Chapter 1557 - The Elder's Speech

What if I simply shaved my head and posed as a naturalized citizen? The thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Even with a shaved head, there was a "civilizing period" to pass through—he could not wait that long.

Still, if he merely shaved privately to disguise himself as a naturalized citizen, it should work. The other day in Nanbao, he had seen Zhou Zhongjun's attire—identical to Lian Nishang's. Walking on the street, no one would suspect she had only recently arrived from the Great Ming!

Naturalized-citizen clothing was easy to obtain; the clothing shops on the streets sold it. As for shaving one's head, there were barbershops too—though he was not sure whether they would shave someone like himself, an unregistered "native." That would require inquiry.

While his mind calculated, his eyes swept ceaselessly around the gymnasium, noting every entrance and exit. The hall was vast and lofty—three or four stories from floor to roof where large glass panels were set. Although there were windows in the walls, they were set high and could not be used for entry or exit.

The only ways in and out were the main entrance at the front and a smaller door on the side. The other two walls were not clearly visible; he could not tell whether they had doors, but judging by the building's size, he guessed there must be.

This meant very few points of ingress and egress. The brick walls were nothing like the wooden lattice partitions of ordinary houses, which could be smashed through with brute force and a blade. The skylights and windows were too high—climbing to the roof would be extremely difficult, and descending would require ropes, lest one be dashed to pieces.

He began to hesitate. Even if the assassination succeeded, the attackers would have little chance of escape. The only exits were those few doors; if the Shorthairs blocked them, they could trap the assassins inside. Breaking out through the roof? Also impractical—the building was too tall. They would need people stationed on the roof beforehand with ropes to assist. Climbing up and then escaping from above would take considerable time; if the Shorthairs reacted quickly, they would still be caught.

Of course, if they succeeded, Lingao would certainly be thrown into chaos, with heavy Shorthair casualties. But then the thirty-odd people who had come to Lingao would likely be annihilated, the Central Plains martial world would suffer a crippling blow, and there would be no way to explain their losses upon return.

Before departing, the Stone Elder and the various sect leaders had all declared that this was a "do-or-die" mission—those sent were prepared to "sacrifice themselves," and even total annihilation would be acceptable. But Zhuo Yifan knew that, aside from the Stone Elder, no one truly felt that way.

We must not strike inside the gymnasium. His gaze shifted to the open main doors. An ambush at the entrance! Between the front steps and the street lay an open plaza of perhaps two dozen zhang, paved with square stones and dotted with flower beds and trees. Any Shorthair VIPs entering or leaving the gymnasium would have to pass through this area. Concealed among the crowd of onlookers…

He was still plotting when a crisp jingle of bells sounded outside. A four-wheeled carriage rolled up to the plaza before the steps.

The carriage had barely stopped at the foot of the steps when a young soldier wearing a "Lingao Security" armband and a white cross-strap holster with two revolvers leapt down from the driver's seat. Nimbly, he opened the carriage door, snapped to attention, and at the very instant the passenger's head appeared in the doorway, his arm shot up in a crisp salute.

Zhuo Yifan tensed: A True Shorthair has arrived! There was no mistaking such a reception—this had to be a transmigrator. Taking advantage of the moment when all eyes were fixed on the newcomer, he edged backward, making sure he did not stand out too much—nearly everyone in the gymnasium was a naturalized citizen; his appearance was far too conspicuous.

He watched three men descend from the carriage. All wore the toggle-buttoned jackets the Shorthairs favored, though of far finer material than those worn by naturalized citizens—crisp and distinguished. Rather than the drab blues and blacks common elsewhere, theirs were an elegant gray. They wore no ornaments save for a long, slender, silvery clip on each breast pocket and, visible at gestures, a curious glinting object on each wrist, secured by a band—flashing in the sunlight.

Following the men was a young woman in a blue dress with a white apron, white cuffs and collar, and a black leather handbag in her hand. This, presumably, was what they called a "personal secretary." Zhuo Yifan had imagined a True Shorthair's concubine would be devastatingly beautiful; a single glance told him she was merely passable—tall and graceful, nothing more.

The group ascended the steps, chatting as they went. Before they even entered the gymnasium, the interior erupted in commotion. Someone cried, "The Chiefs are here!" The naturalized citizens who had been working rushed to the entrance in a mass. Zhuo Yifan had not intended to get too close, but swept along by the crowd, he was pushed forward despite himself. Seeing the danger, he quickly slipped toward a corner.

