Chapter 44: Huangpu Past 3

The Training Ground of the Huangpu Military Academy was like sun‑melted asphalt, steaming with scorching heat. Li Yuxuan stood with his hands on his hips at the front of the formation, watching the students' drooping heads and listless faces as they performed Marching in Step, his brows knotted. Sweat slipped down his temple hair, spreading dark stains on his tan‑colored uniform.

"Why does your training feel so dead‑air right now?" He raised his voice, startling a few sparrows from the banyan tree. "No passion! Look at you—do you think you're soldiers heading to the battlefield? You look more like you just dug up sweet potatoes from the ground!"

Someone in the formation muttered softly: "Director, it's this exhausting every day—up at five, sleeping at midnight, the rifle stocks are almost wearing a crust."

A student beside him echoed: "And the last time we finally had some fun, you gave Chen Geng a good scolding. Now we're too scared to organize anything, fearing another punishment."

Li Yuxuan heard that and laughed in irritation: "Can you blame me? You yourself described Chen Geng's bird‑like makeup—pale face painted like an opera performer, lips red as if he'd drunk blood. I almost vomited from disgust!"

He waved his hand, his tone softening: "Fine, you go train first. Make your movements more precise; don't hang your head like a frost‑bitten eggplant."

After the students ran off, Li Yuxuan stroked his chin, pondering—indeed, rehearsing formations and mock assassinations day after day is monotonous; he needed something fresh to lift spirits. Watching the dust rise on the Training Ground, he recalled the later uplifting military songs and gradually formed an idea.

On the other side, students gathered under the shade to rest. He Zhonghan nudged Jiang Xianyun's arm: "Xiangyun, what did the Director just talk to you about? Your face looks stretched out."

Jiang Xianyun wiped some sweat: "He said our training lacks passion; we need to find a way to liven up the atmosphere."

"Ah, how about we put on a stage play tonight?" someone beside them suggested, eyes sparkling.

Chen Geng, just as he approached, was retorted: "Don't even start; the makeup you did last time made me want to vomit, scarier than a funeral wail."

"That's called sacrificing for art!" Chen Geng stuck his neck out in rebuttal, "Do you even know what contrast is? I was using exaggeration to satirize Yuan Datou…"

Amid the clamor, Li Yuxuan had already gone to find a musician in the Military Academy. He was a young man with a side‑parted haircut, said to have once played the erhu in a Shanghai troupe.

"Hello, I heard you're a musician?" Li Yuxuan handed over a glass of cold tea.

"Yes, what orders do you have, sir?" the musician replied, quickly standing, still clutching a piece of rosin in his hand.

"I want to write a song; could you help me plan it?" Li Yuxuan pulled out a small notebook, its pages crooked with a few lines of lyrics, and added, "Also find me a singer with a bright voice, someone who can command the stage."

"Certainly, sir." The musician took the notebook, his eyes brightening as he read, "These lyrics have real punch—are they for a military song?"

"You could say that, they're meant to boost the students' morale."

A few days later, the musician arrived at Li Yuxuan, exhilarated: "Sir, I've finished the melody for you! I revised the score three times per your request, guaranteeing it's catchy. This is Liu Changjia, who previously sang revolutionary songs at the Guangzhou Grand Theatre; his voice is so bright it can pierce three floors."

Beside him stood a young man in a gray cloth coat, his eyes clear and bright, exuding confidence.

"How's the song practice going?" Li Yuxuan asked.

Liu Changjia clasped his hands and smiled: "Sir, these two songs are superb! Especially 'Loyalty to Serve the Country', the line about 'smoke rising, looking north over the rivers and mountains'—when sung it's full of vigor, as if you could grab a sword and charge forward. Could you sell it to me? I want to take it to the Grand Theatre; it's guaranteed to be a hit."

"We'll talk after you finish performing," Li Yuxuan waved his hand. "Have all the instruments been secured?"

"All set, sir—erhu, flute, gongs and drums are ready, and a few students volunteered to keep the beat."

"Let me hear a run‑through first."

