The fourth week had begun, and the new target loomed like a mountain itself. Twenty-three full rounds of the village, each fifty miles, lay ahead of the young trainees. For their age, this was an almost impossible feat — and it had to be done using nothing but their own body strength, with no tools or shortcuts to cover the distance.
Yet the children were not naïve. Over the previous weeks, they had developed a deep understanding of their own roots — their bodies, their limits, and the land around them. They had built their own techniques to tackle the enormous distance and treacherous terrain.
When climbing steep hills, they used what they called "army climbing ropes" — long, sturdy vines tied together to make ladders that helped the group scale cliffs safely. In places where the river blocked their path, they constructed wooden boats, passing them hand to hand in coordinated rhythm, so each team could cross without losing balance. Every team had a mix of stronger and weaker members, balancing endurance and strength, ensuring no one was left behind.
Every action — every movement — was a product of training and preparation. They had tested these techniques on smaller scales during the previous weeks, and now they relied on them to survive the final challenge.
But what truly set them apart was not the tools or tricks they devised — it was their unity. Unlike a large nation's army, where soldiers might compete, sabotage, or attack one another, this village's group of twenty young warriors acted with complete understanding and support. Every child knew the strength and weakness of their companions. If one faltered, another stepped in. If someone struggled, the group adapted instantly.
They had learned a truth that no training manual could teach: a single strong body could achieve little, but a united group could overcome even the impossible.
As they lined up for the start, the moonlight caught the sweat and determination on their young faces. Every member knew that if they worked together, followed their techniques, and supported one another, they could pass this test — not just with strength, but with heart.
And so, with the elders watching from the gate and the soft silver light of the moon illuminating their path, the children prepared to take on the fourth week — their most difficult challenge yet, a test of body, mind, and the extraordinary unity that bound them together.
The target was twenty-three rounds — more than any of them had ever run. They started before sunrise, pacing themselves carefully. Climbing hills, crossing rivers on hand-built wooden rafts, and balancing along narrow paths, they tested their bodies to the limit. Muscles burned, lungs ached, yet each step was deliberate, controlled. By evening, they had completed their first round, and though exhausted, no one had failed.
Along the path, a pair of wild beasts appeared, their eyes gleaming in the fading sunlight. The children froze, but instead of fighting, they smartly avoided them, stepping quietly to the side and letting the beasts pass. Even in danger, they prioritized their long-term strength over immediate glory.
With twenty-four rounds set as the day's goal, the children began earlier than ever. Every climb, jump, and balance tested the pressure on their bodies — their joints screamed, and veins throbbed with fatigue. Yet they had learned from the previous day: pace over speed, balance over rush.
The day ended with aching limbs, but all twenty completed the target. Their coordination and teamwork had improved visibly; rafts moved smoother, ropes held firm, and no one was left behind.
By the third day, the target increased to twenty-five rounds. Their bodies now carried the strain of several hundred miles of previous running, yet the children pushed onward. Every jump from rocks and every climb up steep slopes made their muscles quiver under the immense pressure of endurance.
Some moments were so grueling that a few stumbled, but a teammate always lent support — a hand, a rope, or a boost. Even the wild creatures that prowled near the paths were ignored, bypassed with caution and cleverness. By nightfall, the group had broken through their previous limits, completing all twenty-five rounds. Exhausted, yes, but stronger than ever.
The twenty-six round target began under the early morning mist. They had learned how to listen to their bodies, maintaining a balance between effort and caution. Every movement became precise: climbing hills with army ropes, rowing rafts in coordinated rhythm, lifting logs, and passing them among the strongest and weakest members alike.
Evenings brought another test — a wild beast crossed their path once more. Without fear, they navigated silently around it, choosing strategy over confrontation. By the day's end, despite throbbing muscles and burning lungs, every single youngster had succeeded.
The fifth day demanded twenty-seven rounds. Fatigue weighed on them like chains; the strain of using pure body strength alone left marks on every muscle, tendon, and bone. Yet something remarkable had happened — their bodies, once weak and trembling, had adapted to the pressure. The pain that would have broken them earlier now became a signal of endurance, a challenge to overcome.
By sunset, they collapsed in unison at the eastern gate, breathless but triumphant. Every youngster had completed the rounds, none had failed. Their unity, their careful pacing, their clever techniques, and their determination had carried them through the toughest days of training.
The second-last day of the fourth week dawned quietly over the village. The first pale rays of the sun stretched across the rooftops and the training grounds, casting long, gentle shadows. At the eastern gate, the group of youngsters had already gathered, forming a disciplined line in the soft morning light.
All twenty children, aged between seven and eleven, were present. Even at first glance, it was clear how far they had come. The seven-year-olds bore the faint traces of exhaustion on their faces — flushed cheeks, heavy breathing, and slight tremors in their hands — yet their bodies were stronger, firmer, and more defined than anyone could have imagined at the start of their training. Their arms, legs, and torsos carried the subtle but unmistakable features of endurance and growth, a testament to the countless miles and grueling exercises they had endured.
A faint, sweet medicinal scent lingered in the air around them, a mix of herbal tonics and body sweat, evidence of the Blue Lotus, Ironroot Grass, and other special herbs the elders had provided. It was a smell that carried both discipline and progress, signaling that their bodies were being honed beyond ordinary limits.
