On April 14, 1919, the Chinese delegation, splendidly attired in formal diplomatic suits, returned to their residence in Paris utterly exhausted.

The delegation was composed of five plenipotentiaries: Lu Zhengxiang, the Foreign Minister and head of the delegation; Gu Weijun (Wellington Koo), the Minister to the United States; Shi Zhaoji (Alfred Sao-ke Sze), the Minister to the United Kingdom; Wei Chenzu, the Minister to Belgium; and Wang Zhengting (C.T. Wang), who had been in the U.S. representing the Southern Military Government.

As they entered the room, the representatives, who had fought so hard to project an image of strength, finally let their fatigue show. As seasoned diplomats, all five felt that events were inexorably sliding in the direction Japan desired. This was not because the Japanese representative, Makino Nobuaki, possessed any extraordinary mastery of international law, but because Japan, as a Great Power, held a vast array of bargaining chips to trade.

Even Wang Zhengting, representing the Southern Military Government, had not expected things to reach such a dire state. Although he had initially intended to watch the proceedings like a hawk to ensure the Beiyang diplomats did not betray the South, that original resolve had long since been eclipsed by the gravity of the situation. He turned urgently to Gu Weijun and asked, "Brother Gu, President Wilson has suddenly changed his mind, but surely there must still be a way to win him back?"

Gu Weijun shook his head helplessly. At this stage, there was no point in concealment. "President Wilson’s primary goal for this trip is not to uphold justice, but to ensure the Great Powers accept his Fourteen Points. Now that Italy has withdrawn, Wilson needs the support of the remaining powers more than ever."

"China will support him!" Wang Zhengting almost shouted.

The other diplomats looked on with bitter expressions. China would indeed support Wilson. But they all knew perfectly well that the purpose of their mission was not to bolster the American president, but to secure China’s interests in Shandong. If the full recovery of Shandong could be achieved, they would have abandoned Wilson without a moment's hesitation.

Similarly, President Wilson was acting in his own self-interest. If sacrificing China’s interests meant the success of the Paris Peace Conference and his League of Nations, he would do so without a second thought.

Finally, Gu Weijun let out a pained sigh. "A weak nation has no diplomacy!"

As the head of the delegation, Foreign Minister Lu Zhengxiang was equally devastated. In his despair, his thoughts suddenly drifted back to He Rui, the Chairman of the Northeast Government. Before Lu had departed Shenyang, that meteoric young leader had told him in a calm, matter-of-fact tone: "At the Paris Peace Conference, the Great Powers will undoubtedly hand over the rights and interests in Shandong to Japan. I presume you understand this as well, Minister Lu?"

Lu Zhengxiang felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow. A devout Christian, he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to flee the secular world and join a monastery—an impulse he had harbored for years. He wished he could simply resign his post and leave it all behind. But the wavering of his heart was brief; he forced himself to endure. If he could not fight until the very end, he would never find peace.

It was not just Lu; the other four diplomats also wore expressions of defiant resentment. Yet, beneath that resentment lay a cold despair. They were professionals, and they understood that at this stage, they were powerless to change the outcome. Wang Zhengting was the first to rise, stumbling out of the room in weariness; the others followed, their faces mirroring his exhaustion.

Gu Weijun lingered behind. He closed the door and whispered, "Minister Lu, General He said the government would eventually pressure us to sign. When that time comes, I will absolutely refuse."

Lu Zhengxiang felt another sharp pang of grief. Three years ago, under the orders of Yuan Shikai, he had signed the *Twenty-One Demands*. After that, he had felt physically and mentally shattered, telling Yuan, "By signing my name, I have signed my own death warrant."

Hearing Gu’s resolve, Lu said coldly, "If they order me to sign, I will refuse as well."

Gu Weijun already knew the situation was hopeless and had come to believe He Rui’s prediction. He had spoken up now only out of fear that Lu might buckle under government pressure. Seeing Lu’s firm stance, Gu nodded and took his leave.

Returning to his own quarters, Gu Weijun took out a fountain pen and scribbled a brief note. He then headed out into the Paris night. The streets were ablaze with lights and activity, having recovered much of their pre-war splendor, but Gu ignored the sights. He walked straight to a hotel two streets away, went to the second floor, and knocked firmly on the door of Room 212. A Chinese face appeared. Gu handed over the note and turned to walk away without a word.

The man at the door watched Gu’s retreating back for a moment before turning back to the group meeting inside the room. As they gathered around the note, a collective sigh filled the air. Though these men cursed the imperialists for their treachery, they did not seem particularly surprised.

