Chapter Six: The Banquet

In truth, there was yet another reason for fighting the Russians that Yang Xiaolin had not voiced. There is an old saying: a policeman who was once a thief is the best at catching thieves, because he understands how a thief thinks when committing a crime. By the same logic, a thief who was once a policeman, if he turns bandit, will be the most troublesome of all, for he knows how to evade capture.

Yang Xiaolin understood clearly that, under the present circumstances, if he did not wish to serve in the Qing army but still hoped to accomplish something significant, there was only one path: to make a name for himself. Once his reputation grew, the surrounding bandits would be more likely to join him. With more men and more guns, the Manchu authorities would not be able to wipe them out so easily.

Surviving with just these two hundred men was impossible. He also had no intention of leading these two hundred men in a life of banditry for the rest of his days.

Yang Xiaolin nodded. “That’s right. We have no other road left to us. Strategist Kong, let me ask you: if we do not go through with this, do you think it will be the Russians or the imperial court who will allow us a way out? Attacking Ganzi Tun is easier than attacking Fengtian, because the Russians are already preparing to withdraw. They must be relaxed; perhaps we’ll find an opportunity.”

Kong Luodi sighed deeply. “Very well! But we must plan thoroughly and always keep a backup plan in case the court comes after us in the future.”

This consequence was understood by all. They had only two hundred men—perhaps the Russians could do nothing to them, being unfamiliar with the terrain. But the Manchu authorities were different; they could easily assemble a force just as familiar with the Changbai Mountains, leaving these two hundred men with nowhere to turn.

Jin Broadsword paid no heed to such worries, his excitement barely contained. “I’ll go have the brothers get ready!”

Gu Tianming quietly moved closer. “Commander Yang, are you truly willing to take this path?”

A light breeze stirred, and Yang Xiaolin wrapped his clothes tighter around himself. “The weather is changing. Winter is harsh, but once it’s past, spring will return.”

The disappointment was plain on Strategist Kong’s face. His greatest dream in life had been to become an official, to bring honor to his ancestors. He had thought that, by following Liu Yikun in service of the court, he would at last be rewarded, yet never imagined he would end up like this.

Still, Kong Luodi knew Yang Xiaolin was right.

“Commander Yang, if we strike at Ganzi Tun, it must be with cunning, not brute force.” At last, he was once more fulfilling his role as strategist.

Perhaps fate had decided to lend Yang Xiaolin a hand, or perhaps the restless spirit of Liu Yikun was watching over them, for, just as Yang Xiaolin had said, the defenses at Ganzi Tun, though outwardly normal, had slackened. The tension that had held the Russians on edge had now eased.

***

Chetbrov was busy preparing the evening’s celebration feast. After tomorrow, his five hundred men would go their separate ways—some would follow him west to build fortresses, others would return to Russia.

A certain emptiness weighed on Chetbrov. To be honest, this recent war had not seemed like a war at all to him. He had expected his opponents to be Qing soldiers, but those queue-wearing fellows had proved utterly disappointing. It was only Liu Yikun’s men who had given him any real trouble. Now that the problem had been resolved, Chetbrov felt a trace of regret. Why had he not captured that man with his own hands?

War always leaves something with both sides: pride, wounds, regret. Now it was over, and he had to accept his regrets, just as the Chinese must accept their wounds. The Tsar’s orders were clear: from now on, the Russians would no longer see the Chinese as their main rivals, but the Japanese.

This time, they had carved off a mighty piece from Qing China. The Japanese wanted the interests of the Liaodong Peninsula, but the Russians had blocked them. The Japanese were displeased; talk of war was already brewing in Japan. The thought made Chetbrov laugh—could those Japanese “radishes” really hope to cross bayonets with his men on the battlefield?

His aide, Shaldatyev, knocked on the door. “General, may I come in?”

Chetbrov snapped out of his reverie. “What is it? Come in and speak.”

“General, the banquet for tonight is ready, but there is a matter that requires your decision. You know, a party is not complete without women. However, we have few camp followers with us—this is a problem.”

“Go to the city and fetch some Chinese women! My dear Shaldatyev, we must see these things as perfectly natural.”

Shaldatyev hesitated. “But General, Chinese women cannot dance.”

Chetbrov replied, “No one expects their little feet to move as quickly as our women’s. As long as they can undress, that is enough. Let the men make do.”

Shaldatyev answered, “Understood, General. That is easily arranged. If they do not know how, I am sure our lads will be happy to teach them.”

When the Russian soldiers received orders to seize enough women from Fengtian City for their evening’s entertainment, they were wild with excitement.

***

Everyone knew the Russians’ reputation; chaos erupted across Fengtian City. The so-called Qing soldiers, who had strutted proudly before the common people earlier, now took up posts under the magistrate’s command to “maintain order.”

But their “maintaining order” was not to prevent the Russians, but to stop any Chinese from resisting them. As the Russian soldiers dragged Chinese women onto their wagons, it was the Qing soldiers’ task to hold back the desperate relatives who tried to save them.

To the magistrate, how many Chinese women were taken was of little consequence; the important thing was that the foreign gentlemen not be harmed. If some hothead injured one of the foreigners, they would be upset. If the foreigners were upset, the Empress Dowager would be upset, and then things would become serious—he might lose his position as magistrate.

Yang Xiaolin and Jin Broadsword arrived in the city just in time to witness this scene.

They had come to scout out the situation once more. The previous reports brought back by Sui Bing were too vague and incomplete, especially regarding Ganzi Tun, which remained almost a blank. Before taking action, they had to know more.

Now, Yang Xiaolin was even more convinced that he had made the right choice. If he returned to the Qing army, he could never silence his conscience enough to stand among those soldiers. His hands were trembling as he watched women being dragged onto wagons, watched the Russians freely abusing them, watched the Qing soldiers in uniform with their guns, standing idly by. Yang Xiaolin felt a powerful urge to strike out then and there.

He had always heard that the Qing were corrupt, but never had he imagined they could be so foul. Jin Broadsword, sensing his agitation, tugged at his sleeve in surprise. “Commander, surely you’ve done this kind of thing yourself before?”

Yang Xiaolin shot him a glare. “Those women are our countrywomen! Do you truly feel nothing?”

Jin Broadsword was utterly candid. “Of course I do! I was just thinking—if, one day, when I’m out robbing, I could have the army protecting me like this, wouldn’t that be grand! Damn it, look how comfortably the Russians are looting!”