The Manchurian sky in early winter was a boundless gray canvas, overshadowing a snowfield that seemed to swallow every sound and color. The north wind, known to the locals as the "White Dragon," howled across the plains, carrying sharp ice particles that stung every inch of exposed skin. Lieutenant He Xiang pulled her woolen scarf tighter, feeling the cold creep through her layers of clothing and into her bones.
It had been several months since she had stood on the stage of the Eternal Flame Military Academy, feeling the weight of the medal of valor on her chest. It had been awarded for her role in saving Professor Lin, an act that had finally forced her out of the shadows. The name "He Xiang" was clearly engraved on the cold metal, a confirmation of the identity she had fought for with blood and lies. There was no more Xie Liongchen, no more disguise. There was only her, a female officer in the National Revolutionary Army.
The reality of the victory was this assignment: a command post on the volatile northern border, where politics were as cold as the weather, and danger lurked behind every snow-covered hill. She led a small patrol unit, a group of hardened veterans and young soldiers whose eyes still held a glimmer of idealism.
At first, they regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and undisguised skepticism. A female commander, let alone one so young and hailing from Nanjing, was an anomaly in this harsh, masculine world. But the bravery and tactical acumen she had displayed during their first mission—a bandit ambush that she had turned into a flawless victory—had silenced many of the doubters.
Even so, she could still feel their stares. The respect she had earned was a fragile one, one that had to be constantly proved. In the larger barracks, she still occasionally heard snide whispers about "female officers" or "the capital's golden boy." Loneliness was a familiar companion here. The burden of responsibility for the lives of his men weighed on his shoulders at all times, far heavier than any medal.
That morning, their assignment was to investigate reports of increased activity by a local separatist group. The group that had once been armed with only old Qing-era rifles and fanatical fervor was now reported to have more modern weaponry. Intelligence reports mentioned the presence of machine guns and grenades, something they should not have had. He Xiang sensed something was wrong. This was not just an increase in activity; this was an escalation.
"Keep a distance of ten meters between personnel," he ordered, his voice firm and clear, cutting through the morning silence. "Keep your eyes open. Report any unusual traces, no matter how small."
Old Sergeant Li, the most senior soldier in his unit, nodded respectfully. Li was a man in his forties, his face chiseled by the winds of Manchuria and decades of battle. He was a rare breed of soldier: wise, fiercely loyal, and with the ability to see beyond his commander's uniform. He was the first to accept He Xiang without hesitation, and his silent support had become a pillar of strength for He Xiang. "Understood, Lieutenant!"
On the other side was Corporal Zhang, a spirited young man from the same province as He Xiang. He was an excellent scout, his eyes sharp as an eagle's. He looked at He Xiang with the admiration of a younger brother, his loyalty absolute.
They moved along a narrow valley flanked by steep, snow-capped cliffs. The wind whistled through the rocks, creating an eerie music. The silence was so complete that He Xiang could hear his own breath billowing in the cold air.
As dusk began to fall, painting the snow a pale orange, they set up a makeshift camp in a sheltered rock niche. The cold became more bitter, piercing without mercy. The soldiers gathered around a small fire, trying to warm their stiff hands and cook their simple dinner rations—dry rice and beef jerky.
He Xiang sat a little apart, observing his men as the warmth of the fire licked his face. He pulled a small object from his breast pocket. It was not a standard military compass. It was a small brass compass, its cap decorated with a delicate plum blossom carving. A gift.
His thoughts drifted back to the past, to the sun-drenched courtyard of the Eternal Flame Academy.
Flashback – Several Months Ago, Nanjing
"What's this for?" He Xiang asked, looking at the compass in his palm.
Hu Yanzhen grinned, his signature, arrogant smile spreading across his face. "So that you never get lost, of course. Especially when you try to escape from me." He winked. "Look, there's a plum blossom. It reminds me of you. Beautiful, yet able to survive the harshest of winters."
