Beiyang Dream

Chapter 9 Farewell, Tianjin; Encounter, Tojo!

Just as dawn broke, two Chinese-style horse-drawn carriages creaked and groaned as they came to a stop on the cinder road beside the dock.

Chang Fuhai got out of the car in front first, then turned around and called out, "Zhenbang, we're here, get out."

Chang Desheng jumped down as well. When he landed, he first straightened the collar of his gray-blue uniform, and then squinted at the dock: several small steamships were moored by the wooden pier, their chimneys emitting black smoke, and laborers were carrying sacks on the gangplank, their work chants rising and falling.

"They're leaving now," Chang Desheng thought to himself. Once they leave here, they'll be a completely different person when they come back.

Chang Fuhai walked over, patted him on the shoulder, and pointed to a larger steamship not far away: "See that? The China Merchants Steam Navigation Company's 'Bao Da'. You should go to Shanghai first, and then transfer to a larger foreign ship to go overseas."

Chang Desheng looked in the direction he was pointing. The Baoda ship was about two thousand tons, painted black, with the China Merchants Group logo on its smokestack. Looking at the ship, he thought: It'll do alright, I guess.

At this moment, Chang's mother, Zhao, got out of the car behind them—Chang Dequan helped her, and they walked very slowly, step by step. Zhao was in her forties, wearing a plain blue cotton jacket, her hair was neatly combed, and her eyes were a little red.

She walked up to Chang Desheng, took his hand, and looked him up and down.

"Look, you've lost weight again," she said.

Chang Desheng was taken aback: "Mom, I've only been home for about ten days, eating white flour steamed buns and braised pork every day. How could I possibly lose weight?"

"I've just lost weight," Zhao insisted. "When I got to Germany, I couldn't eat the food from home, so I was bound to lose even more weight."

Before Chang Desheng could speak, Zhao turned and glared at Chang Fuhai: "It's all your fault! Your second son is already in his early twenties and hasn't even found a wife yet. Now look what's happened, he's been gone for two years, how old will he be when he comes back? What girl would be willing to wait for him?"

Chang Fuhai spread his hands: "Was it because I didn't make arrangements? Last time, the daughter of Zhang Dianli's family was pretty and hardworking, and her father was willing. But he just glanced at her and said to me: 'Father, that girl's face is as big as my drawing set square, so I don't want her.' -- So what do you say we do?"

Chang Desheng coughed lightly, thinking to himself: That spendthrift original owner had such poor taste.

He smiled and said, "Mother, don't worry. I'll only be gone for two years. When I come back, I'll at least be a candidate prefect of the fifth rank. I can choose a good one then—a good dowry, pretty, and with a good temper—isn't that better than finding a clerk's daughter now?"

Zhao wiped away her tears: "You three are all the same, you're all too shrewd."

Chang Dequan chimed in, "Mother, Second Brother is right. A fifth-rank prefect—in Tianjin, that's a high-ranking official sitting in the government office. So many families will be vying to send their daughters to our Chang family. Why would you worry about not having a daughter-in-law?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Chang Fuhai said, rubbing his belly with a look of deep agreement.

Zhao glared at the father and son, then held Chang Desheng's hand and nagged for a long time—eat well when you get out, don't skimp on food, German winters are cold, I packed a sheepskin coat in your bag, remember to write when you get there, and don't get into fights…

Chang Desheng nodded without interrupting. In his past life, his mother passed away early (remarried), and no one had ever nagged him like this since. Hearing this nagging in this life made his nose sting a little.

Just then, a loud voice boomed from the dock:

"Zhenbang! Zhenbang!"

Chang Desheng looked back and laughed.

Cao Kun, that simpleton, was waving at him, his round face beaming with joy. Behind him followed Feng Guozhang, Shang Dequan, Wang Shizhen, and Wang Zhanyuan—the entire Beiyang clique, except for himself, were present. Standing beside them were Lian Fang and Yin Chang, the two chief and deputy chiefs, Duan Qirui, Wu Dingyuan, and Kong Qingtang, three classmates who had studied in Germany, plus a foreigner in a German military uniform with a small mustache—that was Reiner, the artillery instructor at the military academy.

