I Didn't Send Anyone to Repair

He rushed forward in three quick strides, grabbing a familiar face beside him—it was his father's trusted aide, Zhao Zhong.

"Old Zhao!"

His voice was urgent and hoarse, carrying a tremor he didn't even notice himself.

"Where's my father?"

"Where is he?!"

Zhao Zhong was startled by his ferocious expression, and upon recognizing who it was, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Second... Second Young Master?"

"My heavens! You're finally back!"

Zhao Zhong was so excited he nearly jumped, grabbing Zhang Xueming's arm and shouting incoherently.

"The Marshal... he's fine! He's fine!"

Zhang Xueming's mind buzzed, struggling to process this.

"He's fine?"

He turned his head again to glance at his father's desolate back.

"Then what's this... performance art he's doing?"

"Oh, my Second Young Master!" Zhao Zhong was on the verge of tears. "The Marshal's been worried sick about you!"

"The Eastern Route Army has collapsed across the entire line, and your Eighth Brigade completely lost contact—no sign of you alive or dead. The Marshal's been frantic!"

Zhao Zhong lowered his voice, leaning close to his ear.

"Just now, the Marshal tore into Staff Officer Li, saying all his staff officers were useless, that they couldn't even tell if you were dead or alive. He said if they couldn't reach you, he might as well find a shaman to cast a fortune for you!"

Zhang Xueming's eye twitched at that.

Find a shaman to cast a fortune for me?

That was exactly the kind of thing his old man would do.

Still, the heart that had been lodged in his throat finally settled back into his chest.

He let out a long sigh, feeling the muscles that had been taut and aching relax.

"Scared me to death."

He muttered under his breath.

"I thought... I'd come back too late."

He straightened his Military Uniform, hung the saber at his waist, took a deep breath, and his eyes sharpened once more.

He strode to the center of the staff room, snapped his legs together, and gave a crisp Military Salute.

"Reporting to the Marshal!"

"Eighth Brigade Commander Zhang Xueming, reporting for duty!"

His voice was loud and resounding.

Everyone in the command post turned to look at him.

Zhang Yuting's body jolted violently. He slowly turned around, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Zhang Xueming as if trying to bore two holes through him.

"You still remember to come back?"

Zhang Yuting's voice was terrifyingly hoarse.

"Why couldn't we reach you?!"

"Where's your radio? Your phone lines? Did the dogs eat them?!"

Facing his father's thunderous rage, Zhang Xueming remained expressionless.

"Reporting to the Marshal."

"The radio was destroyed by artillery during the retreat. The phone lines were cut by the Shou Army, and I didn't send anyone to fix them."

Zhang Yuting's temper flared up again.

"Didn't send anyone to fix them?!"

"Zhang Xueming, you kid think your Wings are tough now, huh? You dare to disobey military orders!"

Zhang Xueming's lips curled slightly, carrying a roguish defiance.

"Father, what time is it now? The Shou Army's tanks are practically at our doorstep. If I spent the effort to search inch by inch for which wire was cut, I'd rather lead the Brothers straight into their mother's!"

He stepped forward, his voice suddenly rising.

"The Eighth Brigade encountered the main force of the Shou Army at the Shanhai Pass line. We did not retreat! Instead, we organized a counterattack on the spot!"

"I led the Tank Battalion as the vanguard, punched through two divisions of the Shou Army's positions, chased them all the way, and pushed them back from Shanhai Pass to Jinmen Station!"

"The Shou Army's Commander-in-Chief, Cao Kun, tried to escape by car, but I rammed it with my own tank. That old Waste was lucky—he didn't die on the spot, but I put a burst into his knee."

"Right now, he's probably crying for his daddy in some corner!"

Zhang Xueming's voice echoed through the command post.

The entire room fell into a deathly silence.

Everyone was stunned by his words.

A full-line rout, over a hundred thousand troops beaten so badly they abandoned their arms and armor—and yet this one brigade of yours, not only did it not flee, it counterattacked and even broke the enemy Commander-in-Chief's leg?

Zhang Yuting stood frozen in place, mouth half-open. The fire blazing in his eyes was rapidly receding, replaced by an extreme, almost delirious joy and disbelief.

He looked at this youngest son of his, covered in the grime of gunpowder smoke, face full of defiance, that fearless, heaven-defying spirit—it was as if Jian Shou had been carved from the same mold as his younger self.

He could no longer hold it together.

To hell with the dignity of a Marshal, to hell with military discipline.

He charged forward in a few strides, ignoring the blood and mud still clinging to Zhang Xueming, and wrapped him in a crushing embrace.

The force was so great it made Zhang Xueming's bones ache.

"You kid..."

"You're really my goddamn good kid!"

Zhang Yuting's voice choked up. This iron-blooded warlord, who shed blood without tears on the battlefield, now had red-rimmed eyes.

"Over a hundred thousand troops, routed completely!"

"Only you... only your Third Brigade and the Eighth Brigade didn't collapse! You kid... you kid actually fought your way back for me!"

He slapped Zhang Xueming's back heavily, as if to confirm that what he was seeing wasn't an illusion.

Beside them, Zhang Xueliang watched this scene, silently lowering his head and clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dug deep into his flesh.

Every single word from his father was like a slap, burning hot against his face.