Chapter Sixty-One: Night School

For the battle-hardened guards, Zhao Hengyi’s task was to bind them with the shackles of discipline, to ensure that every member would instinctively respond to commands even in their sleep. In the absence of external enemies, maintaining the enthusiasm for training and a fierce fighting spirit required an internal system of competition.

Zhao Hengyi’s method was straightforward: he treated the hunting squad as a reserve force for the guards. The members of the two squads differed in everything from daily meals to wages. If someone performed exceptionally well in the hunting squad and possessed enough skill, they would naturally be promoted to the guards. Conversely, those who failed to meet the standards of the guards would be relegated to the hunting squad.

Meanwhile, Zhao the financier, who held considerable wealth, organized small squad competitions every three to five days. Any squad that emerged victorious would receive a generous reward. This mobilized the enthusiasm of all members, whether in the hunting squad or the guards. In fact, the monetary rewards became secondary; the desire to win and the sense of honor had been subtly etched into their bones.

Zhao Hengyi had no choice but to take this approach. The Great Yan Kingdom was nothing like the great nation he had lived in during his previous life—the court was hopelessly corrupt, and the people saw no light ahead. If he tried to rouse the hunting squad and the guards with patriotic slogans or love for the court, it would stir no passion at all. He could only use financial incentives to gradually reshape their outlook, carefully reconstructing their worldview.

As a modern man, Zhao Hengyi understood clearly how profound and important it was for an armed force to possess its own faith. Thus, he began to sort through the theories in his memory, hoping to devise a belief system that would be effective in the Great Yan Kingdom. This task would not be accomplished overnight, and the far-reaching effects of such a doctrine compelled him to proceed with utmost caution.

The enviable benefits and generous wages of the hunting squad and guards naturally attracted the young and able-bodied, whether from Elm Bay itself or other villages. Everyone coveted those positions.

Although the training of the hunting squad and guards was grueling, most people saw that life as commoners in the Great Yan Kingdom was already unbearably hard. As long as they could eat better and earn more, a little hardship was nothing.

Rather than blocking the tide, Zhao Hengyi decided to open the gates. When the old village chief was beset by endless requests and pleas, Zhao Hengyi waved his hand: any young and able-bodied man who wished to join the squads could sign up. However, all candidates had to undergo testing. Those who failed were eliminated without question; those who passed were admitted to the hunting squad for probationary training.

During the probation, their meals matched those of the regular members, but they received no wages. After three months, those who failed to meet the requirements were dismissed; those who succeeded became official members. Even official members faced quarterly evaluations—those who failed would be removed from the squad.

Thus, the status of a full hunting squad member was enough for any young man to hold his head high among the villagers. The guards, of course, were even more revered. This simple measure not only solved the old village chief’s troubles, but also further heightened the sense of honor among squad members and ensured a constant influx of fresh talent.

With this probationary and grading system, the hunting squad’s ranks swelled to 273 members in just two months. Most were young men from nearby villages, quick-witted and eager to learn. Zhao Hengyi launched a night school program at just the right time.

Both the hunting squad and the guards were required to learn literacy and basic arithmetic, and their academic performance became part of their evaluations. Suddenly, men who could stare down a bandit’s blade without flinching were wailing in dismay. The veterans especially—if their employer asked them to wield a knife, they wouldn’t bat an eye, but those strange characters drove them to despair.

Many dreamed at night of horizontal and vertical lines swirling before their eyes, finally twisting together into thick black strands that wrapped them up tight.

“Wu Sixth, you blockhead, is it really harder to learn to read than to kill you?” came the sharp voice of Aunt Six, echoing through half the village. “The boss spent good money to hire a teacher for you. What have you learned? The boys at home all picked it up, but you still can’t write a few words. Sooner or later, you’ll be demoted to the hunting squad—or worse, sacked by the boss!”

Such scolding from the women had become a familiar part of life in Elm Bay; it was heard several times a day. Those slow at learning were now targets for the children’s laughter.

With the establishment of the night school, even the village children gained an opportunity to learn. Attendance was voluntary, as long as they didn’t disrupt class. The communal dining hall provided a decent meal after each session; anyone who listened—adult or child—received a portion. Though every household in the village was no longer short of food, the night school’s supper always included sweets, a favorite among the children. To taste those elusive treats, the children of Elm Bay threw themselves into learning with newfound enthusiasm.

Zhao Hengyi had a fairly complete blueprint for development in his mind. He knew that simply relying on his authority to enforce change was unrealistic. Guiding the situation, enticing people with benefits—this was the only way forward.

According to his plan, the children who represented the future would be nurtured in time. Among the young men, those with strong learning abilities would be specially cultivated and given important roles in various industries. Once everyone saw that literacy and numeracy brought real advantages, the night school would be packed to overflowing.

“The boss needn’t worry—those who know how to read and write deserve to be valued!” said the old village chief, fully supportive of Zhao Hengyi’s vision. “Our village keeps expanding. Honestly, without a few literate and numerate people to help, little Jade alone won’t be able to handle everything much longer. Even the night school teacher might feel overwhelmed, teaching so many students at once…”

“I’ve already raised the teacher’s wage. We’re not asking him to teach every single person perfectly,” Zhao Hengyi replied.

The night school teacher, a scholar fallen on hard times found by Steward Song in the county town, was about to learn elementary mathematics himself, with Zhao Hengyi preparing the teaching materials. Without an increase in pay, it wouldn’t be fair. “As long as we pay enough, the teacher will have no complaints.”