On the morning of May 6th, the campus of Northeast University was already bustling with noise. While the youths in Beijing needed secret liaisons to organize, the students in the Northeast's universities had no such restrictions. Young students stood on high places delivering speeches, and some were putting up posters; the campus was already seething with excitement. The boys hurled abuse at Japan, and although the girls also felt indignant, hearing the boys' profanity, some girls couldn't help but frown.

Fortunately, the boys weren't completely tactless. Those with girlfriends hurriedly signaled to the others that there were women present. Even the most reckless young men immediately checked their speech.

When Director-General of Education Zhao Tianlin arrived at the school, the gates of Northeast University were tightly closed, with guards and security personnel standing in a row at the entrance. Although there weren't many of them, the hot-blooded young students still dared not clash with them directly.

Seeing Zhao Tianlin arrive, the President of the university immediately stepped forward anxiously. "Director-General Zhao, the students are clamoring to parade in the streets! We can't talk them down no matter what we try."

"I see you're doing a fine job of it so far," Zhao Tianlin said with a faint smile.

The President was merely playing the victim; he actually knew exactly what he was doing. Seeing that Zhao Tianlin didn't intend to blame him, the President suggested, "Director-General Zhao, I was thinking of organizing the students to march on campus instead—perhaps circling the teaching buildings a few times. What do you think?"

Zhao Tianlin was genuinely amused by such a half-hearted compromise. After chuckling for a moment, he shook his head. "If you let the students march, at least let them walk the perimeter of the school. If you won't let them march, then hold a meeting for them."

The President didn't want the students to run out and parade either, but if he held a meeting, he didn't know what to say to the students. Just saying some patriotic words—every school in the Northeast conducted patriotic education. Repeating those words, even the President himself felt they lacked novelty.

Zhao Tianlin didn't say much. He stepped forward through the sparse interception line formed by guards and security personnel and walked straight into the midst of the students.

"Hello, President Zhao!"

"Hello, Teacher Zhao!"

The students greeted him one after another. Many students in Northeast University were graduates from Siping, and quite a few recognized the elegantly dressed Zhao Tianlin. especially the law students whose classes Zhao Tianlin had substituted for, immediately came forward to greet him.

Chen Xingwang, the monitor of Class 1, Grade 2 of the Law Department, stepped forward and said, "President Zhao, we just want to go out and parade; we absolutely won't cause trouble. Please agree to let us go out and parade to respond to the movement of the whole country to recover Shandong."

Zhao Tianlin didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked over to a table that had been dragged out and vaulted onto it. Nearby students hurriedly steadied the table as he stood firm. Taking a megaphone, he shouted to the crowd, "Students! I am Zhao Tianlin, your instructor from the Law Department. You can march at any time, but right now, you need to first understand exactly what has happened. I am going to the auditorium. Those who want to know the truth, follow me. I will explain everything clearly."

The students only knew the broad strokes of the crisis. Hearing that President Zhao Tianlin was going to explain the inside story, their curiosity immediately overrode their anger. The class monitors began calling out to their peers, "Let's go! Grab a seat in the auditorium first!"

For university students, "grabbing a seat" was a daily necessity. Almost by reflex, nearly half the crowd followed the monitors toward the auditorium. Seeing the momentum, the remaining half naturally followed.

Zhao Tianlin jumped down from the table and patted the student who had helped steady it. "Thank you."

Then he turned to the University President, who had caught up. "Prepare the sound system and the microphones."

The President hadn't expected Zhao Tianlin to sway the students with just a few sentences. Deeply impressed, he hurried his staff to make the preparations.

Twenty minutes later, Zhao Tianlin was on stage, laying out the intricacies of the Paris Peace Conference. He explained exactly why the Beiyang government was demanding that the Chinese delegation sign the agreement that would sign away Shandong's rights.

