369: Chapter 369 Proud and Spirited

The Xuanbird had been hovering over Washington for the fourth hour.

That six-hundred-meter-long national flag had been illuminated there for twenty-four minutes.

In the Situation Room.

The "coincidence theory" had become the official line.

The press secretary was rushing to the The White House press briefing room, preparing to issue a statement that "an alien civilization is using visual symbols to signal friendliness."

The Secretary of State was on the phone—he was calling the foreign ministers of seven allied nations one by one to align their narratives.

The Secretary of Defense was coordinating with the Department of Defense's public relations team on how to ensure that any "flag" photos leaked from The Pentagon were described in media reports as "suspected alien civilization symbols."

The CIA Director was pressuring major social media platforms, demanding they "optimize content" for search results related to the keyword "Great Xia flag."

Everyone in the Situation Room was busy.

Busy trying to erase the national flag hanging over Washington from the world's collective consciousness.

Just then—

In downtown Washington.

Music began to play.

The first to hear it were the tourists on the National Mall.

The sound seemed to emanate from the air itself.

Throughout downtown Washington—from Capitol Hill to the Lincoln Memorial, from the The White House to the Jefferson Memorial—this sound filled every inch of the air.

The volume was not loud, but it was clear.

It was a melody.

A solemn melody.

An orchestral version.

"Arise—"

"Those who refuse to be slaves—"

"Let our flesh and blood—"

"Build our new Great Wall—"

On the South Lawn of the The White House, the ten-year-old girl did not understand this melody.

But the Asian woman in her sixties beside her understood it.

The old lady was a third-generation Chinese American. She had visited Great Xia twice in her life.

She listened to this melody—

Then she shed tears.

The few Asian tourists next to her also stood at attention.

One, two, ten, twenty—eventually, about three hundred people on the South Lawn stood at attention simultaneously.

Tourists from other countries did not recognize this song.

But amidst this group of people standing at attention, they instinctively fell silent.

On Twitter.

The first post asking: "What is this music?"

Posted at: 3:53:40 PM.

Five seconds later, the first reply appeared.

"This is the Great Xia national anthem."

This tweet reply was retweeted four million times within three minutes.

#Great Xia National Anthem#—Trending third on Twitter.

Then second.

Then first.

Twitter's servers began to lag.

In the Situation Room.

The Secretary of Defense was on the phone and heard the music through the line.

He stopped.

His complexion, flushed from being overwhelmed, slowly turned into a color difficult to describe.

Pale gray.

He hung up the phone.

He walked to the center of the Situation Room.

Others also realized one by one at this moment—music was playing over Washington.

"What is this?" the NORAD commander asked.

He was a military man by background and was not familiar with the national anthems of various countries.

But the Secretary of State understood.

After all, the Secretary of State had visited Great Xia over a dozen times in the past.

He had attended at least three diplomatic ceremonies held in the capital that required the playing of both countries' national anthems.

The Secretary of State did not answer the NORAD commander.

He walked to the corner and poured a glass of water.

The President was the last to realize it.

The President's knowledge of Great Xia came from his campaign advisors—they told him that Great Xia was an "enemy," a "threat," and an "object to be contained."

But he had never spent time trying to understand any cultural symbols of Great Xia.

He did not know what this song was.

He also did not understand the meaning of this melody.

He asked: "What is this music?"

There was silence in the Situation Room for two seconds.

Then it was the Secretary of State—he walked back from the corner, holding the water glass in his hand.

"Mr. President—" the Secretary of State said, "This is the national anthem of the People's Republic of Great Xia."

The President was silent for ten seconds.

He looked at the screen.

That ship was still hovering there on the screen.

That national flag was still illuminated there.

Now, all of Washington was listening to a melody he could not understand.

The President slowly uttered four words.

"...It is still a coincidence."

No one replied.

Everyone just lowered their heads.

The President said it again: "That's right, it must be a coincidence."

His voice was a little louder than before.

But there was something in his voice—

A weakness that even he himself did not believe.

The first song finished.

The air in downtown Washington was quiet for about three seconds.

Then—

The second song started playing.

This time it was military drums.

The rhythm of the military drums appeared first, followed by brass instruments.

Then the lyrics.

"Valiant—"

"Spirited—"

"Crossing the Yalu River—"

The sound of this segment was louder than the first.

It was not because the Xuanbird had turned up the volume—but because this song was written specifically to be heard by thousands of troops and horses.

In the Situation Room.

The moment this song started playing, the expressions of three people changed simultaneously.

The first was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had taught military history at the National Defense University.

His doctoral thesis topic was "Command Errors of the USA Military in the North Korean War."

He had heard this song more than once.

His complexion, the instant this song started, immediately turned from gray to white.

The second was the CIA Director.

The CIA Director had been in charge of East Asia affairs. He knew this song. He knew the lyrics of this song. He knew what this song represented.

The third was the Secretary of Defense.

The Secretary of Defense was not a military man—he had been a lawyer, a businessman, and was finally appointed Secretary of Defense by the President.

But his father was a veteran of the North-South Korean War.

His father was a survivor of the Battle of Chosin Reservoir.

His father, when he was a child—when he was young—had hummed the melody of this song countless times.

Not in a tone of praise.

But in a tone that was forever nailed into memory.

Every time his father hummed this song, he would say the same sentence:

"Son, that was the coldest winter I have ever seen in my life. It was also the first time in my life I knew that there was such a terrifying group of people in this world."

The Secretary of Defense's hands began to shake, even giving the illusion that he couldn't stand steadily.

The President saw it.

"What's wrong?" the President asked the Secretary of Defense, "Your complexion is off."

The Secretary of Defense did not answer.

He held onto the table with his hand, his eyes fixed on the floor.

The President turned to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

"This song—" the President said, "What does it mean?"

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff looked at the President.

Then he looked at the Secretary of Defense.

Then he looked at the screen.

He was silent for a long time.

Finally, he said: "This is the military song from the last century, when Great Xia resisted the USA and aided North Korea."

The air in the Situation Room, at this moment, completely froze.