Chapter 211: The Grand Ceremony 1

September 20, 1949, afternoon at Yanjing Gongde Lin. Autumn sunlight filtered through the old locust trees in the Gongde Lin courtyard, casting mottled shadows on the ground. At three p. m., several Jeeps entered the Gongde Lin Gate without honking, eerily quiet.

Director Liu Guangzhi had long received the notice and was waiting in the courtyard, neatly dressed. After the vehicle stopped, a few people got out of the first Jeep; in the middle stood a tall man in a grey cotton Zhongshan suit faded white from washing, his hair slicked back, holding a cigarette between his fingers.

It was the gentleman.

Liu Guangzhi stepped forward quickly: "Chief, you have arrived."

The gentleman nodded, looked around the courtyard: "How many people are detained here?"

"Two hundred and thirty‑seven, mainly former Kuomintang senior officers."

"What are the conditions?"

"According to your and the central directives, meals are at division‑level standards, there is daily study time, you may read books and newspapers. Severely ill patients receive regular doctor check‑ups."

The gentleman took a drag of his cigarette: "Take me to see the little cousin."

Liu Guangzhi was startled: "Little cousin… his mood isn't good; last month he even staged a hunger strike."

"I know." The gentleman flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his cloth shoes, "He is my cousin; I'll go see him."

The little cousin was watering the vegetable plot; when he saw the gentleman, he paused briefly, then continued watering as if he hadn't seen him.

The gentleman smiled and walked over: "Cousin, still angry?"

The little cousin, the gentleman's cousin, was the twenty‑third generation descendant of Wen Tianxiang, a graduate of the Whampoa Fourth Class, formerly a Republic member, had taken part in the Nanchang Uprising, later left the party to join the Kuomintang, rose to deputy chief of staff of the Xuzhou "Jiao‑zong" Forward Command, and was captured during the Huaihai Campaign.

"I dare not." The little cousin didn't lift his head, "Now I'm a prisoner under the stairs, how could I dare be angry with you?"

The gentleman squatted down, not minding the dirt on the ground: "We cousins haven't seen each other for decades. The last time was… 1927? In Jiangcheng?"

The little cousin finally raised his head, looking at the gentleman: "In August 1927, you went to Sanxiang to organize the Autumn Harvest Uprising, I went to Nanchang to join the uprising. You urged me to go with you, I didn't listen."

"Indeed," the gentleman nodded, "If you had gone with me then, you might be a founding general now."

"That's not certain." The little cousin sneered, "How many of those who followed you later died? Qu Qiubai, Fang Zhimin, Liu Zhidan… and my elder brother Wen Bin, who died on the Long March. If I had been in the Red Army, I might have died long ago."

The remark was sharp. Liu Guangzhi's complexion changed, and he moved to intervene, but the gentleman raised his hand to stop him.

"War always takes lives," the gentleman said calmly, "Did the Kuomintang side lose fewer people? How many generals died in the anti‑Japanese war? How many in the civil war? Have you counted?"

The little cousin was at a loss for words.

"I'm not here to argue who's right or wrong," the gentleman said, standing up, "I'm just here to see you. I heard you've been performing well in Gongde Lin, love reading and studying. That's good."

"What's the use of studying? Even if you study, you're still a war criminal."

"Being a war criminal is temporary," the gentleman said, "Huaxia needs talent in all fields. You understand the military, politics, and even a bit of diplomacy— I heard you dealt with Americans while in the Military Intelligence Department. All that will be useful later."

The little cousin stared at the gentleman, his gaze complex. He knew his cousin's abilities and the Republic's generosity in employing people. Fu Zuoyi, Cheng Qian, Chen Mingren… those rebel generals had all been given important posts. But he was different; he was a captive, and having been a Republic member who later left the party, he was regarded by the Republic as a 'traitor.'

"Sir," the little cousin finally spoke, his tone softened, "I have only one request: if I cannot get out, let me die with dignity. No public trial, no parading through the streets."

The gentleman smiled: "You're overthinking it. Huaxia doesn't do that. Reform well, and a future path will open. My word is my bond."

He patted the little cousin's shoulder, turned and left. After a few steps, he turned back: "By the way, your mother is still at the old home in Sanxiang, her health is fine. I've already arranged for someone to look after her."

The little cousin's body shivered, his eyes suddenly reddened. He lowered his head, continued watering, but his hand trembled slightly.

The gentleman walked toward the east courtyard, to Li Yuxuan's room.

The door was open; Li Yuxuan was reading, and when he heard the footstep he lifted his head. Seeing the gentleman, he was startled for a moment, then rose slowly.

"Ren Ming."

"Teacher." The gentleman stood at the doorway, bowing slightly—this is the student's courtesy to a teacher.

Li Yuxuan made a welcoming gesture: "Come in, have a seat."

The gentleman entered the room and surveyed: a desk, a bookshelf, a bed, a washstand—simple but tidy. On the desk lay several books; he glanced at them—'The Art of War', 'On War', 'Republic Declaration', and an English edition of 'The Earth'.

"The teacher is still diligent," the gentleman said, sitting on the chair.

"Idle is still idle." Li Yuxuan poured him tea, "Why have you come? You're always handling countless affairs."

"No matter how busy, I must come see the teacher." The gentleman took the cup, "Back then at Xingcheng Diyi Shifan, you taught us world military history, lecturing for an entire afternoon. I still remember those lessons."

Li Yuxuan smiled: "At that time you always sat in the front row, asking the most questions."

"Indeed," the gentleman recalled, "I asked you: why does Huaxia keep getting beaten? You said: because it's backward, because it's divided, because it lacks a modernized army. I said: is modernizing the army enough? You said: not enough, we also need political clarity, economic development, and people's unity. I said: then we need a revolution. You said: revolutions bleed. I said: without revolution, even more blood will be shed."

Both laughed. That was a conversation from 1914; thirty‑five years had passed.

"You thought I was too radical back then," the gentleman said.

"It was a bit so," Li Yuxuan nodded, "but later I saw it; Huaxia can't change without being radical. I just didn't expect that, in the end, the one who made it work was you."