Chapter 30: Qilu

Qilu Weixian, the Arms Factory's chimney billowed thick black smoke, tinting half the sky a gray‑blue. Li Yuxuan stood at the factory gate with his suitcase, watching the familiar figure in coarse military uniform who was directing workers to move steel, and a sudden lump rose in his throat.

Young Master. He called out, but the roar of the machines swallowed most of his voice.

Jiang Ruiyuan spun around abruptly, the grease on his face unable to hide the smile in his eyes. He tossed his wrench to the ground, leapt a few steps over the scattered steel, seized Li Yuxuan's arm with a force that made him wince, and shouted, "Jingxing, finally I've been waiting for you!"

He sized Li Yuxuan up from head to toe, his brows lifting, and said, "Since we left Shanghai, it's been a whole year, right?"

"A year, Young Master." Li Yuxuan smiled and nodded, his nose tingling slightly. After two years in Yanjing, having seen so much false courtesy, Jiang Ruiyuan's oily‑scented warmth now steadied his heart.

"Niang Xipi, you didn't even bother to send a letter from Yanjing." Jiang Ruiyuan released his grip and punched his shoulder, "Every time I have to write first before you'll put pen to paper—are you now a high‑ranking official in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, looking down on a rough man like me who fiddles with iron lumps?"

He was truly swamped. Li Yuxuan hurried to explain, "You know how the Ministry of Foreign Affairs works—spending all day dealing with foreigners, still having to watch the chief's mood." He fished a flat box from his bag, "I brought you German painkillers; you always say your shoulder aches—try these."

Jiang Ruiyuan's eyes lit up, and he slipped the box into his coat pocket, "Not bad, you have a conscience." Then he leaned in, lowering his voice, "Hey, have you been to Xikou to see your boy?"

"I went back last month." Li Yuxuan spoke of his son, a smile tugging at his mouth, "The little guy's grown so sturdy now; when he sees me he mumbles a greeting—though it's not clear, it warms my heart."

"Much stronger than you." Jiang Ruiyuan laughed loudly, "I remember you as a kid, skinny as a monkey, always trailing me to snatch sweet potatoes—nothing like this kid, Jin Gui."

"Young Master, how could that compare?" Li Yuxuan shook his head helplessly, "He's been fed milk‑and‑rice porridge every day, and my mother dotes on him—how could he not be sturdy?"

Remembering his mother's parting admonition, he couldn't help a laugh, "When I wore split‑leg trousers I'd cut grass and feed the pigs; if I did a poor job she'd scold me. He, on the other hand, always has someone supporting his steps—his wooden spear is pricier than a real gun. I fear he'll grow up to be a pampered young master."

"What's there to fear about being pampered?" Jiang Ruiyuan clutched his shoulder, "We fight tooth and nail for the world, just to give the kids a good life." He suddenly switched to a Shanghai accent, "Jingxing, have you finished dinner yet?"

Li Yuxuan laughed at the sudden change of tone, "Not yet."

"Come on, let's eat." Jiang Ruiyuan hauled him out, saying the mess hall had left a Wei County Chaotian Pot—he had to try this Shandong specialty.

The Arms Factory mess hall was filled with the scent of meat; a huge iron pot simmered pork belly and pork offal, sweet bean sauce pancakes lay on the table. Jiang Ruiyuan ladled a full bowl for Li Yuxuan, grabbed a scorching piece of meat himself, and said while chewing, "We took this factory from the Germans last year. It only knew how to repair rifles before; now it can make hand grenades, and next we want to try producing mortars."

He pointed to the blueprints on the wall, "You studied military engineering in Germany, so could you take a look? The last few test firings always blew the chamber—driving me crazy."

Li Yuxuan ate his rice, listening to his rambling about the factory's woes—lack of steel, lack of skilled workers, and having to evade Northern Army spies—and suddenly understood Jiang Ruiyuan's difficulty. In Yanjing he'd always thought the Southern Revolutionary Party glamorous, never realizing it was these factories that supported them from behind.

"Finish eating, and I'll look at the blueprints for you." He set the bowl down, his tone steady, "A chamber explosion is either a miscalculated pressure or subpar steel; we'll always find a way."

Jiang Ruiyuan's eyes flashed, "Bringing you in was definitely the right call!"

When night grew thick, Jiang Ruiyuan carried a hand lantern and led Li Yuxuan through a cobblestone lane. After the rain, puddles reflected the lantern light; stepping deep then shallow, they reached a courtyard with a skylight. The wooden door creaked open, flooding three main rooms with light—both east and west wings were present, a pomegranate tree in the yard bore red fruit, and dried chilies hung in the corridor.

"Young Master, is this really my lodging?" Li Yuxuan froze on the threshold, his suitcase nearly slipping from his grip, "The dormitory I lived in at Yanjing didn't even have a kitchen this big."

"What are you talking about!" Jiang Ruiyuan glared in feigned anger, "Back in Xikou, did I ever skimp on the sweet potatoes from your stove? Now that you have means, you still have to sleep in a leaky house?"

He slapped a copper key into Li Yuxuan's palm, "As long as I, Jiang Ruiyuan, have a bite, you, Li Jingxing, won't go hungry. This courtyard is close to the factory, making travel cheap. The furniture is all newly made; if anything's missing, don't look outside."

Li Yuxuan clutched the warm key, his throat swelling. The courtyard wasn't lavish, yet every corner showed thought— the window‑sill roses were his favorite crimson, the wings stored the military texts mentioned in his letters, and even the stove was stocked with oil, salt, sauce, and vinegar.

Alright. He inhaled deeply, pushing the surging gratitude back into his heart. Some bonds need not be spoken, just remembered.

Jiang Ruiyuan gave a few more instructions about tomorrow's workshop inspection, then vanished into the night with his lantern. Li Yuxuan stood alone in the courtyard, watching the Milky Way hang low, the autumn night in Weixian exuding a comforting warmth.

On the main room's table lay a slip of paper in Jiang Ruiyuan's crooked handwriting: "If there's an emergency, knock on the east wall; Old Wang next door is family."

Li Yuxuan folded the note and slipped it into his inner pocket, suddenly feeling a whole‑body lightness. From now on, he would no longer be the ice‑walking assistant counselor at Yanjing's Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but a brother in the Weixian Arms Factory who could stand against the principal.

The evening breeze brushed the pomegranate tree, its leaves rustling. Li Yuxuan lay on a bed fresh with new padding, thinking of the mortars' blueprints still to be revised, of the babbling toddler back at Xikou, of Jiang Ruiyuan's swollen cheeks as he gnawed the meat, a silent smile curving his lips.

Perhaps this is his true home—no Ministry of Foreign Affairs' pretenses, no Yanjing scheming, only guns and artillery forged in fire, and friendships worth life.

That night, he slept especially deeply.