Chapter Forty-Two: First Encounter with Hideki Tojo

Xiao Fei’s hand, as if guided by some mysterious force, found itself grasping that soft, yielding mound.

The room was eerily quiet—so silent that the fall of a single pin would have sounded loud. Qin Tianxiang, who had been standing outside the door, noticed the prolonged absence of any movement within. Fearing a crisis had occurred, she burst through the door. “Husband, Sister Shishi, are you alright?”

It was this moment that jolted Xiao Fei awake. He quickly grabbed Li Shishi’s clothing and draped it across her chest. “Ah, Tianxiang, I’ll leave Sister Shishi to you. There’s medicine in her trunk—tend to her wounds carefully. I have to go save someone.”

With a glance at Li Shishi, Xiao Fei hurried out of the room. Li Shishi’s cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment; she dared not look at him again, especially in front of Qin Tianxiang, as if she were guilty of some secret misdeed.

Qin Tianxiang, perceptive to the smallest detail, found their expressions odd. Still, rescue was the priority, and she refrained from asking more. Besides, she was deeply concerned for Xiao Fei’s safety—he was heading to a Japanese dojo to demand someone be released, after having already injured several of their men. This would undoubtedly be perilous.

As Qin Tianxiang dressed Li Shishi’s wounds, she quickly deduced that it was Xiao Fei who had tended to her chest—meaning not only had their bodies touched, but there was certainly something ambiguous between them. With a husband as lustful as hers, who knew what he might have done with Li Shishi?

Yet, Qin Tianxiang wasn’t truly angry. She thought to herself: Hmph, you may be older and more beautiful than I am, but respect for seniority must be maintained. Even if my husband takes you as a concubine, I am still the wife, and you, the concubine!

While tending to Li Shishi, Qin Tianxiang discussed strategies for saving Xiao Fei.

Meanwhile, Xiao Fei rushed toward the Hongwu Dojo established by the Japanese in the heart of Jiangning City. Though he didn’t know the girl Li Shishi was so desperate to save—Liu Ruyan—since she was someone Li Shishi wanted to rescue, and since she was an innocent Chinese girl, Xiao Fei would never turn a blind eye.

Xiao Fei had some understanding of the Japanese martial arts schools set up in China. In his previous life, he’d seen many films and TV series set in the Republican era—especially “Huo Yuanjia,” “The Legend of Chen Zhen,” and “The Bund.” He knew these Japanese upstarts claimed to be promoting martial arts and fostering Sino-Japanese cultural exchange, but in truth, they were often engaged in nefarious deeds.

Thinking of this, Xiao Fei’s hatred for these Japanese dojos deepened. Today, he would make sure they paid a price.

But Xiao Fei was not reckless. He knew his own strength well, as well as the fact that the dojo masters were rarely ordinary men. Though he had quickly defeated their disciples, their masters would not be so easily bested. Failure was a small matter; failing to save someone and bringing shame to the Chinese people was a much greater one.

All the way there, Xiao Fei strategized how he could prevail. Fortunately, he possessed the Thunderwing and the invulnerable Golden Silk Armor, so there was little cause for excessive worry.

Soon, he arrived at the busiest pedestrian street in Jiangning. At the left of the intersection stood a sign bearing the bold characters “Hongwu Dojo.” Flanking the entrance were two samurai, each gripping a sword.

Seeing Xiao Fei approach with forceful intent, the two immediately became alert and stepped forward to block him. “Who are you, barging into the Hongwu Dojo? Are you tired of living? Ah—you—”

Before the man could finish, Xiao Fei had already broken his fingers.

Xiao Fei spoke coldly: “Listen up. Today, I have no intention of killing anyone. I just want to rescue the Chinese girl you’ve abducted. If you don’t want to die, go inside and deliver the message. Otherwise, I’ll tear this damn dojo apart!”

“Baka! How dare you spout such arrogance here!” The other samurai, incensed, drew his sword and slashed at Xiao Fei.

Xiao Fei was ready. He bent slightly, dodged the sword, twisted the man’s arm, and with a ruthless yank, there was a sharp crack—the man’s arm was broken, and he would never wield a sword again.

“Ah—who are you?”

“I’ve already said, I don’t want to kill today. If you know what’s good for you, call out your so-called Second Brother!” Xiao Fei shouted in anger.

Seeing the situation, the released samurai hurried inside to report.

In fact, the master of the Hongwu Dojo, Yamamoto Taro, and his chief disciple, Putian Koji, knew nothing of their junior, Tanaki Seichi’s actions. At that moment, Yamamoto Taro was receiving an important military advisor from Japan.

Yamamoto Taro and the military advisor sat on either side of a screen, upon which was painted a large red sun and a long sword.

The military advisor sipped his tea and spoke slowly. “Elder, you are not only a venerated figure in the martial and kendo circles of our great Japanese Empire, but also a founding father of our government. Having lived long in Manchukuo—a land rich and fertile—surely such a succulent morsel should be enjoyed by our glorious empire, wouldn’t you agree?” (Author’s note: Manchukuo was the Japanese term for our great China at that time.)

Yamamoto Taro savored the tea and replied unhurriedly, “Heh, you flatter me too much. A young man like you serving as military advisor is the true honor of our Yamato people. I am old; I fear I can no longer serve the empire.”

The military advisor’s face darkened at these words, though he dared not show anger, for he was in the presence of a senior master of both the martial and political worlds.

“Heh, Elder, now that Germany is tied up on the European front and the world war has erupted in full, Manchukuo has just endured the turmoil of the Xinhai Revolution: the young Qing emperor has abdicated, and Yuan Shikai has usurped the fruits of revolution. In such complex times, it is precisely our duty to serve the empire. Surely you know that the Japanese bloodline is noble and ancient, yet our people remain isolated on an island. We have enough to eat and drink for now, but what about our descendants? There is a Chinese saying: ‘He who does not plan for the ages is not fit to plot for the moment; he who does not plan for the whole is not fit to plot for a part.’ As soldiers of the empire, only by washing our swords—and our souls—in blood can we remain forever undefeated,” the military advisor expounded at length.

“Advisor, you see only the surface, but China is in truth a sleeping lion. Once roused, it will let out a roar that shakes the heavens and unleash unimaginable power. By then, the situation may be beyond our control,” Yamamoto Taro replied.

“Elder, as the saying goes—” The military advisor wished to continue, but Yamamoto Taro interrupted him. “If you wish to discuss kendo or the Chinese tea ceremony, I am at your service. But as for military strategy, let us not speak further; such matters are confidential. You should discuss them with the military council back home.”

“Elder—”

At that moment, Yamamoto Taro’s chief disciple, Putian Koji, entered to report that a young Chinese man had come to challenge them.

Before Yamamoto Taro could respond, the military advisor shot to his feet, his anger palpable. “Outrageous! How dare a Chink come to our great Japanese Empire’s dojo to provoke us? I, Hideki Tojo, will see him torn limb from limb!”

Indeed, this military advisor was none other than Hideki Tojo, who would later serve as supreme commander and chief of staff in the war of aggression against China, the fortieth Prime Minister of Japan, Minister of War, Minister of National Defense, and one of the infamous Class-A war criminals of World War II.