Chapter 12

12

The instant the bricks and stones crashed down, Shen Po’s mind went entirely blank.

He didn’t know what was happening, nor did he know how to react. Compared to the agile student who seemed used to such things, he was utterly useless. It was not until they were both buried beneath the rubble, with his ankle throbbing in pain and his chest suffocatingly tight, that his senses slowly returned.

Surrounded by pitch-black darkness, he could not stop the terror rising within him.

A young master of a wealthy family, he had been waited on hand and foot since birth. Every day he woke up to eat, and once he ate, he played, steeped in luxury, extravagance, and the dazzling nightlife of Shanghai. When had the dark, cruel side of the world ever had anything to do with him?

Yet at this moment, Shen Po finally realized how close he was to death. His life of luxury and comfort might very well come to an end tonight.

He no longer envied the conveniences of modern life; all he wanted was to return to the world where he felt safe.

Shen Po’s breathing grew heavier despite himself.

Was he going to die? he thought.

He was only in his early twenties, having barely enjoyed anything in life, barely seen enough of the dazzling world out there. How could he just die like this?

How heartbroken his mother would be. Both of his older brothers were gone, making him her only remaining son. And his father, that stubborn old man, might scold him every time they met, but was undeniably generous with allowance money… Wait, no, even if someone died, it would be Wen Yan’s body! Did that mean he would die in obscurity a hundred years into the future, while Wen Yan got to live lavishly and happily in his body back then?!

Grief washed over Shen Po. The more he thought about it, the more miserable he felt, until warmth welled in his eyes.

Just then, a faint voice came from beside him.

“…Teacher?”

Shen Po froze.

Who? Who was that?

“Teacher… it hurts so much…”

Shen Po remembered. It was the little class monitor.

When the roof collapsed, the boy had pushed him under the desk.

“How are you holding up?” Shen Po shouted hurriedly.

In the dead silence, his voice sounded exceptionally loud.

Shen Po vaguely recalled that when he was about to head back to the teachers’ dorm, the student’s mother had been washing dishes in the kitchen, and the grandparents were in their room.

Were they all buried underneath too?

“It hurts, it hurts so much…” the class monitor sobbed. After all, he was only a child.

“Where does it hurt?” Shen Po was in pain too, but he felt he could still bear it, and crying out alongside a kid would be too humiliating. “Let me find my phone. What’s the emergency number here?”

“My back hurts, and my arm… The number… 110, 120!”

“Hold on, just bear with it. Where’s my phone!”

Shen Po reached out and fumbled through the surrounding rubble and debris. His wrists were easily scratched, but he had no time to worry about pain now. All he wanted was to stay alive.

Finally feeling the phone behind him, Shen Po was overjoyed. He struggled to twist his arm in the cramped space and brought the phone around to his front.

There was still battery. The screen lit up, and Shen Po dialed 110, but all he heard was continuous ringing on the other end.

“What does this mean? Did it connect or not?”

He still hadn’t fully mastered how to use the phone, but he still clung to a shred of hope.

“An earthquake… the signal might be down…” the student answered weakly.

Shen Po felt utter disgust. What a piece of junk! And they called this a divine gadget, yet it couldn’t even make a call at a critical moment!

He tried to save himself again by pushing off the debris pressing down on him. After a few attempts, he managed to sweep aside some rubble, but there was still a crossbeam that wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pushed. The beam was not only pressing on him, but also on the student. Furthermore, when the ceiling collapsed, Shen Po had the desk above his head to shield him, while the student had been a step too slow. Now Shen Po had a little space around him, but the student had none.

“Hang in there, Monitor! The call will definitely go through!”

Shen Po didn’t remember the student’s name at all. In the panic, all he recalled was that the boy was the class monitor.

The phone was no longer ringing unanswered, but now a busy tone came through. Likely a massive number of people were trying to call at the same time.

Shen Po wanted to go online and post a plea for help, but there was no way to do that either.

He had no idea how long he stared at the phone screen. It dimmed, and he pressed it awake; it dimmed again, and he pressed it awake again, repeating the cycle many times. Minutes and seconds ticked by until his eyes grew exhausted, and finally, noises came from outside.

“Is someone down there?” Shen Po heard someone ask.

His spirits lifted, and he cried out.

