Chapter 22: Parting

In Xikou, the mornings are always wrapped in a thin mist; inside the Li Family's ancestral hall, Li Yuxuan is bent over fastening the strap of a suitcase. His hand rubs the belt several times—though it's clearly tightened, he loosens it again. Zhou Guixiang, cradling a swaddled infant, stands nearby, tears streaming down, her eyes red and swollen.

"Mother, we're leaving," Li Yuxuan straightens up, his gaze sweeping over the luggage—several neatly stacked sets of change of clothes, the Army appointment letter wrapped tightly in oil paper, and the gift prepared for the Hunan Education Department director placed on top.

Zhou Guixiang presses the child in her arms closer to her chest, shakes her head forcefully: "If you must go, go, and leave my grandson." Her voice trembles with sobs yet remains stubborn, "Hunan is the place—you can go on your own; why must you bring a little baby to suffer?"

Li Yuxuan had already expected his mother to say that, and gently urges, "Mother, this child must come with me. Hunan's climate is warm, far milder than Xikou, perfect for a child's growth. Once I'm settled there, I'll bring you over to stay for a while."

"I won't go!" Zhou Guixiang sticks out her neck, looks down at the infant in her arms. The little one stares with dark eyes, his tiny hand clutching her clothing, "Look how sensible he is; left at home, he'll be cared for by me and your father, and will grow strong. You, a grown man, can't even take care of yourself—bringing a child would only cause trouble."

Li Yuxuan watches his mother gently stroking the baby's hair, feeling both moved and helpless. Damn, this must be what they call a cross‑generational affection? In just a few days, his mother dotes on this child more than on her own son.

He muses silently: these past days the kid has been spoiled to the heavens. Every egg custard is a different variety, at night he's covered with a fresh cotton quilt, and even the hardest‑to‑find foreign candy in town is specially sent by his mother for him to taste. He never had such blessings as a child. Never mind, after all he's the eldest grandson.

"Mother, this child must come with me," Li Yuxuan explains patiently. "The Education Department in Sanxiang has already prepared accommodation—a secluded courtyard with a kitchen and side rooms; hiring an old nanny will be enough to look after the child. Besides, he has to recognize me as his father, right? He can't only be close to his grandparents and forget his own dad."

The words strike a chord with Zhou Guixiang; she opens her mouth but says nothing further. She has always known the child should stay with his father, yet she can't bear to let him go. Holding her little grandson these days, hearing his babbling "na‑na," seeing the drool at the corner of his mouth when he sleeps, she has already come to cherish him as her own beloved.

"Then… you must promise me to take good care of him," Zhou Guixiang's tears well up again. "When the weather turns cool, add clothing promptly; when he's hungry, feed him on schedule; if he cries at night, don't find it annoying…"

"Understood, Mother, I've noted it," Li Yuxuan quickly assures, fearing his mother might change her mind. "Rest assured, I'll tend to him more attentively than you tended to me."

Only then does Zhou Guixiang reluctantly hand the child to Li Yuxuan's arms, turning to fetch a small bundle from the cupboard: "Inside are the little cotton jacket and pants I made for the boy, plus a few snug belly‑wraps, all sewn with fresh cotton wadding, soft. The wind will be strong on the road; don't let him get cold."

Li Yuxuan takes the bundle; its heavy weight warms his heart as well. He looks down at the infant in his arms; the little one seems to sense the departure, crying incessantly, yet reaches out to clutch his collar, as if confirming something.

"Then… Mother, the child is leaving now," Li Yuxuan says, cradling the baby, lifting the luggage, and taking one last look around the familiar ancestral hall—everything as before, yet somehow changed.

"Wait!" Zhou Guixiang suddenly remembers something, hurriedly pulls a cloth sack from under the kang and stuffs it to him: "Here are fifty Silver Yuan; take them with you. When you reach Sanxiang, don't be too frugal—spend what's needed. If it's not enough, send a letter home; I'll have your father figure something out."

Li Yuxuan squeezes the cloth sack, his throat tightening. He knows the family's situation best; those fifty Silver Yuan must be long‑saved savings. "Mother, I have money; you keep it."

"If I let you take it, then you take it!" Zhou Guixiang glares at him. "This money isn't for you; it's for my grandson! If he ever wants a rare snack, we can't have him just watching others eat."

Those words leave Li Yuxuan no excuse; he carefully tucks the cloth sack into his arms: "Then… thank you, Mother."

At the doorway, Zhou Guixiang pulls him again, chattering instructions: "When you get to Sanxiang, be careful; I've heard it's unstable, with frequent clashes between the Revolution Party and the Beiyang Army. Whenever you have time, write more letters home, especially about the child's condition—whether he's gaining weight or losing it, whether he's starting to turn over…"

"Mm, I've noted it all," Li Yuxuan nods, holding the child as he steps over the threshold.

Zhou Guixiang walks him to the alley's end, watching her son carry the grandson into the car, still waving incessantly: "Take care on the road! Look after my grandson!"

The car slowly rolls forward; Li Yuxuan rolls down the window to look back, his mother still standing where she was, her figure gradually fading into the morning mist until she vanishes.

He gently closes the window, a swirl of emotions within. He had thought taking the child was only because she didn't want to keep him after their parting, but after these days with his mother, genuine grand‑parent affection has arisen. Seeing his mother's love for the child makes him feel the decision was right.

The infant in his arms seems to sense his mood, patting his chest lightly, producing a soft, mushy coo. Li Yuxuan looks down and smiles, gently stroking the boy's face: "Kid, go with your dad to Sanxiang and make your way. When you grow up, perhaps the world will be peaceful. This trip to Sanxiang is both an appointment and an adventure. That place, Li Yuxuan has only glimpsed in books—a strategic hub of turmoil during the Xinhai era, now caught in the tug‑of‑war between the Revolution Party and the Beiyang Army, a tangled situation. The Army's transfer is officially a promotion to Section Chief, but who knows if it will thrust him into the eye of the storm?"

Suddenly a thought flashes through his mind— that future great man must be in Sanxiang now? According to the histories, he should be studying at the Sanxiang First Normal School at this time. This posting to the Education Department might truly give him a chance to meet him. The idea of possibly seeing the youth who will later change China's fate makes Li Yuxuan's heart warm.

But he immediately shakes his head. As a newcomer with unstable footing, he should speak and act cautiously. If destiny allows, they will meet; rushing ahead would be unwise.

The car bumps along the bluestone road, the fields of rice and bamboo groves receding slowly outside the window like an unfolding scroll. Li Yuxuan pulls a letter from Jiang Ruiyuan out of his coat, unfolds it, and reads the vigorous handwriting:

"The Xiang region abounds with heroes and also dangers. Within the Education Department, factions proliferate; it is best to observe calmly. If you encounter trouble, you may go to the Changsha Xingzhong branch and report my name. May my junior, upon this journey, find stability and also fulfill his ambitions."

Between the lines the principal's usual straightforwardness remains. Li Yuxuan carefully folds the letter, puts it back into his coat, feeling a bit more grounded. No matter how perilous the road ahead, he knows there are still people in this world who keep him in mind.

The carriage climbs onto the floating bridge at the ferry crossing, and from afar the ship's whistle drifts, long and desolate.

He closes his eyes, leaning against the gently vibrating side of the carriage. His mother's tear‑filled eyes, the sleeping infant's little face, Jiang Ruiyuan's admonition, and that unseen figure…