Chang Desheng turned around, lifted his robe, knelt on the ground, and kowtowed three times to his parents.

"Grandpa, Mother, your child is leaving."

Chang Fuhai helped him up: "Go on, and send a message home when you get there."

Zhao's eyes reddened again, and she waved her hand, "Go quickly, go quickly, don't let me see... it's painful for me to see."

Chang Desheng nodded, took a large box from Chang Dequan's hand—it was incredibly heavy, and he didn't know how much stuff it was filled with—and turned to walk towards the group of people on the dock.

Upon approaching, he first put down his luggage. Chong Yinchang and Lian Fang bowed deeply, saying, "Student Chang Desheng greets your two esteemed teachers."

He was polite to Li, but in his heart he was cursing: "Old Li, you run a military academy, and the principal and vice principal are both Manchus. Is this all you've got?"

But it's not time to overturn the table yet. Those two are fourth-rank Daoist masters, the clients! He's just a martial arts student with no rank or grade, the contractor. He has to fawn over them.

Yin Chang, dressed casually today, was chubby and twirling his mustache. He patted Chang Desheng on the shoulder with a smile: "Zhenbang, Mr. Hannagan has already told me that he recommends you to apply to the Prussian War Academy."

"Although it's not easy to get into that place," Yin Chang said with the air of someone who's been there, "you should still try. Even if you don't get in, don't be discouraged—your math and drawing skills are there for all to see. Once you get to the Berlin Military Academy, study fortification diligently, and you'll still have a place to use your talents when you return home."

Chang Desheng readily agreed: "Yes, I will remember your teachings, my esteemed teacher."

But in my heart I thought: How could I possibly fail the exam? I'm afraid if I do too well, the Germans will drag me to the University of Berlin to study some kind of math or physics—that would be terrible.

At this moment, Reiner came over. This German was not very tall, but had broad shoulders, a small Prussian-style mustache, and spoke fluent Chinese—with a slight Tianjin accent.

"Chang," he lowered his voice, "I've already had Cao Kun and Feng Guozhang move the gift for Emperor William to your cabin. Do you still have the letter with you?"

Chang Desheng patted his chest: "Don't worry, it won't be lost. If the letter is lost, I'll give you my head in return."

Renell glanced at him, then said nothing more.

The subsequent farewells were somewhat like a revolving lantern.

Cao Kun grabbed his hand and shouted in a deafening voice, "Zhenbang! Remember to write to me when you get to Germany! Don't use overly difficult characters, I can't read them!"

Chang Desheng laughed: "Alright then. You take good care of yourself too. When you get to Korea... Lord Yuan's side is one way. Just hang out there for now, and I'll take you back when I get back."

Cao Kun nodded vigorously.

Feng Guozhang squinted and cupped his hands in greeting: "Brother Zhenbang, have a safe journey."

Wang Shizhen handed over a book without saying a word. Chang Desheng took it and saw that it was a copy of "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu.

Wang Zhanyuan scratched his head: "I...I don't have much to give, just...when you get to Germany, don't forget about us brothers."

Chang Desheng chuckled inwardly: "How could I forget that? I'm the eldest brother!"

Duan Qirui stood outside the crowd, his back straight. Looking at the lively scene, he twitched his lips, then turned and boarded the boat first.

Chang Desheng glanced at him, thinking: Fine, Duan Zhiquan thinks we're too noisy. Fine, you can be aloof all you want, I'll keep things lively.

He bowed to his parents and older brother from afar, then picked up his luggage and boarded the Baoda ship with Shang Dequan, Wu Dingyuan, and Kong Qingtang.

The gangway creaked. The ship's horn sounded—whoosh—the sound lingered for a long time.

Chang Desheng stood on the ship's railing, looking back. The pier at Dagukou was getting smaller and smaller; Chang Fuhai's plump body, his mother's blue jacket, and Chang Dequan's royal blue long gown slowly shrank into a few dots. Cao Kun was still waving there, looking particularly energetic.

