Chapter 20: Only By Going All Out Can One Conquer the World—This Is Simply Too Unbelievable

Xing Xiaolong’s unusual behavior left not only Old Hei baffled, but the new recruits, including Wang Yanbing and He Chenguang, were equally at a loss. To be punished yet still grinning—was he mad? Of course, the optimists among them still harbored hope, praying that Xing Feng was the legendary “prodigy” who could accomplish this impossible punishment, sparing the rest of them from being dragged into a 10-kilometer armed run. Slim as that chance was, it was still a glimmer of hope.

Xing Xiaolong, entirely unburdened by pressure, didn’t rush to “take his medicine” after getting down; instead, he began doing push-ups at a normal pace, keen to test how his newly enhanced resilience had affected his physical capabilities.

The other recruits had no idea Xing Xiaolong was conducting his own experiment; they watched, nervously counting out loud to encourage him, a mix of anticipation and anxiety in their voices.

“One, two, three… eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

As the recruits chanted the count, a minute ticked by, and Xing Xiaolong had completed fifty-eight push-ups—almost exactly one per second. This wasn’t particularly fast or slow; it was the typical speed for someone pushing themselves to their limit without pause.

But from the fifty-eighth push-up onward, his breath became uneven. He’d reached his sprinting limit, and his speed visibly dropped, no longer able to power through push-ups in a continuous burst without even a half-second’s break.

By the eightieth push-up, Xing Xiaolong was taking more than two seconds per push-up, his face flushed red with effort, clearly struggling.

He Chenguang and Wang Yanbing, who had already finished their own punishment sets of one hundred push-ups, joined the onlookers. Perhaps the shared adversity of Old Hei, or maybe the camaraderie that comes from a few scuffles, had drawn them together—though none would admit it. Now, they rallied the other recruits, urging them to cheer for Xing Feng.

Even Li Erniu—the chubby, least athletic among them—used the last of his strength to shout encouragement, exhausted as he was. They were cheering for Xing Xiaolong, but in truth, they were also cheering themselves on.

Perseverance means victory!

The commotion grew so loud that even Gong Jian, who had already returned to the barracks, could not resist his curiosity and came to the training ground’s edge to watch. His gaze was immediately drawn to Xing Xiaolong at the front, battling his way through push-ups.

Amidst the cheers, Xing Xiaolong powered through another twenty push-ups, completing a total of one hundred in one hundred seventy-five seconds—two minutes and fifty-five seconds—half the punishment.

He had sixty-five seconds left for the remaining one hundred push-ups.

But with his energy waning and his speed slowing, it was clear that finishing the remaining one hundred within the time limit was impossible. They all knew the penalty: for every second over the limit, ten push-ups would be added. Failing meant everyone would have to run that dreaded ten kilometers.

Watching Xing Xiaolong, his face red, neck taut, veins bulging on his arms, sweat dripping like beads, the recruits knew he had given his all. As much as they hated the prospect, they braced themselves for the torture ahead.

Exhausted from travel, starving, and burdened with all their gear, a ten-kilometer run was their worst nightmare—hell itself.

Every face was stricken with misery.

“To be able to do fifty-five push-ups in a single breath—this recruit has solid physical qualities. With proper training, he’ll definitely become a fine soldier,” Old Hei thought.

Though Old Hei’s expression didn’t change, he was privately very satisfied. For a new recruit, Xing Xiaolong’s average of one push-up every 1.7 seconds for one hundred straight was outstanding, already meeting the standard for an excellent reconnaissance soldier. With further honing, he’d be a credit to the Iron Fist Regiment.

Still, satisfaction aside, discipline had to be maintained. Old Hei had no intention of lifting the punishment—he was already planning to send all the recruits for that ten-kilometer run, perhaps with a few extra games to toughen them up.

“This Xing Xiaolong is a promising recruit, even better than He Chenguang and Wang Yanbing. So many good prospects this year—perhaps some might even catch the eye of those maniacs in the special forces,” thought Gong Jian, nodding in satisfaction as he recalled Xing Xiaolong’s performance.

