Chapter Forty-Seven: Distributing Grain (Please stumble upon, please add to your collection!)

Through Domlikshava’s account, Akberil finally pieced together the entire sequence of events: those bandits were now lying in ambush outside, waiting for the Russian troops. They had utterly annihilated the six hundred Russian soldiers, who by then had been dead drunk, and then marched the officer to the mine, forcing open the gates.

To his mind, these bandits had simply been astoundingly fortunate! The Russians had made so many blunders—first and foremost, they should never have drunk so much. Not that drinking itself was the root of all evil, but they hadn’t even sent out a single scout on their return to camp.

Yet even that wasn’t the greatest failing: when the fighting broke out, neither the mine nor the rear encampment sent any support to the embattled Russian force! So many mistakes accumulated together, and the Chinese bandits pulled off a miracle that should have been impossible!

General Akberil instantly realized that these bandits would not stop there; they were sure to have further plans. Such was the nature of bandits: after a successful score, they always went after an even bigger prize!

“Send telegrams to all garrisons! From this moment, Yang the Demon-Slayer is to be regarded as our principal enemy, as important as Feng Delin! No, more important than Feng Delin! Spare no cost—surround and wipe him out. Under no circumstances can he be allowed to escape back to Wheel Mountain!”

The secretary hurriedly answered, “Yes, sir!”

Akberil waved his hand, and the adjutant, understanding his intent, quickly spread out a military map before him. The general bent over it, scrutinizing it with grave concentration. “Where will they strike next? God, help the poor citizens of Russia! If I fail to flush out these bandits, disaster will befall us once again!”

It seemed God truly heard the Russian general’s fervent prayer, for just as Akberil was pondering how to pursue Yang Xiaolin, Russian soldiers outside suddenly brought in a Chinese hunter. “General, this man claims he witnessed those bandits entering and leaving the mine last night.”

Akberil’s head shot up, excitement shining in his eyes. “Oh? Is that true?”

A Russian translator grabbed the hunter by the collar. “The general wants to know—did you really see them? I warn you, if you dare deceive our general, Russian soldiers will show you no mercy!”

The hunter nodded and bowed repeatedly. “I wouldn’t dare, I wouldn’t dare! I really saw them! I heard gunshots all night long yesterday. At dawn, I got up hoping to find a good rifle, and just then I saw that group heading north! That way!”

The hunter pointed north. Akberil glanced at the map, and at once his face blanched.

Because just over a hundred kilometers due north lay another Russian supply base—Sixty-four Hamlet.

After running for more than a dozen hours, Yang Xiaolin came upon a tiny hamlet. To call it a hamlet was generous—amidst the crumbling ruins, a few thatched huts teetered, barely able to keep out wind or rain. As Yang Xiaolin and his men passed, only a handful of frail, elderly folk emerged, gazing at them with a mix of fear and helplessness.

Yang Xiaolin said nothing, merely signaled for his troops to halt. At last, one old man spoke up. “Who are you people? There’s nothing left here. The Russians took all the food a few days ago. You’d best be on your way!”

As he spoke, he clung to the doorframe, clearly prepared to slam the door shut if this band of men approached—though the battered door itself looked unlikely to close, even if left untouched.

A small head poked out from behind the old man. Yang Xiaolin saw a little child, naked save for his darkened skin, peering out with guileless eyes, full of innocence. The old man, suddenly terrified, hurriedly pressed the child’s head down, as if hiding a priceless treasure behind him for fear it would be discovered.

Yang Xiaolin reached out to Sui Bing. “Steamed buns!”

Sui Bing swiftly took out a bag of buns, along with a piece of beef, and handed them to Yang Xiaolin. Yang strode to the old man, thrust the entire bag of buns into his hands, and took off the Russian officer’s leather coat he wore. “Feed the child. Keep this coat—alter it, and make the boy some trousers.”

With that, Yang turned and called out, “Brothers, listen up! Each company, set aside twenty catties of grain for the villagers. Leave any extra cloth too! And we’ll rest here for a day. Each company, detail thirty men to help the villagers repair their houses. If not, they’ll freeze to death this winter!”

For a moment, no one spoke. But soon, the bandits began following Yang Xiaolin’s orders.

Clutching the bag of steamed buns, the old man’s tears suddenly welled up—these were lifesavers! And beef—the child had never even seen such a thing before! The little one pointed at the meat, “Grandpa, what’s that?”

The old man still hesitated, but mustered his courage to take two steps toward Yang Xiaolin. “Who… who are you people, really?”

Yang Xiaolin hesitated for a moment. “Old sir, my name is Yang Xiaolin—”

He hadn’t finished when the old man’s expression changed at once. “You’re Yang the Demon-Slayer, aren’t you?”

Yang Xiaolin hadn’t expected his reputation to have spread so far, that even an old man in this remote mountain hollow would recognize his nickname. He scratched his head, a bit embarrassed. “Don’t be afraid, old sir. These things were taken from the Russians’ mine. Share it out with everyone—eat some, save some, and see if you can make it through the winter.”

A smile broke over the old man’s face. “Ah! Master Yang, I know you only kill foreign devils! You’ve saved every soul left in our hamlet! Let me kowtow—let me thank you properly!”

While speaking, the old man began to kneel, calling out to the others, “Folk, these are the heroes from Wheel Mountain—they’ve brought food for us! Hurry, thank them!”

Dozens of villagers immediately dropped to their knees, and Yang Xiaolin and his men rushed forward to help them up.

When Yang Xiaolin first ordered the food divided, some among them had been puzzled. But now, when the aged villagers unexpectedly knelt before them, a powerful emotion welled up, nearly overwhelming them—especially those newly recruited laborers, who thought of their own families, their mothers and fathers.

Without waiting for Yang Xiaolin’s signal, everyone stepped forward to lift the old folk up. Amid endless words of gratitude, they seemed to grasp something indistinct yet profound—though no words could quite express it.