Chapter Thirty-One: Victory Assured

So far, nothing unexpected had occurred, since Big Blade Jin was still in the camp. If anything went wrong, he would have signaled. The only thing Yang Xiaolin was worried about now was the quality of his brothers; if any of them got too nervous once inside and accidentally fired a shot, the surprise attack would devolve into chaos, just like what happened at Ganzi Village—the outcome would be far from perfect.

Fortunately, none of that happened. After more than a hundred men slipped quietly into the camp, everything remained still and silent. At this point, victory was almost assured for Yang Xiaolin; the rest was just a matter of making the process smoother and the result more satisfactory.

Yang Xiaolin gestured silently, and with each wave of his hand, a squad of bandits swiftly slipped toward the silent tents scattered around them.

He led a team further forward, aiming to rush directly into Zhang Zuolin’s tent and capture the man himself—then there would be no suspense at all. But once he caught Zhang Zuolin, would he really keep his word and spare him? Yang Xiaolin hesitated. After all, this man would one day become the King of the Northeast. Letting him live might become a stumbling block for himself.

Even if he let him go, perhaps he should at least subject him to some of the infamous punishments of the old regime, so that Zhang Zuolin would never again have the courage to leave his home. With this thought, Yang Xiaolin felt a guilty desire slowly taking root in his heart.

One more tent, and then Zhang Zuolin’s command tent would be right before him. Yang Xiaolin’s eyes shone with anticipation. But at that very moment, a minor leader got up to relieve himself and, lifting the tent flap, came face-to-face with Yang Xiaolin.

The man’s eyes were still bleary, and he mumbled, “Yang San, what are you doing?”

Yang Xiaolin froze for a moment, then clamped a hand over the man’s mouth and tackled him to the ground, plunging his dagger fiercely into the man’s chest. Just days ago they’d called each other brother, but when it came time to act, Yang Xiaolin showed no hesitation.

What Yang Xiaolin hadn’t expected was that the man had brought his gun to relieve himself. As he was tackled, his finger found the trigger, and as Yang Xiaolin’s blade struck home, the man fired.

Bang!

A sharp gunshot shattered the stillness of the night. Lights immediately flickered on in the nearby tents, and Wang Jinhan strode out, demanding, “What’s going on? Who fired?”

Only then did Yang Xiaolin realize his own military discipline was lacking—leading this infiltration had failed. Annoyed, he raised his gun and fired at Wang Jinhan. “I’m here to capture Zhang Zuolin!”

Wang Jinhan, Zhang Zuolin’s deputy and bodyguard, was no ordinary man. Yang Xiaolin had fired quickly, but Wang Jinhan dodged with astonishing agility, rolling on the ground and springing back up with his gun in hand. He fired twice at Yang Xiaolin and dashed toward Zhang Zuolin’s tent, shouting, “Damn it! I knew you were up to no good!”

His right leg was already faltering, likely hit by a bullet, and he ran with a pronounced limp.

If the first shot could be explained away as an accident, the ensuing gunfire left no doubt. The soldiers inside the tents scrambled from their beds; some, quick to react, reached for the rifles at their sides. But before they could grab their weapons, the bandits—already poised at the entrances—rushed in, making those who tried to arm themselves the primary targets.

With the element of surprise, the soldiers hardly had a chance to fire. The scenes inside the tents were much the same everywhere. The bandits, tense and on edge, shot at anyone they deemed a threat, and no one shouted, “Surrender and you’ll be spared!”—it simply wasn't their habit.

The soldiers didn’t expect mercy either. Even as their comrades fell beside them for reaching for their guns, they believed the only way to save themselves was to get hold of their weapons.

Thus, Yang Xiaolin’s orders to “go easy” became meaningless.

Some soldiers were clever; after seeing their companions shot down, they smashed the dim oil lamps in the tents, plunging everything into darkness. Once, this trick would surely have caused chaos among the bandits, but war is the best training for a soldier. After days of playing cat and mouse with the Qing troops, the bandits had grown far more vigilant and adaptable. When darkness fell, they didn’t panic. To ensure their own safety, they resorted to grenades—dozens thrown into the tents, making a mockery of any restraint.

Yang Xiaolin had no time to worry about such things. He led his men toward Zhang Zuolin’s tent. By now, Zhang Zuolin was already up; unable to muster his troops, he stood at the tent entrance, rallying the few men around him. As they fired back, he shouted, “Brothers! Hold them off! Tang’s men will be here soon! Hold on!”

Yang Xiaolin almost laughed at that and fired in Zhang Zuolin’s direction, calling out, “There’s Zhang Zuolin! Capture him alive!” As soon as he shouted, the surrounding bandits all opened fire in that direction. They saw Zhang Zuolin’s figure stagger and vanish behind a large tree.

“Yang San! I haven’t treated you badly. What the hell did Yang the Ghost offer you? I’ll double it!”

Yang Xiaolin fired again at the tree trunk. “Commander, I must apologize. My real name is Yang Xiaolin—I never told you the truth. Was that unfair?”

Zhang Zuolin froze behind the tree, then cursed, “Yang the Ghost, you dared to sneak around me all these days—you’ve got nerve!”

Yang Xiaolin burst out laughing. “Commander, you should surrender. Don’t you get it? Brother Tang isn’t coming to save you!”

Zhang Zuolin glanced toward Tang Yulin’s camp, but it was deathly quiet. In that moment, he suddenly understood, and a wave of utter despair washed over him.

As more of his soldiers were killed, some bandits freed up to flank Zhang Zuolin’s position. Though his remaining men fought desperately, they were no match for the overwhelming numbers. Watching his brothers fall one by one—many who’d followed him for years—Zhang Zuolin felt as if his heart were being torn apart. Soon, even Wang Jinhan was carelessly knocked down and captured alive by Big Blade Jin.

Hiding behind the tree, Zhang Zuolin saw the bandits closing in from both sides.

“Zhang Zuolin, surrender! I, Yang Xiaolin, am not without honor. Since you’ve treated me well these past days, I’ll spare your life!”

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