(For Chapter 1-163, go to (https://chrysanthemumgarden.com/novel-tl/awbtv/))
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"The 131st Campaign, also known as the Haicheng Incident, was the first war in modern history in the true sense between Huaguo and Dongyang during the eighth year of the Republic. With the Shanghai–Hangzhou Railway as the dividing line, the military and civilians of Haicheng united as one and, despite being completely cut off from outside support, defended the city for 36 days."
"Some historians have called this campaign a continuation of the World War I, or a prelude to the opening of the World War II…"
In the bright, spotless classroom, two blackboards slid apart, and a built-in LCD screen began playing grainy black-and-white footage.
On the podium stood a teacher with a full head of white hair, his back slightly hunched as he turned sideways to explain today's history lesson.
Below him, rows upon rows of students in blue-and-white uniforms were either slumped over their desks, leaning back in their chairs, or sitting upright. All of them had their heads raised, listening.
By the window, a boy narrowed his eyes and listened for a while, then let out a sleepy yawn.
He had never had much interest in these dull history lessons. Compared to that, he much preferred doodling in his textbook—giving historical figures fashionable makeovers. Dropping his pretended look of intense concentration, he reached into his desk drawer and fished out two highlighters, one green and one yellow.
Flipping through the history book, he skillfully searched the current lesson for a suitable "subject" to transform.
Suddenly, the hand turning the pages froze.
Staring at the two photographs printed on the page, he opened his mouth slightly in surprise.
Good grief—had this Chu Yunsheng and this Yu Jingzhi bribed the editors of the history textbook or something?
In half this book, everyone else was either an old man or an old woman. Even the younger ones were, at best, middle-aged. But these two—full of youthful vigor, looking like they were in their early twenties, strikingly handsome and refined—were simply on another level. Their looks were outstanding, practically more dazzling and charismatic than many celebrities today.
Plopped onto the same page as those old men and women, they didn't even seem to belong to the same art style.
With faces like that, they were already fashionable enough—there was no need for him to "improve" them. What a pity. The boy admired the historical figures' good looks while lamenting that his talents had no place to be used.
Just then, the teacher on the podium suddenly raised his voice.
"Zhuang Yingrui! If you're not going to pay attention in class—head down, mouth hanging open—what exactly are you trying to do? There are still more than 20 minutes until class ends and lunch starts. Are you already that hungry?"
Laughter rippled through the classroom.
The boy clutching the highlighters—Zhuang Yingrui—was caught completely off guard by the sudden shout and gave a solid start. But he was an old hand at this sort of thing; even after being called out, he carried himself with the composure of a seasoned general. Calmly, he set down the pen in his hand and looked up at the elderly teacher in his sixties, flashing him an innocent, well-behaved smile.
"Teacher, I am listening. I was just drawing notes based on what you were saying."
The old teacher chuckled. "Alright then. Get up and tell your classmates—after listening to that part of my lecture, what understanding or thoughts do you have?"
How would I know which part you've gotten to?
Zhuang Yingrui felt his scalp go numb as he cursed his bad luck inwardly.
As he stood up, he cast a quick glance at his deskmate's open book—it was the very page he'd just been flipping through.
The deskmate kept his eyes straight ahead, but his finger casually slid across the page and tapped pointedly on a particular paragraph.
Zhuang Yingrui cleared his throat, picked up his own book, and skimmed that section at lightning speed. Then he froze in surprise and blurted out instinctively,
"These two handsome guys died young?"
"Hahahahaha!"
That single shout set off another burst of laughter throughout the classroom.
On the podium, the old teacher pushed up his glasses. Only after the laughter died down a little did he raise a hand to signal for silence.
"Actually, what Zhuang Yingrui said isn't wrong," he said. "Just look at the photos—Yu Jingzhi and Chu Yunsheng are indeed two handsome men. Anyone would have to admit that."
"They were the same age, from the same era, as the other gentlemen on this page. In fact, we would have liked to include photos of them from later in life—when their achievements were even greater and they were more mature. But unfortunately, these two gentlemen did not live to reach such an age."
The students, smiles still lingering on their faces, gradually fell silent. Zhuang Yingrui remained standing, staring straight toward the podium.
The old teacher worked the computer, selected a video clip, and clicked play.
"These two men were key figures in leading the Haicheng Campaign. Their youth was forever sealed away with that old Haicheng, frozen at their early twenties, frozen in the eighth year of the Republic."
"In your early twenties, you might still be in university, in graduate school, or just stepping into society and starting your first job. But they had already reached the end of their lives, giving up their lives to defend their country and their home. And in that era, there were many, many people like them—some remembered by name, others forever unknown."
The old teacher's voice grew hoarse, heavy with restrained grief.
"This battle was extraordinarily brutal."
"At the time, the Dongyang forces had just occupied Qingzhou. Ignoring the objections of the Ouhua powers, they pressed south, capturing Jinling and Suzhou–Hangzhou in succession, and arrived at Haicheng on the eve of New Year's Eve in the eighth year of the Republic."
