Chapter 16: The Ship's Homeward Horn

The plane tree leaves at the Berlin Military Academy glowed green, and the summer of 1914 arrived earlier than in previous years, with a restless, uneasy atmosphere filling the air. Li Yuxuan, dressed in a crisp Cadet Uniform, stood in the graduation procession, watching the principal pin the Graduation Certificate and an Outstanding Cadet badge to his chest, while cheers and gun salutes rose and fell around him.

Six years slipped by like sand through one's fingers. From the clueless rookie who could not even recall all the German terms to a graduate now capable of independently conducting a Division-level Tactical Drill, he shed his youthful naiveté in this rigorously, almost rigid, Military Academy, and his brows now carried a soldier's composure.

"Congratulations, Li," the tactical instructor patted his shoulder, his eyes showing both satisfaction and a hint of complexity, "you finally graduated. I deeply sympathize with the situation of your country."

Li Yuxuan knew what he meant. In recent years, fragmented news from home arrived: the Qing Court's rule was on the brink of collapse, uprisings flared up across the land, Huang Xing launched an uprising in Guangzhou, the Seventy-Two Martyrs stained Huanghuagang with blood, and the news reached Berlin, where the overseas student hall was filled with weeping.

"It's all right, teacher," he gripped the Graduation Certificate in his hand, his tone calm yet firm, "I am returning precisely to change all of this."

The instructor sighed, pulled a gold‑embossed notebook from his pocket, and handed it to Li Yuxuan: "These are my Tactical Notebook from my days at the General Staff, perhaps they'll be useful to you. Enough, enough—using your colloquial expression, I wish you a bright future!"

The notebook was heavy, smelling of ink and leather. Li Yuxuan took it and performed a proper German military salute: "Thank you, teacher. I will keep this kindness in my heart."

"Go quickly," the instructor waved his hand, pointing toward the distant dock, "the ship back to your homeland departs in an hour."

Li Yuxuan cast one last glance at the campus that had borne his six years of youth—on the Training Ground's lawn, new cadets were conducting drill, their slogans synchronized. The library windows still glowed with familiar light; even the old piano in the café seemed to be playing the piece he had heard countless times.

He turned and strode toward the dock. The suitcase wheels clacked on the stone pavement, as if marking the final punctuation of his years studying abroad.

The dock buzzed with voices, and the steamship Prussia lay quietly at the quay, its black smokestack belching thick smoke that trailed a long tail across the azure sky. International students and merchants crowded the gangway, each bearing a different expression—anticipation, reluctance, or nervousness about the unknown.

"Li Yuxuan!" a familiar voice called out to him.

He turned and saw Guderian, dressed in a crisp Captain uniform, with Rommel standing beside him, who had already been promoted to First Lieutenant, his eyes still as sharp as an eagle's.

"What brings you here?" Li Yuxuan asked, both startled and delighted.

"We came to see you off, our Tactical Genius," Guderian said with a smile, handing him an Iron Box, "inside are Guderian's tactical insights."

Rommel then slipped him a finely crafted Military Dagger: "I captured this during a military exercise; it's very sharp, use it for self‑defense on the way back."

Li Yuxuan looked at the two German friends, feeling a warm surge inside. During his years in Germany, they had been both rivals and kindred friends—debating late into the night over the sand table, arguing heatedly in a tavern about whether cavalry would become obsolete, and silently sipping strong liquor upon hearing news of uprisings back home.

"Thank you," he said, carefully placing the box and dagger into his bag, "if the chance arises, you are welcome to visit Huaxia."

"We will," Guderian nodded, "once this war is over—if it indeed happens."

Li Yuxuan felt a stir inside. Recently Europe's situation had grown increasingly tense, the Austro‑Hungarian Empire and Serbia were on a sword‑edge, and newspapers daily ran headlines of "war on the brink." He vaguely recalled that a single gunshot in Sarajevo in the summer of 1914 would ignite a continent‑wide conflagration.

"Take care of yourselves," he said, not saying much more; some things, even if spoken, they would not believe.

The whistle blew long, urging passengers to board. Li Yuxuan embraced them in farewell, turned, and stepped onto the gangway.

Standing on the deck, he looked back; Guderian and Rommel were still waving from the dock, their figures shrinking until they became two vague black dots. The Berlin cityscape on the shore receded, its church spires, factory smokestacks, and Military Academy clock tower all disappearing at the horizon's edge.

The sea breeze brushed his face, carrying a salty, damp scent. Li Yuxuan leaned on the rail, opened the notebook the instructor had given him. Its pages were densely filled with tactical insights, and several passages were highlighted in red as "Suggestions for the Huaxia battlefield"—for example, how to deploy artillery in mountainous terrain, how to use civilian houses to construct defensive positions, each line reflecting meticulous consideration.

He thought of Jiang Ruiyuan again. Calculating the time, the other should have returned from Japan long ago; he wondered which unit he now served in, whether he had taken part in the Wuchang uprising, and why no Letter had arrived.

"Principal, principal, when I return, don't disappoint me," Li Yuxuan murmured to himself, a faint smile curling his lips.

The ship entered the North Sea, heading east. Along the way it passed ports of many nations; at each stop, recruitment posters and armed soldiers lined the streets. The war's dark clouds had already shrouded the European mainland.

Li Yuxuan stood on the deck, gazing at the boundless sea, his mind awash with thoughts. Six years of study in Germany had taught him advanced military knowledge and let him witness firsthand the rise and ambition of an industrial powerhouse. It was also where he experienced his first love and his first child. Meanwhile his homeland was undergoing the painful transition between old and new, and no one could say whether the road ahead would be bright or dark.

But he knew he could no longer be a bystander as he had been in his previous life. From the day he crossed into Xikou, from the day he entered the Xinshi Xuetang, from the day he set foot on German soil, his fate had become tightly bound to this nation.

He brushed his hand over Jiang Ruiyuan's photograph in his pocket, then glanced again at Guderian's tactical insights, suddenly feeling his whole body surge with strength.

The ship's whistle sounded long again, startling a flock of seabirds. Li Yuxuan lifted his head, looking toward the eastern horizon—there lay his homeland, the land he would fight for.