Chapter 205

Chen Geng walked to the doorway, then turned back: "Teacher, take care of your health. Some matters... need time. But we will do our best."

The students left, and the courtyard fell quiet again. Li Yuxuan opened On Protracted War and saw penmanship on the title page: "Mr. Li Yuxuan taught the righteous, June 1949."

He ran his fingers over that line, silent for a long while.

Time flew, and soon it was July 10th, a summer afternoon, the cicadas shrill. Li Yuxuan sat on a rattan chair by the window reading a Russian edition of On War—sent by Lin Husan during his last visit. He read slowly, occasionally consulting a dictionary. It reminded him of his youth, chewing German textbooks at the German Military Academy.

A knock sounded at the door, neither light nor heavy, three times.

"Enter."

The door swung open, and in came Director of Management Office Liu Guangzhi, followed by two soldiers carrying a wooden crate.

"Lord Jing." Liu Guangzhi's face bore a mixture of respect and mystery.

Li Yuxuan set the book down: "You're here, what's the matter?"

Liu Guangzhi told the soldiers to set the crate down, waved them out, then closed the door. He rubbed his hands as if about to announce something important: "Earlier you mentioned wanting to watch a film, right? The higher-ups have taken note of that."

Li Yuxuan was startled. Two weeks earlier he had indeed mentioned in passing that while idling at Gongde Lin, it would be nice to have a film to watch. It was just a casual remark, he hadn't expected...

"These are equipment procured from the United States and the Soviet Union," Liu Guangzhi said, opening the crate. Inside was a 16 mm Film Projector and dozens of round tin film canisters. "And these reels: there's Tom and Jerry—a funny American cartoon; there's Sorrow and Joy of Middle Age, a domestic film; there's the Soviet Bridge, about the anti‑fascist war. Oh, and a few Soviet military training films as well."

Li Yuxuan rose, walked to the crate, and reached out to touch the projector's cold metal shell. The machine was well maintained, its paint gleaming, clearly new.

"Why all this fuss?" he shook his head, his voice tinged with helplessness. "I'm just an old man, close to the grave. No need for such extravagance."

"That can't be said that way," Liu Guangzhi said seriously, "The higher-ups know you want to watch a film and have arranged this especially for you. General Chen Geng personally went to the Foreign Trade Department to allocate foreign exchange; General Lin Husan coordinated with the Soviet Embassy to obtain Soviet films; General Xu Xiangqian also specifically instructed that some light‑hearted films be obtained, saying you are too solemn and need to relax."

Li Yuxuan fell silent. He walked to the window and watched Du Yuming and Wang Yaowu weeding the garden in the courtyard. Both worked earnestly, sweat soaking their backs.

"Fine," he finally said, "thank them for me."

"Also," Liu Guangzhi took a parcel from his briefcase, tightly wrapped in oil paper, "someone overseas sent you some items. They've passed multiple inspections and are safe."

"Who?"

"Seems to be called Sai Zhenzhu. An American writer who won the Nobel Prize, that one."

Li Yuxuan's eyes flashed briefly, then returned to calm: "Oh, let's see."

Liu Guangzhi carefully opened the parcel. On top was a hardcover book, its dark blue cover stamped in gold with English: The Good Earth. Turning to the title page, a graceful line of English inscription read:

"To General Li Yuxuan, whose respect for culture I shall always cherish. Pearl S. Buck, June 1949."

Below the inscription, a line in brush script read: "All Under Heaven Are Brothers. Sai Zhenzhu respectfully presents."

The second item was a badge, a replica Nobel Literature Award Medal, placed in an exquisite velvet box, accompanied by a card bearing the Swedish Academy's award citation in English.

The third item was food: two jars of Zhenjiang Vinegar, sealed with mud; and a vacuum‑sealed pack of meat, labeled "Zhenjiang specialty."

Finally there was a letter, its envelope made of pale‑yellow Western paper, brushed with "General Li Yuxuan personally opens."

Li Yuxuan first picked up the book The Good Earth, rubbing its cover. He had heard of it but never read it. It was a story of Huaxia peasants written by an American woman, which had won the Nobel Prize and caused a sensation at home and abroad.

"She remembered," he said softly, "back then I only sent someone to attend the award ceremony, yet it stayed in memory till now."

Liu Guangzhi asked curiously, "Lord Jing, do you have a relationship with this Ms. Sai Zhenzhu?"

"We could say we met once," Li Yuxuan said, sitting down and slowly opening the letter. "At the end of 1937, she was abroad, I was in Jinling. She asked someone to deliver a letter, saying she wanted to see me to discuss Huaxia's resistance. I was swamped, but still found time to meet. Later she returned to the United States, lecturing everywhere to raise funds for Huaxia's resistance. In 1938 she won the Nobel Prize; I used my connections to send officials to Stockholm to attend the ceremony, as the National Government's gratitude for her support of Huaxia's resistance."

He unfolded the letter paper; Sai Zhenzhu's Chinese was quite good, though some wording was a bit stiff, the meaning was clear:

Mr. Yuxuan:

May the letter find you well!

The Swedish award ceremony concluded many years ago; when I learned you had specially sent someone to attend, I stood on the podium filled with warmth and gratitude. This recognition from a Huaxia friend moves me more than the prize itself—after all, my writing has always been for the Huaxia land and people I have cherished half my life.

Along with the letter I sent a few small items to express my sentiment. A signed copy of The Good Earth, its story of the Wang Long family, containing the resilience of Huaxia peasants I saw in Anhui and Jinling. The bottle of Zhenjiang Vinegar and the meat are flavors I ate as a child with Aunt Wang, now sent to you so you can taste the Huaxia flavor of my memory. Also a copy of All Under Heaven Are Brothers; when translating I always hoped Western readers would understand the heroic spirit of Huaxia, though it sparked controversy, it remains my cultural offering.

I wish you all the best and hope Huaxia soon enjoys peace. If fate allows later, I would love to return to the old house in Zhenjiang and discuss literature with friends.

Sai Zhenzhu

June 15, 1949