Chapter 231: The Lonely Old Man 1

Huang Wei flipped through the pages, and the more he read, the more his heart raced.

"Director, you…" Huang Wei looked up, admiration filling his eyes.

"It's nothing," Li Yuxuan waved his hand. "I merely combined the military geography I studied in Germany, the mountain warfare cases I saw in Japan, and my years of command experience at home, and analyzed them. The real difficulty lies with the front‑line soldiers, who must face the world's strongest armies in a thirty‑degree‑below freezing cold with inferior equipment."

He gazed out the window, his eyes seeming to span a thousand miles, seeing the ice‑bound Yalu River and the snow‑covered Korean mountains.

"Those kids… many are only seventeen or eighteen, younger than An Ying," he said softly. "They know nothing of international politics, understand nothing of geopolitical games; they only know the country needs them, so they go. For that reason, we old men should do something for them, even if it's just paper‑talking about warfare."

Huang Wei nodded heavily, closed the notebook, and handed it back with both hands: "Director, I understand. You're not refusing to take part; you're participating in your own way. This is safer, and also… wiser."

"It's not wisdom, just the self‑preservation tricks I've picked up after living sixty years and seeing too many storms," Li Yuxuan took the notebook and placed it back on the shelf. "Stay with me; even at Gongde Lin you must read more and think more. Huaxia needs Builders, people who understand technology and management. You studied mechanics in Germany; that knowledge will be useful someday."

"Me?" Huang Wei forced a smile. "I'm just a defeated general…"

"What of a defeated general?" Li Yuxuan said seriously. "I too was once a defeated general. But defeat is defeat; you have to acknowledge it. After acknowledging, do you sink further, or stand up and do something useful? You still have more than half a life left. Huaxia has countless tasks awaiting revival; it's precisely the time to employ people. As long as you sincerely correct your mistakes and sincerely work, there will always be a place for you."

The words were blunt, yet they gave Huang Wei a jolt. He recalled his studies at Gongde Lin, the respect the administrators showed them, and Li Yuxuan's remark that "Huaxia does not treat us lightly"…

"Director," he stood and bowed deeply, "the student has been taught."

"Go then," Li Yuxuan patted his shoulder. "Read more; I have some German engineering books you can take a look at."

After Huang Wei left, Li Yuxuan sat back at his desk. A map of Korea lay spread on the table, its red and blue pencil markings dense. He picked up a pencil, drew a circle around the Changjin Lake area, and placed a question mark beside the mark for the United States Marine Corps First Division.

"The Marine First Division… Smith is a cautious man, unlike MacArthur who rushes headlong," he muttered to himself. "If I were him, I'd establish a defensive line here and wait for reinforcements…"

The pencil tip moved across the map, sketching line after line of defenses, point after point of ambushes. In that moment, he felt as if he had returned to the Huangpu Military Academy classroom, to the Third War Zone headquarters, to those years of strategic planning and decisive victories.

Only this time, he was not devising plans for the National Army nor offering counsel to the Communist forces, but for something more abstract and precious—the survival odds of those young lives, the hope of survival for the soldiers marching to war for the nation.

At noon, Liu Guangzhi brought in a meal and saw Li Yuxuan asleep on the map. The pencil was still clutched in his hand, his bifocals slipped to his nose. Sunlight from outside fell on his speckled hair, casting a silvery sheen.

Liu Guangzhi stepped over quietly, intending to wake him, but he saw the dense markings and notes on the map. He examined them closely, a shock in his heart—those analyses, those predictions, those dissections of United States tactics…

He slipped out silently, closed the door, and told the guard at the entrance, "Let Jing Gong sleep a bit longer; the food is hot in the kitchen, he'll eat when he wakes up."

Stepping out of the courtyard, Liu Guangzhi looked up at the sky. The autumn heavens were a deep, distant blue, and a flock of geese flew south in a V‑formation. He suddenly recalled a line Li Yuxuan had said a few days earlier:

"Geese fly south to survive. Men fight north for dignity. Both are unavoidable, both are acts of unwavering resolve."

