Holding the original shares, they fought all the way to the Korean War!

The next ten days or so.

Lijia Yu.

At dawn, the sound of orderly footsteps echoed across the threshing ground.

More than 1,500 soldiers were divided into three camps, sweating profusely in their respective training areas.

Zhou Tianyang would stand by the threshing ground for a while every day.

With his hands in his pockets, he scanned the faces of the soldiers one by one.

He observed them closely, watching their movements and their eyes.

Look at the increasingly solid aura emanating from them.

The changes are visible to the naked eye.

Those recruits who were out of breath after a five-kilometer armed cross-country run just over ten days ago.

Now I can run the whole course without even breaking a sweat.

Their steps were steady and powerful, their backs were straight, and the confusion and nervousness they had felt when they first joined the army had largely faded from their eyes.

Instead, there is a calm confidence.

Gunshots rang out one after another at the shooting training range.

A 150-meter target, standing without support, five bullets.

A new recruit from the first battalion lay prone on the firing line, holding an M1 Garand semi-automatic rifle, his finger steadily on the trigger.

He aimed for a moment.

Then he pulled the trigger, and with a bang, a bullet hole appeared in the center of the target in the distance.

The veteran next to him was stunned for a moment.

He went over to take a look at the target, then walked back.

He looked the new recruit up and down several times.

The surprise in his eyes was impossible to suppress.

The same thing happened repeatedly in the three battalions.

Those new recruits who, just over ten days ago, needed veterans to correct their shooting posture step by step.

Now, the way he holds a gun is so perfect it's like it's etched into his bones.

Their every movement was so fluid that no one could find fault with it.

What surprised the veterans even more was the bayonet training.

On the training ground of the Third Battalion, Sun Shengli was leading the new recruits in bayonet practice.

They stood in pairs, each holding a rifle with a wooden bayonet fixed, facing each other.

As soon as the whistle blew, the two groups began to exchange bayonets simultaneously.

Sun Shengli stood on the sidelines, hands on his hips, his sharp gaze sweeping over each group of soldiers practicing together.

His brows furrowed slightly, and his expression grew increasingly complex.

He discovered that the recruits, who just over ten days ago couldn't even perform a proper thrusting motion, were now in poor condition.

His actions now carried a fierceness and decisiveness that only a veteran could possess.

Their movements were agile and steady, their thrusts were decisive, and their withdrawal was swift and efficient.

A new recruit darted forward, his bayonet precisely pressed against his opponent's chest, the movement clean and swift.

His opponent paused for a moment, then lowered his gun and grinned.

"You're something else, kid!"

The new recruit smiled, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and looked quite pleased with himself.

Sun Shengli squatted on the sidelines, watching this scene, and remained silent for a long time.

Then he couldn't help but mutter a curse under his breath, though it was unclear who he was cursing.

In all his years of leading troops, he has seen at least eight hundred, if not a thousand, new recruits.

But I've never seen a recruit who's been in the army for less than a month train to this level.

Not only him, but Zhao Wenlong and Tian Chengjun also discovered the same situation in their respective camps during this period.

The new recruits seemed to have suddenly figured it out; the movements they couldn't master before, no matter how they were taught, they could now do with ease.

Their progress is abnormally fast.

It happened so fast that even veterans who had served for several years found it unbelievable.

Zhao Wenlong had mentioned this to Zhou Tianyang privately.

"Commander, those greenhorns have improved way too fast lately."

Zhao Wenlong squatted on the stone steps at the entrance of the regimental department, his tone tinged with confusion.

"Yesterday I led a battalion in bayonet practice. One of the new recruits, who had only been in the army for over forty days, sparred with a three-year veteran and they managed to fight to a draw."

"Don't you think this is strange?"

Zhou Tianyang's gaze fell on the soldiers training in the distance, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"This shows they are willing to practice."

Zhao Wenlong frowned, clearly not satisfied with this explanation.

"In all my years in the army, I've seen plenty of new recruits who are willing to train, but I've never seen one who could fight to a draw with a three-year veteran after only forty days of service."

Zhou Tianyang did not respond.

Zhao Wenlong stared at him for a few seconds.

Seeing that he really didn't intend to say anything more, I didn't press him further.

He stood up, dusted himself off, and strode toward the threshing ground.

Zhou Tianyang stood there, watching Zhao Wenlong's figure disappear into the training crowd, and the corners of his mouth curved into a wider smile.

He knew Zhao Wenlong had doubts, but he couldn't explain it to him.

The existence of the Inheritance Card is a secret known only to him.

He turned around and walked towards the regimental headquarters.

Wang Xiuying has also been busy lately.

Since officially assuming the concurrent post of political commissar of the new Second Regiment.

Her work pace has never slowed down.

Every morning before training begins, she has already taken a walk around the barracks.

Which new recruit is feeling down lately? Which company's ideological work is still inadequate?

She has a clear understanding of everything in her mind.

She spoke to the soldiers in a very special way.

He didn't preach grand principles or use official jargon; he simply squatted down beside the soldiers and chatted with them about everyday life.

Those soldiers who rarely spoke in front of their company commanders and platoon leaders.

He was willing to confide in Wang Xiuying.

Over the course of more than ten days, the entire regiment comprised more than 1,500 soldiers.

Wang Xiuying had face-to-face conversations with at least most of them.

She could even call out the nicknames of many new recruits.

Several rounds of political education classes have been held.

Wang Xiuying personally gave lessons to the cultural instructors and ideological backbones of each company.

They taught them how to talk to the soldiers, how to turn big principles into small ones, and how to organize study and discussion sessions during breaks from training.

Those teachers who used to only read newspapers.

He gradually learned to communicate with the soldiers in his own words.

The appearance of the new Second Regiment is quietly changing.

The soldiers trained with more enthusiasm, and there was something indescribable in their eyes.

It's not just about the uniformity that comes from discipline and obedience.

Rather, it is a sense of identity and belonging that grows from the bottom of one's heart.

They began to truly understand why they were fighting and for whom they were fighting.

Zhao Wenlong once remarked this during a casual chat with Tian Chengjun.

"The soldiers' morale definitely improved after the political commissar arrived."

"In the past, I trained to complete tasks; now I train because I feel I should train and want to train."

Tian Chengjun nodded at the time, unusually agreeing with a comment.

"Once you understand the concept, you'll have plenty of motivation."

"This is the hard truth."

Seeing these changes every day, Zhou Tianyang felt very at ease.

Military training is based on inheritance cards, and ideological work is overseen by Wang Xiuying.

The new Second Regiment is growing into a truly elite force at a visible pace.

The sun was shining brightly at noon that day.

Zhou Tianyang was squatting on the stone steps at the entrance of the regiment's office, eating his lunch.

A bowl of corn porridge with two pieces of pickled vegetable dumplings.

His gaze habitually fell on the soldiers who were still practicing in the threshing ground.

A faint smile played at the corners of his lips.