Chapter 25: Yang the Ghost-Beater's Press Conference

Hearing Mark say he was a friend of Commander Yang, the squad leader did not lower his muzzle, though he refrained from shooting. He glanced at his men and asked in a low voice, "Do you guys think this fellow is a friend of the Commander?"

He had no idea himself, so how could his subordinates know? The bandits were somewhat stunned. After a moment, one of them replied, "Squad leader, why don't we tie them up and notify the Commander? A single question will reveal the truth. If he's lying, it won't be too late to kill him then."

The squad leader found this reasoning sound, considering it the safest course of action.

Mark could not hear their discussion, but he continued nonetheless, "It's true! I've met your Commander before, and I even took his photograph!"

The squad leader lowered his gun, walked up to Mark, and scrutinized the Englishman for a few moments. "Listen to me, foreign devil. If you're lying, confess now, and I'll grant you a swift death. But if the Commander comes back and says he doesn't know you, you'll be in for a miserable end!"

Mark let out a long breath. He had no idea whether Yang Xiaolin still remembered him, and even if he did, they hardly qualified as friends. Yet, he had no other choice now. He slowly lowered his raised hands. "I am not lying. You can tell the leader, Yang—tell him I am a British reporter."

The squad leader nodded and winked at one of his subordinates, who immediately dashed off into the nearby woods. Mark knew this messenger must have gone to find the Ghost-Hitting Yang.

"Tie them all up!"

At the squad leader's command, the dozen or so reporters were securely bound. The ropes were tied extremely tight, and Mark could feel a sharp, aching sensation in his arms, but at least they had survived. Would they survive until the end? Mark had no way of knowing; that depended entirely on the Chinese bandit who held their fate in his hands.

When Yang Xiaolin returned, night had already fallen. Hearing that they were British reporters, he immediately guessed it was the same Englishman who had taken his picture earlier. He sent the bandit back to instruct the squad leader not to kill them, while he himself resumed tearing up the Russian railroad tracks.

Throughout the afternoon, he had ripped up a full kilometer of tracks, smashed the wooden ties, and destroyed the roadbed. Unable to carry the heavy rails away, he simply hauled them as far as he could and hurled them aside. In peacetime, these rails would have made fine material for forging weapons.

Then again, had the Russians not driven him to fury, he would never have bothered with this. Although the railway built by the Russians served to plunder China's resources, from a certain perspective, it was not entirely a bad thing for the Qing Dynasty. Furthermore, tearing up the railway now amounted to doing a favor for the Japanese devils.

Yet he had no alternative. The Russians had attacked, surrounded Gulu Mountain, and left Jin Dadao and his thousands of men in grave peril. Why should Yang Xiaolin care about anything else? Since the Russians refused to let him live in peace, he would tear up their tracks. Tomorrow, he would blow up their highways. He was determined to ensure that not a single ounce of Russian supplies reached Port Arthur!

Yang Xiaolin returned drenched in sweat. After wiping his brow, he finally noticed the reporters bound on the ground and immediately summoned the squad leader. "What is the meaning of this? Didn't you know he's my friend?"

Before Yang could say another word, the squad leader rushed forward to untie the captives. Yang Xiaolin smiled and walked toward Mark. "A British reporter? I still don't know your name."

Mark shook his arms, speaking in a very nervous tone. "Just call me Mark, Leader Yang. We truly had no intention of offending you this time. We were originally on our way to Kaiyuan, and those two Russians insisted we stay for lunch. But then... then..."

He spread his hands and made an expression of helpless innocence.

Yang Xiaolin nodded, pulled over a stool with an amiable gesture, and said, "Sit down, everyone. Please sit. I won't harm you. I give you my word on that."

Under any other circumstances, such cordial hospitality from a bandit leader would have set these foreigners at ease. But the situation was entirely different now: two thousand corpses were still piled outside, their severed heads arranged with chilling neatness. Yet Yang Xiaolin was smiling and chatting with them as if nothing had happened. The greater his composure, the more terrified the white Westerners felt.

Mark was the first to sit down, and Elena quickly pulled up a chair beside him to clutch his arm. The rest of the group sat down one by one.

Yang Xiaolin sighed as he looked over the group, remaining silent for a moment. His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, he reached into his tunic, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, drew one for himself, and tossed the rest onto the table. "Help yourselves if you smoke. Don't be strangers."

He had originally intended to discuss certain matters with these Western journalists, but upon second thought, he realized that even if he spoke, they would not report it. Even if they did, their newspapers would not print it; these foreign devils all shared the same biased views when it came to China. In the end, he said nothing.

"Does anyone here know how to drive? The truck parked outside?"

Mettel raised his hand. "I do."

Yang Xiaolin said, "Very well. Have a bite to eat here tonight. Tomorrow morning, take that truck outside and drive to Kaiyuan."

Yang Xiaolin had never truly intended to harm these people; he treated them with such courtesy purely out of a new-century respect for journalists. What he did not expect was that, despite his intention to remain silent, Mark suppressed his inner impulse and, after a moment of hesitation, leaned forward. "Leader Yang, may I ask you two questions?"

Yang Xiaolin was startled, then asked, "Is this an interview?"

Mark nodded. "If you permit it, we would very much like to know your story. It may not be reportable or publishable, but we want to know the truth."

