90: Chapter 9 Ripples of History

The 'Great Wall' Project Command Center.

Compared to the storm raging outside due to Dragon Country's press conference,

here, it was as quiet as an isolated island in the deep sea.

The air was filled with the rich scent of caffeine mixed with old paper.

Hundreds of top experts and scholars, like parts on a precision instrument, had been operating here tirelessly for over seventy-two hours.

They had only one mission.

From the vast sea of historical archives, they sought to find even the most insignificant ripple caused by the butterfly Chen Xi had flapped its wings eighty-nine years ago.

The historical research team's office area occupied an entire floor of the Command Center.

White-haired old professors sat alongside vibrant young doctors.

Before them were mountains of archives.

There were captured Japanese Army battle reports, declassified intelligence from various countries, old newspapers from that era, and even personal diaries.

Paper, film, digitized.

Every piece of information was repeatedly compared, verified, and analyzed.

The workload was terrifying.

The atmosphere was suffocating.

Everyone knew what they were looking for.

Proof.

Ironclad proof that all their efforts, and all of Chen Xi's sacrifices, were not merely a self-moving illusion.

Old Long stood silently at the entrance of the history group, hands behind his back.

He didn't go in.

He was afraid of disturbing them.

He was also afraid that the hope in his eyes would put even greater pressure on these scholars who were already pushed to their limits.

Time passed, minute by minute.

"Found it!"

A suppressed, trembling cry broke the dead silence.

A young researcher wearing black-rimmed glasses suddenly stood up from his seat.

His body trembled violently from excessive excitement.

He pointed to a microfiche reader in front of him, his voice distorted.

"Old Qian! Come quickly! I found it!"

Whoosh—

Everyone in the office area instantly focused their gaze on him.

The old professor, referred to as Old Qian, was a doyen in Dragon Country's historiography circles and the head of this historical research team.

He walked over quickly, followed by several core experts who immediately gathered around him.

"What is it? Don't make such a fuss."

Old Qian feigned composure, scolding him, but his slightly trembling hands betrayed his inner tension.

"It's... it's a Foreign Ministry archive just declassified from Sakura Country."

The young researcher pointed at the screen, speaking incoherently.

"It's a telegram stub from their Consulate General in Shanghai back then!"

Old Qian adjusted his reading glasses and leaned closer to the screen.

On the screen was a yellowed, hastily written telegram draft.

The content was a summary of the battle situation of the Sihang Warehouse incident, reporting to superiors.

It was no different from the information they already possessed.

All officialese, glossing over the truth and exaggerating achievements.

A hint of disappointment flashed in Old Qian's eyes.

"Xiao Li, don't rush, speak slowly."

"It's not the main text!"

The young researcher said urgently, "It's the appendix! At the end of this telegram, a low-ranking clerk privately added a note in pencil!"

Old Qian's gaze immediately shifted to the bottom right corner of the screen.

There was indeed a small section of almost illegible pencil handwriting.

Because it was an informal record, it was full of colloquial and emotional expressions.

Old Qian looked at the familiar Japanese text, a mix of Chinese characters and Katakana, and slowly, word by word, read it out.

"September 30th, night, recorded."

His voice was still steady.

"This battle was inconceivable. Hundreds of isolated troops, surrounded, actually crossed the river quietly as if divine soldiers had descended..."

At this point, Old Qian's voice began to tremble uncontrollably.

The old experts behind him also instantly held their breath, staring intently at the text.

"Our army... our army was completely unaware until dawn, only then realizing that the place was empty."

"According to survivors, their method of withdrawal was inconceivable, as if guided by gods, unpredictable by ghosts or spirits."

Old Qian's voice grew softer and softer.

Because he saw, at the end of that text, the small Japanese clerk had written a sentence that made his soul tremble, with a pen stroke mixed with fear and reverence.

"...Over four hundred men under their command, not a single one died, crossing the river completely unharmed. This situation made the Imperial Army, from top to bottom, shudder with fear."

"Perhaps, this is a sign of a change in destiny, a turning point for the nation's fortune..."

After he finished reading.

The entire historical research team was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Dead silence.

A long, terrifying dead silence.

Then.

"Wuwu..."

A suppressed, aged sob rang out.

It was Old Qian.

This old man, who had dedicated his life to studying that humiliating history and had shed countless tears for it.

At this moment, he could no longer control himself.

He took off his glasses and covered his face with his wrinkled hands.

Cloudy, hot tears streamed out from between his fingers.

"We succeeded..."

"We... we really... did it..."

He cried like a child.

The old experts behind him also had red eyes, supporting each other, sobbing uncontrollably.

They had waited too long for this day.

For this phrase "completely unharmed," for this phrase "a turning point for the nation's fortune."

They, and their predecessors, had fought for it their entire lives.

Although the young researchers didn't understand why these old professors were so distraught,

they were also infected by this immense, bittersweet emotion.

The entire office area erupted in tears.

History, at this moment, was no longer cold text.

It had warmth.

It had a voice.

It had the shared heartbeat of a nation, transcending time and space.

Old Long stood at the doorway.

He didn't cry.

He just watched everything quietly, the muscles on his rock-solid, resolute face twitching slightly.

He slowly raised his hand.

And rendered a standard, incredibly solemn military salute.

To these unsung heroes who, with wisdom and perseverance, added the most glorious page to history.

And to his soldier, who, in another time and space, forged all this with flesh and blood.

He turned around.

And walked towards the core area of the Command Center.

His steps were still steady.

But each step felt like he was treading on clouds.

He walked to the main screen.

In a corner of the screen were Chen Xi's stable vital signs data inside the game pod.

He was still sleeping.

But his brows were unfurrowed.

As if he was having a wonderfully sweet dream.

Old Long looked at that young face for a very long time.

He picked up the communicator and connected to the General Staff Department.

His voice returned to its usual calm and authority, but with a hint of subtle tenderness.

"Report."

"The 'Great Wall' Project's phased objective has been achieved."

"We can begin preparing the final briefing for the 'Jinling' mission."