The naturalized citizens were in an uproar. Someone began to clap—he did not know who—and the entire crowd burst into excited applause. Zhuo Yifan had no idea what this meant, nor whether he should join in. Fortunately, he had already reached the corner; no one was paying him any attention.

Soldiers wearing "Lingao Security" armbands maintained order, yet several schoolgirls had already surged forward, each taking one of the True Shorthairs by the arm, crowding around them. The expressions of pure bliss on their faces suggested they were experiencing the greatest joy on earth.

Zhuo Yifan marveled inwardly. He had long heard that the Shorthairs excelled at deceiving hearts and minds—countless impoverished commoners had been duped. Today, he saw that the rumors were true.

The True Shorthairs merely waved in acknowledgment. Several students rushed up, clasped their hands, and spoke loudly—apparently asking them to "say a few words."

The lead Shorthair raised his hand, smiling, and the applause gradually subsided. Only then did he speak in a loud voice:

"Comrades, students—our Fourth Cultural Festival is almost upon us. Many of you here experienced the first festival. At that time, our Fangcaodi was just starting out. We had no proper building—only a shed of bamboo poles and reed mats. Most of you had only recently arrived in Lingao—you knew all too well what it meant to go hungry and suffer. You were skinny, dark, and ragged. Yet for the first time, you could eat your fill, wear clean clothes, and happily perform plays and songs and laugh. Though conditions were crude, you experienced what it meant to live with dignity. And today? The Yuan Laoyuan's factories have smelted more steel and produced more cement. We have this grand gymnasium. And you students—you are far lovelier than before…"

At this, the surrounding students and naturalized citizens burst into cheerful laughter. The speaker waited for the laughter to subside, then continued: "Though our Lingao, our Hainan Island, grows ever more beautiful, Lingao and Hainan are only the tiniest part of all China—and in the world at large, no more than a speck of dust. As students of the Yuan Laoyuan, you must set your sights upon the whole world. Cherish each day; study hard, train hard, master your skills. Now, youth is for striving; later, youth will be for remembering. When, in the future, you contribute to the Yuan Laoyuan and to the common people in your various posts, today will become your most cherished memory."

At the end of his words, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause. Zhuo Yifan saw the students and naturalized citizens around him—men and women alike—enraptured, some with tears in their eyes, clapping until their palms were red. He felt both fear and revulsion. Though he did not understand some of the vocabulary, he grasped the gist. This was no mere rebel band—the rebels he had encountered harbored no notion of "setting their sights on the world."

Still, from what he had seen today, though the Shorthairs had bodyguards, their security was not strict. There was no clearing of streets, no order for bystanders to withdraw. If someone in the crowd were willing to sacrifice himself, assassinating one or two of them would have been entirely possible.

As the crowd gradually dispersed, Zhuo Yifan finally breathed easier. He spotted Lian Nishang nearby, looking around for him, and hurried over.

"Where did you run off to? You disappeared in an instant," Lian Nishang complained. "This place is huge—how was I supposed to find you?"

"I was pushed along by the crowd; I couldn't help myself," Zhuo Yifan said, covering. He noticed tears glistening in Lian Nishang's eyes and felt a stab of contempt: From her words and deeds, I took her for a remarkable woman. Who would have thought she too has been bewitched to this extent!

He asked, "Those gentlemen just now—they were Australian transmigrators, weren't they?"

Lian Nishang nodded. "Indeed."

"Miss Lian seems quite delighted. Could they be your benefactors?"

Lian Nishang nodded again. "In a way, yes—though I do not personally know those Chiefs."

For a moment, Zhuo Yifan could not understand. Fortunately, Lian Nishang continued, "I owe the Yuan Laoyuan a great debt. If not for their rescue long ago, Lian Nishang would have become a pile of bones by now."

"I see." Zhuo Yifan realized that the True Shorthairs probably held a "life-saving grace" over the naturalized citizens here—no wonder they were all so besotted. The Shorthairs' strategy of running charities and relieving refugees on the mainland was truly sinister! The common people were ignorant and knew nothing of great righteousness. They were easily blinded by personal favors. No wonder the Shorthairs had swept all before them along the coast these past years, winning every battle, conquering so much territory.

With such thoughts, Zhuo Yifan's mood grew heavier still. Born into an official's household, trained in martial arts since childhood, yet also widely read and traveled, with experience of both marketplaces and officialdom—though young, he was a brilliantly accomplished youth. In all his days in Lingao, he had received a powerful impression: the Shorthairs' strength far exceeded the court's imaginings. And the threat they posed to the Great Ming was far greater than that of the Eastern Barbarians, whose repeated incursions had left the dynasty gasping for breath.

(End of Chapter)