Chapter 50: Ambition

At present, this unit could hardly be called disciplined; its combat effectiveness was not even on par with the bandit gang they once were. The soldiers had no idea how to fight, and the newly appointed platoon and company leaders didn't know how to command. Even Yang Xiaolin, their commander, would, in the 21st century, barely have qualified as a squad leader. They were still a long way from being a true army. Yet Yang Xiaolin was already quite satisfied; at the very least, through this recent grievance meeting, the men had begun to vaguely understand why they carried guns—and that was more important than anything else.

Now, however, a difficult problem lay before Yang Xiaolin and his companions. They were bandits, and when their ranks suddenly swelled, everyone, after their initial excitement, found themselves at a loss. Over a thousand armed men was indeed a formidable force in western Liaoning, but feeding them was just as daunting.

To help the laborers recover as quickly as possible, Yang Xiaolin insisted on three full meals a day for everyone.

“Chief, all the grain we hauled from Ganzi Village has already been distributed to the people. Now, with so many more brothers, there’s just no way to solve the food problem,” Kong Luodi said, his brow deeply furrowed as he turned to Yang Xiaolin. “You told each man to bring ten days’ rations, but what do we do when that’s gone and we return to Gulu Mountain? Winter is almost here.”

Yang Xiaolin didn’t know either. According to the Old Leader’s method, it was simple: seize from the rich and give to the poor, which in plain terms was robbery. Take all the land and grain from the wealthy, distribute it to the poor, and the poor would follow you wholeheartedly.

That was what the historical records said, but now Yang Xiaolin doubted them. For he had done just that, and look at their current state—everything they ate, drank, even their weapons for battle, had all been seized from the Russians.

But stolen goods came and went quickly, since they were constantly on the move, always fleeing, and in the process could not carry all their possessions. Back when the Old Leader was in Jiangxi, the situation was even more perilous; Yang Xiaolin could never believe that he stored up months or even years of food.

Yet such details were barely recorded, leaving Yang Xiaolin at a loss now.

He took a cigarette from his pocket—a brand looted from the Russian mines, the box marked with Cyrillic letters he couldn’t read. Living by robbery could work for a while, but not forever. After lighting the cigarette, he placed his hand on the table, silent.

Big Blade Jin stuck his head in and asked, “If that won’t do, why don’t we pull off a big one—enough to last us till next summer? Then, follow Zhang Zuolin’s example: offer protection to the villagers and collect a little grain from them every month?”

The others approved of this idea, for in western Liaoning, “insurance” rackets were all the rage. Yang Xiaolin was pleased that Big Blade Jin was thinking this way—it showed he was planning for the future, that he believed there would be a future.

But Yang Xiaolin rejected the suggestion without hesitation. “We can’t be like Zhang Zuolin.”

Big Blade Jin clicked his tongue. “We’re not the same as them. We’d really help the people—fix their homes, tidy their fields. I guarantee our brothers won’t bully them like before!”

Yang Xiaolin flicked his ash. “It’s not about bullying or not. I’ve already said, anyone who breaks army rules will be executed, no exceptions. But have you considered this: right now we have a thousand mouths to feed. If you collect from the villagers now, what will you do when we have ten thousand mouths to feed?”

Big Blade Jin was taken aback. He’d been more than satisfied these past days—over a thousand men, all equipped with Russian arms, cannons, machine guns. Back at Gulu Mountain, not just the surrounding hills, but even if government troops came, they’d have to lie low.

He’d never imagined he might one day lead ten thousand men.

Kong Luodi smiled. “Chief, we understand your point. But right now, we still need to solve the problem of feeding these thousand brothers in the mountains. I think Big Brother Jin’s suggestion isn’t without merit. Let’s get through the present, and when we have ten thousand, we’ll think of solutions for ten thousand.”

Yang Xiaolin exhaled a plume of smoke, his face expressionless. “No. Absolutely no extortion of the people!”

Kong Luodi and the others exchanged glances, unable to understand Yang Xiaolin’s stubbornness. In their eyes—Big Blade Jin, Kong Luodi, even the villagers—paying grain had become the norm.

To them, running “insurance” was nothing out of the ordinary.

Yang Xiaolin saw their expressions and said, “I’ll think of another way. If all you want is to remain bandits, or form a militia like Zhang Zuolin, then there’s nothing wrong with taking money from the villagers.”

He paused, his eyes meeting Big Blade Jin’s.

“But Big Brother Jin, the point is, everyone here knows me as Yang the Ghost-Buster! I must live up to that name! The people have suffered enough. Don’t count on scraping enough money and grain from their mouths to drive out the Russians, or to seize the Central Plains and vie for the world!”

His last words were spoken with some agitation. Kong Luodi’s gaze suddenly burned with fervor. He had long seen that Yang the Chief was no ordinary bandit, but he never expected Yang Xiaolin would speak of driving out the Russians and contending for supremacy in the Central Plains.

They barely had a thousand men, no clue where the next batch of food would come from after these ten days—yet at this moment, Yang Xiaolin was talking about ruling the world? Was he mad?

Perhaps so. But perhaps following this madman wouldn’t be such a bad choice.

Kong Luodi suddenly thought of the Ming dynasty’s chancellors, who under the Yuan were nameless, oppressed men, forced to rebel for lack of opportunity. Even Zhang Liang and Xiao He in the Han were unremarkable under the Qin, but after helping Liu Bang found an empire, their names resounded through history.

How similar was their present situation to those great men before they met a worthy leader? Kong Luodi felt a sudden surge of passion stirring in his heart.

“Chief, I’ll think of a way! You just focus on fighting—the matters at home, leave to me!” In a burst of emotion, Kong Luodi took on the heavy responsibility himself.

Yang Xiaolin, of course, knew Kong Luodi had no solution. He was about to ask him, when Sui Bing suddenly pushed open the door.

“Chief, bad news—the Russian army is coming!”

Everyone in the room leapt to their feet. Yang Xiaolin tossed his cigarette to the floor and stamped it out hard.

“How many are there? How far away?”

“About two thousand men, approaching from two directions. The nearest is only three li from here!”

Yang Xiaolin was stunned. Three li—so close it made his heart pound with dread.

Big Blade Jin exclaimed, “What are we waiting for? Let’s get out of here!”

Sui Bing was about to go out and issue the retreat order when Yang Xiaolin suddenly waved his hand. “Wait! Tell the brothers to prepare for battle. We’ll fight the Russians here. Let the villagers leave first.”

Big Blade Jin was anxious. “Brother Yang! The Russians outnumber us two to one—if they catch up, we may not get away!”

Yang Xiaolin replied firmly, “Given the Russians’ temperament, if we run now, all the villagers here will be slaughtered! And if we flee without firing a shot, the Russians will pursue us relentlessly! Get ready for battle!”

(Brothers, I was late posting a chapter yesterday—could you give me two recommendation votes?)