Chapter Seven: Night of Murder

Yang Xiaolin realized he and Jin Dadao truly had nothing in common. With a bitter smile, he suppressed his rising anger and said, “Let’s go find out why the Russians are taking these women.”

It was easy to get information about this. Yang Xiaolin casually pulled aside a Qing soldier, slipped him some money, and the soldier told him, “The Russians are hosting a victory banquet tonight. They want some women to dance for them—maybe to comfort themselves. But don’t worry, the Russians said they’ll send the women back tomorrow morning. They won’t hurt them.”

Yang Xiaolin glanced at the soldier, who quickly looked away and lowered his head, saying nothing more.

Yang Xiaolin didn’t press further. He pulled Jin Dadao a few steps aside and whispered, “Our chance has come.”

Nightfall crept over the land unnoticed. The Russians had taken the Chinese women to Ganzi Tun, and Shenyang’s city gates were closed. Some townsfolk who hadn’t made it inside in time had no choice but to sleep outdoors tonight.

The weather was already cold, especially at night. Families lacking bedding huddled together for warmth, yet they still shivered uncontrollably.

Inside Ganzi Tun, lights blazed and the Russians’ laughter mingled with women’s screams, echoing without end. Yang Xiaolin and his band of more than two hundred men were already making their final preparations.

Gu Tianming quietly came over. “Leader, is it time to act?”

Yang Xiaolin shook his head. “Not yet. Wait a bit longer—when the banquet’s in full swing, then we move.”

Gu Tianming was anxious. “But if we keep waiting, those women inside will be finished!”

Yang Xiaolin looked at him. This was the first Chinese man he’d met who truly cared about those women. A warm current of camaraderie surged in his heart.

He patted Gu Tianming on the shoulder. “If we go in now, we’ll be finished too! Tell the brothers to be ready, and to keep absolutely quiet.”

Chedebrov’s cheeks were already flushed. The music in the hall reminded him of his daughter back home, a talented pianist who was his pride and joy. Russian women were so different from Chinese women. Each had their own allure.

It was plain to see in the hall: the Russian girls who’d come with the army were so uninhibited, like beautiful roses weaving among the young men, teasing and exciting them. The Chinese women, on the other hand, wept and struggled desperately when the Russians pulled them close.

What was the point in struggling? Did they really think they could resist?

Chedebrov saw that some Chinese women had already been stripped naked. One young girl lay on the banquet table while a Russian man in his thirties moved atop her, cheered on by a ring of soldiers.

Yet tears streamed from the girl’s eyes; her whole body lay limp and motionless on the table, like a doll to be used as they pleased.

Chedebrov smiled, then beckoned Shaldadeyev over. “Shaldadeyev, have you arranged the guards at the door?”

Shaldadeyev seemed unconcerned. “General, do you really think the Chinese would dare attack us now? Their government has lost the nerve.”

Chedebrov nodded. “I know. But I’m worried the menfolk of these Chinese women might come for us. Better safe than sorry.”

Shaldadeyev shrugged. “Don’t worry, General. The Chinese soldiers are watching their men for us. The city gates are shut for the night—no one’s getting out. And I’ve posted three sentries at the entrance.”

Chedebrov had only raised the issue in passing; in truth, he thought there was no danger. It never occurred to him that the men from Gulu Mountain were already at his doorstep.

Inside, the revelry continued. Another man had taken the place of the last atop the Chinese girl on the table. More and more clothes littered the floor. Chedebrov decided to indulge himself a little. As a general, he wouldn’t stoop to such crude public acts as his soldiers did.

He’d already chosen a Chinese woman for himself, waiting in a back room. Chedebrov told Shaldadeyev, “I’m going to my room. Let the men enjoy themselves tonight, but make sure no one kills anyone.”

“What if someone does die?” Shaldadeyev asked.

Chedebrov laughed. “How should I know? Ask the Chinese officials.”

Shaldadeyev roared with laughter.

Just then, a sentry entered. “General, there’s a group of Chinese soldiers at the camp gate. They’ve brought carts and say they’re here to deliver wine.”

“Wine delivery?” Shaldadeyev and Chedebrov were both surprised.

“Yes, General. They said they know we’ve come a long way to China, and that since we’re holding a banquet tonight, the Chinese magistrate sent them to reward us. I’ve tasted their wine—it’s really quite good.”

Shaldadeyev turned to his superior. “General, does any country actually do this? Sending us gifts? It’s unbelievable!”

Chedebrov said, “If it were any other country, I wouldn’t believe it either. But the Qing Dynasty—well. Sentry, let them in and bring the wine to the main hall.”

“Yes, General.”

Shaldadeyev still seemed unable to accept this. “The main hall? Won’t they be angry, seeing what we’re doing to their women?”

Chedebrov didn’t reply, but his expression told Shaldadeyev everything—he intended for the Chinese men to see exactly what the Russians were doing.

The sentries outside opened the gates of Ganzi Tun. Yang Xiaolin bowed and scraped to the guards, then gave Biaozi, who was pushing a cart, a hard kick. “Move!”

Biaozi quickly pushed the cart inside. Yang Xiaolin’s voice hissed after him, “Careful! Stay behind the Russians—don’t wander off.”

Biaozi didn’t look back or answer, just nodded to show he understood.

More than fifty wooden carts rolled in, one after another. Yang Xiaolin and his fellow brothers in uniform stood at the gate. Casually, every three or four men surrounded a Russian guard, already taking control of the entrance.