In that instant, Liu Guangzhi suddenly understood Li Yuxuan's real reason for not becoming a consultant—not fear, not unwillingness, but impossibility. A person with such a complex identity, standing in such a sensitive position, any suggestion could be over‑interpreted, any mistake could be magnified and exploited. Rather than that, it was better to stay behind the scenes and do the solid, unglamorous work.

It's like the master strategist in the "Golden Dagger Scheme," who seemed to devise a brilliant plan but actually placed himself and the crown prince in danger. Li Yuxuan saw through that, so he chose a lower‑key, safer path.

In the afternoon, Chen Geng arrived. He was dressed in military attire, his face weary, but excitement shone in his eyes.

"Director! Good news! The Yunshan Campaign was won! The Thirty‑Ninth Army surrounded a regiment of the U. S. Army First Cavalry Division and annihilated over 1,800 enemies!"

Li Yuxuan's eyes lit up: "Tell me the details!"

Chen Geng pointed on the map, recounting the battle. Li Yuxuan listened attentively, asking questions now and then. When he heard that the Volunteer Army used night darkness and mountain trails to interpose, cutting off the United States' retreat, he nodded repeatedly: "Good! Mobile warfare should be fought like this!"

"Also," Chen Geng lowered his voice, "the winter equipment issue you raised last time, that person and the autumn command take very seriously. We've urgently mobilized the nation's stock of cotton jackets and blankets and sent them to the northeast. Premier Zhou said we cannot let soldiers fight while freezing."

Li Yuxuan nodded appreciatively: "That's right. Korean winters are scarier than guns and artillery."

Chen Geng pulled a document from his briefcase: "Director, this is the General Staff Department's preliminary analysis of the eastern front; see if you have any additions."

Li Yuxuan took it, read it carefully. After finishing, he picked up a pencil and marked several spots: "Here, the United States might airdrop supplies; we need to pre‑position anti‑aircraft fire. Here, mountain roads may collapse after snow; we must ready engineer troops…"

Chen Geng took notes diligently. As he was leaving, he suddenly said, "Director, the General Staff Department truly needs a consultant like you. Qiutian said, if you're willing, they could give you an official position…"

Li Yuxuan shook his head, pointing at the map on the table: "I'm here; I can help you just the same. Every time you come, we discuss, and you take my ideas back—that's best. A formal post… isn't necessary."

"Why?" Chen Geng asked, puzzled. "What are you worried about?"

Li Yuxuan gave no explanation, only said, "Have you read the Book of Han?"

Chen Geng was taken aback: "I've read some."

"Then you should know the story of the 'Golden Dagger Scheme'," Li Yuxuan said slowly. "Some strategies look like brilliant moves but are actually perilous. I'm old; I don't want to take risks, nor do I want to put others in a bind."

Chen Geng was silent for a moment, seeming to understand. He stood at attention, saluted, "Director, I get it. From now on I'll keep coming, as I do now, to seek your counsel."

"Very well," Li Yuxuan smiled, "travel safely."

After seeing Chen Geng off, night had fallen. Li Yuxuan didn't turn on the lights, using the twilight outside to continue studying the map. His fingers gently traced the Changjin Lake area, his brows slightly furrowed.

"Changjin Lake… it's too cold. At minus forty degrees, firearms jam…" he muttered softly, "We must find a way to rotate the troops for rest; we can't keep a unit outdoors too long…"

Outside, the last sliver of daylight vanished as night fell. The lights of Gongde Lin flickered on one after another, spreading a warm glow into the autumn night.

Li Yuxuan finally set the pencil down, rubbed his tired eyes. He walked to the window and stared at the stars in the night sky. The northern horizon seemed a bit redder than usual—perhaps real warfire reflecting, or a phantom of his mind.

He thought of An Ying, the young man who had come to see him before departing. That child is probably now in Korea, working as a translator and staff officer at the Volunteer Army headquarters. He also thought of his son Li Nian'an, somewhere in Nanyang, leading three hundred thousand veterans, struggling to survive in a foreign land.

"All are children…" he sighed softly, "the wheels of history roll over, and the most suffering always falls on the young."