“Yes, yes! We’re down here, two people!”

Shen Po thought he was shouting at the top of his lungs, but his voice came out faint as a mosquito’s buzz and hoarse. Only because he exerted every ounce of strength and the person outside pressed their ear against the rubble could they barely make it out.

“Don’t be afraid! We’re here to rescue you! Hold on!”

After those words, small movements sounded intermittently from outside, but Shen Po noticed the weight pressing down on them didn’t seem to lighten. Instead, because the digging angle was off, the pressure on the class monitor suddenly spiked, causing the boy to cry out in sharp pain.

Shen Po quickly yelled, “Stop digging, stop digging! You’re crushing him!”

This time, his voice was likely heard in time, and the digging noises indeed stopped.

After that, there was silence again for a long time.

If this were a hundred years ago, with the Shen family’s status and power, if he were trapped beneath rubble, all the police in Shanghai would certainly mobilize to rescue him. But what about now? Even though science had progressed and transportation was convenient, this place was so impoverished; who would care whether they lived or died? Besides, he had seen earlier that this place was deep in the mountains. Even if rescue forces really came, it would probably take at least ten days to half a month.

By then, his body-no, Wen Yan’s body-would be cold. Would he still be able to go back then?

The more Shen Po thought about it, the more hopeless he felt, tears nearly spilling from his eyes.

“Teacher, don’t be scared. Someone will come save us…”

Hearing Shen Po sniffling, the class monitor actually comforted him instead.

“How could anyone come? Everyone’s left!” Shen Po no longer cared about losing face. After all, it was Wen Yan’s face he was losing, not his own. A man sheds no tears until his heart is broken. His life was practically on the line, so what was wrong with crying a little!

“My grandma said that several years ago, we had an earthquake here too. It was really big, really scary. My uncle was buried underneath back then, and later a group of uncles from the People’s Liberation Army came, and they were the ones who saved my uncle…”

The People’s Liberation Army? What was that? Shen Po could not be bothered to look into it, arguing back on instinct. “Just because they came last time doesn’t mean they’ll come this time. Who’d risk their neck coming in here for no benefit?”

“Teacher, I’m a bit cold…” the student said weakly.

Shen Po felt something was wrong with the student’s voice and hurriedly said, “Don’t you pass out on me! I’ll keep talking to you. Let’s chat about something!”

Though he was cold himself, he gritted his teeth, took off his coat, and shoved it over in the student’s direction.

“Can you move? Put the coat over yourself, hurry!”

If the student died, he would be stuck with a corpse. How unlucky was that!

Shen Po gripped the phone tightly, glancing at the screen again on instinct.

Still no signal, as expected.

Not wanting to sit idly waiting in the dark, Shen Po began tapping around randomly.

Spotting a small Cloud Music icon, he tapped into it and pressed around until music suddenly began playing from the phone.

Is this a miniature record?

Shen Po was overjoyed and hastily turned the volume all the way up.

“Listen, there’s music! Don’t fall asleep, let’s listen together. Hang in there!”

He told the student.

The student mumbled a vague response.

Rousing music filled the space, instantly drowning out their faint movements.

Under the cover of the noise, Shen Po finally burst into muffled sobs.

He wanted to go home!

This damn place a hundred years in the future, he never wanted to come here in the first place!

*

Wen Yan had no idea what his physical body was currently enduring, nor did he know that Shen Po, a grown man, actually needed comfort from his own student and was crying pathetically. Right now, Wen Yan was suddenly alert because of the “gossip” Zhang Yuanji and the others were discussing.

“What Japanese people? Why were they fighting?” he could not help but interject.

It was only natural for a young man to be curious about such matters, so the older gentlemen took no offense at his interruption.

“A few Japanese ronin^[1] were making a ruckus and causing trouble outside the library. Some students couldn’t stand it and got into an argument with them, which eventually turned physical. Someone called the police, and they were all taken away,” Zhang Yuanji said.

He was fairly clear on the matter because he happened to be at the Commercial Press at the time. Hearing the commotion, he had stepped outside just as the police arrived to make arrests. After learning what had happened, he worried the students might be mistreated, so he sent a Commercial Press manager along to the police station to explain the situation and get the students released as soon as possible.

Wen Yan asked, “Did those Japanese do it on purpose? Why cause trouble right at the library entrance of all places?”

