Chapter 36: Parting

In Munich, January 1921, the cold fog wrapped the entire city tightly like a damp, chilly net.

"Your speeches are very good now, Mr. Er Zhan Touzi." Li Yuxuan pushed a cup of warm malt liquor in front of him.

Er Zhan Touzi looked up, a flicker of emotion passing through his gray-blue eyes. "Li," his voice was a bit hoarse, "Munich needs more clear-headed men like you." He paused, as if he had made up his mind, "Then, would you be willing to stay?" When these words slipped out, even he himself was a little surprised—he had always disdained to beg anyone to stay, but facing this wise man from the East, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of expectation.

Li Yuxuan picked up his glass, his fingertips pressed against the cold surface. His gaze crossed the window grille; streetlights blurred into patches of dim yellow light in the fog, carriages drove over the cobblestone road, their hoofbeats muffled like distant thunder. "I'm sorry, Mr. Er Zhan Touzi." His voice was very soft, yet carried an unshakable firmness, "My motherland needs you more than you do." As he spoke, his fingers tapped lightly on the glass, as if knocking on his distant homeland. China's land was still groaning in the flames of war, the iron hooves of the Great Powers had shattered its mountains and rivers, and his Fellow Countrymen were struggling in suffering—how could he stay in a foreign land, peacefully enjoying this moment of tranquility?

Er Zhan Touzi's eyes darkened. He silently poured himself a glass of beer; foam spilled over the rim, wetting his knuckles. He knew Li Yuxuan's stubbornness, just as he knew the burning flame within his own heart—they were both men who lived for their own countries, but this path was destined to lead in different directions.

Over these two months, Munich's winter seemed to have become especially long. Li Yuxuan did not leave immediately; he accompanied Er Zhan Touzi through every street and alley of this city. At the old site of the Munich Oktoberfest, they stood in the square where remnants of snow had not yet melted. Er Zhan Touzi waved his arms, denouncing the humiliation brought by the Treaty of Versailles, his voice trembling in the cold wind, every word seeming to be squeezed through his teeth.

In the dilapidated workers' quarters, they witnessed ragged people lining up in the cold wind to receive relief soup. Er Zhan Touzi's fists were clenched white, and he said to Li Yuxuan: "Look, this is the current state of our great Deutschland." Li Yuxuan silently watched those numb faces, suddenly recalling the Huaxia children begging on the Bund in Modu. The suffering of the two peoples resonated strangely in that moment.

In the late-night tavern, the firelight from the hearth cast their shadows on the wall, dancing with the flames. They talked from European history to the global landscape, from the future of nations to personal ideals. Er Zhan Touzi always had endless things to say; his emotions were like a surging flood, sometimes passionate, sometimes angry, sometimes sinking into deep confusion. And Li Yuxuan always listened quietly, occasionally interjecting a word or two, but always hitting the core of the issue precisely.

Once during this time, Er Zhan Touzi roared at a map of Europe, saying he wanted to make Germany rise again and make the countries that bullied Germany pay the price. His fingers pounded heavily on the French region of the map, leaving deep scratches on it with his nails. Li Yuxuan just quietly waited for him to vent, then pointed to that distant Eastern country on the map and said softly: "A nation's strength never comes from conquering others, but from making its own people live a good life. Just like my country, what it needs most now is not war, but peace and development."

Er Zhan Touzi was stunned. He looked at the firmness in Li Yuxuan's eyes, and for the first time, a hint of doubt stirred in his heart. But the anger ignited by humiliation soon swallowed that doubt. He stubbornly believed that for Germany to rise, it must wash away its shame with iron and blood.

On the last Sunday of January, they strolled along the Isar River. The river was covered with thin ice, gleaming coldly under the gray-white sky. Er Zhan Touzi suddenly spoke of his childhood, of his father's strict discipline, of interesting stories from World War I—he had never mentioned these past events to anyone before, but in front of Li Yuxuan, he inexplicably felt at ease. Li Yuxuan did not comment, just handed him a bottle of wine. The two sat on a bench by the river for a long time, until dusk dyed the riverbank a deep blue.

On the day of parting, a light rain fell over Munich. Li Yuxuan carried a simple suitcase; the leather at the corners was worn, revealing the dark wood underneath. Er Zhan Touzi stood opposite him, the collar of his coat flipped up by the wind, raindrops gathering into fine beads on the brim of his hat.

"Goodbye, Mr. Er Zhan Touzi." Li Yuxuan extended his hand.

Er Zhan Touzi grasped his hand, the strength transmitted through his fingertips making his heart tighten. "Goodbye, Li." His voice was a bit hoarse, his gaze locked tightly on Li Yuxuan's face, as if wanting to etch this figure forever in his mind. He suddenly remembered what Li Yuxuan had said to him in the tavern the night before: "Hatred is a double-edged sword; while stabbing the enemy, it also cuts yourself." But besides hatred, what else could support him to keep going?

