He took three steps in two and rushed forward, grabbing a familiar face beside him. It was Zhao Zhong, his father's trusted aide.
"Old Zhao!"
His voice was urgent and hoarse, trembling faintly in a way even he didn't notice.
"Where's my father?"
"Where is he?!"
Zhao Zhong jumped at the sight of him looking ready to eat someone alive. When he recognized who it was, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.
"Se... Second Young Master?"
"Oh, thank heavens! You're finally back!"
Zhao Zhong was so excited he nearly leaped into the air. He grabbed Zhang Xueming by the arm and shouted incoherently.
"Marshal... he's fine! He's fine!"
Zhang Xueming's mind buzzed. It took him a moment to make sense of it.
"He's fine?"
He turned his head and looked again at his father's desolate back.
"Then what's he doing... performing some kind of avant-garde art?"
"Oh, my Second Young Master!" Zhao Zhong was on the verge of tears. "Marshal was worried about you!"
"The Eastern Route Army was routed across the whole front, and your Eighth Brigade was the only unit completely cut off. No one knew if you were alive or dead. Marshal was going out of his mind!"
Zhao Zhong lowered his voice and leaned close to his ear.
"Just now, Marshal gave Staff Officer Li a thorough tongue-lashing. He said all those staff officers he'd raised were useless, since they couldn't even tell him whether you were dead or alive. He said if they still couldn't reach you, he'd just find a spirit medium to divine your fate!"
Zhang Xueming's eye twitched as he listened.
Find a spirit medium to divine my fate?
That really was the sort of thing only a real father would do.
Still, the heart lodged in his throat finally sank back into place.
He let out a long breath, feeling the muscles that had been tensed to the point of pain begin to relax.
"You scared me to death."
He muttered under his breath.
"I thought... I'd come back too late."
He straightened his military uniform, hung his saber at his waist, and took a deep breath. His gaze sharpened once more.
He strode to the center of the staff room, brought his legs together, and gave a crisp Military Salute.
"Reporting to Marshal!"
"Eighth Brigade Commander Zhang Xueming, reporting for duty!"
His voice rang out, firm and clear.
Everyone in the command post turned to look at him in unison.
Zhang Yuting's body jerked. He slowly turned around, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Zhang Xueming as if he meant to bore two holes through him.
"So you do know how to come back?"
Zhang Yuting's voice was terrifyingly hoarse.
"Why couldn't we reach you?!"
"Where's your radio? What happened to the telephone line? Did the dogs eat them?!"
Facing his father's thunderous fury, Zhang Xueming didn't so much as blink.
"Reporting to Marshal."
"The radio was destroyed by a shell while we were relocating. The Shou Army cut the telephone line. I didn't send anyone to repair it."
Zhang Yuting's temper flared up again in an instant.
"You didn't send anyone to repair it?!"
"Zhang Xueming, you think you've grown wings, do you? You dare disobey military orders!"
Zhang Xueming's mouth curled slightly, and he wore a shamelessly defiant look.
"Dad, look at the situation! Shou Army tanks are about to be right on top of us. Instead of wasting time tracking down every inch to find the broken line, I might as well lead the boys straight into the fight!"
He stepped forward, his voice rising sharply.
"The Eighth Brigade encountered the main force of the Shou Army along the Shanhai Pass line. My unit didn't retreat! We organized a counterattack right there!"
"I led the Tank Battalion as the vanguard, punched through the positions of two Shou Army divisions, and chased them all the way from Shanhai Pass back to Jinmen Station!"
"Shou Army Commander-in-Chief Cao Kun tried to escape in a car, but I drove a tank into it and flipped it over. The old bastard was lucky; he didn't die on the spot. I only gave his knees a burst of gunfire."
"Right now, he's probably curled up in some corner, bawling for his mother!"
Zhang Xueming's voice echoed through the command post.
The whole room fell deathly silent.
Everyone was stunned by what he had said.
The entire front had collapsed, and hundreds of thousands of troops had been beaten into a rout, abandoning their helmets and armor. Yet your one brigade hadn't run. It had counterattacked and even broken the enemy commander-in-chief's legs?
Zhang Yuting stood rooted to the spot, mouth half open. The fury blazing in his eyes faded rapidly, replaced by wild elation and utter disbelief.
He looked at his youngest son, covered in smoke and gunpowder, his face full of defiance. That fearless spirit was practically a spitting image of himself in his youth.
He couldn't hold it in anymore.
Marshal's dignity, military discipline—it could all go to hell.
He rushed forward and wrapped Zhang Xueming in a fierce embrace, not caring that the young man was covered in blood and dirt.
The force of it was so great that Zhang Xueming's bones ached.
"Attaboy..."
"You're a damn fine son of mine!"
Zhang Yuting's voice choked with emotion. This iron-blooded warlord, who had shed blood on the battlefield without ever shedding a tear, now had red-rimmed eyes.
"Hundreds of thousands of troops, beaten to pieces!"
"But you... you and the Third Brigade and Eighth Brigade were the only ones who didn't break! You even fought your way back, you little devil!"
He patted Zhang Xueming hard on the back, as if he needed to make sure what he was seeing wasn't an illusion.
Nearby, Zhang Xueliang watched in silence and lowered his head, fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug deep into his palms.
Every word his father spoke was like a slap across his face, stinging hot.