"Chu Yunsheng and Yu Jingzhi had long anticipated the Dongyang advance southward and made extensive preparations in advance. These included—but were not limited to—relocating civilians into the concessions, laying out defensive lines, providing support to Jinling, and contacting foreign allies. It was precisely these preparations that made possible the miracle of Haicheng holding out for thirty-six days without falling."
"That was the foundation."
"Beyond that, the two men's outstanding military talent, together with the unity displayed by Haicheng's soldiers and civilians alike, were also extremely important factors in the realization of this miracle."
On the large screen embedded in the blackboard, photograph after photograph appeared—mostly individual shots and group photos of Yu Jingzhi and Chu Yunsheng.
Some were taken on the Haicheng front lines; some inside official residences; some on bustling streets. Others showed ballrooms, clubs, racetracks, or formal banquets. There were also photos in which they looked much younger—standing in front of ships at the docks, in front of train stations, dressed as students, their expressions still green and youthful.
The photos were shown in reverse order. Those two faces shifted from grimy and battle-worn, solemn and mature, back to spirited, youthful, and reckless—like the life-flashing panorama of someone on the brink of death. The sight stirred an inexplicable sigh and a sour ache in the heart.
"In historical evaluations, opinions on Yu Jingzhi are rather polarized. Some scholars consider him a reformed executioner; others say he was a hero from beginning to end. As for Chu Yunsheng, there is comparatively little information. Unlike Yu Jingzhi, a prominent figure who once stirred the winds of Haicheng, Chu Yunsheng was extremely low-key and deeply mysterious. And because of a set of blueprint manuscripts he once gifted to Mr. Fang Jiming, many netizens jokingly call him 'the first time-traveler in history.'"
"At the time, almost no one could understand their decision to defend Haicheng to the death. Some newspapers even criticized them for making pointless sacrifices and wasting resources—arguing that if those supplies had not been sent to Haicheng, they could have saved thousands upon thousands of beggars; if those guns and ammunition had not been squandered there, they could have fully supported a fierce small-scale war elsewhere."
"On the seventh day of the desperate defense of Haicheng, the Dongyang army crossed the railway line and seized more than half of Zhabei."
"When news of this arrived, Yu Jingzhi's old friend—the southern warlord Qiu Hongguang—who had been on the way to provide reinforcements, immediately turned his troops around and returned the same day. He believed the outcome of the war was already beyond change, and sent Yu Jingzhi five telegrams in succession, urging him to abandon Haicheng."
"On the thirteenth day of the defense, the Dongyang forces cut off all land and sea routes in and out of Haicheng, placing the city under complete siege."
"On the fifteenth day, Dongyang proposed to the foreign concessions in Haicheng an exchange of certain benefits in return for handing over the city's non-concession residents, intending to use them as hostages to coerce and intimidate Haicheng. Yinglun and Faguo wavered. Over the following three days, explosions and more than a dozen assassination attempts occurred within the concessions, and the matter was ultimately dropped."
"On the twenty-second day, Dongyang reinforcements from the Northeast arrived and launched a full-scale assault on the city. Yu Jingzhi was shot on the front lines and fell unconscious. Chu Yunsheng took over command of the battle."
"On the twenty-eighth day, the Northern Jiang Province warlord Gao Lan launched an attack from the southwest of Haicheng, assisting the Dongyang forces. That night, a mutiny broke out within the Northern Jiang Province troops. Gao Lan was stabbed to death; his forces defected on the spot, launched a surprise attack on the Dongyang army, cut off their supply lines, and later entered Haicheng, where they were incorporated into the Haicheng forces."
"On the thirtieth day, Haicheng's stockpiled supplies were nearly exhausted. All external transport routes had been severed, and the concessions refused to provide assistance. The Haicheng army fell into the desperate situation of having no ammunition and no food."
"On the thirty-third day, the Dongyang army launched its final general offensive. The Haicheng forces fought to the death."
"On the thirty-sixth day… the city fell."
The classroom was utterly silent, so quiet that a pin drop could be heard.
On the screen, which had previously been showing photographs, black-and-white moving footage appeared.
The footage captured by the cameras was fragmented and blurred. Much of it shook incessantly, making it impossible to see clearly—one could only vaguely tell that it was a battlefield, with wave after wave of people charging forward, falling, charging again, and falling once more.
Corpses lay strewn across the ground like packed earth and stone, piled even higher than the mounds of dirt along the trenches. When shells struck, buildings collapsed like unstable stacks of wooden blocks, swaying before crumbling down.
Some of these images were shot by foreign journalists; others were taken at great risk by Huaguo reporters. But no matter the source, all of them were silent.
Those blurred faces screamed soundlessly, charged soundlessly. The muzzle flashes of sweeping gunfire spewed death without a sound.
Compared to today's flood of blockbuster films with dazzling special effects and layered sound design, these simple, silent clips looked crude and utterly unremarkable—hardly shocking at all. Yet for some reason, every student watched with intense focus, completely absorbed, even showing shared sorrow on their faces.
