Chapter 107: I Want to Make the Headlines!

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Zhao Yansun dared not stand his ground. It was he who had deceived Liu Yikun into entering Fengtian City, and it was his men who had severed Liu Yikun’s head. Now that Liu’s son had come demanding vengeance, Zhao hastily shed his official uniform and blended in with the Qing soldiers, sprinting wildly alongside them.

At the crucial moment of the fierce battle at the valley entrance, the Russian forces, already hard-pressed by assaults from two fronts, found themselves pierced through the center by Zhao Yansun and his men. Yet instead of stopping to assist the Qing troops nearby, they charged straight through the Russian ranks with the traditional reckless spirit of Qing soldiers.

This reckless charge didn’t just disrupt the Russians’ once orderly formation; it spread panic like a contagious virus throughout their ranks. After the fifth company joined the fray from behind, the Russians could no longer hold their ground.

A few brave souls tried to reverse the tide, but when most had lost the will to fight, these last defenders were doomed to fall under the bandits’ bayonets. Despite fighting fiercely for half an hour, the Russians’ formation was shattered by the Qing troops’ sudden assault—proof that sometimes one’s own comrades can be a more formidable threat than the enemy. In just a moment, the Russian forces at the valley entrance collapsed.

Yang Xiaolin naturally seized this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Leading his troops, he charged out of the valley in pursuit of the fleeing enemy.

Akberier’s attempt to intercept came too late. The Qing soldiers attacking before the fourth company, seeing the foreigners fleeing in a mad dash, abandoned any notion of heroism. Before the bandits could catch them, they turned and ran, throwing the entire Russian force into chaos.

In the narrow flatlands between a few small hills, a strange scene unfolded: thousands of Qing soldiers and Russians fleeing forward, with over a thousand bandits in pursuit. The situation felt peculiarly eerie.

What frightened Akberier the most was that the fleeing soldiers were heading straight toward the Russian main base atop the hill.

It was no wonder the deserters ran there. People are selfish when fleeing; they run wherever they feel safe. With bandits at their heels and roughly two thousand Russian soldiers stationed at the main base, who had not yet joined the battle, that place seemed safe—and so they all fled there.

But if the bandits broke through the main Russian base, they would surely charge up, and atop that hill were a dozen foreign reporters invited by Commander Lopatin to witness his “performance.” The botched battle had already enraged Lopatin; if his audience lost their lives watching, how could he explain that?

Commander Lopatin panicked. “Quick! Change their direction!”

Akberier smiled bitterly. At this point, if the troops still obeyed orders, would they be in full retreat? Pure Russian soldiers might withdraw as directed, but these ranks included many Qing troops. Only God could make these Qing soldiers obey!

Besides, it was already too late.

As the deserters surged upward, the Russians atop the hill hesitated to fire—among them were both Qing and Russian soldiers.

In that moment of hesitation, the fleeing crowd broke through the Russian defenses, and the bandits surged in behind them! The Russian officers initially tried to resist, but their formation collapsed; the bandits concentrated forces to break the left flank, some soldiers began to flee, and soon they too became deserters.

Mark had followed the Russians downhill, and feeling safe, he turned to look back, hoping to capture a photo of the Russian rout. Though he had already taken many, being so close to the chaos was a rare chance.

But when Mark looked back, he saw Miss Elena had fallen; her foot seemed injured, her expression helpless and terrified. The Russians who had once flaunted their chests to show strength now ran past her, none offering a hand.

Elena tried to stand but failed despite her efforts.

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Mark put down his camera, feeling he should go back. As a brave Englishman, he should not pretend not to see this. He knew what returning meant, so he exhaled deeply.

He ran to Elena’s side and helped her up. “Come, I’ll carry you.”

Elena’s blue eyes looked at Mark. “Thank you!”

Mark said no more. As he prepared to lift her, a cold flash suddenly darted beside him. Having served in the military, Mark reacted swiftly, dodging sideways just as a bandit behind him shouted and lunged with a bayonet.

Mark dared not fight back. Behind them were only bandits; the Qing and Russian soldiers caught were either dead or kneeling with hands raised.

“Hey! I’m a reporter! Reporter! Don’t hurt us!”

