Chapter Eight: The Harbinger of Death Arrives

Before entering, they had meticulously planned everything. Yang Xiaolin and his men were to seize the main entrance, close the gates and trap their enemies, ready to advance or retreat as needed. Meanwhile, Jin Dao would pretend to deliver wine, pushing carts into the hall, aiming to burst straight into the ballroom.

Inside, a dance was underway; few Russians would be armed, and dozens of guns in Jin Dao’s group should suffice. If necessary, they could block the exits and prevent anyone from escaping the hall—this seemed feasible.

The pivotal moment that would determine the mission's success was whether they could swiftly eliminate the Russian troops outside the ballroom—the scattered soldiers throughout the village who hadn't joined the party. Their locations and numbers were unknown. Gu Tianming’s sharpshooting hunters and Liu Xianhe’s agile bodyguards bore the heavy responsibility of dealing with these men. Would they succeed? Yang Xiaolin felt his nerves tightening.

There was risk, of course. War was a gamble, which is why people say that planning is up to men but victory rests with fate.

The positions of the three sentry posts were well known; the Russians made no effort to conceal them, believing the area absolutely secure, even considering the sentries redundant.

After passing the third sentry, the Russians halted Yang Xiaolin’s group, allowing only Jin Dao’s men to push their carts to the hall. Jin Dao glanced back at Yang Xiaolin, who nodded, signaling him to proceed according to plan.

Jin Dao pushed his cart, eyes fixed on the Russian leading the way. The Russian was larger than any Chinese man, and Jin Dao began to strategize, considering how to take him down instantly should something go awry.

No mishap occurred; everything proceeded smoothly as he entered the hall. The scene inside stunned Jin Dao for a moment—Chinese women, naked, some wailing, others motionless.

At the entrance, one woman saw the Chinese men arrive and, without caring who they were, rushed forward and clung desperately to Jin Dao’s leg. "Brother! Please, save me!"

Jin Dao, who prided himself on his ruthless heart, felt it tremble violently. He locked eyes with Chet Brov, who saw his fury.

Excellent—he liked such expressions: angry, yet powerless.

The woman’s pale body pressed tightly against Jin Dao’s thigh, yet he felt no distraction at all. He was about to help her up when two Russians seized her and dragged her away. Jin Dao reached out, but ultimately did not pull her back.

Now he understood why Yang Xiaolin insisted he enter the hall instead of Gu Tianming. Had Gu Tianming’s men come, the fight might have already begun.

Behind him, the bandits grew restless. Jin Dao waved his hand behind his back, searching for the Russian leader in the hall.

Chet Brov strode forward. "What kind of wine have you brought?"

His Chinese was imperfect, but Jin Dao understood. The dozens of barrels—only the first few contained wine; the rest concealed rifles, and weapons were hidden in the cart handles.

Jin Dao gripped the cart handle, lowering his head suddenly. He remembered, upon seeing Chet Brov, they had crossed paths in battle once, nearly killing each other. Now, Jin Dao feared Chet Brov might recognize him.

He replied with a blank expression, "Burning Knife."

Chet Brov chuckled, "Good, good wine. Pour a cup for everyone here."

The Russians in the hall burst into raucous laughter—a triumphant display, but for Jin Dao, a humiliation. Biaozi stepped forward, but Jin Dao held him back, taking a deep breath. "Alright, I'll pour."

After decades in the underworld, Jin Dao knew that with the hall breached, violence was imminent. He forced himself to remain calm.

He lifted a wine jar, weighing over a hundred pounds, effortlessly into his arms—an impressive show of strength that surprised Chet Brov. Jin Dao took two steps, and Chet Brov called out, "Wait! I think I’ve seen you somewhere!"

Jin Dao paused. "I’ve lived in Fengtian all my life. It’s not strange if you’ve met me."

Chet Brov shook his head. "No, your build—I think it was…"

As Chet Brov pondered, a gunshot rang out from outside. He drew his pistol, "What’s happening?!"

Before he could pull the trigger, Jin Dao hurled the wine jar at him. "What’s happening? I, Jin Dao, have come to claim your life for Liu Yikun!"

The distance between them was too short, and Jin Dao’s movement was lightning-fast—Chet Brov had no chance to dodge. The jar smashed into his head with a crash.

That was the signal! The bandits drew weapons from the cart handles, broke open the barrels and grabbed rifles. The Russians, stunned, were cut down—more than twenty in an instant.

Blood streamed from Chet Brov’s head as he collapsed, immobilized.

Biaozi tossed Jin Dao a rifle. "Catch, brother!"

Jin Dao snatched the rifle, rolled across the floor, and hid beneath a table. Shar Dah Deyev fired a bullet from his pistol, grazing Jin Dao’s shoe.

A fierce gunfight erupted in the hall. Though the Russians outnumbered them, few were armed—many were naked. The bandits pressed their attack, shooting down Russians where they stood; some were killed atop the women, limbs still entangled.

Outside, battle had begun as well. The Chinese who had just bowed and scraped suddenly turned, pinning Russian sentries to the ground, blades flashing—white going in, red coming out. The sentries at the three posts had no chance to resist.

With these enemies eliminated, Sui Bing ran over. "Commander, it’s done."

Yang Xiaolin had just killed a Russian himself, wiping his short blade clean on the corpse. "Take a few men and guard the gate. Remove Liu Da’s head from above the entrance!"

Sui Bing replied, "Understood!"

Gu Xiaolin rushed in with dozens of men. He heard the loudest gunfire to the right, even machine gun fire, and hurried over.

Things had taken an unexpected turn. When Gu Tianming and Liu Xianhe’s men first struck, all went well—the hunters’ marksmanship and the bodyguards’ martial arts were invaluable. The isolated Russian soldiers never had a chance to regroup and were picked off one by one.

But there was a brick-and-tile house nearby, sheltering over twenty wounded Russians. Inside were weapons—grenades and a Maxim heavy machine gun. This resistance not only stymied Gu Tianming’s attack, but also gave the panicked Russian soldiers a rallying point.

Gu Tianming’s men were excellent shots, but their ability to storm fortified positions was almost nonexistent.

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