Chapter 78: Collaboration

He smiled faintly. Though Nirel was a little dark in complexion and a rough-looking man, he was by no means stupid. “Of course it matters. Only by catching those men can I get out of here alive, and only then might I have any hope of taking you out with me.”

The words left Nirel utterly stunned. After a moment, his expression suddenly turned ferocious. He lunged at Yang Xiaolin and slammed him to the ground, his thick arm clamping tight around Yang Xiaolin’s throat.

“Tell me—did you kill them? Answer me!”

Yang Xiaolin could not withstand the sudden violence of that black ape-like brute. His breath was instantly cut off. He knew he had to speak, or Nirel, in his rage, would truly kill him.

“No one will... believe you... If you want to live... you have... to work with me...”

By the time he finished, his face had turned a dark purple. Nirel loosened his grip slightly, though his gaze remained vicious, as if he were still wrestling with some decision. Just then another black man stepped up beside them and gave Nirel a light pat.

“Old fellow, the monkey’s right. The French have taken our guns already. They clearly don’t trust us. We’ve got no other way. If we don’t figure something out, we’re all going to die.”

Nirel slowly removed his hand. Yang Xiaolin erupted into violent coughing. Nirel looked at him, and after quite some time his expression finally returned to normal.

“Who exactly are you?”

Yang Xiaolin still refused to say. “That isn’t important. What matters is whether you’re willing to cooperate. If you are, I have men under me who can get you out. I believe that once you have weapons in hand, those Indians and Frenchmen won’t be your match at all. We can all survive.”

Nirel gave a slight shake of his head. “At the very least, you should tell us what you intend to do.”

Yang Xiaolin reached up and rubbed his throat. Even now he still felt as though it had been crushed shut. “Kidnap them. Kidnap those ministers.”

Nirel stared at him. “Have you gone mad? If we do that, no one will ever hire my men again!”

Another black man pulled the agitated Nirel back. “Hey, Nirel, I think this is a good idea. Think about it—the French may kill us any moment!”

He had spoken in French, which Yang Xiaolin could not understand. Nirel answered in the same language. “Rek, the French only want to kill me. After they kill me, you can still be mercenaries. You can still live.”

Rek chuckled. “Come on, Nirel, those white men don’t mind killing a few more blacks. And haven’t you had enough of this life? I’ll tell you straight—I’ve had enough. I want to work with this Chinese man now. There are hundreds of whites here, more than a dozen ministers. If he succeeds, there’ll be a huge sum of money. We’ll split it with them. I have no desire to keep being a soldier! I’ll take the money and live the life I want, even if I can only enjoy it for a few years, that’s enough.”

Mercenaries are, in truth, just another band of robbers. Nirel looked around and saw that the other black men were as fervent as Rek. On one side lay the chance of being killed by the French; on the other, the possibility of living the life one truly wanted. Anyone could see at once which choice made sense.

Nirel finally nodded and looked back at Yang Xiaolin. “All right. Our condition is this: whatever money we get, we split it equally.”

Yang Xiaolin smiled. “No. We split by people, not by money.”

Nirel frowned, uncertain. “What does that mean?”

Yang Xiaolin lifted a shoulder. “Those ministers are mine. All the merchants are yours. How much money we can squeeze out depends on each of our own abilities.”

Nirel conferred with the others for a moment, then finally held out his hand to Yang Xiaolin. “Deal.”

Miss Domrikshava’s piano skill was exceptionally fine. When she finished her piece, the reception burst into warm applause. She acknowledged the room on all sides, then stepped down from the stage and walked straight to the table where the ministers were seated.

Normally a minor employee like her would not have had the right to sit at that table, but because she was beautiful, no one objected when the Russian minister brought her in.

Minister Sherli quickly rose to meet her. “Wonderful! That piece was simply marvelous, Miss Domrikshava. Thank you for letting me hear such a familiar melody again in this foreign land. I know it is a little sudden, but may I ask you to dance with me?”

Domrikshava wore a sweet smile. “It would be my great pleasure, Minister.”

Applause rose again through the reception hall, but Japanese Minister Kosai Uchida looked down his nose at Sherli’s graceful steps. The Japanese could dance too; it was only that once abroad, they could never find suitable partners. Uchida stood only five feet one, and every one of the tall foreign women in the hall towered over him.

So he devoted all his attention to the food. His transfer orders were nearly due. The war with the Chinese could be said to have reached its end, and the Empire of Japan, if it wished to keep drawing the nourishment it needed from the decayed Qing state, now had to deal with the blocking bear from the north.

Uchida’s chopsticks reached toward a piece of chicken leg, nearly touching their target, when a knife and fork suddenly extended from the side and deftly took the drumstick away. He turned his head. Russian Minister Yevresal smiled at him sweetly.

“Very good. If the Chinese were as skilled at fighting as they are at cooking, I’m sure we wouldn’t all be sitting here today.”

Uchida set down his chopsticks and smiled. “Actually, the Chinese are very formidable in war as well.”

Yevresal laughed aloud. “The Chinese, formidable? That is the first I’ve heard of it. Uchida, if you want to make excuses for your Eastern people, you needn’t resort to such a pretext.”

Uchida smiled. “China has five thousand years of history. In those five thousand years they have passed through countless wars; no nation has more experience in war than they do. I would like to ask Minister Jasli how you managed to survive the crisis during the fifty-five days your legation was under siege?”

When the Boxers and Qing troops had once surrounded the legations, there had been only a little over four hundred foreigners in the entire Legation Quarter, with no weapons, no food, and not even terrain they could use to hold out. That they endured fifty-five days was nothing short of a miracle—but it was a miracle created by the Chinese.

The Spanish minister shrugged. “Those Chinese were truly strange. Some of their soldiers would come right up to us, but instead of firing, they would sell us the guns in their hands, take some money, and run off. Whatever supplies we needed, we would tell them, and the next time they charged, they would bring them to us.”

Uchida said, “Minister Yevresal, you heard him. That is why we were able to win this war. In eighteen sixty, the British Empire attacked Tanggu without bringing any supplies. Where did their provisions come from? They were sold to them by the ordinary Chinese people along the coast.”

Yevresal put down the piece of chicken leg. “So by that logic, the Chinese helped us defeat the Chinese?”

Uchida nodded. “In a sense, one might say so. If all the Chinese common people truly meant to fight us, then we would certainly have paid a very heavy price.”

Yevresal burst into laughter, and everyone in the room heard him. “Uchida, how much of a price do you think those fellows with the long braids could make us pay?”

As he spoke, his eyes rested on several other Chinese men in the room. This banquet also included Chinese guests, though naturally they were the sort who were on good terms with the foreigners.

Uchida coughed once, then answered in a louder voice than Yevresal’s. “For example, a price like the one your country paid in western Liaoning!”

(Just returned from the demonstration, and at last I understand why the demonstrations in Changsha and Shandong were so passionate. It seems that if one is not passionate, it becomes rather dull indeed, leaving a faint sense of loss, as though something remains unexpressed. Heh heh, please vote for me!)