Chapter Ninety-Six: The First Shot

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Yang Xiaolin lived by a strict rule: never let the rhythm of war be entirely dictated by the enemy. Whether to fight or not was beyond his control, but where and when to fight—this he could not allow the opponent to decide.

Gazing at the more than two thousand prepared warriors, Yang Xiaolin knew that many of them would never be seen again after this battle. He walked along the front line, tidying his comrades’ clothes and straightening their straps—not to rally their spirits, but simply because he felt this was all he could do.

Suddenly, he spotted Erganzu standing in the first row. Though still part of the Third Company, he was no longer a squad leader. His eyes avoided Yang Xiaolin’s gaze; perhaps, after his impulsive actions, he had come to realize his mistakes.

Yang Xiaolin smiled, patting Erganzu on the shoulder. “Are you healed?”

Erganzu nodded. “Long healed.”

Biaozzi’s blows had been measured—each seeming full force, yet skillfully avoiding vital points—so though the injuries looked severe, they were not serious.

Yang Xiaolin said no more and moved on to the next brother.

Jin Dadou ran up from behind. “Commander, everything’s burned clean. Let’s move out.”

Yang Xiaolin nodded and called out loudly, “Brothers, we’re going to war. Are you ready?”

“We’re ready!”

The bandits answered in unison.

Yang Xiaolin was very pleased with their spirit. He exhaled softly. “Advance!”

That night was the fifteenth day of the lunar month. The full moon had quietly climbed over the eastern mountain, bathing the cold night in clear silver light. Over two thousand men ran eastward along a small stream, not a word spoken among them; the rustling of footsteps made the silent Changbai Mountains feel even more solemn.

The stream twisted and turned through the hills. The stepping stones across the river were coated with ice, treacherous and slick, threatening a cold plunge if one slipped. Yet no one complained; not a single curse was heard. The recent training had forged not just their bodies, but their wills.

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After trudging alongside the river most of the night, the soldiers’ heavy breaths grew more pronounced. Qian Yao led the vanguard, exhausted and gasping for air.

“Company commander! There’s fire ahead!”

A scout abruptly stopped. Qian Yao waved his hand, and the unit quickly concealed themselves by the riverbank. The brothers gripped their guns tightly, crouching low and steadying their breath.

Qian Yao darted up to the hilltop and confirmed the flickering firelight.

His reaction was swift. He tapped a comrade. “Go back and tell Commander Ba: there’s something unusual. Yan Wu, come with me to check it out. The rest hold position and stay alert—no sudden moves!”

Firelight itself was abnormal at this hour—past two in the morning—even the late-returning hunters would have long been asleep.

Qian Yao and Yan Wu crept up the hillside toward the fire. They found a village ablaze. The gate stood wide open. Several bodies lay near the entrance, their long braided hair marking them as Qing soldiers. From within came the wailing of women—sometimes punctuated by wild laughter.

At the gate stood a few sentries, dressed as Qing soldiers.

Yan Wu whispered close to Qian Yao, “Company commander, what now?”

Qian Yao shook his head. “It’s definitely Qing troops. Not sure how many. You keep watch here—if anything happens, shoot immediately, understood?”

Yan Wu nodded. Qian Yao carefully retreated, ensuring they remained unseen before boldly running down the slope.

Hearing about the enemy inside the village, Yang Xiaolin disregarded their numbers. Darkness was his ally; since they’d stumbled upon the enemy, they would fire the first shot. He arranged his forces: the Fourth Company would lead the main assault; the First Company would flank from the west; the Second Company would maneuver from the south; the Third Company held reserve; and the Fifth Company guarded the perimeter.

With the plan set, the troops moved swiftly.

Inside the village were over two hundred Russian soldiers and a thousand Qing troops—part of the third encirclement force against them. Yang Xiaolin neither knew nor needed to know the enemy’s details.

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The three companies stealthily closed in on the village, the enemy unaware. Inside, Russians reveled with women recently bereaved of husbands or fathers, while Qing soldiers huddled around fires outside.

The crackling of burning wood filled the air. Yan Wu, seeing how close they were—close enough to strike—prepared to move forward, but Qian Yao stopped him.

Having served as a constable, Qian Yao was ruthless toward common criminals but cautious when facing formidable foes like these bandits. Russians were even more dangerous.

He surveyed the village’s twenty or so firepits, each surrounded by men, their guns set aside. By numbers alone, they held no advantage.

Qian Yao ordered, “Fix bayonets on all rifles!”

Over three hundred soldiers of the First Company silently attached their bayonets. Qian Yao instructed, “Once inside, each squad will ignite one firepit using grenades. When the enemy is thrown into chaos, charge with bayonets—stab them through!”

After this briefing, the men prepared their grenades, removing safety caps. At Qian Yao’s signal, over three hundred men crawled swiftly toward the village gate. When they were fifty meters away, the Qing guards still showed no sign of alarm.

Qian Yao felt a surge of excitement—this was his first battle leading troops. He remembered how, with a single squad, he had once charged against the Russians, only to be captured in confusion. Now he finally had a chance to fight again.

Thirty meters!

Only then did a Qing sentry at the gate sense something amiss. Slowly standing, he did not raise his rifle but instead nudged his companion. “Brother, what’s that moving on the ground outside? Looks like people.”

Before they could react, Qian Yao hurled a grenade inside and leapt up, shouting, “Brothers, attack!”

The two guards at the gate were dead before they could respond. The bandits surged through the gate, shouting war cries. The Qing soldiers napping by the fires panicked as grenades rained down upon them, the group at the entrance suffering heavy casualties.

Those who managed to rise were met by charging bandits with fixed bayonets, plunging fiercely into their bodies. The Qing soldiers at the gate scattered in terror. Qian Yao broke through the gate with little effort.

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