Chapter Thirty-Eight: One More Fight

Tang Yulin seemed eager to redeem himself. He grabbed his rifle and declared, “Brother Yang, I’ll lead the men and charge again. This time, we’ll break through for sure!” As he prepared to advance, Yang Xiaolin suddenly heard a piercing whistling sound tearing through the air. Alarmed, he lunged forward, knocking Tang Yulin to the ground. An earth-shattering explosion detonated right beside them.

Boom! It was an artillery shell.

Yang Xiaolin shook the dirt from his head and glanced behind him. The bandits, terrified by the blast, had turned pale. He shook his head helplessly. “What are we fighting for now? Retreat! Quick, retreat!”

The bandits immediately turned and fled. Behind them, the silhouettes of Russian soldiers grew ever closer. The Russians opened fire, shooting at those who lagged behind. Erganzi was particularly unlucky—a bullet tore through his calf, sending him tumbling to the ground. The excruciating pain made it impossible for him to stand. Seeing Biaozi sprinting past him, Erganzi reached out desperately. “Biaozi, give me a hand!”

Biaozi paused, reaching to lift Erganzi, but a bullet whizzed by, striking his pinky finger and tearing it off.

Biaozi instinctively withdrew his hand in pain.

Erganzi cried out, “Biaozi!” Biaozi glanced back, but seeing the Russians almost upon them, all thoughts of brotherhood vanished. He turned and fled.

Erganzi lay on the ground, cursing Biaozi’s ancestors, but nothing could make him turn back. While Erganzi beat his chest in frustration, a cold barrel pressed against his head. A Russian soldier looked down at him with disdain.

Like Erganzi, eight bandits in total were captured. The Russians led them into the mine. With no reinforcements outside and Russian troops now arriving, the rioting miners inside lost any hope of success.

In truth, they had nearly succeeded. Yang Xiaolin was close as well. Over two thousand laborers had been freed. Though unarmed, they had wreaked havoc through the Russian mine, smashing nearly all the facilities.

If only Yang Xiaolin could have held out a bit longer; if the Russian reinforcements had arrived just a little later, victory would have been theirs. They were just a step away—perhaps only ten minutes, even five, would have sufficed! But time was not on their side.

Yang Xiaolin owed much to the laborers. Had their revolt not forced the Russians to enter the mine immediately, the bandits would never have escaped so smoothly.

Once the Russian troops entered, hundreds of Russians inside the mine erupted in cheers, welcoming their own army with thunderous applause. The leading Russian officer strode ahead, smiling, receiving accolades as if a returning hero.

Behind him were Erganzi and the other captured bandits, tightly bound, along with several riotous laborers like Qian Yao. Lu Qiang was dead; his corpse dragged along the ground by the Russians, the sharp wooden stick he’d wielded still clutched in his hand, its tip bloodied.

Qian Yao’s expression was calm. He had considered many ways to escape, and this outcome was not unexpected. Russians hurled stones at them, but he didn’t dodge. He glanced at Erganzi and smiled. “Brother, where are you from?”

Erganzi glared at him. “Don’t call me brother. Right now, I’d flay my own brother if I could!”

Perhaps he spoke too loudly, for a rifle butt slammed into him, knocking him flat. A Russian boot pressed down on his head. He saw the Russian officer’s smiling face looking at him.

It was the smile of a victor. Erganzi suddenly grinned back and spat, “I curse your mother!”

The officer’s expression changed instantly. He ground his shoe into Erganzi’s face, quickly leaving half of it bloodied and mangled. Yet Erganzi remained stoic, not uttering a sound.

Only when the officer lifted his foot and two soldiers hauled him up did Erganzi gasp for air, as if venting his pain.

“Tell me, who are you people? Are you from Gaojiatun?” The Russian officer’s Mandarin was accented but fluent.

Erganzi laughed. “Gaojiatun? Never been there. I’m from Gulu Mountain.”

The officer’s face darkened. “You lie! The Qing court is besieging Gulu Mountain. As if I wouldn’t know?”

Erganzi knew his fate was sealed. All he wanted now was a quick end. He laughed heartily, “Open your cow eyes and look carefully—these clothes I’m wearing, I stole them from your Russians at Ganzi Village! I took down four of you there by myself. If you’re not convinced, untie me and let’s settle it one-on-one!”

The officer grabbed his tattered clothing and, upon closer inspection, recognized it as a Russian uniform. His eyes blazed with fury. “Kill him! Use whatever means you can imagine! Don’t let him die too easily!”

The Russian mine owner suddenly ran over. “General, allow me to recommend someone. We have a Chinese here who used to torture condemned prisoners in the jail. I hear he’s skilled in the art of death by a thousand cuts. Would you care to see it?”

Erganzi couldn’t understand their Russian, but his gaze remained defiant, challenging the officer. The Russian officer had heard of this infamous Chinese punishment and was intrigued. At that moment, a melodious female voice rang out: “Sir, I beg you, let me be the one to kill this bandit!”

The officer turned, struck by a sense of awe that made him feel utterly comfortable.

Yang Xiaolin, meanwhile, was far from comfortable. Out of more than three hundred men, over seventy had been lost in battle—a blow that shattered the bandits’ morale. Their spirit was fickle; it soared when things went well, but at the first setback, every problem surfaced.

Most crucial was their habitual mindset—if they couldn’t win, they’d just leave. Many clamored to abandon the place. Yang Xiaolin stood atop a stone, surveying the defeated ranks. He didn’t blame anyone for poor reconnaissance, nor did he single out failures as scapegoats.

Such actions no longer mattered. Yang Xiaolin placed his hand over his chest. “I know everyone is feeling awful right now. So am I. Seventy brothers lost before my eyes—this is my own incompetence.”

Tang Yulin, a decent man, stood and said, “Brother Yang, don’t blame yourself. It’s my fault for not understanding the situation here.”

Yang Xiaolin shook his head. “I don’t want to hear that. All I ask now is that you fight with me once more. I only want to know—are you willing or not?”