructor called from the doorway. "I said go eat lunch. Why are you mobbing this young lady? Have you no shame?"
Lian Sheng waved a hand. "Dismissed!"
The boys reluctantly parted to let her through, then watched her depart with longing eyes.
Lian Sheng had assumed training would grow increasingly difficult after reaching the fourth floor, given the progressively rigorous and targeted nature of the program so far. Instead, it had become more relaxed and self-directed.
They could freely arrange their own time, choosing to rest or train as they wished. The instructors didn't push them, nor were there any punitive measures.
From this, it seemed they'd been confirmed as elite candidates—no further eliminations would occur.
Realizing this, the students relaxed. The training hall's atmosphere grew less tense, leaving more time for reflection and analysis.
That evening, the fourth-floor training hall welcomed many newcomers—students who'd passed the third-floor shooting drills and now progressed to sensor training.
The new arrivals eagerly suited up and attempted the iron frame apparatus, promptly joining their predecessors in the grand tradition of spectacular falls.
The newcomers were at a loss. Knowing they weren't the first to attempt this, they looked around wide-eyed for tips—only to find the first batch of elites standing idly by.
The scene was bizarre. Why weren't they seizing this rare training opportunity?
The elites were waiting for Lian Sheng to make her move.
They wanted to see her demonstration again as reference. After their afternoon attempts, they'd realized that aimless trial-and-error was largely a waste of energy.
Their gazes bored into Lian Sheng, but she leisurely warmed up—stretching and limbering up—before finally collecting her gear.
A boy clutched his own throat to restrain his twitching hands, agonized: "I never realized what a procrastinator she was! I've never hated a slowpoke more!"
An instructor sighed in agreement: "Makes me want to kick her."
"Exactly!" the boy groaned. "But right now, she's Dad!"
At long last, Dad was ready. She approached the iron frame.
The elite students swarmed around her, the atmosphere shifting palpably.
A helpful male student called out: "Make way, please! Clear this path. This section too, thank you."
The newcomers, baffled and displeased by this spectacle, held their tongues and stepped aside.
"What's going on here?" Fang Jianchen squeezed through the crowd. "Acrobatics show?"
The boy in front turned. "Yes."
Lian Sheng took a running start, grabbed a horizontal bar, and launched herself upward.
Identical to her afternoon performance, she charged through the course to the end.
A chorus of astonished cries rose from both new and veteran students: "Holy—shit!"
They looked up at her impassive face and added: "Holy—SHIT!!"
"Holy shit! I just went to the infirmary to get my hand treated—what the hell happened while I was gone?!" Fang Jianchen wailed. "That smooth execution... What demon possessed you? Possess me too!"
Lian Sheng jumped down. "You'll stick your nose into anything, won't you? Why not ascend to heaven while you're at it?"
Fang Jianchen said, "If I stick my nose into this, maybe I can!"
Lian Sheng said, "It's not too late to try. Go for it."
Lian Sheng began repeating the sequence, gradually breaking it down and analyzing each component. She adjusted her movements to adapt to the differences, experimenting with variations.
But habits were hard to change—they couldn't be overcome overnight.
Others attempted to imitate Lian Sheng's movements for integration, but found it impossibly difficult.
They couldn't match the sequence's speed—it demanded perfect positioning at every step. The slightest deviation in body angle shifted their center of gravity, throwing off subsequent movements.
Aside from Lian Sheng, how many could achieve such precision?
After several failed attempts, they gave up and sought alternative methods based on Lian Sheng's demonstration.
As with many things, only by trying could one appreciate the difficulty. In individual combat, Lian Sheng undeniably possessed talent beyond ordinary reach.
"I think she chose well with the Pojun model. She might truly excel as a vanguard," remarked one instructor. "I don't know her physical limits, but isn't that what mechs are meant to compensate for? Physicality isn't the primary measure of a mech pilot—combat awareness is."
The head instructor pinched his nose, unwilling to admit his earlier misjudgment.
After 8 PM, more instructors arrived on the fourth floor—apparently the second-floor endurance drills had concluded.
Instructors exchanged notes. They'd successfully driven over a hundred students to quit this year.
"Any outstanding students here?" one asked.
"A few," another replied. "Some show particular promise—unique talents."
Just then, Lian Sheng began another sprint.
The instructors gasped like country bumpkins: "Ooooh! What's this?!"
They applauded enthusiastically: "Encore! Encore!"
The Alliance University instructor clicked his tongue. "Don't inflate her ego, alright? Why are you all making such a fuss?"
Fang Jianchen lay sprawled on the floor, unable to watch. "I feel like I missed out on a fortune. What happened while I was gone? Why didn't anyone tell me? I really did miss a fortune!"
Cheng Ze patted his head. "Son, you're missing brains, not money."
Lian Sheng ran the course repeatedly for an hour, then began isolating individual movements before recombining them.
Her exercises were segmented. As long as the sensors didn't impose extra resistance, this training held little real challenge.
With each passing minute, Lian Sheng grew increasingly familiar with the entire apparatus.
She still didn't analyze specific parameters. When movements remained unrefined, forcing one's rhythm to match mental calculations was difficult. Her adaptations were tailored specifically to this frame.
By 10 PM, the fourth floor had effectively become Lian Sheng's personal showcase.
Other students unconsciously mimicked her movements. When someone continuously demonstrates beside you, it's hard not to absorb something. Overall efficiency actually improved.
Instructors worried these youths might lose themselves in the praise, becoming complacent. So they relentlessly mocked and criticized.
"She's just copying."
"Superficial mimicry—drawing a tiger but producing a dog. Hard to say how she'll fare later."