He grabbed the barrel of a rifle, shouting loudly. The bandit, unfamiliar with the word “reporter,” just saw a foreigner who must be killed. He tried to wrench the gun from Mark’s grasp but failed, growling in frustration, “Still got spirit?”

At that moment, Biaozi arrived and saw the foreigner holding the rifle. Without hesitation, he raised his gun and fired at Mark!

A hand pushed Biaozi’s rifle upward slightly. Mark instinctively ducked as the bullet whizzed past his ear.

“Don’t kill him; he’s not here to fight.”

Mark glanced at Yang Xiaolin, unaware he was facing the very villain frequently condemned in their newspapers. Yang’s face was bloodied, his clothes tattered and ragged, looking little better than a beggar. His eyes were bloodshot and menacing.

Mark noticed the bandits around no longer pointed guns at him, and Biaozi’s grip weakened. He slowly released the rifle. “I’m a reporter. I’m not involved in the fighting, only here to report the war. Please trust me—I won’t cause you any trouble.”

Yang Xiaolin smiled faintly. He ordered the pursuing troops to halt, then approached Mark, looking him over and then glancing at Elena behind him.

Elena, frightened, hid behind Mark, who quickly explained, “She’s a reporter too, a French reporter!”

Yang nodded. “Good. Since you two reporters are here, help me get a photo. Let me properly appear in the newspapers! And you, miss, your French paper must be interested in me too; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. Take a picture of me and do your best to put me on the front page.”

Mark understood immediately this was Yang Dagui. He dared not hesitate. Eager for firsthand information, he lifted his camera and tapped Elena to prepare. “No problem. Want to freshen up or change clothes?”

Yang Xiaolin waved him off. “No need. Just help me strike a pose. Suibing, bring all the captured Russians up here!”

This time, they had caught more than fifty Russians, many wounded and unable to flee. The chaotic forces below still needed reorganization, so Yang knew he had a few minutes to pose coolly.

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Suibing brought them all up. Without looking, Yang pointed to the edge of the hill. “Move them there, kneeling where the other Russians below can see.”

More than fifty Russians were forced to kneel on the ground. Yang stood among them, straightened his clothes, and told his men, “Step back a bit—no stealing my spotlight!”

Suibing and the others obeyed, stepping back slightly. Yang looked at Mark and Elena. “Ready?”

They nodded, cameras raised. Yang waved his hand. “Action!”

The bandits plunged their bayonets mercilessly into the Russian soldiers’ bodies. A chorus of screams erupted. Mark pressed the shutter, while Elena, terrified, dropped her camera, breaking it.

Yang didn’t blame her. Looking down the hill, he could not see the Russian commander but trusted that he could observe through binoculars. After killing, he lingered a moment, then extended his middle finger toward the largest cluster of troops below.

Mark quickly captured the shot. After posing, Yang said to Mark, “Thanks. Remember to get me on the front page.”

Without delay, Yang ordered, “Brothers, release the Qing soldiers and withdraw!”

Liang Qichao, who had been running with them, sighed suddenly. “Ah, this Yang Dagui knows no measure! He even wants to headline foreign newspapers. Xi, I think you should find a chance to escape first.”

Liang’s words went unanswered by Yang Du. Surprised, Liang looked at him. Yang Du’s eyes were fixed on Yang Xiaolin, seemingly deep in thought.

“Xi, what are you thinking?” Liang asked again.

Yang Du snapped out of it. “Oh, Ren Gong, do you think Yang Dagui is just messing around?”

Liang was puzzled. Yang Du smiled. “Things tend to reverse when they reach extremes. Yang Dagui’s reputation is terrible—so bad no one wants to associate with him. Why? Because he kills foreigners. Why won’t anyone touch him? Because no one believes he can withstand a real foreign crackdown.”

Liang instantly understood. Yang Xiaolin wanted to appear on the front pages of foreign newspapers to show the world he had broken out from the Russian encirclement, fighting through their strongest troops under the Russian commander’s command. He wanted to prove his disdain for foreigners was justified.

If he won this battle, Yang Dagui would no longer be just a bandit leader but a powerful symbol. Those who opposed foreigners and the imperial court would flock to him willingly.