Chapter Two: Liu Yikun

August of the twenty-seventh year of Guangxu, corresponding to October 1901 in the Western calendar. The city of Fengtian, battered by artillery fire, had finally returned to the embrace of the Qing Dynasty. Three months under Russian occupation had stripped the most prosperous city in the Northeast of its former splendor.

Everywhere, desolation reigned. The autumn wind, tinged with a cool edge, blew the leaves yellow and dry. Corpses still hung from the branches—Chinese all, some soldiers, some civilians, men and women alike.

Passersby paid them no heed. Supporting their family members, they hurried toward Fengtian, desperate to see what had become of their homes—if their houses still stood, if there was still a bed where they might finally sleep in peace.

Two spirited horses galloped up from behind. Their riders were a pair: one in his twenties, with a sly, shifty look, the other over forty, a man whose rugged bearing spoke of fearlessness. Pedestrians scattered to the sides. A woman carrying a child, her feet small and slow to move, barely escaped being trampled by the charging horses.

Her face had turned pale. Instinctively, she twisted her body, ready to shield her child with her own back from the impending collision.

But the elder rider was a master horseman. With a pull on the reins, the horse reared with a piercing whinny and stopped on the spot—mere inches from striking the woman.

The younger rider behind shouted angrily, “Are you blind?”

The woman had yet to recover from her fright. An elderly man nearby hurried to pull her aside, ready to apologize, when the elder rider dismounted in a swift motion, silencing his companion with a glance. He bowed deeply to the woman. “Sister-in-law, are you unharmed?”

She shook her head hastily, retreating another step to the very edge of the roadway. The man smiled. “We are in a great hurry on urgent business. Please forgive us for our recklessness.”

The younger man drew near. “Brother Liu, time is running short. His Excellency the Prefect is still waiting for us. We must hurry.”

The elder nodded, saluted the woman again, and vaulted onto his horse. The two continued on their way, though at a noticeably slower pace, no longer thundering down the road.

Riding side by side, the younger man’s eyes darted. “Brother Liu, what kind of post do you think the court will grant you this time? At the very least, you should be made a company commander.”

Liu gave a bitter smile. “I care little for official rank. We banded together not for wealth or glory, but to do our part for the Qing and drive out the foreigners. Who could have foreseen that we’d lose this war all the same? I mean to ask the court for compensation for the brothers who died in battle, and then return to escorting convoys. I will not set foot in the Northeast again.”

This “Brother Liu” was Liu Yikun, a convoy master from the capital. Last year, when the Empress Dowager declared war on the foreign powers in Beijing, men like Liu, full of patriotic fervor, were stirred to action. The wealthy gave money, the strong gave strength, all determined to expel the foreigners and restore China’s dignity.

Liu Yikun gave not only money and effort—he staked his life. When he heard the Russians were marching into the Northeast, he used his familiarity with the region, having traveled it for years, and his connections among both the lawful and the lawless, to raise a volunteer force, spending his fortune to battle the Russians to the end.

A band of bandits, a group of convoy guards, a handful of hunters, and later a contingent of defeated Qing soldiers joined them. Under Liu Yikun’s leadership, they fought several hard battles against the Russians and held their own.

But as the Qing army collapsed on the main front, Liu was forced to retreat into the Changbai Mountains. They held out nearly half a year, until a few days ago, when word came from the court that the war was over—the Qing had lost.

The prefect summoned Liu to Fengtian, saying the city had been reclaimed and the authorities urgently needed troops to garrison it. The court wanted to absorb his ragtag force. With the Qing’s surrender, all Liu’s hopes were dashed. He was filled with utter despair. Were it not for the need to account for his brothers who had followed him through thick and thin, he would have left it all behind.

He had wanted to bring his men down with him, but the staff adviser, Kong Luodi, counseled against it. Kong was a suspicious and cautious man. He suggested Liu send a messenger to stall for time and wait to see how things unfolded. Yet Liu, weary of it all, longed for a swift end. If his brothers could truly be accepted as regular soldiers and receive the government’s provisions, that would be the best outcome.

As for himself, Liu had no further desires.

The younger man was called Biaozi, a trusted follower of the bandit chief Golden Broadsword. A shrewd fellow, Biaozi had been sent along to ensure the court treated the bandits fairly in the process of absorption.

Regardless of his trust in the court, Biaozi had deep respect for Liu Yikun. Now, hearing Liu declare he would never return to the Northeast, Biaozi’s heart grew heavy. “Brother Liu, can you really leave all the brothers behind?”

Liu shook his head. “This time, I’ve let you all down. I meant to lead you to great deeds, but never imagined it would end like this. Biaozi, I truly cannot understand—our Qing Dynasty had every advantage, and yet we could not win.”

There was bewilderment in Liu’s eyes. He truly could not fathom it. When the Russians assaulted Shengjing, they had barely three thousand men. After a few cannon shots, the tens of thousands of Qing troops all fled. What had become of the Qing?

Biaozi had no answer. Liu shook off his thoughts with a sigh. “If I hadn’t brought you here, your brother would not have died. Perhaps you’d still be drinking and laughing together now.”

Biaozi smiled. “Brother Liu, don’t say that. Ours is a trade where life and death are ruled by fate. No one ever blames another. If we really become regular soldiers, though, I hope you’ll stay on to lead us.”

Liu exhaled deeply. “I no longer have the heart for it. Chief Jin is enough. Come, there are still over two hundred brothers waiting on Gulu Mountain for our news.”

Biaozi looked up—the city walls of Fengtian were now in view. Refugees returning home crowded the road, making it more congested by the minute.

They entered the city gate. The guards, now Qing soldiers instead of Russians, stood beneath the archway, inspecting the bundles of the townsfolk and greedily snatching anything that caught their eye. Liu Yikun could not help but wonder—where had these wolfish Qing soldiers been when the Russians stormed Fengtian?

“Sir, I am Liu Yikun, carrying a personal letter from the prefect. Would you kindly report our arrival?” Liu produced the letter and handed it to the sergeant in charge.

The man’s eyes flashed as he read, then became most deferential. “Ah, so it’s Lord Liu! We’ll be working together from now on. I am Zhao Yansun—consider this our introduction.”

Liu saluted. “You are too kind, Brother.”

Zhao called two soldiers over. “You two, escort Lord Liu and his companion to the barracks. See to it they have tea and refreshments—take good care of them!”

Biaozi could not help but grin, but Liu replied with courtesy, “We wouldn’t trouble you. We can look after ourselves.”

Zhao chuckled. “As you wish. Wait here, gentlemen. I’ll go report to the prefect now.”

Biaozi, genuinely excited, sat in the warm barracks, running his hands over the thick bedding. “Brother Liu, this is fine stuff. It’ll be warm at night under this.”

Liu’s mind was heavy with worry. For some reason, an unease gnawed at him. He forced a smile, responding to Biaozi, but his hand gripped the armrest tightly, a nameless anxiety rising in his chest.

Biaozi glanced around. “Brother Liu, where’s the latrine? I need to go.”

Liu shook his head. “How should I know? Find it yourself, but be quick.”

Biaozi left, trousers in hand. With only Liu left, his anxiety grew worse. He raised a teacup, hoping to steady himself, but had barely set it down when the barracks door was suddenly kicked open. A man in the official robes of the prefect, flanked by a squad of soldiers, surged inside—dozens in all, rifles leveled menacingly at Liu Yikun.

Liu slowly rose to his feet. “Your Excellency the Prefect, what is the meaning of this?”