Zhang Yuanji said, “It was probably just a coincidence. This library of mine isn’t some confidential government agency…”

The old gentleman indeed lacked political sensitivity; otherwise, he would not have gathered so many rare volumes in one library, only to be consumed by regret after it was bombed. Then again, it was not just scholars like Zhang Yuanji: how many political figures across Shanghai, or even all of China, were truly on guard at the time?

The fall of the Three Northeastern Provinces^[2] failed to shake them awake. Their numb souls remained oblivious even on the brink of death.

Wen Yan clearly remembered the historical records he had looked up: the incident at the end of the month started with Japanese ronin provoking conflict, though not at the library, but at a factory near the concession.

Stirring up trouble provided an excuse to escalate. If our side had refused to yield an inch, the Japanese side might have hesitated. Instead, everyone chose compromise and concession, offering apologies and compensation, while the great powers the Generalissimo^[3] counted on played deaf and dumb. What followed was only natural and easy to foresee.

In his memory, no clash had taken place at the gates of the Oriental Library, but a minor occurrence with no bearing on the course of history would not necessarily have been recorded.

As Wen Yan was pondering this, a few people approached from ahead.

A female student and two middle-aged men.

The middle-aged man dressed in a sharp suit introduced himself first: “Greetings, Old Mr. Zhang. I am Zhang Hong, chairman of the Zhang Industrial Company. I have long admired your esteemed name.”

He produced a business card and offered it with both hands, his demeanor exceedingly attentive.

“Greetings, Mr. Zhang.”

Zhang Yuanji smiled and accepted the card. His expression remained mild, but he felt somewhat curious inside, as businessmen like Zhang Hong rarely attended cultural salons.

Zhang Hong proceeded to introduce the female student and the middle-aged man beside him.

“This is my daughter, Zhang Ming, a Chinese literature major at St. John’s University, and this is her Chinese teacher. Both have long held Old Mr. Zhang in high esteem, but lacked the opportunity to seek your guidance. We took the liberty of coming over, and I hope Old Mr. Zhang won’t take offense.”

Zhang Ming?

The name sounded very familiar.

Wen Yan suddenly recalled the conversation between Shen Po’s fair-weather friends.

Hadn’t they said Shen Po had taken a fancy to this female student?

Naturally, Young Master Shen’s affection was a mere passing whim; who knew how long it would even last.

On second thought, Shen Po’s sudden transfer between departments had seemed rather fishy. With this girl also in the Chinese department, could it truly have been for her sake?

While he was still deep in thought, Zhang Ming spoke up.

“Greetings, Elder Zhang. My Chinese teacher is Asai Sui. He is deeply fascinated by Chinese culture, especially that of the Tang and Song dynasties. Hearing that the Oriental Library holds many rare Tang and Song volumes in its collection, Teacher Asai came specifically to seek your guidance.”

Zhang Ming’s voice was soft and melodious. The moonlight and lamplight cast a gentle glow over her delicate features, lending her an undeniable, indescribable beauty.

No wonder a playboy like Shen Po had been entranced.

“Greetings, Mr. Zhang. I have a proposal for a collaboration to discuss with you. If convenient, might we speak in private?”

Asai Sui’s Chinese was remarkably fluent and authentic. If Zhang Ming had not introduced him beforehand, Wen Yan would never have guessed a foreigner was speaking.

Because he was so polite, Zhang Yuanji could hardly refuse him outright. Seeing this, the other old gentlemen tactfully walked away, and Zhang Hong also took his leave with an excuse, though Zhang Ming remained by Asai Sui’s side.

Naturally, Wen Yan had the cheek to stay right where he was.

Both Asai Sui and Zhang Ming looked at Wen Yan, their hint unmistakable.

Wen Yan said unabashedly, “He’s my great-uncle. I’m not an outsider, so why should I leave?”

Asai Sui had no idea this young man before him was actually his new student. Hearing this, and seeing that Zhang Yuanji had no intention of shooing him away, he saw no point in pressing the issue and turned to business.