Although the Northeast was geographically close to Beijing, its psychological distance from the capital was likely greater than that of Shanghai. The students had originally assumed the Beiyang government was simply terrified of the Japanese "devils"—a sentiment of frustration, lamenting that the government was "iron that could not be forged into steel."

After all, in common perception, the imperial court was always seen as having a few villains and a great many muddled fools.

But after hearing Zhao Tianlin's analysis, the students were truly enraged. It turned out the Beiyang leadership wasn't muddled at all; they were all shrewd old foxes. The reason the Beiyang government agreed to sign wasn't out of fear of Japan, but because they had already pocketed a great deal of Japanese money.

The atmosphere in the auditorium grew increasingly volatile. Suddenly, a student leapt up and shouted, "Down with the Beiyang government!"

As if magma had finally found a vent, fierce shouts of "Down with the Beiyang government!" and "Down with Japanese imperialism!" echoed through the hall.

Watching the agitated students, the President finally felt a twinge of unease and looked quickly at Zhao Tianlin. He saw that Zhao was not only unperturbed by the students' intense emotions but, after letting them shout for a time, picked up the loudest microphone in the venue and began leading the slogans himself.

With Zhao Tianlin—the man with the most information and the loudest voice—taking the lead, the students screamed themselves hoarse along with him. The turbulent currents of their disparate emotions were quickly channeled by Director-General Zhao toward the defense of the motherland and the building of a new China.

The President of Northeast University finally breathed a sigh of relief. Based on his experience, at this stage, there was no longer any need to worry about large-scale rioting. Even if a few students did something rash, they would be a tiny minority who could no longer sway the majority.

Seeing Zhao Tianlin resolve the crisis so effortlessly, the President felt both relieved and full of admiration.

The impact of the May Fourth Movement began in Beijing and spread rapidly across China. While the intense activity in the Northeast was quickly brought under government control, the administrations of other provinces lacked that level of authority. Demonstrations, strikes, and school boycotts broke out in industrialized provinces across the country.

The news soon reached Japan. Reports began appearing in newspapers like the *Asahi Shimbun*. As slogans calling for the boycott of Japanese goods appeared en masse across various Chinese cities, the Japanese government was forced to take the matter seriously.

In Japan's Hara Takashi cabinet, Minister of Finance Takahashi Korekiyo met with Ishiwara Kanji for the second time. Ishiwara again went with Professor Taira Toyomori, but this time he remained silent, looking every bit the obedient mid-level officer in the presence of a superior. Takahashi initially discussed the Chinese situation with Taira Toyomori. Seeing Ishiwara Kanji's behavior—composed and imperturbable as an old hound—he felt a flicker of surprise.

When Takahashi had last seen Ishiwara, he had thought the man insightful for understanding counter-cyclical construction—a rare quality in the army. However, at that time, Ishiwara's words had betrayed a clear lack of confidence in the cabinet. Now, the Hara cabinet was actually implementing counter-cyclical construction, resolving social contradictions and building the nation by making concessions to the Japanese public. Seeing Ishiwara remain silent, Takahashi instead wanted to hear his views. "Ishiwara-kun, what do you believe is an appropriate level of military expenditure?"

Ishiwara Kanji thought for a moment and answered decisively, "Your Excellency, military expenditure is determined by military strategic objectives. I do not know which military strategy Your Excellency subscribes to."

Hearing this, Professor Taira Toyomori felt a momentary chill. To dare point out Japan's sharp domestic contradictions so directly required immense courage. Taira was equally curious to see if Takahashi Korekiyo would dare face the question head-on.

Japan was a small nation with few resources. Relying solely on itself, it could not even maintain normal industrial development. Thus, expansionism was the mainstream ideology in Japan; the only debate was whether expansion should be primarily military or if military force should be a secondary tool.

Takahashi Korekiyo was considered a moderate. But just how moderate could he truly be?

Taira Toyomori lowered his head and picked up his teacup, appearing to drink, but he focused all his attention on Takahashi Korekiyo. He waited to see how Japan's preeminent economist would answer.