The main hall of the Eternal Flame Military Academy was a fascinating and confusing space, a blend of grand Western architecture and strong Chinese symbolism. Tall marble pillars supported the vaulted ceiling, but between them hung long red silk banners decorated with gold calligraphy. Slogans echoed by the Kuomintang government were emblazoned on them: "Unite China, Resist Foreign Aggression," "Obey the Leader, Implement the Three Principles of the People," and the largest, hanging directly behind the stage: "The Spirit of the Eternal Flame Will Never Be Extinguished."
Beneath these banners stood hundreds of new cadets in stiff formation, their young faces a mixture of nervousness, pride, and uncertainty. These were the new shoots of the Republic, gathered from all over the country to be forged into officers. In the row of instructors standing to the side of the stage, Lee Junshan, Hu Yanzhen, and He Xiang watched them, feeling the weight of responsibility on their shoulders.
The induction ceremony began. The atmosphere was solemn and heavy with patriotic rhetoric. The Minister of Defense, a potbellied man with a face that showed political exhaustion, gave a long, winding speech. He spoke of the "national crisis" (國難, guónàn), a term that everyone understood to mean the growing threat posed by the Japanese Empire. He praised "Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek's wisdom" in modernizing the armed forces and, with a glance at the new trio of instructors, emphasized the importance of "innovation and new tactical thinking to meet the challenges of the times." It was a thin political endorsement, but enough to give them legitimacy and make them a clearer target.
General Zhang, who was also in attendance, gave a much shorter, more piercing speech. He did not talk about politics. He talked about sacrifice, about mud and blood, about the honor of a soldier. "Look at the uniforms you wear," he said, his hoarse voice echoing throughout the hall. "They are not just cloth. They are a promise. A promise to the people that you will be their shield. The Eternal Flame is not just the name of this academy; it is the spirit that must burn in your hearts, even when your bodies are tired and your hopes are fading." As he spoke, his eyes met Lee Junshan's, a silent acknowledgement of their secret mission.
Throughout the speeches, Lee Junshan had been watching Colonel Ji Jin, who sat in the front row of the senior staff. His face remained expressionless, but his stiff posture and the way he drummed his fingers rhythmically on the hilt of his ceremonial sword betrayed impatience and distaste. To Ji Jin and his conservative faction, all this talk of "innovation" was an affront to time-tested tradition, a dangerous distortion influenced by German military advisers and intellectuals returning from the West.
As the ceremony culminated with the cadets' oath-taking, He Xiang's attention turned to the sea of faces before him. Several of them stood out from the crowd, as if marked by destiny.
In the front row, a tall young man stood with his chin cocked arrogantly. His uniform, though standard, seemed to fit better and was made of slightly better material, probably custom-made by his family's tailor in Shanghai. It was Jin Wuyou, the son of a wealthy industrialist. He did not stare at the stage with admiration like the others; he looked at it with an appraising gaze, as if calculating the strategic value of each person who spoke. When the Minister's speech mentioned "equality of opportunity for all," He Xiang saw the faint sneer on Jin Wuyou's lips. His eyes then shifted to He Xiang herself, his gaze a mixture of condescending curiosity and disbelief, as if the existence of a female instructor was some unfunny joke. A few rows back, in a slightly more crowded section, a smaller cadet struggled to maintain an upright posture. His features were clean, almost feminine, and his eyes kept glancing down, trying to hide his nervousness. It was Lin Fengqing. He Xiang felt a familiar flutter in her chest. He saw the struggle in the way the cadet tried to broaden his shoulders to appear broader, and the desperate determination in his eyes that stared straight ahead every time the command sergeant walked past him.
He Xiang was almost certain she was looking at a reflection of her past self—a girl who risked everything for a chance denied her by society. Lin Fengqing's eyes occasionally glanced toward He Xiang, not with scorn like Jin Wuyou, but with a glimmer of hidden hope, as if seeking validation.
And in a slightly dark corner, slightly separated from the others, stood a cadet of medium build with an unnatural calm. Wu Renjie. Unlike the other cadets who were nervous or arrogant, he simply stood still and observed. His sharp, analytical eyes did not linger on the officials on the dais. Instead, they moved around, noting the subtle interactions between Lee Junshan and General Zhang, the icy stares between Hu Yanzhen and Colonel Ji Jin, and the whispers among the old instructors whenever He Xiang's name was mentioned. His background only stated that he was from Liaoning province—a region of Manchuria now under the control of the puppet state of Manchukuo—and that he had passed the selection exam with near-perfect physical and tactical scores. His calm was not that of a carefree man; it was the calm of a predator assessing his surroundings.
