Ping bent over slowly, one ear alert for the sound of metal against metal.  He might not know much about being in the army, but the (other) men’s mutterings - and his own observations - had given the young recruit the impression that Captain Li was hard, but fair.  They had spent the morning drilling.  Sweat ran into Ping’s eyes and his wrists shook as he gripped his sword, first in one hand and then the other.  As the late-afternoon sky turned the color of a raw egg’s yolk, the captain was instructing those more familiar with swordplay in the finer points.  But it would have been very unlike Captain Li to allow the others to simply rest.  Instead, they all had their camp duties to fulfill.

He had grown up on a farm and was not unused to gathering firewood.  Ping had never enjoyed this chore, but it was still better than training.  He thought that every night he collapsed on his bedroll a little less exhausted and sore than before; or maybe that was only Mushu’s constant encouragement.  Ping’s tired muscles were grateful for the rest, but he still closed his eyes tight as he stooped for kindling.  At least he was alone and might take his time.  Soon he sat down cross-legged on the floor (wincing all the time) and picked up a couple of slender twigs from his bundle.  Ping was not going to give Ling another chance to poke fun at how he could not start a fire.  Now was as good a time as any to practice.