As the working group sent to Europe by the Northeast, these comrades held a steadfast belief: He Rui would lead them all to eventually defeat Japan and reclaim every one of China’s rights.

A radio telegram soon carried the news back to Shenyang. With the eight-hour time difference, it was late afternoon in Paris but not yet 8:00 AM in Shenyang. The Northeast Government’s telegraph office received the message, and by 8:20 AM, as He Rui walked into his office, the telegram was already waiting on his desk among his other documents.

He Rui frowned slightly as he read the message. Originally, his interest in the student movements in Beijing had been limited, but now that he had gathered sufficient intelligence, he realized the situation was far more complex than it appeared.

With the news from the Paris Peace Conference now essentially confirmed, He Rui considered writing to Duan Qirui. Regardless of their differences, he did not want to see a major war break out between the Anhui and Zhili cliques; the nation’s strength needed to be preserved as much as possible. Thus, he decided to offer Duan some further counsel.

After writing for a while, He Rui paused. Duan Qirui’s actions were often absurd, though perhaps slightly less so than those of other warlords.

In early 1918, Japan had provided substantial loans to the Beijing government under Duan’s control, assisting in the formation and equipping of the "War Participation Army." These loans were also notoriously used to fund the massive bribery expenses of the Anfu Parliament.

In September of that same year, the Beiyang government had exchanged official documents with Japan regarding further loans. As a condition, they had also exchanged notes regarding the Shandong issue. The primary terms were:

1. Japanese troops along the Jiaoji Railway, except for a unit in Jinan, would be concentrated in Qingdao.

2. Security along the railway would be handled by a patrol team under Japanese command after the withdrawal of Japanese regular troops.

3. The Jiaoji Railway would be jointly operated by China and Japan.

In these exchanges, the Beiyang government had expressed its "glad consent" to Japan’s proposals. Minister to Japan Zhang Zongxiang had personally delivered these notes. Although China had declared war on Germany and was technically a victorious nation, the rights Germany had held in Shandong were not only not recovered but were actually expanded in favor of Japan. This "glad consent" would become Japan’s primary justification for its occupation of Shandong at the Paris Peace Conference.

He Rui was not inherently opposed to international cooperation, but Duan Qirui’s use of these funds for bribery to build his "Anfu Club" struck him as utterly ridiculous. While one couldn't expect much vision from a man of Duan’s level, wouldn't it have been a far more effective use of the funds to build a truly modern army?

With a powerful army in hand, the cost of "persuading" parliamentarians would have been significantly lower. Duan’s insistence on seeking help from afar while ignoring the tools at his disposal was the mark of a truly incompetent leader.

He Rui resumed his writing, finished the letter, and after a quick review, signed it.

On April 19, He Rui’s personal letter was delivered to Duan Qirui. Duan opened it, and as he read, his expression darkened. He slammed the letter onto his desk and barked at his aide, "Bring me the last letter He Rui sent!"

The aide, unsure of how He Rui had offended the Director-General this time, retrieved the letter from its dedicated file. He Rui was now a figure of such significance that his correspondence was carefully archived.

Duan Qirui studied the two letters side by side, and the realization finally hit him. The previous letter, delivered by Lu Zhengxiang, had been somewhat cryptic to him at the time. But combined with this latest missive, He Rui’s meaning became clear. Trembling with rage, Duan stood up and paced back and forth across the hall, his hands clasped behind his back.

The aide scanned the letters and quickly understood the source of Duan’s fury. However, having read the *Northeast Daily* every day for the past year, he had developed a more nuanced perspective. He stepped forward cautiously and advised, "Director-General, I believe the 'grassroots rising' He Rui mentions may not necessarily be intended as a slight against you. His warnings might actually be grounded in truth."

"Truth or lies, what does it matter!" Duan snapped. "If we follow He Rui’s logic, the state funds these students' education, and instead of showing gratitude, they stir up trouble. Am I really supposed to believe He Rui’s claim that the people inciting these students are not the primary cause of the unrest?"

The aide remained silent. He knew that further advice was futile. To him, He Rui’s letters were an analysis of the difference between pre-modern and modern states. A modern state rejects personal dependency; its function is to drive economic development, which in turn leads to a more responsible form of politics.

Duan’s outburst perfectly illustrated exactly what He Rui had warned about: Duan believed that because the students benefited from state services, they owed him a personal debt of loyalty. To Duan, he was the superior and they were the subordinates, obligated to serve him in exchange for his favor.