He spoke with complete honesty. Yang Xiaolin lit his cigarette, took a drag, and said, "Alright, go ahead and ask."

As soon as those words left his mouth, the journalists grew intensely excited. Ghost-Hitting Yang was holding a press conference! This was an opportunity not everyone got to share. Although Yang Xiaolin would frequently hold press conferences a decade later, his very first one truly began in this small restaurant.

The reporters hastily pulled out their notebooks, and Mark spoke first. "I don't know if my questions involve state secrets. If you feel uncomfortable answering, please don't be angry; you may simply refuse us outright."

Yang Xiaolin leaned back, a smile playing on his lips. "Feel free to ask. No matter how sharp your questions are, I won't shoot you."

Mark asked the first question. "Leader Yang, the Russians claim their encirclement was completed five days ago and is as impenetrable as an iron bucket. I want to know how you managed to break out."

The very first topic touched upon military secrets, yet Yang Xiaolin did not conceal anything from them. No matter what these people might write later, it was still far better than remaining completely silent now.

"It happened right when they fired their first shot. Perhaps I was just lucky; I wasn't even at Gulu Mountain at the time, but in Qingyuan. So, while their iron bucket was indeed solid, I simply broke out from the outside before the barrel was ever sealed."

Upon hearing this response, the reporters became even more exhilarated. Yang Xiaolin was clearly no seasoned politician; his answers were direct, completely devoid of the clichéd diplomatic jargon that usually made people's ears ring. Such answers had immense pulling power for headlines and nerves!

They scribbled down every word Yang Xiaolin uttered with frantic speed.

Mettel immediately chimed in, "May I ask, now that you have broken out, what do you plan to do next?"

This was an even greater military secret, and Mettel himself had assumed Yang Xiaolin would refuse to answer. To his astonishment, Yang Xiaolin took another drag of his cigarette and said leisurely, "Tear up the tracks, blow up the highways—I am going to paralyze the north-south transportation lines of the Russians in the Northeast of the Qing Empire!"

The answer was breathtakingly direct! The reporters were momentarily stunned before Yang Xiaolin tapped the table with his finger. "Record that verbatim. Those are my exact words."

Naturally, the reporters recorded his words verbatim. This amounted to Ghost-Hitting Yang issuing a blatant, naked challenge to the Russians. They knew that had Yang Xiaolin phrased it with subtle diplomacy, their editors might have spiked the story; but now, such words were precisely what every newspaper craved.

Encouraged, the group began posing questions they deemed even more newsworthy: What was Yang Xiaolin's perspective on the impending Russo-Japanese War? What was his true stance toward the Qing government? Did he intend to overthrow the Manchu regime? To all these, Yang Xiaolin replied with the same near-reckless directness—mixing truth and falsehood, entirely free of the nuanced, cryptic diplomatic language that required deciphering.

Every reporter realized they had struck gold today! As long as Yang Xiaolin kept his promise and let them go to publish their dispatches, this interview would undoubtedly shock the nervous system of every reader.

Just as they were growing slightly excited, recovering from their initial terror, and fully immersed in the rhythm of the interview, Elena raised her head and looked straight at Yang Xiaolin. "Mr. Yang, don't you think your methods of killing are thoroughly inhumane? I saw the corpses of the elderly and children with my own eyes. In war, they are innocent people. Will you continue to employ such cruel methods?"

She had barely begun speaking when Mark kicked her sharply under the table, but it was already too late.

Yang Xiaolin's expression changed instantly, turning grim and ugly. The bandits in the room all glared at Elena with ferocious, angry eyes, an atmosphere that immediately plunged the reporters back into sheer panic.

They looked at Elena as well, clearly blaming their colleague for asking such a foolish question. Although this bandit leader had promised not to shoot them, how much credibility could a bandit's promise possibly hold?

The entire room fell into a dead silence. Amidst this stillness, Yang Xiaolin suddenly burst into loud laughter. His laughter sounded wild and unbridled, yet carried a hint of desolation. No one dared to utter a sound, and the stillness only made the echoes of that laughter feel all the more unsettling.

After laughing for a full minute, Yang Xiaolin slowly subsided. He stood up, walked slowly behind Elena, and at that moment, the reporters began fearing for her life. Mark tried to stand, but the instant he rose, two bandits pressed the muzzles of their guns against his head.

Yang Xiaolin waved a hand. "Put the guns away. I said I wouldn't kill them."

The muzzles were pulled back from Mark's head. Yang Xiaolin placed both hands on Elena's shoulders, leaned down slowly, and whispered right into her ear, "Don't talk to me about humanity. I am a bandit. I never went to school, and I don't know what humanity is! I only know an eye for an eye, and blood for blood! You ask me if I will continue slaughtering civilians? I can tell you right now: yes!"

Elena's shoulders trembled violently, and she bitterly regretted asking that question. As Yang Xiaolin murmured in her ear, she felt as though the hands resting on her shoulders were radiating a boundless terror, sending a chill that coursed through her entire body and froze her to the bone.

She was completely dazed until Yang Xiaolin took her trembling hand, placed it back on her notebook, and said softly, "Don't be afraid. I said I won't kill you, so I won't. Write down what I just said."