The elders' careful planning had divided the twenty into four balanced teams, each with five members. Each team had a mix of ages — two or three of the younger seven- or eight-year-olds, whose energy was surprising for their age, and one older ten- or eleven-year-old, chosen to lead the group with experience, strength, and guidance. The leaders carried the responsibility of setting pace, ensuring safety, and coordinating movement, while the younger members followed, learning strategy, balance, and endurance from them.
Every child understood their role intuitively. Even at such young ages, the older children protected and guided the younger, while the younger ones supported the team in return — lifting, holding, or balancing whenever needed. The unity and trust between them was tangible, almost a visible force in the early morning air.
As the first light of sun hit the eastern gate, the four teams waited quietly, eyes forward, muscles coiled with readiness. Their bodies bore the story of three grueling weeks of training, and now they were on the cusp of the final challenge. The air smelled of medicinal herbs, sweat, and anticipation, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant morning calls of birds.
In that moment, it was clear to any observer that these were no ordinary children. Every line of muscle, every focused gaze, every steady breath spoke of discipline, strength, and preparation. They were young warriors, ready to face the last trials with nothing but their bodies, their minds, and their unbreakable unity.
The second-last day of the fourth week dawned over the village with a pale, soft light. At the eastern gate, all twenty youngsters had already gathered, standing straight despite exhaustion from weeks of relentless training. Even the youngest, seven-year-old Luo Tang, who had once trembled at every climb and sprint, now moved with balance, strength, and an unspoken confidence. The faint aroma of medicinal herbs clung to their hair and clothes, a subtle reminder of the tonics and powders that had nourished their muscles, lungs, and endurance over the past weeks.
The children were divided into four teams, each carefully balanced with older and younger members, boys and girls alike. Each team had a leader, one of the older children, whose role was both to guide and to inspire. Every team included children from the four main families (Chen, Yan, Xiao, Liang) as well as a few outsiders, ensuring diversity, strength, and cooperation.
Each team was carefully balanced — older ones leading, younger ones following; two girls and three boys in each, representing the four main families and those born outside them. Every child carried their own story, their own spark of determination.
Team 1 – Led by Yunkai Tao, age 11 .Ye Chen – 8-year-old girl, petite and quick, her sharp eyes always alert to movement around them. Wu Chen – 8-year-old boy, calm and calculating, the steady rhythm of the team. Chen Li – 7-year-old boy from the Chen Family, agile and quick-footed, able to move over uneven ground like flowing water. Chen Mei – 7-year-old girl, small but filled with relentless spirit; even exhaustion couldn't dull her spark.
Team 2 – Led by Liang Shan, age 10 .Yan Rui – 9-year-old girl from the Yan Family, bold and outspoken, her laughter often lifted tired hearts. Wu Ping – 9-year-old boy, an outsider known for his curiosity and quick reflexes. Huo Min – 8-year-old boy, quiet yet surprisingly strong, his punches carried weight beyond his age. Li Fen – 8-year-old girl, graceful in motion and calm in mind, often reminding others to breathe and focus.
Team 3 – Led by Xiao Ren, age 10. Tian Bo – 9-year-old boy, big-hearted and loud, but never left a teammate behind. Qiu Lan – 8-year-old girl, calm as a lake, always the first to spot danger ahead. Zhang Wei – 9-year-old boy from an outer village, sturdy and brave, his simple smile hiding fierce determination. Ling Yue – 8-year-old girl, quick to adapt, her clever thinking often saved the team extra effort.
Team 4 – Led by Yan Hao, age 11. Luo Tang – 7-year-old boy, youngest of all, small yet unyielding, carrying a spark of quiet pride that no hardship could dim. Chen Ruo – 8-year-old girl, known for her precision and balance, always finishing her drills flawlessly. Jin Fei – 9-year-old boy from the Jin clan, serious-minded, with an unwavering sense of discipline. Liang Yin – 9-year-old girl, fiery and energetic, often teasing Luo Tang but protecting him fiercely when needed.
That morning, as the eastern gates opened, all twenty children stood lined up under the pale dawn light. Their breathing was steady, their eyes bright — though the youngest looked tired, their bodies carried the quiet strength born of relentless days. The scent of spirit herbs and faint meditation energy drifted in the air around them, proof of their daily cultivation.
Today's training path would push them further — through the eastern valley, looping north-west and back. They started early, steps synchronized, neither rushing nor dragging, each trusting the rhythm of their team.
As the day unfolded, they crossed streams and climbed uneven slopes, their bodies moving with growing precision. Once, a pair of small forest beasts appeared near the path; instead of panic, the children slowed, shifted formation, and slipped past unnoticed — a sign of how far they'd come.
By dusk, sweat and dust covered their faces, but pride gleamed in their eyes. They had completed another day, and tomorrow would mark the end of their fourth week — the final test before the elders judged their progress. None had failed yet, though many had nearly collapsed along the way. Their muscles ached, their breaths were heavy, but every step carried them closer to their true strength.
That night, the campfire burned bright, and even silence felt like victory.