Chapter Twenty-One: Delivered Right to the Door

As the three of them pondered, they had already arrived at Haicheng County. Though called a county, Haicheng scarcely deserved the title; it didn’t even have the basic protection of a city wall. Its proximity to Fengtian had left it scarred by war, and it had suffered several plundering raids by nearby bandits, leaving it in a state of utter ruin.

Zhang Zuolin’s militia was quartered right in his family’s compound, and from the number of horses and men, it was clear his influence had already reached a considerable scale. There were two or three hundred men, nearly every one armed with a modern rifle. Zhang Zuolin, it was said, was now responsible for the safety of more than thirty villages.

In the local parlance of the Northeast, they were in the “insurance” business—emerging to protect villages when danger struck. What set Zhang Zuolin apart from the bandits was that he could collect enough grain and pay from these villages to support his men, sparing them from living purely by robbery, as Yang Xiaolin and Jin Dadao did.

But one should not regard them as noble men. Where did bandits come from? Many were simply these militiamen in disguise. To expand their reach, they often raided other villages, driving the terrified villagers into their arms in search of protection.

At times, they would even loot the very villages under their own protection, stealing a few goods to stoke the people’s sense of insecurity. Then, they would put on a show of chasing the “culprits”—never catching them, of course—but managing to bring back a haul of villagers’ possessions.

Zhang Zuolin’s return sparked jubilation among his followers, all eager to know the outcome of his meeting with the magistrate, for their own futures hinged upon it. His sworn brother Wang Jinhan hurried up to him. “Big Brother, how did it go?”

Zhang Zuolin grinned at him. “How could I refuse such a good opportunity?”

Wang Jinhan was elated at the news. Zhang Zuolin casually shrugged off his fur robe and tossed it to him. “Where’s the Old Master?”

“In the house, waiting for you!” Wang Jinhan replied. “He said this is a momentous day. If we get this right, our brothers will have nothing to worry about for the rest of our lives.”

Zhang Zuolin strode toward the house, but turned to point at Yang Xiaolin and Jin Dadao. “Jinhan, these two are fine fellows I met in Fengtian. From now on, we’ll share the same pot and table—treat them as our own, not as outsiders.”

Wang Jinhan nodded. “Yes, Big Brother, any other instructions?”

Zhang Zuolin paused in thought. Clearly, he already had a plan for how to take on Gudushan, but he didn’t reveal it yet. “Nothing else for now. Once you’ve settled these two, come inside.”

Yang Xiaolin understood that Zhang Zuolin didn’t fully trust him yet, unwilling to discuss confidential matters in his presence. But that didn’t matter—now that he was here, he’d eventually find out. There was no need to rush.

Wang Jinhan exchanged a few brief courtesies with them before heading inside. Yang Xiaolin and Jin Dadao sat on the stone bench in the courtyard. Yang Xiaolin paid no mind to whatever plotting was happening inside regarding their own destruction; instead, as he observed the militiamen, he found them possibly more troublesome than the Qing soldiers.

Because, unlike the Qing, these men possessed something else: resolve.

Qing soldiers went to war to defend the country, but when they felt the nation wasn’t worth defending, they wouldn’t risk their lives. The militiamen, however, fought to better their own lives. That was why the prospect of suppressing the bandits had them so excited.

“We’re in trouble. This is a tough opponent,” Yang Xiaolin said quietly.

Jin Dadao smiled. “No matter how tough, I’m not afraid. We’re like the Monkey King, already inside the Iron Fan Princess’s belly. Whatever tricks they have, we’ll see right through them.”

“Have you heard of Zhang Zuolin?” Yang Xiaolin asked.

Jin Dadao nodded. “Of course. He’s quite a character. Once, he was walking ahead and someone fired at him from behind, shooting his hat right off, and he didn’t even flinch. During the Sino-Japanese war, he was in the army; captured by the Japanese, out of more than a hundred soldiers, he was the only one who didn’t beg for mercy. The Japanese executed all the ones who did, but let him go. He’s a man who fears nothing.”

Yang Xiaolin’s eyes swept the courtyard. “It’s not one fearless man I worry about, but a whole group of them. Zhang Zuolin bought medicine for treating frostbite—maybe because he’s planning to