Stamina Foundation 0005

“Strength, endurance, agility, explosive power, and bodily coordination—you must improve all these attributes comprehensively if you want to turn from an ordinary person into a strong warrior in a short time and, more importantly, survive.” Due to her concussion and gunshot wounds, Dis could only maximize her rest time. So she leaned expressionlessly against the inner wall of the container, issuing her instructions.

While handing Dis her share of the food, Hou Rui asked, perplexed, “Where exactly should I start?”

“Endurance. The simplest way to begin is by running. Running not only strengthens your body overall but also trains your willpower.” Dis tried to take a sip of milk, but nausea quickly overcame her again. Resigned, she set the rest of her food aside.

“I’ll start as soon as I finish eating,” Hou Rui replied, stuffing food into his mouth in quick succession. But Dis sneered coldly, “Eating so fast—haven’t you seen food before? Remember to eat slowly. Chew everything in your mouth thoroughly, little by little, so your body can absorb the maximum nutrition. After you finish, rest quietly for two hours, then start running laps around the deck.”

Two hours later, Hou Rui stood on the deck.

Following Dis’s instructions, he began jogging along the starboard side of the freighter, keeping his pace comfortable. But when he reached the fifty-meter mid-deck passage on the port side, Dis ordered him to sprint at full force. Running one loop around the deck of this container ship measured just over six hundred meters. With Hou Rui’s flimsy physique, he could have managed two or three laps at a steady pace, but alternating between jogging and mad sprints, he barely finished one lap before feeling like he was going to vomit.

The moment he returned to his starting point, Hou Rui couldn’t help but stop, clutching a container and gasping violently for breath.

“That’s all you’ve got? This is just the beginning. Remember, you can’t throw up—otherwise, all that food will be wasted. And don’t stop moving. If you absolutely can’t run, do push-ups. Your upper body muscles are pathetically weak, like a twelve-year-old girl’s.” Dis’s emotionless command echoed from inside the container.

Gritting his teeth, Hou Rui began another round of torment. By the next lap, he staggered back to the starting point, swaying and stumbling like a seventy-year-old man. Even so, he stubbornly dropped to the ground, forcing himself to do push-ups, barely managing to push himself up and down.

“Drink some water before the next lap. Hold it in your mouth, swallow it little by little—don’t rush it.” Dis offered a new tip.

“How many laps do I need to run today?” Hou Rui asked weakly, sprawled on the ground.

“There’s no fixed number. Just keep running, until your whole body aches, until you pass out.”

And so Hou Rui began to run.

On the first day, he actually ran until he fainted.

The second day, he woke to a body that felt torn apart, his organs burning as if on fire, but he still forced himself out of the container to keep running.

On the third day, Hou Rui’s pace was slower than an average person’s walk. The crew on deck started betting on when he would collapse, but his iron will surprised them all—he kept moving, inching forward.

Then came the fourth day, and the fifth.

By the sixth day, just as Hou Rui’s body was barely adapting to this extreme exercise, Dis suddenly added a new task: simply rolling across the deck, over and over.

“Lift your entire body, support yourself with your hands, then let your back touch the ground, rolling from the back of your neck all the way down to your lower back and hips, making full contact with the deck. As soon as the roll ends, push your legs up and roll again, then a third time, continuing until you can’t go on,” Dis instructed in her usual flat tone.

Hou Rui awkwardly followed her orders, feeling his back slam heavily against the metal deck, grumbling, “What’s the point of all this rolling? Is it to toughen me up?” Dis didn’t bother to explain; instead, she closed her eyes.

On the seventh day, Hou Rui was woken by sheer pain. He couldn’t see that his entire back had turned a deep bluish hue, every muscle swollen, his joints screaming in agony, and the skin on his spine scraped raw. Yet, he still forced himself to run another lap and then to keep rolling. But as soon as he rolled over once, the pain nearly made him lose control. He lay trembling on the deck, unable to move for a long time.

Leaning against the container wall, Dis was about to speak when a shout interrupted her: “Land! I see land!”

With a commotion, everyone poured out of the containers—even the bearded man and the short, fat one emerged from the cabin. The bearded man shaded his eyes and looked at the dark speck of land on the horizon, then shouted, “Clean out your containers and gather. Your journey is over. Ahead lies your hell.”

Hou Rui, like the others, quickly gathered all the trash from his container and tossed it into the sea, then stood on deck, watching as the distant island grew larger.

