Chapter 68: The Spirit of Youth

The chill of Jinling had already seeped into the bones. The charcoal brazier in the temporary lodging burned brightly, its orange-red flames licking the coals, yet it could not warm the anger etched between Li Nian'an's brows. The youth flung down his schoolbag with force; the army-green canvas bag slammed heavily against the chair back, its strap striking the corner of the table with a dull, muffled thud.

"It's infuriating!" He stood stiff-necked in the middle of the room, veins bulging at his temples, clearly having just been through a fierce argument.

Li Yuxuan was wiping down a pistol, his slender fingers gliding over the cold metal body. At the sound, he looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth: "What's wrong? Who's gone and upset our young master this time? Did the teacher punish you by making you recite texts, or did someone offend you?"

"Neither!" Li Nian'an sat down abruptly, the chair legs scraping a sharp, piercing screech across the stone floor. "The whole city is singing the praises of the Jinling Government now, saying the nation is at peace and the people are secure, the bureaucracy is clean and upright! I merely said that beneath this flourishing age there are still plenty of troubling matters, and they pointed at my nose, cursing me for not knowing what's good for me, calling me a spoiled wastrel!"

Li Yuxuan put down the gun-cleaning cloth and reassembled the disassembled parts one by one, his movements smooth and fluid, without a hint of hesitation: "Is the Jinling Government really that bad? At least it's much better than the warlord chaos of a few years ago. Decent roads have been opened, and children in schools can wear uniform outfits—these are all tangible improvements."

"Good?" Li Nian'an's voice suddenly shot up, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "I scrimped and saved to buy a British bicycle, parked it at the school gate, and it was stolen! I went to the police station to report it, and those people were perfunctory and evasive, just saying 'there's no hope of recovery,' dragging it out for days with no movement. If I hadn't been so angry and had the Adjutant reveal my identity, they probably wouldn't have even bothered to file a case! Is this what you call good?"

Li Yuxuan placed the fully assembled pistol on the table; the metal body gleamed with a cold, sharp light. "You can't deny the entire Jinling Government because of this one incident. In a basket of apples, there's occasionally a rotten one, but you can't say the whole basket is bad."

"Ha, of course you'd say it's good." Li Nian'an let out a cold laugh, his eyes carrying the unique sharp edge of youth. "You're a vested interest yourself! With the title of Provincial Chairman sitting right there, who wouldn't curry favor with you? Last time you started a battle privately in Badong, it was clearly an act of defiance against orders, yet after the war, the newspapers wrote that you 'bravely suppressed the rebellion, protecting the territory and pacifying the people'!"

He paused, the sarcasm in his tone deepening: "Back then, in Nanjing Cheng, some actor's sordid love scandal—a trivial, worthless matter—took up three full pages of the newspaper! The news of your victory in Badong was squeezed into a tiny corner, a little square the size of a piece of tofu! The whole city was gossiping about the actor's private affairs; no one cared what battle you fought or how many people you saved! Is this what you call 'good'?"

Li Yuxuan was silent for a moment, then stood up and poured a cup of hot water; steam rose in wisps. "But you," he said, his voice calm yet carrying an unassailable weight, "are also the descendant of a vested interest. If it weren't for that, last time you got into a brawl at the dance hall with the young masters of the Kong and Song families and broke one of their nose bridges, you would have been thrown in jail long ago. The Chairman wouldn't have gone out of his way to suppress the matter and use that actor's scandal to divert attention and protect you."

He pushed the cup of water in front of Li Nian'an; the hazy steam blurred both their features. "Son, you have to remember, a pot of porridge is never evenly divided. Some get more, some get less; some stand on high ground, others are trapped in the lowlands. Behind you, there's me, there's the Third Division, there's the Fifth Army. That's why you dare to stand on the street corner and argue with people, why you dare to point your finger and curse those sycophants."

"But what if I weren't behind you?" Li Yuxuan's gaze suddenly turned sharp. "Given what you've done in Jinling City—offending the powerful, mocking the current situation—you'd have long been slapped with a charge of 'defaming the government' and dragged to Yuhuatai to be shot."

Li Nian'an's fingers gripping the cup turned white, the tips trembling slightly from the strain. He wanted to say "I'm not afraid," but under his father's calm gaze, he swallowed the words back into his stomach. He had to admit his father wasn't wrong—that last brawl had indeed required his father to meet with the Chairman overnight to plead for leniency, or it would have ended disastrously.

"Fine, fine, fine. Whatever you say is right." He turned his face away, muttering with unconvinced grumbling, but he didn't argue any further.

Li Yuxuan looked at his son's reddened ears and sighed inwardly. This child—his temper was too fierce, too much like his own younger self, always thinking the world should be black and white, forgetting that the way of the world was inherently complex and tangled, hard to distinguish clearly.

"Alright, in a few more weeks, the German instructors and American equipment will be arriving." He changed the subject, his tone softening. "When the time comes, you'll study along with them too, see how they train troops and manage ordnance. Learning some practical things is far more useful than arguing with people in the streets."

"Oh." Li Nian'an responded dully, lowering his head to sip the hot water; the steam blurred the expression on his face.

"Also," Li Yuxuan's tone grew heavier, "stop getting into fights with those scions of powerful families all day. Not every time will be this lucky, and not everyone will do me a favor. If I weren't in a high position and held Military Power, that last incident of yours would have cost you ten heads, and it still wouldn't have been enough."

"Mm, I know." Li Nian'an answered weakly, his voice carrying the chagrin of having his thoughts seen through.

The flames in the charcoal brazier gradually died down, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. Li Nian'an watched the withered leaves falling outside the window and suddenly felt that his father's words were like a thin thorn, pricking him with a dull ache, yet leaving him no room to refute. He had always thought his righteous indignation came from being "correct," but only now did he suddenly realize it was simply because someone behind him had propped up a sky for him.

Li Yuxuan looked at his son's silent profile and knew in his heart that some truths had to be slowly realized on his own. This Nanjing Cheng was like a big dye vat; a young man's edges would inevitably be worn down a little sooner or later. But he hoped that Nian'an could hold onto that little light in his heart—the light that, even knowing the world was imperfect, he would still be willing to run toward.