Chapter Ninety-Five: The Second Counter-Encirclement Campaign

After speaking, he released Yang Du, who had been struggling fiercely, and noticed that Yang Xizi’s entire face had turned pale. It was evident that an extraordinary anger burned within him, yet he was utterly powerless to act.

Yang Xiaolin sneered coldly and strode away with large steps.

Beside him, Liang Qichao sighed softly. “Xizi, this Yang Dagu’s ambitions are no small matter. I wonder if this will bring yet another disaster upon China.”

The wounds left by the Boxer Rebellion had not yet healed, and Yang Xiaolin’s conduct was even more reckless than that of the Boxers. In this era when foreigners instilled deep fear among the Chinese, even Liang Qichao, who once proclaimed “The red sun rising, its path shining bright,” worried that this bandit who dared to provoke foreigners might bring fresh calamity upon the nation.

Yang Du exhaled deeply. “Master Ren, I can speak for myself, but what about you? If you stay here too long, I fear your lifelong reputation will be ruined on these Gulushan Mountains.”

Liang Qichao was uncertain of his own course. In Beijing, he could seek protection from the foreigners, but here? He gave a bitter smile. “Let him be.”

April of 1902—the snow on Changbai Mountain had melted.

The combined Russian and Qing forces, numbering over eighty thousand men, advanced along seven routes toward Gulushan. Zhang Zuolin served as the vanguard commander of the second route, a position he had volunteered for.

After his humiliating retreat from Gulushan last year, Zhang Zuolin heeded Zhao Zhanyuan’s advice and immediately brought Liu Xianhe to his camp in Fengtian—not to harm him, though Zhang had considered it. Zhao urged him to avoid further conflict with Yang Dagu and, if possible, turn hostility into peace.

Zhao Zhanyuan said that to achieve great things, one must not hold grudges. Zhang agreed, having also caught wind of Feng Delin’s growing displeasure and plans to move against him. So, while joining the Qing army for protection, Zhang also sought to cooperate with Yang Xiaolin, hoping together they could eliminate Feng Delin and divide control over Liaoxi. He believed Yang Xiaolin would find this proposal appealing.

Yet, events unfolded far beyond his expectations. Yang Xiaolin brazenly went to Beijing and kidnapped a foreign envoy. Zhao Zhanyuan immediately advised Zhang to abandon cooperation with Yang, declaring Yang Dagu was doomed.

Everyone thought Yang Xiaolin was finished, with no hope of resurgence. Zhang Zuolin felt Zhao was right again. Now, using Yang Xiaolin’s head to dye his own official feather would be most fitting.

He was confident of victory, which is why he requested to lead the vanguard of the second route. What surprised Zhang was that his superior was now a Russian officer, who unhesitatingly approved Zhang’s request and even sent another Russian officer to join Zhang’s forces—nominally to coordinate, but in reality to command him.

After marching just over twenty miles, Zhang was considering crossing another ridge when the Russian ordered him to halt.

“Mr. Vladimir, why stop the troops here?”

Zhang approached the Russian. Standing before him, Zhang, not very tall to begin with, appeared distinctly shorter, as if the Russian sought to emphasize his own height advantage. The Russian stepped closer and sneered, “Are you asking me?”

Was there another Vladimir here? Zhang nodded. “Yes, I believe we should advance swiftly to Gulushan, encircle Yang Dagu before he can react, and then wait for the main force to launch a decisive assault. This will surely secure the first victory.”

Zhang’s tactical plan resembled that of General Akberil, both favoring a swift strike by a small unit. But the Russians had already overruled General Akberil’s plan—why would they listen to a Chinese officer?

The Russian opened his mouth wide and roared at Zhang, “Don’t tell me what to do! Qing pig, your duty is to obey my orders. When I say advance, you advance; when I say halt, you halt! Do you understand? Tell me you understand!”

Zhang felt the Russian’s spittle spraying across his face. After yelling, the Russian offered no explanation—among these Russians, explaining to Qing men was deemed unnecessary. Just then, Wang Jinhan came running up; the Russian had already left. Seeing Zhang’s grim expression, he said angrily, “Big brother, I’ll take care of this guy!”

Zhang shook his head. “No need. Even if you do, it won’t be here. Damn it, these greenhorns are just waiting for Yang Dagu to finish them off! Jinhan, stay alert. When the fight breaks out, find a chance to take him out from behind.”

Wang Jinhan said nothing further, but his expression clearly told Zhang he would carry out the task well.

Zhang did not understand why they halted, but in his mind, once inside Changbai Mountain, they must strike at Gulushan with utmost speed. This pause might lose the element of surprise. Yet it seemed inconsequential—each route had at least seven to eight thousand men; behind him followed a thousand Russian soldiers and another ten thousand Qing troops. Yang Xiaolin appeared to have no option but to seek escape.

The Russians also believed a brief pause was no problem. Confident as Lopatin had boasted before the battle, before the might of their troops and artillery, any trick or resistance from Yang Xiaolin would be futile.

On Gulushan, smoke and flames engulfed the land, set ablaze by Yang Xiaolin himself. His recent policies of winning the people’s hearts had borne fruit; as soon as the enemy entered Changbai, local hunters promptly informed them.

Yang Xiaolin ordered his men to carry ten days’ rations each and burn everything else. In truth, there was little left to burn—since the first encirclement, they had avoided bringing unnecessary supplies up the mountain.

Pounds and dollars had long been hidden in caves, and essential materials were scattered among nearby hunters’ homes. Watching the blazing fire, Kong Luodi’s gaze dimmed with disappointment; this constant running was no solution.

“Commander, when will we return this time?”

Yang Xiaolin’s facial muscles twitched. “I don’t know.”

He truly did not know. Though he spoke confidently about the battle, Yang Xiaolin was no Russian, who could afford to boast because they could endure defeat. But Yang could not—failure meant death.

He knew he had an inherent flaw he could not overcome: ignorance of the enemy’s movements. Only upon contact in battle could he begin to grasp the enemy’s situation.

The absence of intelligence was the challenge he now faced. But no matter how difficult, the enemy had come to his doorstep. This meant he had no choice—the second encirclement, with the enemy sounding the war drums once more. (Sixth update! Please show your support with recommendation votes! Brothers, your strength keeps the updates coming on time!)