Chapter Five: Three Reasons

Jin Broadsword was not the most even-tempered man, but he was truly loyal. He let Yang Xiaolin sit beside him to observe, even assigning Biaozi to attend to him with tea and water. Yang Xiaolin accepted without protest, grateful for the chance to collect his thoughts.

Everything had happened so suddenly. Though he had passively accepted the situation, deep inside, a trace of resistance and a vague sense of loss left him somewhat disoriented.

Yang Xiaolin had served three years in the military. From his perspective, these men could hardly be called a proper army: no uniforms, no strict discipline. For a force without discipline to survive half a year in combat was nothing short of miraculous. Yang Xiaolin understood that this miracle was the result of Liu Yikun’s personal charisma. But now Liu Yikun was dead. What path lay ahead? Yang Xiaolin hadn’t worked that out yet.

He knew fate had given him this chance to accomplish something significant. But if he had to be sent back in time, why not to the Han or Tang dynasty? Even the Ming would have sufficed. Instead, fate had thrust him into the Qing, a crumbling court beyond redemption.

Had he awoken just a day earlier, he never would have let Liu Yikun go to Fengtian.

All these men were men of courage. China had never lacked for men with backbone; what it lacked were leaders with that same resolve. The Manchu court didn’t even grasp the meaning of the word.

Even if one set aside the issue of the Qing, his current identity was awkward at best: a squad commander in the Qing army! Was he now to help the Qing cause? Yang Xiaolin had always harbored a strong aversion to the Qing, and especially to that old shrew, Empress Dowager Cixi. Wearing that long pigtail was already an ordeal—having to constantly kowtow to others was something a man of the twenty-first century simply could not abide. Was he really to entrust his grand ambitions to a band of bandits? As an upright policeman, it left him deeply dissatisfied.

The hardest choices in life are those where every road is one you’d rather not take.

Yang Xiaolin idly chewed on a leaf that had drifted down from a tree, his eyes watching the laborers as his mind searched for a starting point.

In the end, he confronted a harsh truth: he had no other choice. The memories of Commander Yang told him everything—connections, funds—he possessed none. The lowly commander was the most junior officer in the Qing ranks. Even if he returned, no one would give him the time of day. Worse, the Manchu government might have his head cut off just as they did Liu Yikun.

Besides, the Manchu army was little better than the bandits! At that thought, Yang Xiaolin’s lips curled into a bitter smile. It seemed he would have to shift his thinking from how to be a good police officer to how to become a competent bandit. This change of role was truly hard to accept.

A whole day passed in such torment. By noon the next day, Sui Bing returned.

Sui Bing reported that Fengtian now held over two thousand Qing soldiers and more than five hundred Russians. The Russian troops were no longer in the city; they’d set up camp five miles north of Fengtian, at a place called Ganzi Tun.

Liu Yikun’s severed head hung at the gate of the Russian camp. His body was displayed on the city wall by the magistrate, a warning to the populace. The magistrate had posted a notice to all citizens of the Great Qing: this was the fate of anyone who opposed the foreigners.

The news filled everyone with grief and rage. Liu Xianhe, upon learning his father had been beheaded, wanted to lead the bodyguards to seek immediate revenge. Jin Broadsword supported him, rallying the men to march out. Yang Xiaolin stopped them, insisting they hear Sui Bing out.

Yang Xiaolin asked if Sui Bing had learned anything else. Sui Bing confirmed what Yang Xiaolin had suspected: after killing Liu Yikun, the magistrate immediately sent troops out of the city, ostensibly to suppress the bandits on Gulu Mountain. But after passing Ganzi Tun, the army halted, robbing some returning Qing citizens but not advancing further.

They were simply putting on a show for the Russians—no Qing soldier was fool enough to pursue bandits deep into the forests.

There were perhaps just over a thousand Qing soldiers left in the city, but reinforcements were en route, and other bandits had been conscripted. Their numbers were growing daily.

He’d also heard that while the Russians had returned Fengtian to the Qing, they had no intention of giving back the Liaoxi region, and negotiations were ongoing.

Yang Xiaolin fell silent for a long time. Jin Broadsword grew impatient. “Commander Yang, say something! If you don’t want to avenge Brother Liu, step aside now and no one will blame you. You and your men can go on being soldiers—we’ll stay out of each other’s way!”

Yang Xiaolin shook his head but said nothing. He was pondering something: the fortress the Russians were building in Liaoxi wasn’t for defense against the Qing—it was to guard against the Japanese, who also coveted Northeast China. If this was 1901, when exactly did the Russo-Japanese War break out?

He truly couldn’t recall. All those middle school history lessons had been returned to the teacher, and there was no retrieving them here. He remembered the major battles from his army days, but as for the precise dates—those were lost to him.

Regretting his lack of historical knowledge, he merely shook his head at Jin Broadsword’s words, neither agreeing nor refusing to go.

Jin Broadsword was about to press him again when Kong Luodi intervened. “Brother Jin, let Commander Yang think.”

After some thought, Yang Xiaolin finally spoke. “Fengtian now has two thousand men, a mix of bandits and soldiers unfamiliar with each other. That gives us an opportunity.”

Jin Broadsword grinned. “I knew you weren’t a coward, Brother Yang! If you were, you wouldn’t have taken that bullet for me back then. As long as you’re willing, I’ll follow you!”

Yang Xiaolin smiled, glancing at Jin Broadsword. “You’re wrong—I’m not going to attack Fengtian.”

Jin Broadsword was startled. “What?”

Yang Xiaolin beckoned the leaders over and spoke in a low voice. “No matter how chaotic Fengtian is, we’re too few in number. Even if we took it, the cost would be great. The magistrate’s yamen will be heavily guarded. I don’t want to dash ourselves against that rock. I want to attack Ganzi Tun.”

His words left everyone stunned. They’d fought the Russians before, and apart from some small victories thanks to the terrain, they knew all too well that, whether in individual combat or coordinated action, they were no match for the Russians.

If the Qing was a stone, then Ganzi Tun was a boulder!

Yang Xiaolin straightened. “I have three reasons. First, I want to settle accounts with the Russians—to let Brother Liu’s spirit know we triumphed. Second, I want to reclaim Brother Liu’s head and lay him to rest. Third, if we cause trouble for the Russians, someone else will deal with the magistrate for us.”

Everyone was still reeling from shock. Yang Xiaolin looked at Jin Broadsword, whose expression had changed. “What’s wrong—are you afraid?”

Jin Broadsword snapped back to himself. “Afraid? When have I ever been afraid? We’ve only got one head apiece—let’s do it!”

Kong Luodi and Gu Tianming hesitated. “Commander Yang, if we do this, there’ll be no turning back for us.”