Chapter 62: Heart-to-Heart

The evening wind of Jinling carried the autumn chill, sweeping dead leaves outside the President's Office that pattered against the window paper of the temporary residence. As Li Yuxuan pushed open the courtyard gate, the tall figure beneath the porch turned around—it was Li Nian'an, who had arrived early from school.

"Oh, if it isn't the King of Badong?" A familiar sneer curled at the corner of the youth's mouth, but his eyes swept behind him imperceptibly, as if counting his attendants. "What, you actually deigned to come back? I thought you'd be playing the local tyrant in Badong, too happy to think of home."

Li Yuxuan handed his luggage to the gatekeeper, unbuckled the pistol at his waist, kicked off his shoes, and stepped barefoot onto the slightly cool bluestone slabs. "All to build up a nest egg for you," he said in a leisurely tone. "Otherwise, do you think I'd be happy coming back to get lectured by you and the principal?"

"How much did you build up?" Li Nian'an raised an eyebrow, his tone hiding a barely perceptible hint of anticipation—he had long heard that his father had trained eighty thousand elite troops in Badong, capital enough to dominate a region.

"Twenty thousand." Li Yuxuan answered flatly, striding toward the main hall. Inside, a kerosene lamp was lit, its dim yellow light shifting among the beams and pillars.

"What?" Li Nian'an hurried after him, nearly tripping over the threshold. "Your Third Division clearly had eighty thousand—how did it end up as just twenty thousand? Even shrinkage isn't this ridiculous!"

"I gave sixty thousand to the principal." Li Yuxuan poured himself a cup of cold tea, tilted his head back, and gulped it down. The rolling motion of his Adam's apple was especially clear in the lamplight.

"He asked, and you just gave?" Li Nian'an's cheeks flushed red with anger. Clenching his fists, he paced the room. "Can't you have some backbone? Those were troops you trained with your own hands! You just give them away for nothing? Like handing out cabbages?"

Li Yuxuan didn't answer. He turned and went into the inner room, emerging a moment later with an earthenware wine jug, its surface wrapped in the warm patina of years. He poured into two coarse porcelain bowls; the amber liquid rippled with fine waves, and a rich, mellow aroma spread through the air.

"Son, you know what?" He lifted the bowl but didn't drink, his fingertips rubbing the rough rim. "When I drink this jug of wine, the outcome was already fated long ago."

Li Nian'an turned his face away, still holding his anger, but he couldn't help pricking up his ears.

"They say I don't understand officialdom, don't understand politics, and don't even know how to fight." Li Yuxuan smiled, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes growing clearer in the lamplight. "But I went abroad to study at eighteen. If fate meant for me to be an official, I didn't even need to crack a book. At twenty-four, I became a section chief, managing education in Sanxiang. You were still in swaddling clothes back then, crying all day for milk. At twenty-five, I entered the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, dealing with foreigners, and only then understood what it means that a weak nation has no diplomacy—they simply don't take you seriously. At twenty-six, I became a consultant for the Water Resources Bureau, though I resigned in the end."

Li Yuxuan took a sip of wine, his Adam's apple moving slightly, and continued: "At thirty-four, I became the director of the Military Academy, watching those young students shouting 'Down with the warlords,' their eyes shining like stars. At thirty-six, I became the division commander of the Third Division. During the Northern Expedition, we were the elite of the entire army. Now I'm thirty-seven." He gazed out the window at the thick night, his voice as light as a sigh. "To become Provincial Chairman at this age, governing a province's military and civilians—I can say with pride that there has been no one before me, and there will be no one after. My life has been too smooth, and that made me forget the road I came from."

"Are you saying all this to brag?" Li Nian'an curled his lip, but his tone had softened a few degrees—he knew his father was telling the truth. The medals laid out in the camphorwood chest each had a story behind them, but his father rarely mentioned them.