The ceremony was finally over. The cadets were dismissed to their barracks, their excited footsteps echoing through the corridors. The once-crowded hall was now empty and silent. The new trio of instructors made their way back to their office in the East Pavilion, exhausted from a day of formalities and tension.
"Well, at least we know who to watch out for," Hu Yanzhen said, stretching her back. "That arrogant Jin Wuyou is going to be a problem. I can feel it."
"He's not the only one," Lee Junshan added. "Wu Renjie, the one from Manchuria. He's too calm. People who are driven from their homes are usually filled with anger or despair. He shows neither. That makes him dangerous."
They arrived at their dusty office. The afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting long streaks of light across the dirty floor. They had spent the morning doing a thorough cleaning, but the room still felt like a forgotten place.
He Xiang was the first to enter. She paused in the doorway. "Strange," she said quietly. "I believe I cleaned this table this morning."
In the middle of her table closest to the window, there was something that had not been there before. It was a single white chrysanthemum.
Hu Yanzhen and Lee Junshan immediately became alert. In China, white chrysanthemums were not a welcoming gift. They were flowers brought to funerals, a symbol of mourning and bad omens.
Hu Yanzhen immediately checked her surroundings. "Who came in here?" she growled, her hand unconsciously moving to the handle of the gun at her waist.
Lee Junshan did not move. His sharp eyes analyzed the scene. The flower had begun to wilt slightly, indicating that it had probably been picked a few hours ago. Beneath the flower, there was a small, folded piece of paper. Carefully, as if it were a trap, He Xiang picked up the paper and unfolded it.
There were only five words, written in black ink and brush. The calligraphy was neat and scholarly, but each stroke was pressed tightly, showing suppressed anger.
This place is not for you.
A cold silence enveloped the room. It was "first blood," a bloodless yet deeply personal and threatening attack.
"Cowardly bastard!" Hu Yanzhen slammed his fist on the door frame, sending dust flying. "Who would dare do this? Is it Ji Jin?"
"No," Lee Junshan said quietly, his eyes still glued to the note. "This is not Ji Jin's style. He is a bureaucrat. If he wanted to get rid of us, he would do it through reports, official complaints, or administrative sabotage. He is a bulldozer in plain sight." He pointed to the note. "This is the work of a snake. Personal, cunning, and designed to instill fear. They are not attacking us as a 'reform team'; they are attacking He Xiang as a woman."
He was right. The threat was directed specifically at He Xiang, the most socially vulnerable member of their group. It was a way of saying, "We know your weakness, and we can touch you."
He Xiang looked at the wilted flower, then at the note in her hand. For a moment, anger flared in her eyes. It was the same insult she had faced all her life, now wrapped in a thinly veiled threat. But then, her expression hardened into a steely mask. With a calm, deliberate movement, she crumpled the note into a small ball in her palm.
"They want me to be afraid," she said, her voice steady. "They want me to run to the commander and complain, to show myself as a weak woman and I will not give them that satisfaction."
He walked to the small trash can in the corner of the room and threw the paper ball into it. Then he picked up the chrysanthemum, walked back to the window, and threw it out. The white flower tumbled in a circle before landing on the ground below.
"Message received," he whispered, mostly to himself. "And this is my answer."
Hu Yanzhen and Lee Junshan watched him with a mixture of awe and worry. They had come to the Eternal Flame Academy to fight a larger conspiracy, to hunt down Oda's spies and clean out the institution from within. But as dusk fell outside their dusty office window, they realized a new, horrifying truth. Their enemies were not just old bureaucrats who resisted change. There was someone—or someones—within these walls who were far more dangerous. Someone who operated in the shadows, using tactics of intimidation that were both personal and ruthless.
The ghosts of the Oda network were not just in the capital or on distant battlefields. One of them was here, among them, whispering in the halls of the academy. Their war was no longer just against the walls of the past, but against the ghosts hiding right behind them.
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*****to be continued