Chapter Thirty-Five: Setting Out for the Liao River

The crowd was in high spirits! The first challenge was thus overcome. Yang Xiaolin knew this was merely the beginning; for an ordinary person, making a promise was easy, but fulfilling it was far more difficult. All the more so for these bandits, who had never pondered the concept of morality, who had always roamed the land with unbridled freedom.

To ensure they would uphold discipline in the future, Yang Xiaolin understood it would take more than his own unwavering determination to enforce military order at any cost. He needed to instill hope for the future in these men, to make them believe in the possibility of tomorrow. Only then could he help them break free from the mindset of living for the fleeting pleasures gained by each day’s plunder. Yet Yang Xiaolin could never have anticipated that the most severe trial since his arrival in this era was already lying in wait ahead, in a place that seemed utterly unremarkable.

Their group of over a hundred men, joined by Tang Yulin’s two hundred, set out for the Liao River region with utmost caution. To avoid any sudden encounters with Russian troops, they even adopted a strategy of resting by day and marching by night.

The greatest enemy was not the Russians’ guns and cannons, but the bitter cold, now several degrees below freezing. In previous years, the bandits would already have retreated into the mountains by now, lounging on heated brick beds, sipping stolen wine and idly enjoying the company of women seized in their raids.

They could endure hunger and thirst, and unless absolutely desperate, no one would willingly venture out at this time of year, especially at night.

But this time was different; not only did they have to come out, they had to march under cover of darkness. Yang Xiaolin’s men were better off, at least, with Russian military uniforms taken from Ganzi Tun, which were well-made and far warmer against the biting wind than the cotton jackets worn by Tang Yulin’s men.

After several nights, many of Tang Yulin’s men suffered serious frostbite. Some had entire feet swollen and red with cold. At this moment, the bandits’ camaraderie became a powerful source of encouragement. These men might not understand grand notions of national duty, but they would never hesitate to risk their lives for a brother—not, at least, until they actually faced the Russian army.

After five days of marching, the road grew ever more treacherous, the Russian cordons ever tighter, and now and then they caught sight of scattered Russian outposts. When Yang Xiaolin first heard the distant, muffled boom of artillery, he decided it was time to halt.

At the order to rest, the three-hundred-strong band slumped to the ground in utter exhaustion, sprawled in disorder along the cold, gloomy mountain gully.

Glancing at his brothers who sat gasping behind him, Yang Xiaolin said nothing. He tightened his belt and began climbing up the hill. Tang Yulin and Golden Broadsword followed. Kong Luodi wanted to join them, but halfway up he could go no farther and had to sit and rest.

Yang Xiaolin, still in good shape, reached the summit first. He found a high rock and, standing atop it, gazed ahead. In the distance, he glimpsed occasional flashes of red light. He pointed, “Brother Tang, is that Gao Family Village?”

Tang Yulin was clearly familiar with the terrain. After a moment’s scrutiny, he shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. Gao Family Village should be farther north. That must be Wuyaling, the territory of Old Lu Six and Old Lu Seven.”

North of there, nothing could be seen. Yang Xiaolin nodded. “There’s still fighting there, which means the Russians haven’t yet taken Gao Family Village. We’re not too late.”

Tang Yulin, who knew these hills as well as his own backyard, said, “Old Lu Six comes from a long line of bandits—Wuyaling is like their ancestral home. He’s got over eight hundred men. I hope he can hold out a few more days. Brother Yang, what do we do now? Should we attack from the outside to draw out the Russians, or push deeper in?”

Tang Yulin was clearly anxious. Yang Xiaolin sympathized; with their goal so near, it was harder than ever to wait. But now was not the time to act. He turned to Tang Yulin. “Brother Tang, our men are running out of food. We need supplies first. Do you know any villages nearby with a Russian garrison?”

Tang Yulin thought for a moment. “No Russian villages, but there’s a Russian-owned mine nearby. It has blockhouses, searchlights, and several machine guns.”

Since occupying the Northeast, the Russians had established many mines, manned by forced Chinese labor and some captured Qing soldiers. Security was extremely tight—if there were even a slight lapse, the laborers themselves would tear the place down.

The “searchlights” Tang Yulin mentioned were large spotlights; most mines had several, which, when all turned on, lit the area up as bright as day.

Yang Xiaolin asked, “How far is the mine? What do you know about it?”

Tang Yulin replied, “Head east from here for about a hundred li and you’ll reach it. I’m not clear on the details, but I’ve heard it’s a big place—some Russians live there as well.”

Yang Xiaolin recalled scenes from early nineteenth-century American films; mines like these were typically staffed with thugs and scoundrels who, unable to survive back home, became colonial enforcers. There were many such men, with the aid of local troops, and some fighting ability. To prevent laborers from escaping, security was always tight and blockhouses essential. Striking at such a place would be dangerous.

Even so, Yang Xiaolin didn’t hesitate, for they needed supplies above all. In recent days, to keep up the bandits’ strength and minimize non-combat attrition, Yang Xiaolin had been feeding them four meals a day!

At this time, most Chinese survived on one meal daily; some families might go days without food. Even government troops sent to root out the bandits were rationed only two meals a day. Such relative extravagance meant that the supplies they’d seized from Zhang Zuolin’s men were nearly gone.

If they didn’t strike again, what would they eat or drink? Without food and water, how could they fight?

Yang Xiaolin was not afraid of danger. There was little risk in raiding common folk, but the nearby villages had already been cleaned out by the Russians; only a few elderly and infirm remained, and he couldn’t bring himself to rob them. The mine, though tough, was still less formidable than a Russian military camp, and with over three hundred armed men at his side, he was determined not to let it go.

“Come on, let’s go take a look at that mine. If we get the chance, we’ll wipe it out!”