Chapter Twenty-Two: The Duel

Just as they were about to leave, Zhang Zuolin emerged from the house. Spotting them in the crowd, he called out warmly, “Brothers of the Yang family, please come inside for a moment. There are some matters I’d like to discuss with you.”

Yang Xiaolin glanced at Jin Dadao, and the two stood up. There was no escaping now, so it was best to see what Zhang Zuolin wanted.

“Captain, is there something you need?”

Zhang Zuolin looked at the pair, then spoke with ease, “It’s nothing major. We’re about to set out, but this time I plan to take only half the men into the mountains. Ideally, since you’re new here, you should rest a bit—at least until your brother in Fengtian recovers from his injuries. But my men aren’t up to much, and asking you both to join me now seems a bit unfair.”

Yang Xiaolin interrupted, “Captain, there’s no need to say more. Since we’ve chosen to follow you, our lives are bound with those of our brothers, through thick and thin.”

Zhang Zuolin burst out laughing. “Excellent! I knew I picked the right men. Go prepare yourselves. In a while, I’ll take you to meet someone. Before we head into the mountains, I must deal with this person; otherwise, I won’t feel at ease.”

Yang Xiaolin could only take things one step at a time. After he and Jin Dadao went to prepare, Zhang Zuolin’s expression changed abruptly. The jovial demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold, ruthless gaze that followed the backs of Yang Xiaolin and Jin Dadao.

From within the house came a cough. A man in his forties slowly walked out. His name was Zhao Zhanyuan, Zhang Zuolin’s father-in-law and his early advisor.

“Well, did you spot any issues?” Zhao Zhanyuan asked.

Zhang Zuolin shook his head. “I can’t be sure. The heavier one is an excellent marksman. The other, though he hasn’t shown much yet, commands great respect from the first. There’s something strange about their appearance here.”

“Are they from Gulu Mountain, or did the government arrange them for you?”

Zhang Zuolin’s lips curled in a smile. Still, he gave the same answer, “I can’t be sure.”

Zhao Zhanyuan said no more, turning back into the house. “If you’re uncertain, keep them close. Watch them carefully. If anything seems amiss, send them home when you reach Gulu Mountain.”

Zhang Zuolin nodded. “Rest assured, Father. I know what I’m doing.”

Zhao Zhanyuan’s words were vague, but Zhang Zuolin understood perfectly.

The man Zhang Zuolin intended to meet was the leader of another local militia—a rival bandit group. In this northeastern region, whether they were in the mountains, villages, or towns, everyone was a bandit. The difference lay only in their titles and methods of plunder.

His name was Sha Hai. He and Zhang Zuolin had crossed paths many times. This time, as Yang Xiaolin had surmised, Zhang Zuolin was prepared for a fight to the death with the Gulu Mountain bandits. He could accept dying in the mountains, but not the possibility of returning victorious only to find his territory seized by Sha Hai.

Therefore, before marching out, he had to settle things with Sha Hai.

Sha Hai was formidable; dealing with him was no easy matter. In several encounters, Zhang Zuolin hadn’t gained any advantage. The current situation forced him to resort to the simplest—and most dangerous—method to bring matters with Sha Hai to a conclusion.

“Sha Hai! Get out here!”

Sha Hai’s men, dozens strong, aimed their rifles at Zhang Zuolin, who had brought only a dozen brothers. Jin Dadao was about to raise his gun, but Zhang Zuolin signaled him to hold back.

A head appeared behind the earthen wall. “Zhang Zuolin, what do you want? Looking for another fight? You seem short-handed today.”

Zhang Zuolin spat on the ground. “I’m sick of fighting you! We’ve battled for over a year, lost hundreds of brothers. Watching them bleed makes my heart ache. If you’ve got guts, come out today and settle this once and for all!”

Sha Hai paused atop the wall. “Settle it? Fine. Bow your head a few times right here, and all our past grievances are wiped clean.”

Zhang Zuolin laughed loudly. “Me bow to you? Are you even worthy?”

Sha Hai said nothing, but inwardly he pondered Zhang Zuolin’s intentions. Yang Xiaolin, meanwhile, understood: Zhang Zuolin had come to challenge Sha Hai one-on-one. It was a reckless bravado, but perhaps the best choice available. Sometimes, the courage required for such a feat was beyond most men.

Sure enough, Zhang Zuolin spoke. “Are you too cowardly to even speak face-to-face? Sha Hai, I brought only these dozen brothers. Don’t disappoint me!”

Sha Hai cursed angrily, then came down from the wall with a dozen men, facing Zhang Zuolin. “Say it—what do you want?”

Zhang Zuolin smiled. “I know you want to kill me. Today, I’ll give you the chance. You’ve always boasted of your quick and accurate marksmanship. Let’s settle this with a shootout—do you dare?”

Sha Hai’s lips curled in disdain. “A shootout? Are you tired of living, Zhang Zuolin?”

Zhang Zuolin nodded. “Yes, I’m tired. From where we stand, we each take ten steps back, then fire at the same time. How about it?”

Sha Hai was confident in his marksmanship and asked, “If I win, what then?”

“If you win, my territory and my men are yours.”

“Deal! Zhang Zuolin, you said it! If I lose, the same applies. Bring out the guns for inspection!”

Sha Hai took a rifle from nearby, loaded a single bullet, and tossed it to Zhang Zuolin’s side.

Zhang Zuolin smiled at Jin Dadao. “Yang, help me check the gun.”

This was a familiar practice among the heroes of the northeast. Jin Dadao, well-versed in the procedure, grabbed the rifle, checked the chamber—one bullet only—and nodded to Zhang Zuolin.

Zhang Zuolin tossed his own gun over; Sha Hai’s side inspected it as well. After the inspection, Jin Dadao handed Sha Hai his gun back. All but Zhang Zuolin and Sha Hai stepped aside, leaving a wide open space.

Both men held their rifles. Sha Hai grinned. “Zhang, take your last ten steps well.”

They slowly turned their backs. Zhang Zuolin asked, “Ready?”

Sha Hai replied, “Start counting!”

Their men shouted in unison, “One, two, three, four...”

With each count, the two men took a step forward. Such duels were a traditional way for northeastern heroes to resolve grievances. Both rifle chambers held a single bullet—meaning each had only one chance.

When the count reached ten, they would turn and fire, deciding life or death in that instant. Even if neither died, all grudges would be considered settled with that shot—an unwritten rule.

Yang Xiaolin watched the duel for the first time, torn between curiosity and tension, mixed with a trace of excitement. He wondered, if Zhang Zuolin fell to Sha Hai today, would there ever be a king of the northeast?

As his thoughts raced, the counting continued: “Six, seven, eight, nine!”

The crowd was silent, waiting for fate to unfold.