Chapter 232: The Young Man

At the end of November 1950 in Yanjing, winter was already deep. In the courtyard of Gongde Lin, the last few leaves of the phoenix trees had all fallen; the bare branches stretched under the lead‑gray sky like an old man's gaunt palm, trying to grasp something yet catching nothing. A cold wind from Siberia swept southward across the North China Plain, clearing the courtyard's bluestone slabs spotless, leaving only a few fallen leaves.

Li Yuxuan has been unusually silent these past days.

The news of An Ying's sacrifice reached Gongde Lin three days earlier. That afternoon, Chen Geng hurried over, fresh snow still clinging to his military uniform's shoulders, his face ashen, his eyes swollen. He stood at Li Yuxuan's door, his lips trembling a few times before he managed to utter those words:

"Director… An Ying… has perished."

Li Yuxuan, who was arranging a Chaoxian map, felt his hand tremble and the red‑blue pencil in his hand fell to the floor. He slowly straightened up, looking at Chen Geng, as if to confirm whether he had heard correctly.

"When?" His voice was unusually calm.

"On the morning of November 25, U. S. aircraft bombed the Volunteer Army headquarters…," Chen Geng's voice choked, "An Ying and comrade Gao Ruixin were then sorting documents and couldn't evacuate the air‑raid shelter in time…"

The room was deathly silent. Only the wind outside the window whistled, sounding like distant wailing.

After a long while, Li Yuxuan bent down, picked up the broken pencil as if it were something to be examined closely. He then went to the desk, opened a drawer, and took out a sheet of paper—a sketch he had drawn from memory after An Ying came to see him, the two having talked on a stone bench. The young man in the drawing wore a bright smile and a resolute gaze.

"Did this child… leave any words before he left?" Li Yuxuan's voice remained calm, but Chen Geng detected a subtle tremor.

"No… it was too sudden." Chen Geng wiped his face, "When that person learned, he only said, 'War always takes lives'… and then continued the meeting. After the meeting ended, he sat alone in the room all night, smoking three whole packs."

Li Yuxuan nodded. He carefully slipped the sketch into a book, closed it, and placed it back on the shelf. Every movement was slow and light, as if performing a ritual.

"Go back. Tell… tell that person to take care of himself."

Chen Geng wanted to say more, but seeing Li Yuxuan's eerily calm expression, he merely saluted and turned to leave.

The door closed. Li Yuxuan sat at the desk without turning on the light. Dusk gradually seeped into the room, slowly swallowing his silhouette. He sat like that, from dusk to deep night, and from deep night to dawn.

The next day, he didn't rise early to practice his fists. The third day, still none.

The three meals Liu Guangzhi sent him he ate sparingly. Most of the time, he either sat by the window staring at the northern sky, or spread out the Chaoxian map, using the broken red‑blue pencil to draw symbols no one could decipher.

Until the afternoon of the fourth day, a stranger arrived at Gongde Lin.

The visitor wore a faded old military uniform, appeared thirty‑five or thirty‑six, of medium build, his skin dark and rough from years of wind and sun. A faint scar ran from the outer edge of his left eyebrow to his cheekbone, giving his normally stout face a sharp edge. Most striking were his eyes—small but startlingly bright, like two pieces of obsidian that glowed even in darkness.

"Lord Jing, I've come to see you," the visitor said, standing at the doorway, his voice loud and thick with a Henan accent.

Li Yuxuan lifted his head from the map, scrutinizing the unexpected guest. After a moment, he shook his head: "Who are you…?"

"I'm Xiao You!" the visitor laughed, flashing white teeth. "Did you forget? Back during the Hundred Regiments Offensive, in 1940, your Third War Zone dispatched troops to assist; our 129th Division was fighting the Japanese on the Zhengtao Railway, our supplies were cut off, and you, under pressure, sent us medicine and food. At that time I was a company commander, went with our regiment leader to receive the supplies, and saw you once!"

Li Yuxuan's eyes gradually brightened. He stood, walked up to the visitor, and examined him closely: "You… You Taizhong? Is that you?"

"Yes! That's me!" You Taizhong grasped Li Yuxuan's hand excitedly. "Ten years have passed, Lord Jing, and you still remember!"

"Remember, of course I remember." Li Yuxuan smiled rarely, "Back then you were just about twenty, skinny as a bamboo pole, but your eyes were full of ferocity. Your regiment commander said, 'That kid fights without regard for his life, he single‑handedly took two Japanese machine‑gun positions.'"

You Taizhong scratched his head awkwardly: "Those were things of my youth… now I'm old, can't do it anymore."

"Old what, you're only in your thirties." Li Yuxuan led him to sit, "Where are you now? What are you doing?"

"In Chaoxian," You Taizhong's expression grew serious, "I'm with the 27th Army, 79th Division, just rotated back from the front for rest. I came to Yanjing to report, heard you were here, so I applied to come and see."

Li Yuxuan's smile faded a bit: "The 27th Army… on the Eastern Front? Around Changjin Lake?"

"Yes." You Taizhong nodded, "We took part in the battles at Xinxing Village and Xiajieyu li. It was terrible… minus forty degrees, the gun bolts froze solid. Many soldiers didn't die in combat, they froze to death…"

His voice lowered, and the room fell into a brief silence.

Li Yuxuan rose to pour tea, his movements slow and steady: "It's good to come back alive. Being alive is more important than anything."

You Taizhong took the cup, then suddenly said: "Lord Jing, in Chaoxian… I've encountered some of your students."

"Oh?" Li Yuxuan's hand paused.

"Over with the U. S. forces, there are students you taught back at Huangpu," You Taizhong said in a roundabout way, but Li Yuxuan understood.

History weaves everyone into a massive net in this way.

"War is like that," Li Yuxuan said softly, "Teachers teach students, students teach students, and in the end the students kill each other under different Flags. In my whole life, I have seen far too much."

You Taizhong seemed about to speak, but finally let out a heavy sigh. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took out one and handed it to Li Yuxuan: "Lord Jing, have a smoke."

Li Yuxuan took it, lit it with the match You Taizhong had struck. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly: "Fine smoke. From the front line?"

"American‑made, captured." You Taizhong also lit one for himself, "I brought a few especially for you, knowing you like this."

At that moment, light footsteps sounded outside the door. A youth entered carrying a wooden tray, on which rested two Enamel Jars, steaming hot.

"Chief, the tea is ready."

You Taizhong waved: "Xiao Wang, come over. Meet Lord Jing."

The youth set down the tea tray, stepped to Li Yuxuan's side, stood at attention, and saluted. His movements were so precise they seemed not childlike, yet his face was undeniably youthful—round, big eyes, only a faint fuzz on his lips, looking no older than sixteen.

Li Yuxuan examined the kid: "This little fellow looks oddly clever, how old are you?"

"Report, Chief, I'm sixteen," the youth's voice, still in the voice‑changing stage, sounded a bit shrill.