Is There Any Evidence?

Fengtian, Marshal's Mansion.

"You worthless bastard!"

Zhang Yuting roared, bringing the fire poker in his hand down on the rosewood desk with a clang. The feather duster in the pencil holder jumped.

He pointed at Zhang Xueming, who stood ramrod straight before him. His chest heaved, and the fat on his face trembled.

"You've got some nerve!"

"Think you're all grown up now?"

"Who told you to stir up trouble in Wafangdian? Huh?!"

"What do you think Japan is? A target dummy for you to practice on?!"

Zhang Yuting paced furiously around the room, waving the fire poker this way and that as he spat.

But even after holding it aloft for a long while, he couldn't bring himself to strike his beloved son.

"Father, calm down first."

Zhang Xueming stood there with little expression, his voice as calm as if he were commenting on the nice weather.

"Have some water. Don't make yourself sick with anger."

"Water? I'm drinking nothing but the northwest wind!"

Zhang Yuting grew even more agitated. He dropped into his armchair, which groaned beneath him.

"Japan's Consul General has nearly blown up my phone!"

"He said by name that our Feng Army's planes bombed their factory and slaughtered their Overseas Chinese!"

"He wants an explanation!"

"What explanation can I give him? Should I hand him your head as one?!"

Zhang Xueming strolled over, poured Zhang Yuting a cup of tea himself, and set it gently by his hand.

"Father, he says they were our planes. Does he have any evidence?"

Zhang Yuting froze.

"What evidence?"

"Photographs, plane wreckage, or... a pilot's body?"

The corner of Zhang Xueming's mouth lifted in the faintest smile.

"Did we paint insignia on our Jian-1s? Carve 'Fengtian Aviation Corps' into them?"

Zhang Yuting's hand stopped halfway to his mouth, his thoughts racing.

That was right.

The planes that boy had developed were silver all over, smooth and bare, without a single marking.

"You mean... deny it to the end?"

"Why should we admit anything?"

Zhang Xueming asked in return.

"They can say whatever they like, and so can we."

"We'll say it was a band of unidentified bandits, or that some warlord down south had it in for them and framed us."

"It's not like anyone hasn't pulled that kind of thing before."

Zhang Xueming gave him a look that said, You know how it is.

"Just keep them going in circles, pass the buck, and drag things out."

Zhang Yuting's anger ebbed away in an instant.

He turned his son's words over in his mind and found them quite reasonable.

"But... what if they lose their temper and attack us outright?"

That was what worried him most.

"They wouldn't dare."

Zhang Xueming's voice brimmed with confidence.

"Father, why do you think I chose this exact moment to act?"

"It's because they have no idea what cards we're holding."

"Even Montgomery and those Western observers were stunned by the Jian-1's capabilities, let alone those Japanese bumpkins still flying biplanes."

"Before they figure out what this new kind of plane can do, before they find a force capable of countering it, they absolutely won't dare act rashly."

"Right now, we're not the ones who are afraid. They are."

Zhang Xueming laid out the situation, each word clear and deliberate.

"The louder they shout, the more uncertain they are inside."

Zhang Yuting fell completely silent.

He lifted his teacup, blew on the steam, and took a slow sip.

The fire in his heart was finally doused by the tea and his son's words.

He raised his eyes and studied Zhang Xueming again, his gaze filled with complicated emotions.

There was relief and pride, along with a trace of something he hadn't even noticed himself... a sense of unfamiliarity.

At some point, this boy had become capable of standing on his own—and even of seeing farther and thinking more deeply than his own father.

"All right."

Zhang Yuting put down his teacup and let out a long breath.

"I'll handle the diplomatic side of things."

"You, get moving."

"Since you've already punched a hole in the sky, you'd better hurry up and build everything we need to patch it!"

"I don't care what it takes. The navy and air force both need to become combat-ready as soon as possible!"

"Understood."

Zhang Xueming nodded.

"I've already handed the navy over to Chen Houpu. The first destroyers' keels will be laid soon."

"Feng Yong is handling the air force. The Jian-1 production line is being calibrated, and pilot training is underway too."

"You can count on me."

As he spoke, he seemed to remember something.

"Father, if there's nothing else, I'll be going. I have something to take care of."

Zhang Yuting waved him away impatiently.

"Get out, get out. You're giving me a headache just looking at you."

Zhang Xueming smiled and turned to leave the Gongshu Building.

Evening.

An elegant residence in the southern part of the provincial capital.

Hazy steam filled the bathroom. Bare-chested, Zhang Xueming leaned comfortably against the side of a large ceramic bathtub, eyes closed as he rested.

A screen painted with a portrait of a beautiful woman neatly separated the inner and outer rooms.

Behind the screen, a graceful figure sat holding a newspaper, its pages rustling softly.

"Today's Shengjing Times still has an editorial on the front page accusing the government down south of selling out the nation."