16 Targeted Measures (Part 2)

At this moment, Wu Qingchen and Jiang Fengming made their way to the edge of a stream. Jiang Fengming stopped, glanced at his documents, and said, “Mr. Wu, let me confirm once more—in the Medieval World, when you were washing clothes at the stream, did the water temperature or anything else make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No,” Wu Qingchen replied.

It was hard enough to sneak in a bit of laziness, and now he had to admit it twice; Wu Qingchen found this whole process a little exasperating.

Fortunately, Jiang Fengming merely nodded without any change in expression and continued walking ahead.

“The next item is carpentry and earthworks.”

Standing on a slightly elevated spot beside the stream, Jiang Fengming pointed forward with his toe. “You should be quite familiar with this scenario.”

He certainly was.

Two logs spanned the banks of the stream—one steady, the other teetering. There were three such pairs in total.

“Mr. Wu, these bridges were built according to the opinions of road and bridge experts, timber specialists, and strict reference to magnified images at six hundred times their normal size. Please choose the one that most closely resembles the bridges you often encountered in the Medieval World.”

Wu Qingchen paced back and forth by the three bridges, cautiously testing each with his foot, then pointed to the middle one. “They’re all quite similar, but the way this one wobbles feels most familiar.”

“Understood...” Jiang Fengming waved his hand, and two soldiers who had been standing by immediately stepped forward.

This time, perhaps because the task was clear, there was no explanation or introduction. One soldier began digging up loose soil near the logs with his bare hands, while the other circled down to the stream and returned with a heap of smooth river stones.

Together, the two soldiers piled the stones next to the wobbling log, packed the gaps with the freshly dug earth, and stomped the soil firmly into place.

Then, stepping onto the other steady log, the soldiers crossed to the opposite bank with the agility of men walking on level ground, repeating the process there.

Once finished, both soldiers walked back over the logs—this time, each stepping on a separate log, yet neither showed the slightest tremor.

They halted before Jiang Fengming, saluted in unison, and, after Jiang Fengming returned the gesture with a slight wave, fell silent and stood a few steps away.

“Well?” Turning back, Jiang Fengming addressed Wu Qingchen, who had watched the entire process intently. “Any issues?”

“None that I can see,” Wu Qingchen replied, rolling up his sleeves. “Is it my turn now?”

“No.” Jiang Fengming shook his head slightly. “Safety first—you can use tools.”

As he spoke, Jiang Fengming again gestured, and another soldier, stationed a short distance away, brought over a wooden shovel.

“Here you are,” Jiang Fengming said, handing Wu Qingchen the tool and indicating another bridge. “Go ahead.”

Taking the shovel, Wu Qingchen walked to the bridge, dug up some loose earth, collected a pile of river stones, and, mimicking the soldiers’ actions, began to reinforce the log.

It quickly became apparent that, while the soldiers’ method of layering soil and stone looked simple, it was actually quite tricky. After a prolonged effort, Wu Qingchen managed to tamp down the soil, but when he tested the log with his foot, it stubbornly continued to wobble, even loosening the hard-packed earth and stones on the slope.

He groaned inwardly.

He hurriedly used the shovel to press the soil and stones down again, but the result was the same.

At that moment, the two soldiers returned, carrying a log between them. They set it across the stream, dug up more earth, moved more stones, and began to reinforce it once more.

Wu Qingchen watched closely this time, noticing that the earth merely played a supporting role—the key to stabilizing the log was the strategic placement of the stones, each supporting the other to lock the log firmly in place.

With this insight, Wu Qingchen tried again. This time, the result was much better. Although the reinforced log still wobbled slightly, it was now within a safe and acceptable range.

“Very good...”

Regardless of success or failure, Jiang Fengming’s expression and tone remained unchanged. “Mr. Wu, just leave the shovel wherever you like. Please, follow me—there’s another task.”

The next task was to achieve complete combustion.

In essence, Wu Qingchen was taught how to create and preserve fire, collect simple combustibles, and pile them next to thickets too stubborn for ordinary tools, then set them ablaze and let the wind do the rest.

Afterward, Wu Qingchen gradually learned how to efficiently level a road, quickly clear weeds, and safely open a smoke vent...

And so on, and so forth...

Many of the messy problems that had plagued Wu Qingchen in the Medieval World were addressed by Jiang Fengming—or more accurately, by the powerful team behind him. In just a single night, they developed tailored solutions for Wu Qingchen, enlisting all manner of specialists to personally demonstrate both conventional and unconventional methods.

After about two hours, Jiang Fengming finally reached the last page of his file, signaling the end of this round of training.

Compared to the previous night’s session, the pace and progress this time were much improved.

It was only natural.

First, having spent an entire night preparing, Jiang Fengming’s team had far more time at their disposal. Second, their understanding of the Medieval World had deepened, allowing them to devise more targeted solutions. Lastly, for Wu Qingchen, every aspect of the training was now closely tied to his daily life in that world—most of which had given him no small amount of trouble—so his attitude was more focused and earnest than ever.

“Not bad...” Jiang Fengming, apparently feeling the same, handed his finished documents to a young official, checked his watch, and, for once, allowed a trace of satisfaction to show on his face. “That concludes the targeted training for now. Mr. Wu, you may take a short rest and prepare for the next phase.”

A “rest” meant that, not long after, a soldier brought a chair for Wu Qingchen.

And as for “prepare,” it meant that a distant, disorganized, and rather peculiar group began to approach Wu Qingchen’s resting spot.

They moved quickly, and within a few minutes, Wu Qingchen could make out the details of this unusual party.

“They’re here,” Jiang Fengming said, motioning for Wu Qingchen to stand. “The next phase is practical life skills. These are your life coaches.”

“Life coaches... you call them?”

Jiang Fengming’s introduction was almost beyond belief. As Wu Qingchen took in the approaching group, whatever discouragement he’d felt from Jiang Fengming’s earlier words vanished instantly.

There was no doubt—the “life coaches” now appearing before him comprised perhaps the most eclectic group ever assembled under that title.

At the very front stood a bearded man in ancient garb: felt cap atop his head, padded jacket on his back, a longbow slung over one shoulder, and three quivers full of feathered arrows at his waist—a classic hero straight out of an old tale.

Behind him came a burly giant, dressed in white robes and a tall hat, hefting a large trunk with one hand as if it weighed nothing.

Next was a man with a shifty, ferrety face—his head bobbed nervously, his eyes darted everywhere, his hands trembled, and all ten fingers bore the scars of past injuries, not one left unscathed. A beneficiary of social welfare, perhaps.

Further back shuffled a short, middle-aged man, hunched and awkward, his hands and feet unsure where to go, his face tight with nervousness and restraint.

Then came a tall, golden-haired foreigner with blue eyes, upright bearing, and knotted muscles—at last, someone who actually looked the part of a “coach,” dressed in full military uniform, moving with the power and poise of a dragon or tiger, exuding formidable presence.

Finally...

The last “coach” was not a single person, but a small cluster.

On the outside stood two foreigners in white robes, bespectacled and scholarly in appearance.

In the middle were four soldiers, fully armed and alert, as if entering hostile territory.

At the very center was a figure with deathly pale skin, as though he hadn’t seen the sun in ages; wild, bristling beard; unkempt hair; and a gaze of steely resolve and determination. He radiated the air of a man with unbreakable convictions...

He was also draped in iron chains, with iron balls shackled to his feet and a chain belt at his waist, every inch of his body bound tight...

A mysterious individual.

What on earth was this?

A vampire, perhaps?