Chapter 39: My Era 1

The next morning, Yangcheng's sunlight pierced the thin mist and flooded the Kuomintang First Congress hall. Li Yuxuan stood in the back row, watching Sun Wen step onto the podium, his voice resonant as a bell: "…This conference aims to reorganize the Kuomintang, implement the three policies of allying with Russia, allying with the Communist Party, and supporting peasants and workers, to establish a true Revolutionary Army, to eliminate warlords and unify Huaxia!"

The audience erupted in thunderous applause, and Li Yuxuan clapped along, his palms burning hot. He knew that this moment would be a turning point in modern Huaxia history.

A few days later, on January 24, 1924, Jiang Ruiyuan burst into Li Yuxuan's room, waving an appointment letter, his excitement impossible to hide: "Jingxing! Sun Xiansheng has appointed me Chairman of the Huangpu Military Academy Preparatory Committee! I have full authority over the academy's preparatory work!"

He slapped the appointment onto the desk, his tone brimming with youthful vigor: "Follow me closely, learn and observe. Watch how I prepare a military academy. When our Foundation is stable, we'll set up our own academy, free from outside interference!"

"Yes, Young Master." Li Yuxuan bowed and replied, though his heart was already roiling.

My era is finally arriving. He was secretly thrilled; after the Huangpu Military Academy is founded, the Young Master will be president, and even if he cannot become chief instructor, he can still secure a respectable director position.

But on second thought, he restrained his excitement—aren't there already many great talents among the future students? Haven't the famous he's met over the years been few? Roosevelt, Er Zhan Touzi, Sun Wen… that's more than enough.

Yet he immediately thought of another matter: he must hurry to bring Xikou's son over. The boy is almost ten this year and should get to meet people and broaden his horizons. After all, he will be a future Division Commander.

"Alas, in the blink of an eye I'm already over thirty." Li Yuxuan stared out the window, suddenly nostalgic. Having been in this era for so long, he is no longer the naive youth he once was, yet the storms ahead seem only just beginning.

The days of preparing the academy proved far tougher than imagined. The biggest hurdle was funding—additionally, warlords obstructed the academy's establishment, though they understood that once built it would train a Revolutionary Army; they couldn't simply say I'll give you money to overthrow myself.

A few days later, Li Yuxuan watched Jiang Ruiyuan lock himself in the room, sighing at the empty budget ledger, too lazy to eat, and couldn't help cursing inwardly: "Not the president, and you give up because there's no funding? Damn, truly you!"

Because he had gone to the Finance Ministry several times and been turned away each time, this guy actually threw in the towel. Li Yuxuan felt both angry and helpless: Should I praise you or scold you? I'll scold you, but you didn't dump the mess on me; I'll praise you, yet as the chief preparatory commander you're the one leading the surrender.

Just as he was pondering how to persuade him, a "thud‑thud" knock came from outside the door.

"Who's knocking outside, Jingxing?" Jiang Ruiyuan asked gloomily from inside.

"I'll go check, Young Master." Li Yuxuan opened the door and saw a towering officer at the entrance, the star insignia on his shoulder boards glinting, flanked by two guards, his aura imposing.

"Who are you?" Li Yuxuan asked in a low voice.

"I am Division Commander Fan Shisheng of the Yunnan Army." The man's voice rang loudly, with a hint of arrogance, "I have business with President Jiang; where is President Jiang?"

"Inside."

Li Yuxuan stepped aside, and Fan Shisheng strode in, his eyes landing on Jiang Ruiyuan seated at the table, scanning him a few times, his tone dripping with contempt: "You are President Jiang?"

Jiang Ruiyuan stood up, his brows knit: "I am."

Fan Shisheng sneered, his voice like a burst of thunder: "What kind of ridiculous school are you running at Huangpu? With those few blow‑torch‑like pistols of yours, I could send a single battalion and confiscate your weapons! Still want to train Revolutionary soldiers? It looks more like a children's game to me!"

The words landed like a slap, striking his face. Li Yuxuan stood nearby, fists clenched in fury, itching to rush forward and punch the man named Fan.

Jiang Ruiyuan's face flushed bright red, his lips moved, yet not a single word escaped.

Seeing his silence, Fan Shisheng grew more smug, taunted a few more times, then left with his guards, deliberately bumping into Li Yuxuan as he went.

The room fell into death‑like silence.

"Jingxing, close the door; I need to rest." Jiang Ruiyuan's voice was as low as if buried in earth, his head not lifting.

"Yes, Young Master." Li Yuxuan silently shut the door, his inner fire burning ever hotter.

No, you were publicly humiliated and you didn't dare utter a single word???

He stared at Jiang Ruiyuan's back, hunched and exuding an indescribable loneliness. Is this still the Young Master who, in Shanghai, collected Chen Qimei's corpse without fearing death? Or the Chairman who vowed to "set up our own academy"?

Being called out for "running a bogus school" and mocked that "a single battalion could confiscate your weapons," and he actually accepted it?

Li Yuxuan couldn't understand. Have years of setbacks dulled his edge, or is deep‑seated inferiority at work? He would even prefer Jiang Ruiyuan to erupt in fury as before, even overturn the table, rather than this current limp demeanor.

But he ultimately said nothing. Some hurdles must be crossed alone, some humiliations must be swallowed. Perhaps that is the price of growth— in chaotic times, flexibility can be more important than reckless bravery.

He gently closed the room door, leaving Jiang Ruiyuan alone inside. The sunlight outside remained bright, yet Li Yuxuan knew that the road to preparing the Huangpu Military Academy would be hundreds of times harder than imagined.

But he had no intention of giving up. Whether the Young Master is slacking or the funds are in place, this academy must be established.

He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening, turned and strode toward the barracks. The setting sun stretched his shadow long; each step was solid, as if to crush the light yet piercing insults from Fan Shisheng beneath his feet.

Brothers from Modu! He flung open the barracks' wooden door, his voice tinged with newly‑suppressed fire, "Everyone, lend a hand and clean the school building first!"

A few men in gray cloth uniforms rose at once, knowing this brother's temper; without asking why, they grabbed brooms and followed him out.

He watched his brothers' busy silhouettes, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the gun holster at his waist. Fan Shisheng's remark that "Huangpu's guns are nothing but blow‑torch pistols" still echoed in his ears; a cold glint flashed in his eyes: "Just wait, someday I'll let you see with your own eyes how many hard bones Huangpu's guns can pierce!"