Chapter Forty-Eight: The Gathering of Grievances

The old man welcomed Yang Xiaolin into the house. The room was well lit, not because of clever design, but because holes riddled the walls, the largest being on the rear wall, which had collapsed by a quarter.

He pressed Yang Xiaolin and Jin Dadao and the others down onto the only piece of furniture—a kang made from planks and packed earth—then shuffled over to the water jar to ladle water. “Rest, brave men. Let me make you some tea.”

Yang Xiaolin hurried to stop him. “No need to trouble yourself, elder. A sip of cold water is enough.”

But the old man was stubborn. “How could I give you cold water? If it were before, I’d have set up a few tables of wine in the village to welcome such heroes. But now it’s impossible!”

His words carried a deep, desolate sorrow. Yang Xiaolin didn’t press him further, watching as the old man fetched a bundle of firewood and stuffed it under the stove.

When all was ready, Yang Xiaolin pulled him to sit. “Elder, where are the men of your village?”

The old man sighed. “Our place is called Ma Family Village. Two years ago, we had three or four thousand souls, with seven or eight hundred strong young men! Then came the war. We thought it had nothing to do with us. Whoever sits on the throne, we still need to till the earth, right? Besides, we never caused trouble for anyone.”

Yang Xiaolin stayed silent. The old man’s gaze grew mournful. “It was last autumn, I suppose. The Russians came, said nothing, and in an instant killed half the village. As for the men, it was no matter—a head stretched out, and it was over in a blink. But the women suffered terribly!”

He stroked the head of the child beside him. “Egg’s mother was taken by the Russians…”

He could not finish, choking back sobs as he wiped his tears. “Enough, it’s all past. Speaking of it only brings sorrow to you good men.”

Yang Xiaolin hurried to say, “No, uncle, speak. Let out what weighs on your heart—it will ease you.”

The old man’s lips quivered violently, his emotions beyond control, tears streaming down his face. “I truly thought the worst was over once they’d killed. So when the villagers asked to leave, I didn’t agree! If we’d gone then, at least some would have survived! But the day after the killings, they returned and took all the women. Days later, they told us to claim them, but all we brought home were corpses!”

The old man broke into wailing sobs. Jin Dadao sprang up, struck the earthen wall with his fist, and Yang Xiaolin felt the whole house tremble. “Where are your menfolk then? Where the devil have they gone?”

The old man shuddered in terror. Yang Xiaolin knew the men must have been cowed by fear, but their fate was surely worse than death, for not one able-bodied man remained in the village.

He patted the old man’s shoulder, assuring him not to be afraid. “Elder, I have a request—could you tell our brothers what happened in your village?”

He intended to hold a grievance meeting.

As a youth of the twenty-first century, Yang Xiaolin was always averse to this sort of thing, believing that reopening old wounds, no matter the reason, was cruel. Yet seeing Jin Dadao’s reaction, he realized that while the method was harsh, it was highly effective. It would quickly help his comrades understand why they must take up arms. It was more important now for them to know why to fight than to be taught how.

Meanwhile, General Akberil was ready to march and suppress Yang Xiaolin. All the bodies in the mine had been cremated, and he carefully identified each one, placing their ashes in boxes.

The secretary approached Akberil. “General, the photographs are prepared. Shall we contact the journalists now, or wait until after our victory?”

Akberil’s face remained solemn; he had not smiled since yesterday. He glanced back at Domlikshava. “After we win. And make sure that girl is well guarded. There are things we cannot let her reveal.”

He referred to the Russian officer and the drinking among the troops. He had wired the commander with a detailed account, but in his telegram to Russia, Akberil claimed the officer and soldiers had seen tens of thousands of Chinese bandits besieging the mine, yet bravely rushed to the rescue and died heroically.

The secretary said, “The commander wants us to send the girl to him immediately. He says he will arrange everything.”

Akberil was reassured, trusting the commander to handle matters properly. He turned to the pale-faced Domlikshava. “Child, come here.”

Domlikshava walked over as if she were a corpse, her face expressionless.

Akberil spoke gently. “Child, I’m sending you to the commander. He will explain things to you. I hope you will be safe and unharmed. Of course, you must be obedient. Trust that we will care for you as your father would.”

But Domlikshava was unmoved. “Let the man who betrayed the entire mine be hailed as a hero! Let a coward be revered like a knight by Russian citizens! General, your actions fill me with shame!”

Akberil’s gaze brimmed with affection. For such a righteous, kind girl, he could not handle her as he would politicians.

“Child, I know this is wrong, but it is for the glory of the Russian army. Do you understand?”

“I do not! If I ever have the chance, I will reveal the truth to all!”

Akberil seized her arm. Domlikshava tried to wrench free, but he said, “Child, do you know how Mr. Chetbrov died?”

Hearing her father mentioned, Domlikshava was even more agitated. “I know. He was ambushed by bandits, fought heroically, but was outnumbered and killed! I know those bandits were the same ones who attacked the mine!”

Akberil shook his head. “That is not the truth.”

Domlikshava was stunned. “What?”

Akberil explained, “Your father held a banquet in the camp, breaking regulations by rounding up hundreds of Qing women from nearby. He failed to post adequate guards during the banquet. He ordered the Qing people into the camp. He did not resist bravely; at the banquet, few had weapons. Your father’s pistol fired only once. The bandits pressed a gun to his head and blew it apart. Don’t say he was outnumbered—they numbered barely two hundred!”

Domlikshava was frozen, then began to scream hysterically. “You lie! You lie!”