"Yes, sir." Liu Changjia cleared his throat, and the musicians immediately grabbed their gear.

"Smoke rises, gazing north over rivers and mountains; dragon banners sweep, horses whinny, sword aura like frost…"

When the song began, Li Yuxuan was stunned—though there was no modern accompaniment, this bleak yet soaring vigor was about seventy‑to‑eighty percent alike the melody he remembered. He stroked his chin and nodded: "Not bad, the gap isn't that large."

"Next song."

"Yes, sir." Liu Changjia shifted to a different key, the melody brighter.

"Dawn moon brushes the flowing years, footsteps stagger…"

"Fine, fine." Li Yuxuan kept nodding as he listened; he could tell they hadn't slacked these days, much better than Chen Geng's ragged voice last time. "Alright, follow me to the field."

"Yes, sir."

As soon as the two reached the field, sharp‑eyed students swarmed them. Chen Geng, leaning on an instrument case, asked: "Director, what's this about? Moving all this gear—are we holding a meeting?"

"These are songs written especially for you, to boost your morale." Li Yuxuan gave him a kick: "Don't go fiddling with them; if you break anything, can you afford to pay?"

Chen Geng smacked his lips: "No, Director, you have the money to hire musicians and buy instruments; you might as well buy us a few kilos of meat. If I perform a play, won't that lift spirits? It'll be more vigorous than singing."

"To hell with you!" Li Yuxuan shouted laughingly, "What nonsense are you performing, without any sense? The last time that concubine's costume still makes me feel sick. Hurry and call everyone to assemble, everyone, to listen to the music!"

Chen Geng turned and went to rally them. Soon, the Whampoa First Class students lined up on the field, a sea of black, their eyes full of curiosity.

At that moment, Jiang Ruiyuan was in his office handling paperwork; hearing the commotion from the field, he furrowed his brows: "What's all that noise below? So chaotic."

The staff officer peeked in: "Sir, it seems to be music that Director Li wrote especially for the students, and they're performing it now; it sounds quite lively."

"Oh? Jingxing also knows music?" Jiang Ruiyuan set down his pen, intrigued. "Then I must listen carefully—does this kid really have such talent?"

He walked to the window and caught the climax of Loyalty to Serve the Country; the singing blended with the instruments, echoing over the field, even the wind carrying a surge of hot‑blooded vigor. He saw the students' previously weary gazes gradually brighten, their backs instinctively straightening.

Soon, both songs finished. The students, still wanting more, shouted: "Director, that's it? Too short, not enough to listen to!"

"Exactly, exactly!" Chen Geng clapped vigorously beside them, "Play it again! I've memorized the tune of Loyalty to Serve the Country; I can hum along!"

Li Yuxuan smiled and waved: "The lyrics are yours; go practice them yourselves."

The students cheered and dispersed, groups of three or five beginning to hum the recent melody. Jiang Ruiyuan walked over, and the staff officer clicked his tongue in amazement: "Principal, I never realized Director Li had such literary flair; his lyrics are quite punchy."

Jiang Ruiyuan stroked his chin, leisurely saying: "Loyalty to Serve the Country isn't very pleasant; the tune is too heavy. That other one… Huangpu March is decent, suitable as a school anthem."

He glanced at Li Yuxuan, who was being surrounded by students asking for the lyrics, a faint smile tugging his mouth corner—"This kid, full of odd ideas, yet he truly lifted these wild youngsters' spirit."

On the field, students had already begun humming the Huangpu March, even their steps matching the rhythm. Several students gathered around the musician for advice on the tune, and some spontaneously organized a choir practice. Li Yuxuan stood in the sunlight, listening to the slightly off‑key yet powerful singing, and suddenly thought that, compared to stern lectures, a song or a melody could twist these youths' hearts into a single rope.

As the sunset fell, the dust on the Training Ground gradually settled, yet the resonant singing still echoed. Seeing the long‑missing sparkle on the students' faces, Li Yuxuan knew this vigor would accompany them through even tougher journeys.

After all, what makes them willingly risk life and shed blood, besides loyalty to country, may also be the camaraderie of sharing classes and songs.