Further on, there's Tianjin. That's where my home is!

Chang Desheng was silent for a moment, then said in a voice only he could hear:

"Alright, let's go."

......

The Baoda ship tossed and turned in the Bohai Sea for a day and a half, and then swayed in the Yellow Sea for another day before finally turning into the mouth of the Yangtze River.

Then Chang Desheng saw Shanghai.

The first thing you see is the Bund.

When the Baoda docked, Reiner was already standing on the ship's railing, shouting in his Tianjin-accented Mandarin, "Keep up! Don't get separated! Shanghai docks are chaotic; if you get lost, no one will find you!"

Chang Desheng carried his luggage down the gangway and stood on the Bund with the others. He looked up, stared, and stared for a long time.

Before me stood a row of Western-style buildings, one after another, all built of stone. Pointed roofs, domes, pillars—they were densely packed along the Huangpu River. The tallest building had four or five stories, topped with a clock tower.

Four-wheeled horse-drawn carriages rattled along the road. Many foreigners walked on the sidewalk: some in suits, some in uniforms, some in black priest robes, and there were also Indian police officers—wearing turbans and carrying batons—standing at the intersection, watching the Chinese people coming and going.

He thought to himself: This is the British concession, isn't it? This must be the most expensive place in all of China right now, right? How much is it per square meter again? Hmm, anyway, I'm not buying it!

This was Renell's fifth visit to Shanghai. Without even glancing at the buildings, he strode forward, shouting, "Hurry! The P&O company's berth is over there! Our ship is called the 'Orient,' a 5,000-ton cruise ship! We can't wait if we're late!"

The group, dragging their luggage, followed Reiner across the Bund and turned into another dock area where a large cruise ship was moored.

Chang Desheng looked up.

The hull was painted white, with a rust-red anti-rust paint below the waterline. There were two thick funnels, each bearing a red background with a white cross and a band of foreign lettering. The ship had three decks, the uppermost being a promenade surrounded by white railings. The ship's name was painted in gold on the bow.

"The Oriental," Chang Desheng read aloud in English, then corrected himself, "What's the name... what's the Western devils' ship called, the Oriental?"

Queues to board the ship had already begun at the pier. The passengers were quite diverse: there were white men in suits and top hats, Indians with headscarves, Japanese women in kimonos, and a few Chinese men in Western-style coats and gold-rimmed glasses—clearly compradors from Shanghai.

"Line up! Line up!" Renell called out like a nanny. "Hold your luggage! Don't push!"

Chang Desheng moved slowly forward with the group, carrying two heavy boxes in each hand. One box contained his luggage, and the other contained the gift that Yin Chang had given to Emperor De.

After moving for about half an incense stick's time, they finally reached the bottom of the gangway. Reiner was talking to an Englishman in a captain's uniform, while Duan Qirui, Shang Dequan, and a few others had already gone up.

Chang Desheng put down the box and shook his aching hands.

Just then, he heard footsteps behind him—not scattered, but orderly, the sound of boot heels tapping on the stone slabs of the dock.

He glanced back.

These were four short men in navy blue military uniforms, walking towards them from the other side of the dock. Their uniforms had stand-up collars, a single row of brass buttons, epaulettes on their shoulders, and collar tabs. Their leather boots were gleaming, their steps were synchronized, and their backs were ramrod straight.

Is this... a Japanese officer?

Judging from his appearance, his height, and his strong "recruiting talent" vibe, you can tell at a glance.

All four were in their thirties, the shortest being no more than 1.5 meters tall, with broad shoulders and a thick neck, looking like a walking gasoline barrel. He had a rectangular face, high cheekbones, and a neatly trimmed mustache.

The four men walked to the gangway and stopped. They didn't cut in line, but stood to the side. One of them said something to the dock manager in English, and the manager nodded and pointed to the back of the line.

Just as Chang Desheng was about to turn around and pick up his suitcase, the shortest officer glanced in his direction.

His gaze paused for a moment.

