Chapter 12
February 1932, Fengtian.
The New Year is approaching, and the streets are decorated with lanterns and colorful decorations. Business is booming, and people of all ages, rich and poor, are feeling a sense of joy.
Since recovering from pneumonia, Rongxiang had developed a cough—not a real cough, but just an itchy throat that made him need to cough to feel better. However, this made him appear much weaker, as if he hadn't fully recovered. With the New Year approaching, he had an unusually large number of social engagements, keeping him busy in the living room all day just entertaining guests. By evening, he was so exhausted he collapsed on the sofa, not even wanting to eat. It was Xiao Meng who brought him a large bowl and fed him spoonful by spoonful until he finally stopped.
After filling his stomach, he quickly washed up and went to bed. However, before the blankets had even warmed up, Yi Zhongming arrived covered in snowflakes.
"I heard that the Emperor has arrived in Changchun!" These were Yi Zhongming's first words after the two met.
Rongxiang was taken aback: "Already...in Changchun?"
"He was secretly brought in by the Japanese. Preparations for his enthronement are already underway."
"That means..."
"We don't have time to delay any longer."
Rongxiang immediately sat up, all drowsiness gone. Once Manchuria was established, the Kwantung Army would immediately purge all military forces within its borders. So, what about his situation here…?
He looked at Yi Zhongming, but remained silent. After a long pause, he finally managed to utter four words: "War, or..."
Yi Zhongming took off his coat and sat down in the chair opposite the bed: "What are your plans, Third Master?"
Rongxiang, his mind in turmoil, grabbed his coat and put it on. What could he possibly do? Either go to war and be utterly defeated by the Kwantung Army, or surrender and let the Kwantung Army slowly erode his forces. Neither outcome was what he wanted.
Yi Zhongming, however, spoke up after some thought: "How about we leave?"
Rongxiang frowned: "Where are you going?"
Yi Zhongming hesitated before answering, "How is Xi'an?"
Xi'an? Rong Xiang knew of it; with the current chaotic situation, Xi'an had become the best refuge for some out-of-power politicians. But with so many troops under his command, should he also withdraw to Xi'an?
The topic ended there, as both felt it was somewhat impractical. Rongxiang coughed, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. With only the two of them in the room, in this extraordinary situation, they felt an overwhelming sense of mutual dependence. In fact, Rongxiang thought that they truly were interdependent; whenever faced with a difficult situation, the first person he thought of was Rongxiang.
Rong Xiang turned his gaze to Yi Zhongming, who sat thoughtfully on the edge of the bed. His short stature and heavy clothing made him look even more like a candle, but his solemn expression made him appear to be a man of considerable stature.
After a while, Yi Zhongming stood up and said, "I'm leaving. You get some rest."
Rongxiang nodded: "Be careful on the road. I'll see you off."
Yi Zhongming repeatedly said no, no, but Rong Xiang insisted on following him to the second-floor stairwell, then watched him go downstairs and out the door. As soon as the door opened, a group of black figures could be vaguely seen surrounding Yi Zhongming and leading him towards the car.
Rong Xiang then turned and went back into the house, relieved. Yi Zhongming was always cautious; although the situation was fraught with danger, there shouldn't be any problems.
Hideo Nakajima sat in a rocking chair in front of the fireplace, reading a book.
In front of the rocking chair was a set of wooden table and chairs, square in style, as if they had been moved from a school classroom. He lived alone in this large Russian-style mansion, where everything was quiet, so he used the warmth of the fireplace as his study.
If it weren't for the war, he might still be continuing his studies on the campus of Tokyo Imperial University. He had always considered himself a scholar, but now, with his military background, he was both scholarly and martial.
He disliked his dwelling intensely; perhaps due to a design flaw, no matter how many heating pipes he added, it wouldn't get warm. He ended up sitting in front of the fireplace for warmth. The Manchurian winter was a formidable weapon, both against the enemy and against himself. He had never experienced such bitter cold before, but since he was there, he had no choice but to adapt quickly.
His eyes were on the Chinese poem in his hand, but his mind was elsewhere.
I've been in Fengtian for quite some time now, and things have progressed considerably, but the Rong family is incredibly cunning. Even now, they're stubbornly refusing to budge. This Manchu warlord is shrewd to the point of being foolish, completely oblivious to the times!
Thinking of Rong Xiang, he subconsciously frowned. Killing such a beautiful man was actually a very regrettable thing. But…
He put down the book in his hand, got up and walked to the table, took out paper and ink, wrote a letter in a long and flowing style, and then placed it on the table to dry.
He thought, "Give him one last chance."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