He Xiang rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile a little. "You really are…"
"Great? I know," Hu Yanzhen interrupted, wrapping his arms around He Xiang and Lee Junshan. "The three of us, top graduates! The world is at our feet. I will lead the greatest cavalry in the west, Junshan will become a genius strategist in the capital, and you, Xiang Xiang, you will prove to everyone that you are the best warrior among us all."
Lee Junshan, who was more reserved as usual, only smiled faintly. But his eyes, as they looked at He Xiang, showed genuine pride and a hint of worry. "He's right about one thing," Lee Junshan said softly. "Take care of yourself, He Xiang. The world outside the academy is not like here."
He Xiang felt the warmth of their friendship envelop him, a bulwark against the uncertainty of the future. Back then, the three of them, full of hope and idealism, were about to begin a new chapter in their service, unaware of the trials that lay ahead.
Another scene flashed through his mind. A stuffy room in the Ministry of Defense, filled with solemn-faced high-ranking officers. He stood tall, his cadet uniform replaced by a new, well-fitting second lieutenant's uniform. In his hand, an official decree. His name: He Xiang.
General Zhang, the official he had once saved, stared at him with an unreadable gaze. "Lieutenant He Xiang," the general said, his voice heavy. "This decision is not easy. You set a precedent. There will be many eyes watching your every move. Many hope you fail."
"I understand, General," He Xiang replied, his voice steadier than he felt. "I will prove that the trust placed in me was not in vain."
General Zhang nodded slowly. "I hope so. Your first assignment is the northern border. It is a cold and harsh place. It will test you. Don't just rely on your guts. Use your brain. And don't trust anyone easily." The warning felt like more than just standard advice.
Back to the Present – Manchuria
A shadow fell over him, breaking his reverie. Old Sergeant Li stood there, offering him a cup of steaming hot tea.
"You look distant, Lieutenant," the sergeant said softly.
He Xiang accepted the cup, its warmth spreading to his frozen fingers. "Just reminiscing about the past, Sergeant."
"Nanjing must be very different from this place," Li said, his eyes staring into the fire. "Here, the past is a ghost that never really goes away. We live on it."
He Xiang nodded, putting the compass back in his pocket. "Stay alert tonight, Sergeant. I have a bad feeling."
"I feel the same way, Lieutenant. The wind tonight is bringing more than just snow."
He Xiang's thoughts returned to his task. He could not continue to be trapped in the echoes of the past. He had responsibilities here, now. The night passed tensely, every sound of wind or snap of twigs keeping them on their toes.
The next morning, as dawn was just breaking the darkness, Corporal Zhang, who was leading the morning reconnaissance, suddenly stopped. He crouched down, pointing to the ground with a sharp hand gesture.
He Xiang and Sergeant Li hurried over to him.
In the thin layer of snow covering the frozen ground, there were unmistakable tracks. Heavy, clear tire tracks. Not the usual oxcart or civilian vehicle tracks. These tracks were wider, deeper, and in pairs. The tracks of a heavy truck. Or several trucks.
"These are not local merchants, Lieutenant," Corporal Zhang said, his voice a whisper as if afraid of being heard. "Too heavy. And look, these tracks are still fresh. The snow that fell last night has not completely covered them."
He Xiang crouched down, his gloves brushing away some of the snow to get a better look. He could see the uniform tread pattern of a military or industrial vehicle. The tracks did not follow an existing path, but led to a hidden gap in the cliffs that was not marked on their maps.
His military instincts, honed by months at the Eternal Flame, screamed. This was an anomaly. This was a clue. The separatists had no trucks. Small-time smugglers used donkeys or handcarts. Whoever owned this truck had far greater resources and organization, , cutting off any doubts that might have been there. "Keep your distance. Zhang, you lead. Li, you lead. Keep quiet. We move like shadows."
He stared at the hidden gap in the distance. The sky was still gray, and the air felt colder than before. The foreboding he had felt the night before had now turned into a cold certainty. These tracks in the Manchurian snow were the beginning of something. A trail that could lead him into danger far greater than just a local separatist group. He didn't know where these tracks would lead him, but he did know one thing: he wouldn't stop until he found the answer. His real war had just begun.
