Chapter 41: My Era 3

A few days later in Yangcheng, the sun was perfect, and the kapok flowers had fallen all over the street, like a thick red carpet. Jiang Ruiyuan stood on the pier, looking toward the direction of the military government, and took a deep breath: "Jingxing, let's first pay a visit to Sun Xiansheng Zhongshan."

"Yes, Young Master." Li Yuxuan lifted a simple bundle of luggage and followed behind.

In the military government's reception room, Sun Xiansheng Zhongshan was staring at a map in thought; when he saw them enter, he immediately set down the magnifying glass in his hand, and a genuine smile appeared on his face: "Ruiyuan is back, come, come, have a seat."

"Sun Xiansheng, I'm back." Jiang Ruiyuan walked to the table, his tone carrying a hint of embarrassment. After all, he had abandoned his post to run back to Xikou, which was hard to justify.

Sun pointed to the tea on the table: "Try it, this is red tea sent by a comrade from the Soviet Union, it tastes good." He didn't bring up the resignation, only asked about the situation in Xikou, and then talked about his observations of the Soviet Union, and the atmosphere gradually warmed.

Jiang Ruiyuan spoke of the Red Army training he saw in the Soviet Union, his eyes flashing: "Their soldiers all wore red armbands and shouted the slogan 'For Workers and Peasants'; they were full of vigor. I think our Huangpu students should have that same spirit."

Sun nodded: "Well said, a Revolutionary army must first know who it fights for. If you can see that, the trip to the Soviet Union wasn't in vain."

The two then discussed some details of preparing the Military Academy, from curriculum design to instructor selection; Jiang Ruiyuan listened especially attentively, occasionally jotting something in his notebook. Li Yuxuan sat beside him, watching Jiang Ruiyuan's focused demeanor, and silently nodded—apparently this time he truly intended to work hard.

"Alright, Ruiyuan." Sun Zhongshan glanced at the sky, stood up, "The opening ceremony of the Military Academy is just ahead; you should continue preparing the work for the Huangpu Military Academy."

"Very well, Sun Xiansheng." Jiang Ruiyuan sprang to his feet, his back straight as a pole.

Stepping out of the military government, Jiang Ruiyuan's steps became noticeably lighter; he turned to Li Yuxuan and said, "Jingxing, now you're in charge of recruiting cadets."

"Yes, Young Master." Li Yuxuan was momentarily stunned, then replied.

Soon the time shifted to March 1924 in Yangcheng, the kapok flowers were blazing fiercely. The morning mist had not yet cleared, and Li Yuxuan was already standing under the eaves of the temporary examination hall of the Huangpu Military Academy, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the bluish‑gray cuffs of his military uniform.

The examination hall was set on the former site of the Guangdong Army Primary School, its mottled walls still bearing the shell scars from last year's fighting. He inhaled a breath of damp air tinged with Pearl River vapor, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

"Li, the invigilator has arrived—" the guard's announcement echoed in the spacious classroom.

The examinees entered one after another. Their young faces displayed a variety of expressions: some eager excitement, some forced composure tinged with anxiety, and a melancholy that belonged to the era yet seemed disproportionate to their age.

The register rustled in his hand. When his gaze swept over those names destined to be heavily recorded in the annals, his fingertips paused slightly.

Jiang Xianyun—he whispered the name in his mind, a name that in its original timeline shone brilliantly yet fleetingly like a meteor. He was a slender youth seated in the third row by the window, his back straight as a young bamboo reaching for the light. Li Yuxuan couldn't help glancing a few more times, trying to discern from this still fresh face the bearing of the foremost of the "Three Heroes of Huangpu" recorded in later histories.

His gaze continued to wander. Xu Xiangqian sat in a corner of the back row; this future marshal was quietly grinding ink, his brows bearing the characteristic steadiness of a Shanxi native; Chen Geng appeared much more lively, turning his head to whisper something to the neighbor, a sly smile at the corner of his mouth—truly the future joker who would dare to act foolishly before that figure; Zuo Quan sat in the front row, round glasses perched on his nose, attentively arranging his stationery—who could have imagined that this genteel youth would, eighteen years later, spill blood on the battlefield?

There were even more familiar yet temporarily unrecognizable faces: Hu Zhongnan… these names that in another timeline had diverged or converged were now vividly seated in this modest examination hall.

"A bit few," he muttered to himself, then laughed self‑deprecatingly—history has never been a roll call of famous people; the silent majority are the true backdrop.

The winding bell rang. The bronze bell's hum trembled in the damp air, startling a few sparrows perched on the kapok trees outside the window.

The test papers were transcribed with a brush, the vertically arranged questions exuding a fresh ink scent. He walked slowly down the aisle between desks, his leather boots lightly tapping the slightly damp polished stone floor, producing a muffled echo. He could hear the rustle of brush tips on paper, occasionally interspersed with a tightly suppressed soft cough. Some were feverishly writing, others furrowed their brows over the questions.

Having traveled to the present, he cautiously restrained the traces of another era, like wearing ill‑fitting shoes and stumbling through this unfamiliar time. The grand narratives he knew had turned, at this moment, into the concrete, sweat‑drenched young faces before him. He knew the torrent of history would lift some of them to the crest, while many more might silently fade away in the future's smoke of war.

He felt like a spectator standing at the side of a stage, aware of the general plot yet clueless about the details on the stage.

The preparation days were like a continuously turning gear. Drafting the school charter, repairing the school buildings, raising funds… everyone seemed wound up like a spring.

He clearly remembered that afternoon in the temporary office, Liao Zhongkai patting his shoulder, speaking Mandarin with a heavy Cantonese accent: "Yuxuan, young man, you've done well. As for the mess of affairs in the Director of the Principal's Office, you should take extra care."

When the appointment came, he was checking a supply list. The words "Director of the Principal's Office" made him pause for a while. In the original history, who held that position? Never mind, it's irrelevant. Even considering connections, is he close to the current principal? Li Yuxuan shook his head, deciding not to dwell on it.

Regarding the future legends of "hot‑blooded high schools"—the upstairs‑downstairs fights, juniors beating seniors, even the director slamming the principal—he was naturally well aware. Thinking of that, a bitter smile tugged at his mouth. Now that he occupies the director's seat, according to the script, he'll inevitably be drawn into those upheavals. "Wait, isn't that me, the director, right now?" he thought. "Never mind, what's my business with future campus brawls? If that day truly comes, I'll find an excuse to slip out for an inspection, or simply claim illness and rest. Send my son onto the stage?" His modern‑era thoughts amused him, and he sighed again. In the end, it's just a fantasy; being in this position, when the storm arrives, how many can truly stay out of it?

He stood up and walked to the window.

"Whatever," he muttered softly to himself, as if convincing himself that the boat will straighten itself when it reaches the bridge. As for everything else, that can wait until thirty‑one years later; for now, this is my era.