Li Yuxuan turned and boarded the train. The moment the door closed, he looked back and met Er Zhan Touzi's gaze. In that gaze were reluctance, regret, and a complex emotion he couldn't quite read. The train slowly started moving. Er Zhan Touzi stood on the platform, watching the train gradually disappear into the rain and fog, until it was no longer visible, then slowly turned around. Rainwater slid down his cheeks, indistinguishable from rain or something else.

His subordinate Heinrich hurried over and asked cautiously: "Sir, is he very important to you?" Heinrich had been following Er Zhan Touzi for some time and had never seen him care so much about a foreigner—on those days, as long as Li Yuxuan was present, the aggression in Er Zhan Touzi seemed to diminish a few degrees.

Er Zhan Touzi did not answer immediately. After a long while, he slowly spoke: "Before, I only thought he was a good listener. But over these two months, the more I talked with him, the more I discovered the breadth of his knowledge and the far-reaching nature of his vision. Li Yuxuan knows too many things; he can see the direction of the future from the rise and fall of history, and find the key nodes in seemingly chaotic situations. This kind of insight is something those fanatical followers around me can never possess."

"Then, sir, why didn't you keep him?" Heinrich asked, puzzled. With Er Zhan Touzi's current influence within the Workers' Party, as long as he spoke up, even if he had to use some means, he could keep Li Yuxuan.

Er Zhan Touzi gave a bitter smile and said, "Before he left, he talked with me. He said he loves his motherland more than Germany." He paused, a hint of helplessness in his voice, "He also said that if we meet again, it will definitely be on the battlefield." These words were like a thorn, piercing his heart, making it hard for him to breathe. He remembered the calm look in Li Yuxuan's eyes when he said this—it was not the empty talk of a scholar, but the oath of a warrior.

Heinrich's pupils suddenly contracted. He hadn't expected such a conversation between the two. "Sir, did he say how Germany could escape its current predicament?" Germany now was economically collapsed, its people suffering; everyone was looking for a way out, but no one knew the right direction.

"He said there are only two ways to save Germany now." Er Zhan Touzi's gaze looked toward the direction where the train had disappeared, his expression growing complex, "One is to endure, the other is to enter hell." He remembered that when Li Yuxuan said this, his tone was especially heavy. "However, he advised me to endure. He said it's not about surrender, but about gathering strength and waiting for the right moment."

"Then, sir, why don't you listen to him?" Heinrich couldn't help asking. In his view, Li Yuxuan's words seemed more reasonable—Germany now simply didn't have the ability to contend with those powerful nations; acting rashly would only plunge Germany into deeper disaster.

Er Zhan Touzi suddenly spun around, a blazing fury igniting in his gray-blue eyes, his voice becoming especially sharp: "Endure? For the whole of Germany, that is a humiliation!" He pointed at the ragged people outside the train station, his voice full of resentment, "Look at them—they can't eat enough, can't wear warm clothes, children can't even afford to go to school. Is this the result of enduring? I would rather stand and live, even if I am shattered to pieces, than let Germany suffer such humiliation again! And I might not necessarily lose!"

His emotions grew more and more agitated, his fists clenched tightly, his knuckles white from the strain. Heinrich dared not speak anymore, only bowed his head, letting Er Zhan Touzi's anger spread through the air. The rain fell harder, pounding on the station's dome, as if accompanying this argument.

After a long while, Er Zhan Touzi's emotions gradually calmed down. He looked at Heinrich, his tone softening a bit, yet carrying an unshakable firmness: "Heinrich, remember this: Germany's future can only be fought for by ourselves; it absolutely cannot be obtained by enduring."

Heinrich looked up, seeing the fanaticism in Er Zhan Touzi's eyes, and a sudden unease stirred in his heart. He hesitated, then asked: "Then, sir, what if we really meet him on the battlefield in the future?" He dared not imagine what scene it would be when Er Zhan Touzi and Li Yuxuan stood on opposing battlefields.

Er Zhan Touzi fell silent. His gaze again looked into the distance; Munich in the rain and fog was like a silent giant beast, waiting for something. After a long time, he finally spoke slowly, his voice carrying a complex emotion: "If we can capture him alive, we must capture him alive." He did not want to harm Li Yuxuan, the only one who could understand him, yet who walked a different path. He always felt that as long as Li Yuxuan was alive, one day, he could make Li Yuxuan understand that the path he had chosen was the only way to save Germany.

The rain at the train station continued to fall, fine raindrops hitting the ground, splashing into tiny blossoms. Er Zhan Touzi stood still, his gaze firmly fixed on the distance, as if he could already see the future picture of Germany—an empire forged with iron and blood, and he would become the master of that empire.

At the Munich train station, Er Zhan Touzi still stood there, his figure appearing especially lonely in the rain and fog, yet carrying an unshakable determination. Two men striving for their own countries, in the spring of 1921, set off on two completely different paths.

The clock on the platform struck the hour. Er Zhan Touzi finally turned and left. His footsteps echoed through the empty station, step by step, firm and heavy. And on the departing train, Li Yuxuan began recording his observations of Germany over these days in a diary, the pen tip scratching against the paper.