----
The Wall of Indifference and the Secret Letter
Darkness descended quickly on the valleys of Manchuria, turning the white landscape into a world of blue and black shadows. He Xiang's small unit moved in tense silence, following the scarred tracks of the tires in the snow. Every step was heavy, every gust of wind a whisper of menace. They didn't light a fire that night, relying only on the warmth of their bodies and the layers of clothing, chewing on hard beef jerky in silence.
He Xiang and Sergeant Li took turns guarding, their eyes scanning the darkness, their ears alert for any unnatural sounds. He Xiang's sense of foreboding grew stronger. Whoever owned these trucks had sophisticated logistics and organization. They were no mere bandits.
The next morning, as they continued their journey, Corporal Zhang discovered something else. At the edge of the tracks, half buried in the snow, was a cigarette butt. He Xiang carefully picked it up with the tweezers from his medical kit. The brand was unfamiliar—a Japanese brand, Golden Bat. He had seen some of the Japanese officers who were advisors in Nanjing smoking these cigarettes. His heart beat a little faster. Japanese involvement? So close to the Soviet border? It didn't make sense, but the evidence was in his hands.
They followed the trail for several more hours, until it suddenly disappeared at the edge of a frozen river covered in a thick layer of snow. The trucks had clearly crossed the river, but on the hard ice, they had left no further traces. Across the river, a dense pine forest stretched like an impenetrable wall. They had lost their trail.
"They're smart," Sergeant Li muttered, his eyes sweeping across the forest. "They know how to cover their tracks."
He Xiang sighed in frustration. "We can't go on without more information. We'll go back and report. We have enough evidence to start a proper investigation."
The drive back to the nearest command post was long and filled with optimistic anticipation. He Xiang was confident that his findings—military truck tracks, hidden tracks, and Japanese cigarette butts—would be enough to get the command to act. He was wrong.
The Black Dragon Fortress Command Post was a sturdy but neglected stone building. The yard was muddy and dirty, with soldiers wandering aimlessly. Discipline was lax, in contrast to He Xiang's small, ever-vigilant unit. The atmosphere inside was even worse. The office of Major Feng, the post commander, was stuffy and overly warm from the blazing coal stove. The air smelled of cheap sorghum wine and stale tobacco.
Major Feng, a pot-bellied man with a sour face who always looked dissatisfied, was looking over an inventory list with a bored expression. He didn't even look up when He Xiang entered and saluted.
"Lieutenant He," he said matter-of-factly. "Your report."
Calmly and methodically, He Xiang presented his findings. He described the unusual wheel tracks, hidden paths not on the map, and the discovery of Japanese cigarette butts. He emphasized that this indicated a large-scale logistical operation, far beyond the capabilities of the local separatists.
Major Feng finally put down his paper and looked at He Xiang, his eyes filled with disdainful indifference.
"Treads, Lieutenant?" he snorted, as if the word tasted strange in his mouth. "In this vast area? It snows here, then melts, then freezes again. The tracks could have come from anywhere. Maybe it was just some Russian logging smugglers trying to evade taxes. Or maybe opium traders."
"With all due respect, Major," He Xiang replied, trying to keep his voice calm. "This vehicle weighs much more than a regular wagon. And those Japanese cigarette butts..."
"Cigarette butts?" Major Feng laughed, a hoarse, unpleasant laugh. Several other officers in the room, who had been pretending to be busy, now smiled sarcastically. "Lieutenant, do you know how much Japanese goods are smuggled into Manchuria every day? Socks, radios, candy, and yes, cigarettes. Finding a Japanese cigarette butt here is like finding a stone. It proves nothing."
Heat spread across He Xiang's cheeks, a mixture of anger and shame. He was being played.
"I believe this is a threat that we must investigate, Major," He Xiang insisted once more.