Zhuang Yingrui slowly lowered the book he had been holding and asked in a low voice, "Teacher, if they had fled and survived, with their abilities they surely could have made even greater contributions. Why didn't they leave? At that time, wasn't Haicheng basically impossible to defend…?"
The old teacher let out a heavy sigh and said, "I'll answer that question using the words from a telegram Yu Jingzhi sent in reply to Qiu Hongguang."
He cleared his throat, glanced at his lesson notes, and recited:
"Many people have urged me to abandon Haicheng. Only one has not—that is Yunsheng. Because I did not wish for him to die, I often wavered and thought of sending him away. He refused, and said to me that everything we are doing now is not without meaning. What we are doing is simple: protecting the land of our own country, protecting the hometown behind us. We are willing to lose our lives to defend home and nation. In doing so, we are telling countless others that if one day the flames of war reach your homes, if gun barrels are aimed at your loved ones, then you too must have this courage and conviction—unyielding, unwavering—to protect everything behind you, yielding not an inch of land, retreating not a single step."
The aged voice was firm and resonant, clear and powerful.
"In this campaign, combined casualties on the Dongyang and Huaguo sides exceeded two hundred thousand. It was a truly brutal battle."
"There are still a small number of people who criticize this battle as meaningless. But I have never thought so."
The old teacher said, "History is not a scroll illuminated by a handful of brilliant stars. It should not belong to one person, or to a select few, but to every individual who has struggled for the progress of history and the advancement of the age—even if they are already dead, even if they are nameless, even if they are nothing more than tiny 'blades of grass and pieces of wood.'"
The class bell rang. At the same time, the screen between the blackboards reached the end of the video, leaving behind only two final lines of black text on a white background—
"Whenever a new destiny is born and a new course is forged, it must be paid for with suffering!"
"Only the soul of the people is truly precious; only when it is awakened and brought forth can Huaguo achieve real progress!"
…
In a dim, desolate void, a familiar line of text slowly surfaced.
"Mission: Change Yin Zheng's fate. Completion: 68%.
Please choose whether to enter the next world and continue the mission. Yes / No."
"Yes."
…
Drip. Drip…
The slow sound of falling water.
A damp, icy chill invaded the senses, making the faint warmth in the lower abdomen stand out with particular clarity.
For the second time, there was no life spent growing old together, no peaceful death at the end of a full lifespan. Chu Yunsheng's mind seemed to remain mired in that endless stretch of war and flames. He could sense that there were no other presences nearby, so he did not rush to open his eyes and examine this new world. Instead, he focused on steadily calming and recovering his emotions.
After about the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, Chu Yunsheng braced himself against the wall and sat upright.
His mouth felt dry and tasteless, and the hunger in his abdomen was so extreme it was almost numb. Roughly judging by it, he must not have eaten for a very long time. Yet he was not weak. His dantian was full, and there seemed to be a current of power within his body, allowing him, for the time being, to possess ample strength.
Having assessed his physical condition, Chu Yunsheng raised his eyes and quietly surveyed his surroundings.
This was a dim prison cell. Three sides were stone walls, with a single cell door made of thick, heavy iron bars, wrapped in chains and secured with a large padlock, all of it mottled with rust.
Yet the interior of the cell had little of the usual look of a prison.
The flat floor was paved with massive stone slabs. At least half of it was fairly clean; aside from dried, darkened bloodstains and puddles formed by water dripping down from the rock overhead, there was no other filth to be seen. The other half was loosely piled with dry straw—some scattered about, some directly beneath Chu Yunsheng where he sat.
Looking out through the iron bars, there was no guard in sight.
Facing the cell door were a dozen or so stone steps winding upward. At the top, another stone door sealed the passage completely, cutting off everything beyond.
It seemed that this time, his identity was that of a prisoner. Chu Yunsheng thought.
However, that was not what concerned him most at the moment. What truly caught his attention was his own attire—
A dark red, lightweight long dress; both wrists heavy with silver bangles; long hair gathered up, with pearls and jade ornaments pinned in at a slant. If not for the very real, unmistakable response in his lower abdomen—felt amid the faint, familiar heat brought on by poison—he would have been convinced that he had suddenly turned into a woman.
After a moment of silence, Chu Yunsheng turned his head and leaned forward slightly, using the puddle of water as a mirror to examine his appearance.
It was still his own face, only now painted with heavy makeup, and there seemed to be subtle alterations to the muscles and bones—likely some form of disguise and bone-shrinking technique.
Leaning back against the icy wall, Chu Yunsheng half-closed his eyes, preparing to receive the plot and the original body's memories.
But just then, a dull, heavy sound suddenly came from the stone door outside the cell.
Mechanisms turned; dust and grit billowed as the stone door slowly slid aside.
Dim, yellowish light streamed in.
Chu Yunsheng lifted his head and, within that light, saw a pair of cloud-patterned boots stepping inside, along with the hem of a white robe in bamboo-patterned brocade, fluttering as it moved.
Immediately after, a warm, clear male voice rang out—gentle in timbre, yet cold and grave in tone.
"Demonic woman—after three days of confinement, have you thought it through?"