Chapter Sixty-Two: Time Waits for No One

The banquet lasted from noon until evening. Although Yang, the headman, could hold his liquor, he was no match for the relentless bombardment from Feng Delin’s one hundred and eight lieutenants. In the end, he was utterly defeated. He no longer remembered when he had passed out, nor how he had gotten into the tent; all he knew was that when he awoke, he found himself inside a warm, spacious tent with a thick quilt covering him. Yang Xiaolin slowly sat up and noticed that Kong Luodi was asleep, slumped over the table. Judging by his posture, it was clear he had been keeping watch over Yang. Deeply moved, Yang Xiaolin refrained from disturbing him, instead draping his own quilt over Kong Luodi’s shoulders before quietly opening the door. The sky outside was already turning pale.

From the west suddenly came a chorus of shouts. Yang Xiaolin recognized them as training drills and his curiosity was piqued. Bandits rarely practiced drills; even his own men, whom Yang Xiaolin had planned to subject to a training regimen, had been too busy with constant fighting to ever begin. The shouts reminded Yang Xiaolin of his own days as a soldier, and his feet instinctively carried him toward the west, eager to see what was happening. Along the way, he encountered many who greeted him—some he knew, others only by sight.

Arriving at the courtyard from which the noise emanated, Yang Xiaolin peered inside and found the trainees were Japanese ronin, or rather, Japanese soldiers would be a more fitting description. Despite the biting cold, they wore only thin clothing; some practiced bayonet thrusts, others ran laps, and several stood rigidly against the icy wall near the entrance, while a man opposite them swung his palm repeatedly across their faces.

Wanting to see more, Yang Xiaolin stepped into the courtyard, but just as he reached the entrance, two gleaming bayonets were leveled at his face: “Stop! No entry!” The two Japanese spoke surprisingly fluent Chinese. Just then, a stern voice rang out: “Fools!”

It was not directed at Yang Xiaolin but at the Japanese soldiers. Matsubara strode out from within and slapped the soldiers soundly across their faces. “He is my friend! Apologize at once!”

The soldier immediately lowered his weapon and bowed deeply to Yang Xiaolin. “Hai! Please forgive me!”

Yang Xiaolin glanced at Matsubara, who now wore a smile. “Mr. Xiaolin, they are acting under my orders. No outsiders are permitted near the training grounds during drills; please do not take offense. I did not expect you to visit so early—my apologies for any inconvenience.”

Yang Xiaolin was in no mood for pleasantries. The smug satisfaction he had felt recently from outmaneuvering the Russians had vanished completely. The ambitions of the Japanese were plain to see. He knew that whether he sought a foothold in the northeast or aspired to compete for supremacy in the future, sooner or later he would have to face the Japanese in battle. Even if he wished for nothing more, to prevent China’s future tragedies, this enemy must be dealt with.

Now, Japan was pouring the indemnity from the Sino-Japanese War into military development, while he remained penniless, not even possessing any territory. If these were the objective facts, then subjectively, the Japanese rose before dawn to train, whereas he drank himself senseless until sunrise. With what would he contend against them? Mere passion? They would see to it that his passion was spilled dry on the battlefield.

“Oh, Mr. Matsubara, I was simply curious when I heard the shouts from your courtyard this morning and wanted to see what was happening. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

Matsubara smiled. “Mr. Xiaolin, I actually have some matters I hoped to discuss with you. Since you are here, please come in.”

He stepped aside, and Yang Xiaolin, not one for ceremony, walked in. Japanese training was renowned for its ruthlessness—its rigor and cruelty unparalleled worldwide. Inside the courtyard, Yang Xiaolin saw squads of soldiers drilling meticulously under their officers’ command, their thin garments soaked with sweat.

He pointed to the men standing by the wall. “Mr. Matsubara, what’s the story with those men?”

Matsubara replied nonchalantly, “Nothing much. They failed to rise at the designated hour this morning, so they are being punished. Mr. Xiaolin, there was something I did not mention yesterday—the crowd was too large for private conversation. I have arranged for a thousand rapid-fire rifles and twenty machine guns. When you return, they will be delivered to Wheel Mountain.”

There is no such thing as a free lunch, and Yang Xiaolin knew the Japanese were arming him to win his allegiance and keep him fighting the Russians. But he would gladly accept their gifts. His battles with the Russians were far from over; he needed supplies, and the Japanese weaponry was manufactured with Chinese money—he would be remiss not to take advantage.

Yang Xiaolin said to Matsubara, “Ah, that’s too generous! Mr. Matsubara, you’ve shown yourself a true friend. If you ever need my help, just ask—no need for formalities!”

“Mr. Xiaolin, no need for politeness. You are Brother Feng’s comrade, and therefore mine as well. If you need anything, simply say the word.”

Matsubara’s heart was pleased. Chinese bandits were always swayed by small favors, and once the language of loyalty was invoked, they would willingly serve as pawns. Thus far, only Zhang Zuolin had refused the Empire of Japan.

Yang Xiaolin pondered for a moment before saying, “Mr. Matsubara, there is actually something I’d like your help with.”

Matsubara was intrigued. “Oh? What is it?”

“I’d like you to send me at least twenty genuine Japanese officers to train my men over the winter, so they can learn what it means to be soldiers and to fight on the battlefield.”

The moment Yang Xiaolin spoke, Matsubara’s expression changed. He was the first Qing bandit to make such a request! Men like Feng Delin and Old Lu always asked for guns, food, or money. Matsubara’s troops had drilled in Gao’s village for months, yet Feng Delin had never suggested training the local bandits alongside them!

Yang Xiaolin had wrestled with this decision. He did not want his troops to develop any attachment to the Japanese; he actually preferred the German military model. He had hoped to train his men first, and later, when conditions allowed, invite German instructors. But just now, he changed his mind. The Japanese army might not be the best, but he needed his bandit force to transform into soldiers quickly. Japan was leaving China ever further behind; he had to catch up, and time was running out—there was no time to wait for the Germans.

Matsubara quickly regained his composure, a slight smile on his lips. “I think Mr. Xiaolin may be mistaken. These men are merely ronin who could not make a living in Japan, and came to China in search of fortune. As for officers, I regret I am unable to help.”

This was the Japanese attitude toward bandits: they would aid Chinese bandits in fighting the Russians, but would never turn them into a proper army, for that could create obstacles to their own ambitions.

Yang Xiaolin looked at Matsubara’s expression; the excuse was far too transparent. He was standing in their courtyard—were those shouts not from soldiers? Were the fierce men inside merely ronin?