This time, Major Feng's face hardened. He leaned forward, his gaze turning cold. "Threat? The biggest threat here is the coming winter, Lieutenant. Other threats are supply shortages and low morale. And perhaps... the overzealous imagination of a young officer from Nanjing who has no idea how the world on the frontier works."
The sarcasm was obvious. You're an outsider. You know nothing.
"Focus on your routine patrols," the Major ordered, his tone final. "Make sure the main supply lines are secure. Don't waste time and resources chasing ghosts based on tire tracks and cigarette butts. That's an order."
"Understood, Major," He Xiang said, his voice stiff. He gave the sharpest salute he could muster, turned, and strode out of the room with a firm stride, ignoring the triumphant smiles on the faces of the other officers.
Once outside, in the biting cold, he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He wasn't angry at being slighted. He was angry at the stupidity and willful neglect. Major Feng wasn't just incompetent; he actively chose not to look. Why? Was it laziness? Or something worse? Was he profiting from this illegal activity that he would rather turn a blind eye?
He returned to his patrol camp with a heavy heart. Any optimism he had had had been shattered, replaced by cold frustration.
That night, as he sat alone in his small tent, Sergeant Li entered with two bowls of hot soup. "I heard the meeting with the Major didn't go well," he said quietly, matter-of-factly.
He Xiang sighed. "He called it 'overzealous imagination.'"
Sergeant Li snorted softly. "I "I've served under five different commanders on this border, Lieutenant. Some are brave, some are cowardly. And some... like Major Feng. The type who cares more about the comfort of his stomach than the safety of the border. The type who would sell his honor for a few cases of wine." He looked at He Xiang with a wise gaze. "You see something real out there, Lieutenant. I see it too. Don't let someone like him make you hesitate."
The old sergeant's words were like balm to his wounded pride. They also reinforced a decision that had been forming in his mind since he left Major Feng's office. If the official chain of command wouldn't act, he would find another way.
After Sergeant Li left, He Xiang took out stationery, a brush, and an ink bottle from his backpack. This was not the rough military report paper, but the fine writing paper he kept for personal correspondence. He began to write....
To Lee Junshan,
He paused for a moment, thinking about how best to phrase his words. He couldn't be explicit about his suspicions of the local command; letters could be intercepted. He had to use careful language.
I hope this letter reaches you in good condition. The assignment in the north is challenging, as I have been warned. Recently, my unit discovered some anomalies during patrols near the border. Heavy vehicle tracks in an unmonitored area, along with some small evidence that suggests a possible foreign presence, possibly from Japan. I have reported it through official channels, but it seems that this is being treated as foreign activity. low-level smuggling and not considered a priority.
He paused again, choosing his words carefully.
But my intuition told me there was something bigger behind this. The sheer scale of the logs implied by the trail did not fit the profile of an ordinary smuggler. I was concerned about the potential implications for regional security. Given your experience in intelligence, I would love to hear your thoughts on this situation. Perhaps there was a larger pattern that could only be seen in Nanjing.
It was an act of quiet defiance, a conscious move to bypass his immediate superior and seek help from a source he trusted. It was a huge risk. If this letter fell into the wrong hands, he could be accused of insubordination or even espionage.
As he folded the letter neatly, his gaze fell on the brass compass lying on his makeshift desk. A gift from Hu Yanzhen. He picked it up. The plum blossom carving felt cool against his fingers. Once, this compass had been a symbol of friendship and hope. Now, it felt like another symbol. A reminder of his oath at the academy—to serve the Republic, to seek the truth, even if it meant walking the path alone dangerous.
The next day, he gave the sealed letter to an old ginseng merchant whom he knew was part of a secret courier network sometimes used by Nanjing intelligence.
As the merchant disappeared down the street.
He had thrown a stone into a still pond, and he did not know what ripples it would cause. But he knew he could no longer remain silent. The footprints in the Manchurian snow were the beginning of a puzzle, and he was determined to solve it, with or without the support of his superiors. His personal war against the walls of indifference and betrayal had only just begun.
____
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*****to be continued chapter 2