Chapter Eighteen: Zhang Zuolin

This time, it was clear that the soldiers had been truly provoked. Normally, after seizing Gulu Mountain and having something to report to their superiors, the troops would retreat back to the city. But this time, the soldiers continued to pursue them. Gathering everyone together would only make their group a larger target, which was unsafe and unnecessary; whether they were a hundred strong or just a few dozen, against nearly two thousand soldiers, there was little difference.

“We should split up. I’ll take a team out of the mountains to find a physician!”

Gu Tianming and the others were taken aback, all casting admiring glances at Yang Xiaolin. They knew the authorities were out hunting them—staying in the mountains gave them the advantage of familiar terrain, but venturing out was fraught with danger. Yang Xiaolin’s resolve to risk his life for Liu Xianhe won their deep respect.

Yang Xiaolin said, “I’ll take some brothers to help Xianhe find a doctor. The rest should remain in the mountains and keep the Qing soldiers occupied!”

Jin Dadao spoke with righteous fervor, “Leave it to me!”

Yang Xiaolin smiled at him, “No, you’re coming with me. Gu and Master Kong will take charge here—they know the land and the people, so they’re less likely to be caught.”

Jin Dadao felt a little slighted by Yang Xiaolin’s words, but he understood: he wasn’t as familiar with the terrain as Gu Tianming, and his reputation in the area wasn’t great either. He agreed, “Then I’ll leave with Master Kong. You’re our leader now; you can’t afford any mishap.”

Yang Xiaolin was deeply moved by this. Perhaps their military discipline left much to be desired, but their loyalty ran deep. He cast a grateful look at Jin Dadao, “I must go personally. The authorities surely see me as the chief culprit. If I show myself outside, they’ll withdraw their pursuit.”

The others wanted to protest, but Yang Xiaolin’s determination was unwavering. Among them, only he—Yang the Commander—had any real grasp of tactics; the rest were little more than trigger pullers. If they hoped to lure the troops out of the Changbai Mountains, they needed someone who could seize the right moment—Yang Xiaolin couldn’t trust anyone else with that.

He patted Gu Tianming and Kong Luodi on the shoulders. “It’s decided. The two of you will handle things here. Remember—not to clash head-on with the Qing troops. Lead them in circles. Even if we accomplish nothing outside, once the heavy snow closes the mountain, they’ll surely retreat. I’ll return then.”

Kong Luodi nodded, “Rest assured, Commander. I understand. You’ll face even greater dangers outside—take care.”

Yang Xiaolin grinned, “When I return, we’ll drink from big bowls together.”

Gu Tianming handed the unconscious Liu Xianhe over to Jin Dadao. Just over a hundred men split into two groups: Yang Xiaolin took sixty-some men down the mountain, while Gu Tianming and the others waited to intercept the Qing soldiers, ensuring they wouldn’t pursue Yang Xiaolin’s group.

Governor Zhang had returned to Fengtian City. Zeng Qi had issued him a strict order: within a month, he must wipe out all the bandits on Gulu Mountain and capture Yang Xiaolin alive.

Actually, even without orders, Governor Zhang would give it his all—his own livelihood depended on it. His first act upon returning was to review the battle reports. Zhao Yansun’s report was typical of Qing military bulletins—vague, glossing over the fact that nearly two hundred men had been lost in the initial engagement. It merely informed the Governor that Gulu Mountain had been taken.

It claimed the bandits had fled in panic, that although their leader Yang Xiaolin had escaped capture, the troops were in hot pursuit and would soon annihilate them.

Governor Zhang, a veteran of decades in officialdom, knew the report held little truth. It gave him no confidence whatsoever.

His advisor watched his expression closely, immediately sensing that this trip had not gone well.

“Sir, what’s the word from above?”

The advisor was the Governor’s most trusted confidant—otherwise, he wouldn’t have entrusted him with strategic counsel. Before him, Governor Zhang hid nothing, sighing deeply. “Things are more complicated than we imagined. Those Russians, using the excuse of the Ganzi Tun matter, halted their withdrawal. General Zeng Qi is furious—he’s about ready to lash me with a whip. He’s already drafted a memorial to report the whole affair to the Empress Dowager in Beijing. If we can capture those bandits before her decree arrives, there will be room to maneuver. If not, I may lose my livelihood.”

The advisor’s expression grew grave. His own livelihood depended on the Governor; if the Governor fell, finding another patron would not be easy.

He pondered, then said, “Sir, I fear relying solely on Zhao Yansun won’t suffice to crush the bandits! That fellow is an old fox—he won’t risk his life for you.”

Governor Zhang nodded. “I know, but if I can’t count on him, who else is there?”

The advisor leaned in. “Sir, there are many militia groups around Fengtian. These men are far more useful than those old soldiers. Promise them rewards, and find a capable leader—they’ll outperform Zhao Yansun by a wide margin.”

When fighting the Russians, many Qing units collapsed at the first sign of trouble, fleeing and pillaging villages along the way. Some soldiers even turned to banditry themselves. To protect themselves, many villages organized their young men with rifles. These men were defending their own homes; their weapons weren’t as good as the Qing troops’, but they fought with remarkable bravery.

Governor Zhang knew this well. Hearing his advisor’s suggestion, he found it quite reasonable. “As long as I can keep my official hat and rice bowl, money is no concern. But where do we find such a leader?”

The advisor smiled. “I hear there’s such a man right here in Fengtian. His militia numbers over two hundred, all fierce fighters, and he’s known for his integrity, winning the admiration of both gentry and common folk. If you invite him, success is assured.”

The Governor’s eyes lit up. “What’s his name?”

“Zhang Zuolin.”

“Send for him at once!”

The gates of Fengtian City were now in sight. Yang Xiaolin wore a large, furry hat that covered half his face, his eyes scanning the crowds entering and leaving beneath the gates. The soldiers checked each person carefully. Two notices were posted above the gate—too far to see clearly, but they were surely his own wanted posters.

Jin Dadao followed behind, carrying the severely unconscious Liu Xianhe. “Commander, it doesn’t look good—those two posters must be ours.”

Yang Xiaolin spoke softly. “Let’s get a bit closer before we decide.”

Only the three of them entered the city; the rest of their brothers were left waiting in the woods outside. Jin Dadao was irritated. “How did the authorities get our portraits? I’m sure those women talked—should’ve gotten rid of them from the start!”

Yang Xiaolin replied quietly, “Rid of them? Then what would make us any different from the Russians? Brother Jin, we may be bandits, but we must not commit unspeakable atrocities.”

Jin Dadao grinned, “I was just venting—you know I’m not really that kind of man.”

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