Chapter 18: Sneaking into the Royal Banquet

Chen Jiehua’s mind worked at lightning speed. After weighing his options back and forth, he decided to sully his own reputation. At present, it seemed the only way to quell the storm quickly was this single, desperate path.

Qingmu Qingxuan strode onto the stage beneath everyone’s gaze and deliberately shoved Zhao Yiyue. The tense standoff instantly erupted into chaos. Zhao Yiyue stumbled from the push, but quickly regained his footing and fought back. The Chinese students in the audience, already seething with indignation, surged toward the stage, ready to join the fray. The campus security officers stationed below rushed to intervene, restraining the crowd as the struggle below the stage grew increasingly fierce. The situation teetered on the edge of losing control, so Chonotomo, the chief of the Military Law Department, fired a warning shot after a nod from the headmaster, finally restoring order.

Meanwhile, the battle onstage ended swiftly. Qingmu Qingxuan, having studied the “Yin Flow” style for two years, wielded his empty hands as if they were swords, defeating Zhao Yiyue in just three moves.

The headmaster, Masaki Shinsaburo, had kept a close eye on Qingmu Qingxuan throughout. When he saw the outcome, he shouted, “Excellent! As expected of my master’s grandson! This is the true way of kendo!” He had never cared for the Chinese Zhao Yiyue’s words—he simply refused to believe them. His favoritism was plain: all that mattered now was how Qingxuan would respond.

“I killed Chen Jiehua!” Qingmu declared coldly, speaking in both Japanese and Chinese. His very first words struck like a thunderclap. The Chinese students below erupted into a fresh uproar, demanding that the murderer be punished, that justice be done.

Qingmu pressed Zhao Yiyue down again. When the furor subsided, he continued, his tone both cold and brazen.

“I originally planned to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps and use Chen Jiehua’s identity to infiltrate China. But due to subsequent events, I had to put that plan on hold—for now. My uncle is aware of these circumstances.” (in Japanese)

“Well done! Truly the master’s grandson!”

“In truth, Chen Jiehua once tried to kill me as well. He failed, lacking in skill, so I killed him instead.”

“How can we know if you’re telling the truth? Chen Jiehua is dead—he cannot testify!”

For a moment, Chen Jiehua—now living as Qingmu Qingxuan—could barely suppress a grin. These countrymen of his were remarkable indeed; they had just paved a way out for him themselves. The opportunity was right before his eyes—he could not afford to let it slip by.

“I have no need to lie, nor do I owe you any explanations. I welcome your attempts—come kill me whenever you wish!” he pronounced.

“Uncle, I request you grant them a chance—let them go without holding them responsible for today.”

“But if, after this, they come to kill me and are killed by my hand in return, it will be because they lacked the necessary skill. Let there be no more endless entanglements!”

“Well said! I agree—let them go!” Masaki Shinsaburo could not have been more delighted with this nephew of his—so bold, so full of samurai spirit.

Released, Zhao Yiyue stared at Qingmu Qingxuan with gritted teeth and eyes full of hatred. Yet he was no fool; he knew he could not last more than three moves against Qingxuan, so he could only descend the stage in bitter resignation.

Qingmu’s magnanimity in not pressing charges, and the headmaster’s endorsement, left the Chinese students no choice but to accept the outcome.

On stage, Qingmu Qingxuan resumed his aloof, icy demeanor, silently watching as Zhao Yiyue and the other Chinese students departed.

The graduation ceremony continued.

Afterward, Qingmu followed Masaki Shinsaburo back to the headmaster’s office. There, after praising Qingxuan once more, Masaki informed him that Okamura Ningji had returned from Shanghai, now serving openly as an instructor at the Army University.

The implication was clear: Qingmu should seek him out for a conversation.

Thus, Chen Jiehua made his way to the Army University to see Okamura Ningji. After some polite exchanges, Okamura suggested that Qingmu Qingxuan simply enroll directly at the Army University and obtain a graduation certificate from there as well.

Was such a thing really possible? Okamura was just an instructor, after all.

Yet, as Okamura personally led Chen Jiehua through the entire process, providing him with the university uniform and all necessary equipment, Chen Jiehua remained utterly bewildered.

Okamura, by contrast, was thrilled—this was exactly the reaction he had hoped for. Qingmu Qingxuan’s emotional value was more than sufficient.

In reality, Chen Jiehua—now Qingmu Qingxuan—was thinking, I have no desire to attend the Army University! The status of a student here and a future diploma are of no use to me—I intend to return to my homeland! Still, since the procedures were complete and there was no requirement to remain on campus for long periods, he decided to enroll. After all, knowing more Japanese officers could only be an advantage for his future plans.

Among Chen Jiehua’s classmates at the Army University that term were Tamura Yoshitomi, Mori Takeshi, Sanada Joichiro, Sawamoto Rijiro, Yamaguchi Tsuchio, Tomita Naosuke, as well as Isomura Takeaki and Doi Akio from the military academy.

The new semester would not begin until December, so after completing his enrollment, Chen Jiehua returned to the United States to oversee the construction of the Western Pharmaceutical Research Institute and factory.

He named the completed facility the “Western Heart Pharmaceutical Factory,” focusing initially on the production of aspirin and other common medicines. In the secret laboratory within, he had hired the renowned British bacteriologist Alexander Fleming and the German scientist Gerhard Domagk, each leading a team to research penicillin and sulfa drugs, respectively, as per Chen Jiehua’s directives.

During his time in America, Chen Jiehua learned German and later traveled to Germany, where he sought out the country’s top surgical instrument makers to commission two sets of specialized surgical tools and replacement blades.

Ever cautious, he left one of his local recruits, George Lucas, at the research institute with strict orders: if the research succeeded, he was to call the secret residence in Tokyo immediately, ask for Qingmu Qingxuan, and relay the message, “The medicine is ready for shipment and coordination is requested.”

“System Lord, my only goal is to develop penicillin and sulfa drugs ahead of time, mass-produce them as soon as possible, and then store them in my dimensional space. So, could I get an advance and open a few more cubic meters in the space? One is obviously not enough!”

“I’ll give you an advance of two cubic meters—please strive to earn more points,” the system replied.

“Thank you, System Lord!”

On December 25, 1926, in the early hours, Emperor Taisho passed away. Crown Prince Hirohito ascended the throne, and the era was named Showa.

On the 26th, the Army University in Japan officially began its term. Chen Jiehua returned to Japan once more, but not to study. Study? There were too many quests in this tutorial village, and wasting precious time on classes was a luxury he could not afford. Instead, he sought out the busy Okamura Ningji and became his assistant, building connections.

On January 13, Year 2 of Showa, Empress Kojun gave birth to a princess for the emperor. On February 12, Okamura Ningji attended a royal banquet with Nagata Tetsuzan and Obata Toshishiro, bringing along his senior Masaki and Qingmu Qingxuan.

At the banquet, Okamura introduced Masaki to the Showa Emperor at the right moment, presenting him as the second disciple (self-proclaimed) of Master Qingmu Xuanchun. The emperor was delighted—he had heard of Okamura’s master during his European tour, a man of legendary prowess who had devoted decades to his work in China and cultivated such outstanding talents as Okamura himself.

In fact, the emperor had long known of Masaki’s reputation. Previously, Masaki had been a famous figure in the military, only to be assigned to manage academic affairs at the military academy due to political struggles—a clear case of talent wasted. Now, however, he could be put to good use. In the words of ancient China, providing timely help is far better than adding embellishments to success.