Chapter 229: Going Out

Li Yuxuan was stunned. He knew the name—the eldest son, who had just returned from the north last year, and was said to be doing real work in a factory. But he had never expected to meet him here, let alone…

"You… are going to cross the river?" Li Yuxuan suddenly understood.

The young man nodded: "We set out tomorrow. Before we leave, my father asked me to see you."

The two sat on a stone bench. Liu Guangzhi slipped away to a distance.

"Your father sent you to see me?" Li Yuxuan was somewhat puzzled.

"My father said you are one of the key founders of Huaxia Modern Military Education and have taught many General Officers. He said I should come to hear the elders' teachings." The young man sat upright, his tone respectful yet measured.

Li Yuxuan looked at the young face, and in a daze seemed to see a figure from many years ago.

"You look like your mother," Li Yuxuan said suddenly.

The young man was slightly startled: "Have you met my mother?"

"I saw her once, in the south," Li Yuxuan recalled. "Around 1924 at Huangpu, your mother came to hear my talk on Europe, and asked many questions about the German Women's Movement. She was a very insightful woman."

The young man's eyes brightened: "My father rarely spoke of my mother's early years."

"Back then, your father often came to listen to my lectures, but never sat in the front rows; he always leaned against the back wall of the classroom, listening and taking notes." Li Yuxuan's gaze grew distant, "Once, when I spoke about the German Revolution, he stayed after class to discuss with me all afternoon, asking 'Can Huaxia take that path?' I said the national conditions were different; one must forge one's own way. He said something that I still remember today—"

He paused, then said slowly: "He said, 'Paths are made by people walking them; if no one walks, the path never exists.'"

The young man listened quietly, light reflected in his eyes.

"You're about to cross the river," Li Yuxuan pulled his thoughts back, looking earnestly at the young man before him, "I have little to teach you, only a few old battlefield sayings, as an old soldier's advice to a junior."

"Please, go ahead."

"First, on the battlefield, rank and status cannot save a life; only experience and vigilance can. Second, respect every soldier; they may not have read many books, but their battlefield instincts are often more useful than texts. Third…" Li Yuxuan inhaled deeply, "…come back alive. Your life is not yours alone; it was bought with your mother's life, and your father's… it is his deepest concern."

The young man was silent for a long while, then nodded heavily: "I will remember."

As he rose to bid farewell, the young man suddenly asked, "Grandfather Li, you have taught so many Military Academy students, and now some of them are on the opposite side. If you encountered your own students on the battlefield, what would you do?"

The question was sharp. Li Yuxuan looked at the darkening sky and said slowly, "I would fulfill my duty as a teacher—teach earnestly when teaching, and when we meet on the battlefield, each serves his own side and gives his all. This is a soldier's vocation and a teacher's responsibility: the students I have trained should be principled, responsible soldiers, not mere puppets who follow orders blindly."

The young man bowed deeply, then turned and left.

Watching the retreating figure, Li Yuxuan suddenly recalled the early morning many years ago when he left Europe to return home. It was a similar farewell. History always repeats, yet always changes.

Li Yuxuan learned of the young man's appointment to the court three days later.

That afternoon, Chen Genglai reported the frontline situation, and as he was leaving, casually mentioned, "That young man has also gone to the front, working as a translator and in secretarial duties at Headquarters."

Li Yuxuan's hand, which was pouring tea, paused: "His father… gave consent?"

"He approved it personally," Chen sighed. "The young man repeatedly begged for combat, saying that hundreds of thousands of ordinary civilians' sons had already gone; he could not be given special treatment."

Tea spilled over the rim of the cup, scalding Li Yuxuan's hand. He seemed unaware.

After Chen left, Li Yuxuan sat alone in his room for the entire afternoon. When Liu Guangzhi brought dinner in, he saw him still seated on the chair by the window, motionless, staring at the deepening dusk outside.

"Jing Gong, have some rice."

Li Yuxuan slowly turned his head: "Guangzhi, if you had a son, would you let him go to the battlefield?"

Liu Guangzhi was startled: "I… haven't started a family yet. But if the country needs him, I think I would."

"Indeed, the country needs it," Li Yuxuan repeated softly, "but as a father…"

He thought of his own child—the son born in a foreign land, raised from childhood beside others. Last year, when his son led a great army southward, what did he feel? Worry, anxiety, pride, helplessness… a mixture of emotions all tangled together.

Now, that elder sending his eldest son to the front, he could somewhat understand that state of mind.

"That child… I saw him a few days ago," Li Yuxuan said slowly. "He asked me how to act if he met his own students on the battlefield. I said, each serves his own side, give his all. But now, thinking back, those words were too simplistic."

He stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and pulled out a photo album. Opening it revealed graduation group photos from various classes of the Military Academy. One by one, young faces, each with a familiar name: some were in the north, some had gone to the south… students of his were on both sides.

"These children once sat in the same classroom, listening to my lectures on strategy and theory. Later they took different paths, meeting in combat on the battlefield," Li Yuxuan's fingers brushed the photos lightly, "and all I can do is sit here, waiting for news."

Liu Guangzhi didn't know what to say, and could only stand silently.

"History is a cycle, and also a satire," Li Yuxuan closed the album. "In my life, I have taught too many students and influenced many people. Sometimes I wonder, if I hadn't gone to teach at the Military Academy back then, would the scene have been different?"

"History has no ifs, Jing Gong," Liu Guangzhi said softly, "What you taught them was patriotism and responsibility. Now, they all love their country in their own ways, whether protecting the newborn homeland, or…"

He did not continue, but the meaning was already clear.

Li Yuxuan nodded, and sat back down: "Indeed, they all love their country in their own ways. Yet sometimes that patriotism demands the price of life."

Outside the window, the autumn wind whistled, scattering yellow leaves across the ground.

That night, Li Yuxuan wrote in his diary:

"October 25, clear. The young man went north, his father saw him off, like ancient warriors on a distant journey. Yet the times are different, the meaning deeper. This is not a matter of one person or one family, but a choice of a clan and a nation. I have taught for decades, and now see a student's son on the battlefield. The threads of history are tangled as such. I cannot sleep at night, rise to observe the stars; in the North Sky there is a faint glow, I do not know whether it is warfire reflecting in the sky or a manifestation of my heart. I only wish that fewer lives be lost, that the swords be laid down soon."

After writing, he pushed open the window, letting the cool autumn night wind flood the room. In the northern horizon, a faint glimmer flickered, uncertain whether it was real beacon fire or a phantom of his heart.

From afar came a faint whistle of a locomotive, a train bound for the northeast, loaded with young soldiers, heading toward the icy, snowy Foreign Mountain Rivers.

Li Yuxuan closed his eyes, as if hearing those young heartbeats, seeing those steadfast gazes. This newborn nation is proving its dignity and resolve in the heaviest of ways.

The wind rustled the diary on the table, turning to the last page. There a yellowed photograph was affixed: many years ago in a Foreign City, a young Li Yuxuan cradling a swaddled infant, beside him a blonde woman. The people in the photo were smiling, their smiles full of boundless hope for the future.

Thirty-six years have passed, and the people in the photo have scattered to the ends of the earth. History has altered each person's fate, but some things never change—such as a father's concern for his child, a teacher's responsibility toward students, a person's loyalty to their homeland, no matter how that loyalty is expressed.