"Not at all." Li Yuxuan shook his head and drained the bowl of wine in one gulp. The liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth, dripping onto his collar and spreading into dark stains. "I lack nothing now. An official post as Provincial Chairman, military power in my hands, and you by my side. Even if I die tomorrow, I've gotten my money's worth." He paused, and his eyes suddenly grew distant. "If there's any regret left, it's probably to make up for an unfinished one."

"What regret?" Li Nian'an pressed, his heart inexplicably tightening.

Li Yuxuan didn't answer immediately. He just held the empty bowl, staring for a long time toward the direction of Jinling's city wall. The night was thick as ink; only the vague outline of the distant city ramparts could be seen, like a sleeping giant beast.

"If one day, I have to fight a battle with no hope of survival..." His voice was very soft, but it struck Li Nian'an's heart like a heavy hammer. "From then on, you follow the principal and listen well to his words. Even if one day he says he has to leave, to go to a very far place, don't ask why. Follow him, don't look back, and don't come back."

"??? What battle?" Li Nian'an suddenly stood up, the chair legs scraping a harsh sound against the floor. "Why are you talking so sadly? Is another great war about to break out? Even if it is, with your skills, with the Third Division's army, can't you win? Why do you have to fight that one?"

Li Yuxuan looked at his son's reddened eyes and suddenly laughed. He reached out and ruffled his hair, just as he had when the boy was young: "Silly boy, what are you crying for? It's not time for that yet."

"I'm not crying!" Li Nian'an turned his face away and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I just think you're being ridiculous! What 'no hope of survival'? You're my dad—your life is tough. You didn't die in last year's Northern Expedition. What battle could possibly stump you?"

"Times change." Li Yuxuan didn't explain further. He just pushed the other bowl of wine toward him. "Come on, have a drink with your dad. This is rice wine from Badong. Not much of a kick. Try it."

Li Nian'an hesitated for a moment, then picked up the bowl and drained it in one gulp, imitating his father. The spicy liquid slid down his throat, burning until his eyes felt hot.

Li Yuxuan was stunned for a second, then burst into loud laughter, slapping his shoulder: "Not bad, you little brat. Just like me."

"Then what exactly is this 'battle with no hope of survival' you're talking about?" Li Nian'an pressed relentlessly.

Li Yuxuan looked at the moonlight outside the window and remained silent. Some things couldn't be said, and didn't need to be said. He knew how fierce the coming storm would be, knew that chasm would eventually be drawn, knew that some people had to stand in the positions they were meant to, even if it meant being ground to dust.

He pulled Li Nian'an over and pointed toward the direction of Jinling's city wall: "Look at that city wall. Over six hundred years old. It held off the Japanese pirates, held off the rebel bandits, but in the end, it can't hold back the wheels of the times. We of the Li Family—we don't have much else, but we have hard bones. But no matter how hard the bones, you have to know when to bear the load and when to step back."

"I don't understand." Li Nian'an shook his head. "I only know that wherever Dad is, I am. If you're going to fight, I'll follow you. Even if it's death, we'll die together."

"Nonsense." Li Yuxuan shot him a glare, but his tone was as soft as cotton. "You have to live. If you live, the Li Family's hopes still remain. Those unfinished battles, those unrealized dreams—someone can still carry them forward."

The night grew deeper, and the wine jug was empty. Li Nian'an fell asleep slumped over the table, a trace of wine stain at the corner of his mouth, but his brows were tightly furrowed, as if he were having a restless dream.

Li Yuxuan carried him to the bed and covered him with a blanket. Moonlight streamed through the window lattice, falling on the youth's angular face—still marked by childishness, yet already showing a stubborn streak.

He stood by the bedside for a long time, then reached out and gently touched his son's cheek, as tenderly as when he had first held him in Berlin all those years ago.

"Once this storm passes, it'll be fine," he murmured softly, like a wish, or like a farewell.

The wind outside the window grew stronger, stirring the parasol leaves in the corner of the courtyard, rustling—as if in response, or as if in sigh. Jinling's autumn nights had always been like this, holding too many unspoken words and journeys that had to be undertaken.