"Others may start slow but achieve true mastery. She needs to internalize the core principles."
"You're all terrible, crowding around like this. Don't you have work on the third floor?"
Lian Sheng turned and signaled for silence.
Instructors and students alike paused, awaiting her next move.
Lian Sheng sprinted again—this time from the opposite direction, performing an entirely new sequence.
She vaulted over beams, leapt across bars, arms outstretched like a fledgling learning to fly. With greater speed and smoother transitions, she reached the end.
Silence.
Lian Sheng jumped down and raised an eyebrow. "I can do variations. Change the frame's structure if you want—any frame will do. Now who's achieved true mastery?"
An instructor laughed and scolded: "Damn brat! Talking back to your instructors?"
The students revolted.
"She's hacking!"
"I'm reporting her!"
"I'll report her by name! Are her sensors even on? Instructor, check again!"
"Instructor, her showboating is crippling me! I demand she be quarantined!"
"Instructor, my fragile heart is shattered! I petition to ban showing off in training halls! For public health!"
"I must have undiscovered talents. The heavens wouldn't be so cruel."
"It's winter... no more orange trees... You want a train station next? Greedy much?"
Lian Sheng tossed her head with a smirk.
Fang Jianchen pounded the floor, howling: "What happened? Why didn't anyone tell me? This is how you lose me!"
Cheng Ze snapped, "We told you—the instructor demonstrated it!"
"No celestial phenomena? No planetary collisions? No spirit possessions?" Fang Jianchen looked up desperately. "What about the heroic soul I summoned last night?!"
Cheng Ze: "..."
He really wanted to slap him.
Facing their envious stares, Lian Sheng said nothing. They likely believed her combat prowess came from innate talent—an insurmountable gap for most.
But in truth, her observational skills stemmed from years of martial arts training.
She knew which body parts to watch when analyzing techniques. She understood which muscles were crucial for executing specific moves.
During the instructor's demonstration, Lian Sheng couldn't replicate every detail. Upper body adjustments varied by individual and mattered little—what truly affected balance was leg positioning.
So she'd replicated the instructor's legs—the stance width, foot placement on bars, timing of leg movements.
She'd learned the essence, while others copied the form. They mindlessly pursued the exact spots Lian Sheng had stepped, fixating on irrelevant minutiae. No wonder they struggled.
Lian Sheng didn't know how to explain this. Telling them to focus on footwork wouldn't help—they couldn't adjust that quickly. She let it be.
As for her variations, they were simply rearranged components. The fundamentals remained unchanged.
The instructor was right—she hadn't achieved true mastery. She'd just intelligently adapted what she'd learned.
Lian Sheng relied on muscle memory. This so-called "dumb" method happened to suit her perfectly.
Waving goodbye, Lian Sheng strolled back to her dorm, hands in pockets.
Inside, she found a roommate examining her feet with great interest. The soles showed patches of new skin where calluses had peeled away. She poked at them curiously.
Lian Sheng sat on her bed, and the girl finally looked up.
"I made it to the third floor today!" the girl said. "Felt so heroic I almost cried when the instructor announced it."
Lian Sheng smiled. "Congratulations."
She might not be the best, but she'd earned her pride.
The girl asked, "What's the fourth floor like? Hard?"
"Fourth floor?" Lian Sheng looked up. "Much easier. Flexible schedule, no penalties."
"Really?" The girl said, impressed. "Sounds amazing."
Lian Sheng nodded, grabbed her toiletries, and headed out to wash up before bed.
At last—blissfully—she could turn in early.
The next morning, they reconvened on the fourth floor.
The ranks had swelled overnight as instructors promoted more students. A single training frame no longer sufficed, so additional apparatuses appeared.
Lian Sheng and the others yielded space to let the newcomers experience it first.
They expected further training phases—typically, drills rotated every two sessions. But with no penalties, it was unclear what came next.
At 5:30 AM, their instructor entered.
Clapping at the doorway, he announced: "Those wishing to continue balance training, carry on. Those wanting shooting practice, follow me! Participation is voluntary."
Fang Jianchen didn't budge. Neither did anyone else.
Fang Jianchen's First Rule:
Nothing good ever came from "voluntary" activities. The only truly voluntary thing here was death.
Receiving no response, the instructor scanned the room and added: "Actual shooting drills this time! No penalties—we'll use sensors for mech weaponry practice next door!"
Fang Jianchen and Lian Sheng shot to their feet and bolted for the door.
Students wailed after them: "Great One Lian, don't go!"
"Great One Lian, one more demonstration!"
"Great One Lian, you haven't finished your oranges! Teach us more!"
The first batch of elites, having exhausted this training's benefits, gradually migrated to the shooting range.
Compared to mech balance, artillery training was far more practical and urgent.
They soon reached the designated room.
Lian Sheng's impression of this base was that space was never an issue—training halls were invariably spacious. Yet this range was long and narrow, utterly unlike a shooting facility.
Rows of firing stations filled the center, each separated by five-meter partitions.
Lian Sheng chose a spot and estimated the distance.
Were they really doing artillery drills at five meters?
Fang Jianchen buzzed with excitement, awaiting instructions.
"Ready? Begin," the instructor said from the doorway. "Why are you all staring at me?"
Lian Sheng asked, "Where are the weapons?"
The instructor blinked. "There aren't any! Use your imagination!"
Everyone: "..."
"You think you can bring actual weapons into a mech cockpit? Don't be ridiculous," the instructor said. "Watch closely."
He crouched and tapped his arm. "First, know your mech's armaments. You can select them by voice command or manually. Then aim and fire."
The students: "..."
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