Chapter Ten: The Way of Humanity

Yang Xiaolin burst in with his men. The Russians in the hall were utterly powerless to resist. With the bandits now reinforced, their fire grew even fiercer. The table which had provided the Russians with cover was soon blasted to splinters. Driven like rabbits, the Russians scattered in panic across the hall, yet there was nowhere to run.

Eventually, some of the Russians lost all courage. They dropped to their knees and raised their hands in surrender. The battle was over.

The entire fight lasted thirty-two minutes. In just half an hour, more than two hundred irregulars had wiped out five hundred Russian soldiers. Though they had suffered over sixty casualties themselves, Jin the Broadsword deemed the price well worth it—perhaps even something to be proud of.

Yang Xiaolin, too, knew the cost was justified, but he was dissatisfied with the battle. In the training materials of his former unit, a surprise assault that successfully breached the enemy camp should have been resolved within ten minutes—perhaps even five. They had failed to achieve swift victory this time. Over thirty minutes had elapsed, which spoke volumes about the quality of the men around him.

They had struck first, catching the Russians outside off guard, yet had still been forced into a standoff and nearly lost the initiative. Even inside the hall, Jin the Broadsword’s men had allowed the Russians, armed with only a few pistols and shielded by a long table, to hold their ground. Such a thing would have been unthinkable in his previous unit.

But these were worries for another time. For now, he had to think about cleaning up the aftermath.

The women had not left. After fleeing the hall, they had been stopped by Sui Bing, who held firmly to Yang’s orders—no one left without his word. Now brought back into the hall, the women huddled in fear, casting anxious glances at Yang Xiaolin seated in the chair, uncertain of the kind of man he was or what fate awaited them.

Yang spotted a cigar on the floor, picked it up, and lit it, taking a deep drag. Gu Tianming’s pipe was too harsh for his liking, and he hadn’t smoked for days. The sudden rush of nicotine left him feeling almost giddy—comforted, even.

A faint look of contentment played across his face, savoring the pleasure of nicotine. Just then, Kong Luodi burst in from outside, beaming. “Chief Yang, we’ve found a warehouse out back. It’s not just arms—there’s food and liquor, too!”

Yang Xiaolin instantly rose to his feet. “Food?”

Food was a matter of utmost importance. Winter was coming, and their stores on the mountain were far from sufficient. They had no certainty of surviving the cold season.

“How much is there?” he asked.

Kong grinned. “We haven’t had time to check the exact amount, but just a glance tells you—it’ll feed all of us for a year, easy!”

Yang Xiaolin nodded. “Anything else?”

“Four hundred rifles, bullets—too many to count. Several crates of grenades, at least five hundred! Three machine guns, two small cannons. Uniforms, bedding, more stuff we haven’t inventoried yet. There’s also a heap of loot from Fengtian, all jumbled together.”

Yang waved his hand. “No need to count it all. Have everyone move the food first, then the weapons. Make sure those two cannons and three machine guns come with us! Burn the rest—leave nothing behind!”

“Right away!” Kong replied, dashing off.

Only then did Yang Xiaolin turn his attention to the captured Russians. His gaze settled on Shal Dadyeyev, whose uniform marked him out as the leader. Yang walked over. “You’re in charge here?”

Shal Dadyeyev clearly understood Chinese. He rose slowly. “We’ve met before. Once, I almost caught you.”

Yang Xiaolin remembered—he’d been chased over two hills by this very man. He smiled. “Now, it’s you I’ve caught.”

Shal Dadyeyev nodded. “I admit we’ve lost. But I ask you to treat us humanely. After all, we didn’t lose on the battlefield.”

Jin the Broadsword bristled. “Like hell! Was Brother Liu lost on the battlefield, then?”

Shal Dadyeyev ignored him. Yang Xiaolin motioned for Jin to be silent and rose from his chair. “Don’t worry—I’m the most humane man you’ll find. As long as you don’t cause us trouble, once we’ve taken what we need, you’ll come to no harm. We had no choice coming down from the mountains—there’s nothing left to eat or drink. We couldn’t survive the winter otherwise, you understand?”

Shal Dadyeyev nodded almost in spite of himself. He knew supplies on the mountain were truly scarce, yet he couldn’t say why he found himself believing these bandit’s words. But as a defeated man, he had no other choice but to trust Yang Xiaolin.

Suddenly, Sui Bing rushed in. “Chief! Chief, trouble! The Qing soldiers are here!”

Panic flickered through the room. Yang Xiaolin fixed his gaze on Shal Dadyeyev. “Now we’re in a bind. If we can’t get the supplies out, we’ll starve on the mountain. General, you know I don’t want to die. But if someone insists on sending me to my death, I’ll be sure to take a few with me.”

Shal Dadyeyev understood. He hesitated. “I’ll go talk to them, but I can’t promise it’ll work.”

Yang Xiaolin chuckled. “That’s enough for me. I promise you—if the Qing soldiers withdraw and let us take our things, not a hair on your men will be harmed.”

Then he turned sharply. “Sui Bing! Take the Russian general out to deal with the Qing troops. If he can’t get them to leave, shoot him on the spot!”

His tone was loud and starkly different from before, making Shal Dadyeyev shudder.

“Yes, sir!” Sui Bing replied, grabbing Shal Dadyeyev by the collar and dragging him outside. “Move it! You want me to carry you?”

After they left, Jin the Broadsword sidled over. “Brother Yang, are you really going to let these Russians go? I’m telling you, you can’t trust them! Let them go today, and they’ll be back to trouble you tomorrow!”

A sly glint flickered in Yang Xiaolin’s eyes. This was no longer his concern. As the saying goes, a bandit who’s been a policeman is the hardest to deal with—he knew how to turn every situation to his advantage and shift the odds when things went against him.

With this raid on Gan Zi Tun, Yang Xiaolin had essentially cemented his place in the group. Now he needed to mold this ragtag band into something resembling a real force. As the saying goes in the twenty-first century, “Don’t fear a godlike enemy—fear a pig-like ally.”

To Yang Xiaolin, these men were hardly useful at all. They could handle guerrilla skirmishes in the deep forest, dig a few traps, perhaps—but conquer the world, do great things? They couldn’t even handle a small room and a long table.

No matter how he planned his future, the first step was to build a solid base—a place he could defend or attack from as needed.

As for the Russians, Yang Xiaolin truly had no intention of killing them. He felt he had no right to do so—or rather, there were others here with far more authority over their fate than he had.