Then the Japanese man walked over. He stopped three steps away from Chang Desheng, nodded slightly—not a bow, but a crisp nod like a soldier's.

Then he spoke.

It's in German.

Good morning, are you also going to Germany?

His pronunciation wasn't perfect, with a slight Prussian accent, and he spoke slowly, but each word was clear.

Chang Desheng was taken aback. He hadn't expected the Japanese officer to speak in German, and specifically to him.

Several thoughts flashed through his mind: German? Why is he speaking German to me? Did he figure out I was a student who studied in Germany? Or is he just testing me? Also—although his German is fluent, his accent is strange.

But he had already started talking—his second foreign language in his previous life was German, and with the textbooks Hannagan had given him recently, although he was far from fluent, he could handle simple conversations.

"Yes. Go to Berlin to attend military academy."

He kept it short—when your vocabulary is limited, the shorter the better.

The short officer's eyebrows twitched slightly, seemingly a little surprised—a Chinese student in a coarse cloth uniform with a long braid could answer in German. Although the pronunciation was a bit strange (it was standard Hanoverian pronunciation), it was understandable.

"Berlin? Which school?"

Berlin Military Academy.

The short officer nodded, stood at attention, chest puffed out, and formally announced his name in fluent Chinese:

"Hideaki Tojo. Captain of the Imperial Japanese Army. Graduated from the Army War College, first in his class."

Huh? Tojo?

Did they run into Hideki Tojo's father?

Chang Desheng had no choice but to take it seriously. He straightened his collar and replied in Chinese:

"Chang Desheng, a student at the Beiyang Military Academy, was the top student in his class."

"The chief of the Beiyang Army..." Tojo Hideaki stared at Chang Desheng's tall figure for a full three seconds before continuing in German, "Your German... is very fluent. Where did you learn it?"

Chang Desheng thought to himself: I studied for the postgraduate entrance exam in my past life, plus I spent ten days studying the lousy textbook given by Hannagan—but I can't say that.

He considered his words for a moment and replied in German, "At school, with our German instructors."

"Who is it?"

"Captain Hannagan."

When Hidenori Tojo heard the name, his expression didn't change, and he remained silent for two or three seconds—he clearly knew who Hannagan was.

"Hannagan," he repeated, nodding, "is a capable officer."

Tojo Hideaki's gaze lingered on Chang Desheng's braid for about half a second. Then he extended his hand—not to shake hands, but to point to the gangway:

"Then perhaps we'll meet again in Berlin, Mr. Chang."

After speaking, he nodded slightly, turned around, and walked back to the three officers. The four of them remained standing in place, neither cutting in line nor looking at Chang Desheng again.

Chang Desheng turned around and picked up two suitcases. Shang Dequan, who had appeared on the gangway at some point, adjusted his glasses and asked in a low voice, "Brother Zhenbang, what did you say to him? That Japanese guy was babbling on and on. By the way, you can speak German now?"

Chang Desheng carried the suitcase upstairs: "I can only speak a little bit."

Shang Dequan simply said "oh" and didn't ask any more questions.

Chang Desheng didn't say anything more, but he already understood. These four Japanese soldiers were probably going to study at the Prussian War College, just like him!

He stopped in the middle of the gangway and glanced back at the dock. The four men in navy blue uniforms were still there, standing beside the line waiting to board. Tojo Hideaki's silhouette was short, like a wooden stump.

Chang Desheng turned around and muttered something only he could hear:

"Hideaki Tojo, he's damn short."

He paused, then added:

"But his German is better than mine... I need to work harder."

Then he picked up his suitcase and quickened his pace. Reiner called out from ahead, "Chang! Your cabin is A-07! Hurry up! Don't dawdle!"

"They're here, they're here," Chang Desheng responded, and strode towards the cabin entrance. After taking a couple of steps, he glanced back at the deck entrance. The four short men in dark blue military uniforms began boarding the ship, with Tojo Hideaki leading the way, his pace neither hurried nor slow.

Chang Desheng thought to himself: When we get to Berlin, let's have a good competition and see who is the best!