“Old Mr. Zhang, our embassy wishes to spearhead an initiative to borrow certain ancient Chinese texts and ship them to Japan for a traveling exhibition. As you know, we Japanese hold Chinese culture in great admiration, and we have many scholars with profound expertise in the field. This event is certain to be a tremendous success. Beyond promoting Chinese culture and fostering Sino-Japanese friendship, you would receive generous rental fees as well as a medal presented personally by the Embassy of the Empire of Japan in China. What are your thoughts on this?”

Zhang Yuanji asked doubtfully, “Isn’t Mr. Asai a university lecturer? How can you make decisions on behalf of the embassy? For an event of this scale, I doubt it is something you can settle in just a few words.”

Zhang Ming smiled and said, “There is something you don’t know. In addition to being a university lecturer, Teacher Asai serves as a cultural advisor to the Japanese Consulate in Shanghai, and is also a classmate and close friend of the Shanghai Counselor-General. As long as you agree, others will handle everything else. You won’t have to worry about a thing!”

Asai Sui nodded slightly. Given Japan’s current might and the generous terms he had offered, he was certain the other party could not possibly refuse.

Yet, after pondering for a moment, Zhang Yuanji shook his head.

“I am sorry, but all books in the library must remain on the premises and are strictly not for loan.”

Asai Sui’s expression shifted slightly.

Zhang Ming was also somewhat taken aback.

She looked at Asai Sui, then turned to Zhang Yuanji and asked in confusion, “Old Mr. Zhang, this is a wonderful opportunity to promote Chinese culture!”

Zhang Yuanji still shook his head. “I appreciate Mr. Asai’s goodwill, but I poured my heart and soul into collecting these books. I can only be at peace if I see them before my eyes every day. How could I bear to let them drift overseas? They are like my own children.”

Asai Sui said, “Old Mr. Zhang, cherishing one’s worn broom as if it were treasure^[4] is hardly a good habit.”

Zhang Yuanji said, “I am sorry, but my mind is made up.”

Asai Sui said, “Have you thought this through? You are not merely turning down a university teacher, but an invitation from the embassy in China.”

That last sentence seemed to carry an implicit threat, giving Zhang Yuanji a slight pause as he met Asai Sui’s gaze.

Whatever Zhang Yuanji saw, he quickly withdrew his gaze, said a curt “Excuse me” to the two of them, and turned to leave.

Zhang Ming wanted to chase after him, but Wen Yan stepped forward and blocked her path.

“Classmate Zhang, I just transferred to the Chinese department. My name is Shen Po. Come on, let’s get acquainted!”

Recalling the playboy antics he had seen in TV dramas, Wen Yan winked and made faces, putting on the posture of a rogue teasing a respectable girl.

As expected, disgust washed over Zhang Ming’s face. Abandoning her pursuit of Zhang Yuanji, she turned to Asai Sui. “Teacher, shall we leave?”

Asai Sui paid no heed to Wen Yan either. He nodded, and the two quickly departed.

Together with Zhang Hong, the three hurried away. They had clearly come for Zhang Yuanji; having failed to achieve their goal, they naturally had no interest in lingering.

Wen Yan was in no rush to find Zhang Yuanji either, because the more he thought about it, the more suspicious it felt.

He was someone with foreknowledge of history, and he already knew a major disaster would strike at the end of the month: the burning of the Oriental Library.

At a time like this, wasn’t it a bit too coincidental for a Japanese man to come negotiate cooperation with Zhang Yuanji, claiming he wanted to ship the library’s collection to Japan for an exhibition?

Since this man held a position at the consulate, he might very well know something.

Could it be that he truly loved Chinese culture, didn’t want ancient texts to be destroyed, and was doing his best to protect them?

No, that was not right.

It was easy to lend those books out, but getting them back would be nearly impossible. When the time came, they could find any excuse, such as claiming the two countries were at war, and withhold the rare editions. How could Zhang Yuanji ever demand them back? Could he expect the Republic of China government to step in? Don’t be ridiculous. The Generalissimo was willing to surrender people and territory with both hands; why would he care about a few mere books?

Therefore, they were very likely using the book exhibition as a pretext to claim those rare ancient texts for themselves, so they could later claim that legitimate Chinese culture resided in Japan^[5]!

Wen Yan drew in a sharp breath, feeling his deduction was spot on.

He seemed to see a conspiracy woven into an invisible, giant web, descending right over all of Shanghai.

No one had anywhere to run!

What should he do?!