The aide lowered his head, realizing that any further attempts to counsel Duan were meaningless.

Duan paced for several more minutes before finally suppressing his anger. Unlike what the aide assumed, Duan’s rage was born of fear. Through meticulous planning and political maneuvering, he had finally established a delicate balance between President Xu Shichang, the Parliament, and the various Beiyang factions, allowing the government to function with some stability.

This hard-won stability naturally annoyed many people. Duan suspected that since He Rui clearly harbored ambitions for the presidency, he would be more than happy to see the current order collapse. He Rui’s use of the respectful "Old Chief Duan" in his letters felt more like a subtle probe or a threat.

Duan even wondered if He Rui himself was the architect of the unrest. "Call the Minister of Education!" he ordered.

The Minister of Education was Fu Zengxiang, a former Qing *jinshi* who had held his post for a year and a half. Despite several changes in the presidency and premiership during his tenure, Fu’s position had remained secure.

When Fu arrived, Duan asked him directly, "Minister Fu, tell me: how many students from the Northeast are currently enrolled in the universities here in Beijing?"

Fu was caught off guard, unsure of the motive behind the question. As the Minister of Education, he focused on curriculum and policy; he didn't keep track of the regional origins of every student. "I will have to inquire with the various institutions and report back," he replied.

"I want a full list on my desk immediately!" Duan commanded.

Fu left, both puzzled and unsettled. Duan’s tone suggested he was preparing for a wave of arrests.

Fu sent out the orders to the universities to tally the students from the Northeast—the region "outside the pass." Historically, the Northeast was not known for producing many scholars, while Beijing’s universities drew the best and brightest from across the country. Fu expected the number would be negligible.

When the reports came back, Fu was stunned. The university presidents were men of integrity; they would not provide false data. According to their records, there were only sixteen students from the Northeast currently studying in Beijing’s universities.

Even given the region's history, the number seemed impossibly low. Still unable to fathom Duan’s intent but sensing he was targeting something specific, Fu sent the figure to the Director-General.

By the time the report reached Duan several days later, his initial anger had faded. He looked at the number with confusion; sixteen students could hardly be expected to stir up any significant trouble.

As for He Rui’s true intentions, Duan decided to stop overthinking them. He Rui’s power rested on the twelve divisions of his Northeast New Army, and so far, there had been no reports of troop movements. At least for the next few months, He Rui seemed unlikely to take any military action.

Besides, Duan had more personal matters to attend to. As the saying goes, every family has its own cross to bear; his son’s involvement with his third concubine was a scandal that required his immediate attention.

As for He Rui’s prediction that the failure to recover Shandong would throw the entire country into turmoil... Duan dismissed it as mere grandstanding and decided to let the man say whatever he wished.

On the morning of May 4th, Duan’s aide rushed into his study. "Director-General, the students are marching in the streets!"

Duan was stunned, but surprisingly, he didn't fly into a rage. He pondered for a moment, a cold sneer forming on his lips. "So, He Rui was right after all?"

The aide knew the question was rhetorical. Inwardly, he was awestruck by He Rui’s seemingly prophetic foresight. He recalled the words in the letter: *"...If the Director-General believes that someone is instigating this from the shadows, I fear that may not be the case. The citizens believe that as a victorious nation, China is entitled to the recovery of Shandong. Knowing the negotiations failed and that Japan has seized those rights, their anger is natural. I hope the Director-General can take steps to channel this energy in advance..."*

Since events had unfolded exactly as He Rui predicted, the aide was left wondering: why had He Rui warned Duan in advance? What did he have to gain from it?

He Rui received the news almost immediately. Looking at the brief telegram, he couldn't help but sigh. Did Duan Qirui truly not understand the magnitude of the storm that was brewing?

Duan had achieved his current status and prestige largely because he had made the right choice in the Great War. But his current "anticlimactic" approach—addressing the immediate symptoms while ignoring the underlying causes—proved that he utterly failed to grasp the nature of a modern state.

The diplomatic triumph of being a victorious nation had, in the blink of an eye, become the primary evidence of Duan’s "betrayal of the nation." He had been dealt a winning hand and had managed to squander it entirely.

Now, He Rui only hoped that no one in the Beiyang clique would be foolish enough to openly challenge the Northeast. If such a fool did emerge, He Rui would be forced to launch military action for the sake of his own political reputation—an outcome that ran counter to his original plans.

In He Rui’s strategic vision, the Northeast needed to maintain a very low profile until the time came to finally go to war with Japan.