About half an hour later, the freighter slowed, and a mid-sized yacht appeared from the direction of the island, heading straight toward them.

“Good luck! Next time we meet, you’ll all be real employees, haha!” the bearded man laughed as the yacht and freighter were tied together, then disappeared back into the cabin. Hou Rui and the others queued up, climbed down a rope ladder onto the yacht, and soon it was sailing toward the island, full of people.

Standing by the rail, Hou Rui looked out at the island. Apart from a few peaks, it was a lush expanse of forest, shrouded in mist and clouds, making it hard to see clearly. He estimated the island at roughly 178 square kilometers—utterly insignificant in the vast ocean. With no nearby shipping routes, even experienced sailors would struggle to locate it.

“Our week is up; our cooperation ends here,” Dis murmured quietly from beside the yacht’s cockpit, unwrapping the bandage from her shoulder to reveal a mostly healed gunshot wound.

“So what about the twenty thousand dollars you owe me? When will I get it?” Hou Rui, annoyed by her abrupt attitude, replied sarcastically.

“There’s nowhere to spend money on this island. If you make it out alive, the money will be in your account,” Dis replied. Her concussion symptoms had improved after a week of rest; at least now she seemed to function normally.

“How can you be so sure you’ll survive to leave the island? If you die, what happens to my money?” Hou Rui pressed.

“You’d better worry about yourself.” As soon as Hou Rui heard this, a sudden violent shove came from behind, knocking his legs out from under him and sending him headfirst into the sea.

He gulped several mouthfuls of seawater as he went under, his head spinning. But survival instinct forced him to open his eyes and he saw a broad, foaming wake rapidly approaching his position.

The propeller!

His mind exploded with panic. There was no time to think—he kicked desperately off the yacht’s hull and thrashed his arms with all his might. If the propeller sucked him in, he’d be shredded to pieces!

Twelve seconds later, the foaming wake barely missed him. Exhausted, Hou Rui found an opening, kicked hard, and surfaced, gasping to find himself about ten meters behind the yacht.

He looked up at the people on board, scanning their faces—some impassive, some gloating—but none showed any intention of helping. Especially Ding Ye, standing on the upper deck, who smiled broadly. Hou Rui was certain it was Ding Ye who’d pushed him into the water. But they were still fifty-six nautical miles from the island, and the yacht was moving farther away. Swimming there would be no simple task.

“Twenty thousand dollars! Pull me back on board!” Hou Rui suddenly remembered his deal with Dis and shouted.

“Fifty thousand!” rumbled the burly black man who’d once guided him.

“Deal!” No sooner had Hou Rui spoken than a lifebuoy with a rope attached sailed through the air.

A few minutes later, drenched and bedraggled, Hou Rui joined the others on the island’s beach. Several men in Hawaiian shirts, sunglasses, and armed with Model 41 rifles awaited them.

“Welcome to Zero Island. I’m your instructor—you may call me Mr. Martin. While you’re on this island, it’s my job to turn you all into slightly less useless trash.” Standing in the center, a short, stocky, brown-haired foreigner addressed them in English. He held half a freshly opened coconut with a straw in it—anyone would have thought he was on vacation.

“You probably have lots of questions, but I won’t answer any. More than half of you will end up dead, and answering dead men’s questions is a waste of time.” Martin tossed his coconut aside and signaled his men to spread out, loosely surrounding the group on the sand.

“Time is valuable. We’ll start the first round of games now.” Suddenly, Martin’s eyes fell on the soaking wet Hou Rui. He gave a questioning look to the crew member who’d brought them over.

One of the foreigners who’d escorted them back quickly signed a few signals, and Martin understood. “Looks like you’ve already had some trouble among yourselves. But on this island, only I decide who lives or dies. Now, listen carefully—if you’ve served in the military, been a police officer, or received private security training, step to the left.”

A large portion of the group moved to the left as instructed.

“If you’ve had small arms training and can use a gun proficiently, step to the right,” Martin said, casually swinging his rifle.

The last few people beside Hou Rui left as well, and soon everyone was staring at him, the lone man standing in the middle like an animal on display.

Martin, clearly intrigued, strolled over to Hou Rui, circling him and studying him from head to toe before asking, “This is the first time we’ve had a regular civilian trainee on the island. How did you get here?”

“I’m just an unlucky accident,” Hou Rui answered bravely.

“An accident? I hope you’ll surprise me again in a moment.” Apparently losing interest, Martin turned to the others and shouted, “Start the Firehouse!”