Oblivious to the recognition he’d already earned from Old Hei and Gong Jian, Xing Xiaolong was still probing his limits. By the time only fifty-one seconds remained, and he’d finished his one hundred fifteenth push-up, he could go no further. Both arms were leaden, trembling with a deep, aching soreness, and when he finally pushed himself up, he nearly collapsed.

This was his true physical limit.

He lay flat, his hands propping him up in the “push-up rest” position. With muscles burning, he waited for the ache to subside, knowing that, given time, he could keep going in bursts. Someone who could do a hundred in one go could, with rest, do over three hundred.

Unfortunately, he was up against the clock.

“Tired out already?” Old Hei remarked, glancing at his stopwatch. “Less than fifty seconds left and eighty-five push-ups to go. Looks like you’re done. Don’t waste any more time—get up so we can start your ten-kilometer run.”

“Does he have no heart at all? He really is a hardass!” The recruits grumbled inwardly, extending silent middle fingers at Old Hei’s ruthlessness. After all, none of them could manage a hundred straight push-ups, and yet, seeing Xing Xiaolong’s effort, they thought he deserved at least a little leniency.

Xing Xiaolong, meanwhile, had learned what the resilience enhancement had done for his stamina—and he was severely depleted. Now, it was time to test his “special supplement.”

“Squad Leader, did I say I was done? There’s still time, isn’t there? Are you so sure I can’t finish?” Xing Xiaolong smiled, propping himself up with his right hand while wiping sweat from his face with his left. As he did so, he flicked his hand before him as if loosening his muscles.

Unseen by others, a syringe the size of his little finger slipped into his palm, filled with a vivid red liquid—an item from his kit, which he had to retrieve before use for realism’s sake.

Discreetly, under the guise of adjusting his collar, he slipped the syringe under his shirt and, after only a moment’s hesitation, plunged it into his chest, injecting the “potion.”

Injecting something of unknown origin for the first time, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t nervous. But the moment the liquid entered his body, all anxiety vanished.

He felt a rush—a surge of energy like a divine revelation, his body revitalized and enveloped in a comforting warmth. The sensation was so exquisite that he nearly cried out in delight. This euphoria was addictive.

Bathed in this intoxicating comfort, all fatigue and soreness vanished almost instantly, and boundless energy returned to him.

He could feel, unmistakably, that his body was now stronger than before.

With his “cheat” activated, Xing Xiaolong felt as if he’d been injected with pure adrenaline, his spirits soaring. All he could think was, “Eighty-five more push-ups? That’s nothing! Give me twenty thousand and I’ll still be fine—I’m a human compactor!”

Old Hei, oblivious to the transformation taking place, sneered, “Big talk, but here we value action. If you’ve got the guts to boast, let’s see you do it. And just so you know, there are only forty-five seconds left—eighty-five push-ups to go.”

“Squad Leader, is eighty-five in forty-five seconds supposed to be hard? What if I give you ten seconds back? What about fifteen? I only need thirty seconds for eighty-five push-ups—do you believe me?”

“Are you insane?” Old Hei stared at Xing Xiaolong as if he were a fool, his skepticism mirrored by the other recruits, including He Chenguang and Wang Yanbing. In their eyes, this was sheer lunacy—empty bravado from a clown.

Even at his peak, Xing Xiaolong had managed only about one per second. Now, exhausted, boasting that he’d do eighty-five in thirty seconds was preposterous.

Xing Xiaolong, unfazed by their doubts, offered no explanation. He waited, calmly, for another ten seconds to tick by.

And then—

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…”

He rattled off the count like a machine gun, his arms pumping like pistons, his push-up speed so blindingly fast it nearly left afterimages.

“Holy shit!”
“Holy shit!!”
“Holy shit!!!”

Everyone was dumbstruck, their vocabularies reduced to a single expletive.

“This is insane!” Old Hei, who had just moments ago regarded Xing Feng as a fool, now found himself looking just as foolish, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

Because this speed was inhuman. No matter how fit you were, a push-up took time. The world record was only about 0.3 seconds per push-up, and that was at peak condition.

Yet here was Xing Xiaolong, after already doing one hundred push-ups and on the brink of collapse, suddenly exploding with a burst of strength, cranking out push-ups at world-record speed.

This wasn’t human. This was monstrous.

A living, breathing monster.