Chapter Three: Who Am I

The magistrate let out a cold laugh. "Liu Yikun, don’t blame me. The imperial court has decreed that any rebels who oppose the foreigners are to be executed as an example to others!"

Had Liu Yikun heeded Master Kong's advice and waited, he would have soon learned that in the regions around Tianjin and Beijing, many righteous men of the Boxers hadn't fallen to foreign artillery, but instead lost their heads to the Qing government. Their heads were sent by Empress Dowager Cixi—the very Old Buddha Liu Yikun wished to serve faithfully—to the foreigners as a token of goodwill for peace negotiations.

Liu Yikun could not believe what the magistrate said. He was fighting for the Qing! He had poured out all his family’s fortune to help the court, even risking his life. Was the court itself now to take his life?

His hands began to tremble, his mind went blank with rage and indignation.

The magistrate glanced around. "There should be another one?"

Zhao Yansun looked uneasy. "I brought both of them here, I’m sure of it…"

Before he could finish, Liu Yikun suddenly sprang forward, charging at the magistrate. At last, he understood—the court truly meant to kill him.

The magistrate panicked. "Fire! Shoot him dead!"

A volley of gunfire rang out. Several bloody holes opened in Liu Yikun’s body, blood streaming out. His limbs gave way—he could charge no further. Yet a smile appeared on his lips. Biaozi, you must have heard the shots by now.

Another Russian entered at the doorway. Liu Yikun recognized him—this man had led a band of Russians in hunting him for half a year. Of Liu Yikun’s five hundred brothers, barely two hundred survived; the Russian’s own force of over a thousand had lost more than half.

The battlefield had yielded no victor, but here and now, the outcome was clear: Liu Yikun had lost.

The magistrate's lofty manner vanished, replaced by a sycophantic, cringing face. "Heh, General Chetibrov, the man you wanted is here—he’s almost dead."

Chetibrov ignored the magistrate, striding proudly to the dying Liu Yikun and kicking his head with his boot. "Cut off his head for me. I’ll take it back to Russia. Leave the corpse—hang it at the city gate for all to see. Also, there are still bandits on Gulu Hill. You must wipe them out. Because of these scoundrels, over four hundred brave Russian soldiers have fallen in the Changbai Mountains. They will pay the price."

"Yes, yes! What are you standing around for? Help the General take the head!"

A few soldiers hurried over. A sharp blade slowly sawed at Liu Yikun’s neck. His legs were still trembling; he was not yet dead as they began to sever his head.

Gulu was a small peak on Changbai Mountain, a treacherous terrain. Without a local hunter to guide you, it was impossible to recognize which peak was which. Most importantly, artillery was useless here.

Liu Yikun had used this terrain to inflict heavy losses on the Russians. Now, with Liu Yikun dead, Golden Broadsword sat on a tree stump, gulping down liquor, his eyes bloodshot and fixed wordlessly on Biaozi, who was covered in blood. His gaze was terrifying.

Beside him, Liu Xianhe, Liu Yikun’s only son, wept. He had just turned eighteen this year. "Uncle Jin, uncles—please, you must avenge my father! My father died unjustly!"

Golden Broadsword said nothing, his eyes turning toward Gu Tianming. Gu Tianming had once been a hunter; had Liu Yikun not saved his life, Golden Broadsword would have killed him ten years ago.

Now, feeling Golden Broadsword’s gaze, Gu Tianming hesitated, his eyes darting away. He was an honest man at heart. He had followed Liu Yikun out of gratitude, to serve the court. But to rebel and kill officials? He did not have the courage.

Golden Broadsword suddenly hurled his bowl to the ground and cursed, "Damn it! You’re all a bunch of gutless fools. Brother Liu should have let me kill this spineless wretch years ago!"

Gu Tianming lowered his head, saying nothing.

Golden Broadsword then looked elsewhere. "Sui Bing, what do you say?"

A group of men in Qing army uniforms exchanged nervous glances. At this moment, confusion clouded every face. They did not know where their future lay. They were unlike Golden Broadsword and his men. As former Qing soldiers, perhaps there was still a way out for them.

Sui Bing cautiously stepped forward. "Uncle Jin, we’ve all been together a long time, and ought to share hardship as one. But our Captain Yang is still unconscious. Without him, we have no leader."

Such evasions fooled no one. Golden Broadsword’s temper flared—he raised his gun and pointed it at Sui Bing’s head. "Before Captain Yang was wounded, he said to follow Brother Liu’s orders. Now Brother Liu is dead—you listen to me!"

The soldiers immediately raised their guns as well, aiming at Golden Broadsword. Golden Broadsword’s own men, the bandits, bristled in turn. The standoff teetered on the edge of bloodshed.

No one would have imagined that, so soon after Liu Yikun’s death, brothers who had risked their lives together would now turn their guns on one another.

Kong Luodi rushed between the two factions, grabbing Golden Broadsword and the soldier. "Uncle Jin! Brother Sui! What are you doing? If you want to fight, shoot me first!"

Golden Broadsword glared at Sui. "Master Kong, can’t you see? Sui doesn’t want to walk the same path as us anymore. Maybe he’s thinking of trading our heads for glory back in Fengtian!"

Sui Bing was furious. "Jin, don’t slander me! If we were afraid of death, we would have run long ago. We’ll avenge Brother Liu, no question. But with Captain Yang still unconscious, apart from him or Brother Liu, you have no right to give orders!"

Golden Broadsword was enraged. "Damn you—I'll blow your head off!"

A chorus of guns being cocked filled the air. Kong Luodi’s shouts went unheard. Just then, a faint voice called from behind, "What are you all doing?"

Kong Luodi turned, overjoyed. "Captain Yang, you’re finally awake!"

Sui Bing and the other soldiers lowered their guns and hurried to gather around, relief on their faces. Even Golden Broadsword’s eyes flashed with a hint of joy.

Yang Xiaolin’s head still ached. He was confused. He remembered going to help Old Master Liu fix the fuse box, but then, it seemed the elevator had broken down. No, he was in the middle of a battle with the Russians—someone had thrown a grenade at Golden Broadsword, and he had tried to kick it away, but it exploded.

Who was Old Master Liu? Who was Golden Broadsword? Everything was a blur. He shook his head sharply, gazing at the familiar yet unfamiliar faces before him. What was happening? Who was he, really—a twenty-first-century beat cop or a petty captain in the Qing army?

His head throbbed. He couldn't make sense of it.