Chapter 154

The north wind of 1937, carrying dust from Saiwai, swept over the uneven rooftops of Jinling; after the turmoil in Xi'an ended, the Young Master summoned him back to Jinling's power core. Li Yuxuan stood silently on the cold terrace of the Military Commission building, the three stars on his insignia glinting with metallic chill in the dim sky—this honor of being a first‑grade Army general was both a reward for his decades of loyalty and an unspoken testament to the lingering suspicion and bloodshed among the high command after that snowy night in Xi'an. The Document he had just received still smelled of ink from the secretariat, its lines reporting Yan'an's movements: the Chinese Communist Party Central Committee had relocated to that ancient city of Northern Shaanxi, and a telegraph titled "Calling for Peace and an End to the Civil War" carried an unexpectedly soft tone, yet it rippled through the deep courtyards of the Capital of Six Dynasties like a stone dropped into still water.

"Lord Jing, the gentleman is in the study," the Detachment Leader whispered, breaking his reverie. Li Yuxuan turned, his military boots striking the frost‑coated stone steps with a crisp, heart‑piercing clack. Along both sides of the long corridor, the massive Military Map was already covered with blue arrows indicating Japanese troop reinforcements spreading across Huabei like ants gnawing at the borders. In the study, the gentleman was leaning over the Sand Table, his fingertip tracing the Suoyuan area: "The negotiations over Yan'an have softened; Five Demands, Four Guarantees… this time they actually show a hint of sincerity." He did not look back, his voice carrying his usual caution and a barely perceptible fatigue, "In Xibei, Yang Hucheng is no longer a concern, but his former troops are still unsettled; that kid, you must keep an eye on him."

Li Yuxuan lowered his head slightly. The gunfire of December 30 in Xi'an seemed to echo in his ears; that night he personally ordered the execution of the Northwest Army commander, and the white snow was stained a glaring red by scalding blood.

In February, Jinling's air was filled with an ambiguous warmth that was still cold. The Kuomintang Fifth Session of the Third Plenum convened under strict guard. Li Yuxuan, as a core member of the Military Commission, attended and watched coldly as various forces below the stage harbored their own thoughts beneath the slogans "Stop the Civil War, Unite Against Japanese." The Chinese Communist Party's telegraph was like a stone thrown into a lake, stirring hidden currents beneath the seemingly solid decision‑making layer. As the meeting adjourned, a sharply featured subordinate leaned in and whispered, "Lord Jing, the gentleman wishes you to coordinate Huabei's defense; the Japanese are conducting an unprecedented‑scale exercise in Qingdao, and it looks like there will be no good feast."

Li Yuxuan silently nodded, his gaze already fixed on the vast, perilous region at the top of the map. He knew full well that this brief peace was merely a false calm before the storm. Returning to Headquarters, the latest intelligence lay on his desk: more than twenty Japanese warships had massed off Qingdao's offshore waters, the exercise being the largest in recent years. He spread out the Huabei military map, heavily circling with a red pencil the Japanese garrisons around Tianjin and Beiping—places that would soon become the first spots ignited by flames.

The March wind brought a hint of warmth, yet it could not disperse the heavy smell of gunpowder hanging over Huabei. When news of internal criticism of certain lines within the Chinese Communist Party Central Committee circulated, Li Yuxuan was deploying the Suoyuan defense line. Reports that the collaborationist Mongol army was reinforcing in Shangdu arrived in succession; without hesitation he dispatched two elite divisions to the border, his order a terse eight‑character command: "Yield not an inch of land, fight to the death." In the deep of night, when alone, he occasionally recalled the years in Xikou, when the gentleman was merely an ambitious follower and he himself was just a teenage book‑boy standing beside him. Who could have imagined that after more than thirty tumultuous years, he would hold heavy troops at this crossroads that would decide the nation's fate.

In April, Yanjing's grass and trees were just budding, but the spring was shattered by the incessant sounds of gun and artillery drills from the outskirts of Tianjin and Beiping. The Chinese Communist Party's leaflet "Letter to All Party Comrades" circulated through various secret channels, even reaching the front‑line trenches. The cry "Fight for the Anti‑Japanese Struggle" sparked like a spark, igniting the soldiers' long‑suppressed bloodlust. When Li Yuxuan personally inspected Huabei, he saw troops passing the rough papers among the muddy fortifications, their eyes no longer numb or bewildered but filled with a resolute willingness to die with the enemy. In his address to the troops, he deliberately borrowed the leaflet's words: "When the nation rises or falls, every man bears responsibility! The Japanese pirates seek to seize our mountains and rivers, but they must first tread over the bones of our people!"

The audience below responded like thunder; in that moment he clearly felt that, regardless of differing beliefs or positions, when the land and rivers are shattered, the unyielding and fierce spirit flowing in the blood of every descendant of Yanhuang is the same.

In May, the people over there convened a national representatives' conference, and a copy of a lengthy report authored by Gu Yue was secretly delivered to Li Yuxuan's desk. By lamplight he read through the night and had to admit that its detailed exposition on establishing an Anti‑Japanese national united front precisely hit the crux of the situation. Meanwhile on the Chabei front line, the collaborationist Mongol army's attacks grew increasingly frantic, and the defending forces suffered mounting casualties. He sent a Jinling Urgent Telegram requesting reinforcements, but the reply was only a vague hint of "Stability Inside Before Dealing with External." Li Yuxuan clenched the Document tightly, eventually crumpling it into a ball and tossing it to the ground—he understood that the higher‑ups' lingering suspicion of that side had not been dispelled, and that such internal strife would endanger Huabei.

In June, Lugou Bridge became the focal point of all eyes. The Japanese night exercises grew increasingly intense, with armed soldiers repeatedly provoking at the bridgehead, the distance to the Huaxia defenders so close that one could see the murderous glint in each other's brows; the air was tense as if ready to explode. When Li Yuxuan received the report, he was presiding over a military meeting; the baton in his hand struck heavily on the Lugou Bridge position, his tone grave: "The fuse of the powder keg is right here. Issue a strict order to the defenders: stay alert, and if the enemy breaches us, strike back resolutely!"

His dispatched reinforcements were still en route, and on the deep night of July 7, the cannon fire at Lugou Bridge thundered, tearing the silence. The Japanese used the absurd pretext of a missing soldier to launch a brazen assault on Wanping City. The defending commander led his troops in a blood‑soaked resistance, shouting "Lugou Bridge shall be your grave!" as the gunfire echoed throughout Huaxia.

When the news arrived, Li Yuxuan was accompanying the gentleman to a banquet. A harsh air‑raid siren suddenly sliced through Jinling's night sky, and the banquet hall instantly fell into chaos. The gentleman's face turned ashen, and he immediately halted the feast, rushing straight to the Military Commission's underground Operations Room.

"Order the Fifth Army, full‑scale mobilization, defend Huabei to the death!" the gentleman's voice suppressed a thunderous fury, "Jingxing, you head north at once and take over front‑line command!"

Li Yuxuan stood solemnly to receive the order, and as he turned, his peripheral glance caught a calendar on the corridor wall—July 8, 1937. He strode out of the Operations Room, the night outside as black as ink, Jinling City's lights flickering uneasily amid the faint alarm. From behind came the gentleman's final charge, low and weighty: "Hold Huabei, and you hold half the realm."