Chapter Seventy-Six: Framing

Biaozi was also ready to kill. His eyes glared viciously at Ergazi. “Didn’t you say you took care of that foreign woman? Was I seeing ghosts just now?”

Ergazi was a little confused. “What foreign woman?”

Biaozi landed a hard punch in his stomach, causing Ergazi to double over in pain. A few of the men nearby wanted to pull them apart, but Biaozi stopped them with a shout. He pinned Ergazi against the wall. “The foreign woman from the mines—don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

Suddenly, Ergazi recalled the face of Domlikshawa, and he froze. All this time, he thought he’d never see that girl again, but to his surprise, she had come to Beijing as well. Ergazi grew excited. “Where is she? Is she inside the Legation Quarter too? Tell me!”

He was even more agitated than Biaozi, his voice rising in pitch. Alarmed, Biaozi quickly covered his mouth. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

Ergazi soon came to his senses and grabbed Biaozi’s arm. “Brother Biao, did you really see her? Tell me where she is!”

Biaozi, furious, sneered. “Never thought you’d have such romantic notions. Listen up, Ergazi—she’s in the Legation Quarter, and she might even be at the reception tonight. Remember this: you’re a bandit, you’re on a job! If you want to die, don’t drag us all down with you.”

Ergazi’s excitement faded as he sat on the ground, dejected, looking for all the world like a lovesick fool.

Biaozi ignored him and turned to another man. “Are the things ready?”

The man patted several large winter melons in the middle of a handcart. “Brother Biao, everything’s here. And a few grenades too.”

Biaozi picked up one of the winter melons. It looked whole, but on close inspection, there was a thin circular crack at the base, hidden by the melon’s fine fuzz—almost impossible to spot.

Biaozi nodded. “All right, I’m heading back.”

Still, his heart was uneasy. If he’d been recognized earlier, then Yang Xiaolin and the others were already exposed, and going back would be walking into a trap. But as a professional bandit, while he may have lacked refinement, he was loyal to his comrades.

“Remember—wait for us at the designated place and don’t make any mistakes. Got it? Don’t count on that fool.”

With that, he aimed another hard kick at Ergazi. “I’ll settle with you later!”

Ergazi took the kick in silence, lying dazed in the corner, lost in thought.

When Biaozi returned, the embassy was already in chaos.

The chief guard had just been murdered in his own room, his head smashed like a rotten melon, his death too gruesome to bear. Whoever did it must have harbored deep hatred.

Minister Shirley was furious—a French nobleman, killed in his own quarters in the French Legation! It was an intolerable humiliation. The investigation’s result was hardly surprising: Nirel was arrested, not as a suspect, but as the murderer.

Shirley believed Nirel had clear motive—indeed, only he seemed to have reason for murder. He’d quarreled with the chief guard that morning, openly threatening to kill him, and now the man was dead. Who else could it be?

Shirley didn’t bother with sufficient evidence, making a hasty decision. Nirel protested his innocence, but when asked for an explanation, he could not say who else might have done it.

Worse, at the time of the murder, Nirel had been hiding with a few of his black comrades, grumbling instead of being at his post. Shirley didn’t believe their alibi for a second.

Shirley reasoned that murdering a French officer silently was no simple feat; Nirel must have had accomplices, though their identities and numbers were unknown. Still, the French reception could not be cancelled just because a black man had killed a French officer. Invitations had been sent, preparations made, many guests had already arrived—how could he tell them the ball was off because of an unexpected murder?

That would be a laughingstock.

The reception must go on, but black soldiers could no longer stand guard. Shirley ordered all French soldiers to change out of their suits and take up posts, assigning some presentable Indian soldiers to assist.

As for the black soldiers, Shirley had no time to root out Nirel’s accomplices. For security, all blacks were to be disarmed and detained. Only after determining if any of Shirley’s allies or accomplices were among them would they be dealt with further.

In this, Shirley made a mistake. The blacks were already terrified, and his actions only increased their panic. People are prone to lose reason when gripped by fear or rage.

Yang Xiaolin keenly sensed that this might be a chance to do things even better.

In the embassy kitchen, the head chef Lu San was washing vegetables. Old Three squatted by the door, eyes darting outside, ears pricked for approaching footsteps.

Biaozi hefted up several winter melons. When cut open, they revealed a dozen pistols and several grenades. Yang Xiaolin stashed everything in the rice bin; tonight, their plan depended on these.

“The guards outside have all been replaced with Frenchmen and Indians. I’ve already sent Lu Mozong to scout their positions. There’s also said to be a guest list, with all names and identities of the attendees. If we could get our hands on it, we could target people selectively and make things much easier.”

Yang Xiaolin spoke in a low voice—so low that even Old Three by the door could barely make out his words, though Biaozi beside him could hear clearly.

“That list is with that Frenchman, Montot. Can you find a way to get it?”

Yang Xiaolin thought he was best suited for the job, as Montot had a good impression of Lu San. But he still had to cook, and Yang Xiaolin was sure he’d have little time to leave the stove until evening. He could only send Biaozi to try; if Biaozi failed, he’d go himself.

Unexpectedly, Biaozi refused at once. “Boss, I’d better not go out. There’s a Russian woman out there—we ran into her during the mine raid. She knows me!”

Yang Xiaolin was taken aback. Such a coincidence?

“How can that be? Didn’t we wipe out all those Russians at the mine?”

Biaozi almost mentioned Ergazi but remembered the unwritten rules of the underworld: Ergazi had clearly broken them this time. If Yang Xiaolin found out, even if he didn’t kill Ergazi, Golden Broadsword surely would.

He recalled how, when he was wounded, Ergazi had carried him to safety under Russian gunfire—never putting him down, even with a lame leg. So Biaozi swallowed the words.

Nothing had gone wrong yet. As long as he stayed out of sight and didn’t let that woman see him again, perhaps things would blow over.

“I don’t know how it happened, but I’m sure I’m not mistaken. I can’t show myself.”

Yang Xiaolin’s brow furrowed. Biaozi was a valuable hand; he’d hoped to rely on him for errands. Now that Biaozi couldn’t go, and he himself couldn’t leave the stove, should he count on Old Three at the door? Yang Xiaolin felt a prickle of unease.