Chapter 2087 - A Memoir of Liberation (Part 4)

By afternoon, the commotion in Zhaoqing was escalating. We were urgently assembled, awaiting orders. While we chatted among ourselves, my comrade Zhang Hu suddenly pointed at the northeastern sky and shouted: "Look!" In the distance, toward the northeast—the direction of Antelope Gorge—thick black smoke billowed skyward, accompanied by intermittent cannon fire rolling across the landscape. The soldiers immediately erupted in alarmed chatter, naked fear written across their faces. This was hardly surprising. A month earlier, these men were called soldiers but had mostly only ever wielded hoes; at most they'd been in fist fights—hardly anyone had blood on their hands. Yet these utterly corrupt officers never drilled us or strengthened morale. They'd simply handed out unusable weapons and herded us toward battle like ducks to slaughter. How could we not be terrified at such portentous signs? I wasn't afraid—because I'd never intended to fight the Fubo Army anyway. Uncle Jizai later explained that the Ming troops' sole means of countering the Fubo Navy was fire-ships. But the Fubo Army possessed cannons with extraordinary range, "typewriters" with incredible firing rates, and landing craft that could traverse the river without wind. How could such primitive, fate-dependent tactics possibly halt the Fubo Army's advance?

Sure enough, a few hours later, several officers came racing across the parade ground looking frantic. They harangued us with claims that at the Battle of Antelope Gorge, "our valiant forces had won a tremendous victory"—countless enemy sailors had drowned, including three so-called "false chieftains" titled "Director," and so forth. They ordered us to establish camp outside the East Gate and construct fortifications, preparing to pursue the enemy the following day. We may have been ignorant, but we weren't stupid. Some sharp-eyed fellows noticed that Xiong Wenchan's "Governor's Banner" guard had vanished. Immediately, agitation rippled through the ranks. The officer bellowed that Xiong Wenchan had personally led troops to pursue the Fubo Army, but no one believed him. From among the old-timer malingerers, someone started stirring things up, roaring: "If we've won, let us go home!" "If the Governor's gone off in pursuit, what the hell are we fortifying the East Gate for?!" "Do you take us for idiots?!"

The officer grew flustered, shouting for silence. But this was obviously a transparent ploy to send us to our deaths while buying time for the officials' escape—who could be suppressed with such blatant lies? The officer blustered a few more threats, and when that failed, he dispatched his household retainers with clubs to "enforce military law." But he commanded only a fewdozen retainers, and we numbered several hundred men here—almost all the garrison's operating troops.

"Fuck your mother!"

"If we're all going to die anyway, let's drag this son of a bitch along with us!"

"Tricking us into dying for you? No way!"

"Want us to fight? Pay us first!"

The old hands' few words successfully ignited everyone's accumulated rage. Those who'd still been afraid of military law were now consumed by fury. We surged forward like a flood, several men overwhelming each retainer, grappling with them. Some climbed the platform to attack the officer himself. Seeing things spiral out of control, the officer fled under his retainers' desperate protection. Some seized the opportunity for revenge—several petty officers who enjoyed bullying soldiers were beaten to death on the spot. As for the dozen retainers who'd come down to beat us, not one escaped. All were pummeled to death.

Once we'd killed them, our fury dissipated, replaced by panic—a mutiny meant mass executions! But after conferring, we weren't afraid anymore. The Fubo Army was about to take Zhaoqing anyway; henceforth we wouldn't be under the false Ming. The more officers killed, the better. The Australians certainly wouldn't hold us accountable.

Now everyone went wild. Anyone who was an official, anyone associated with officials—servants, retainers—anyone remotely connected to authority was surrounded and beaten to death. Some pleaded and kowtowed desperately, crying about how pitiful they were, begging for mercy. But no one listened. One by one, they were beaten to death. Honestly, they thoroughly deserved it.

Liang Feifan, who'd been barking orders at us all along, was nowhere to be seen. I don't know if he fled in the chaos or was beaten to death in some corner.

No one cared about anything else. Though some old soldiers tried to incite us to go loot the city's wealthy families and officials—saying in for a penny, in for a pound, we might as well kill them all and get rich for life—most of us were honest folk, mostly green recruits who'd never spilled blood. We were scared too, and scattered in all directions, everyone fleeing home. I later heard that some did go looting and harmed many civilians—these thugs talked about "robbing the rich to help the poor," but in truth they didn't care whether victims were rich or poor. They murdered whoever crossed their path and grabbed whatever they could. Fortunately, the Fubo Army arrived in time to halt their atrocities, arresting and executing the guilty, sparing Zhaoqing's people from greater suffering.

My comrades asked me what to do. All our carefully laid plans had gone up in smoke. Like me, they felt both relieved and at a loss. Recalling what Uncle Jizai had said about the Fubo Army, I reassured them not to be afraid—go home and hide. When the Fubo Army came, do whatever they instructed, and don't resist. If lawless mobs came looting, don't resist either—report it to headquarters afterward to seek justice. The Fubo Army didn't permit plunder of civilians.

So I fled from the parade ground back to the garrison. It was already in chaos; many families had fled. On the street, I ran into my eldest sister running back from the Sun household. She said the Sun family had been robbed by rampaging soldiers fleeing from Zhaoqing. Not only was everything looted, but the entire household had been slaughtered—they hadn't even spared the family dog—and then the place was set ablaze.

I went to see. The fire scene was a horror—neither women nor children had been spared. But thinking of how the Sun household had treated military families, I felt at peace. When they'd been tormenting other people's wives and children, they'd probably thought their tyranny was only natural, never imagining they'd face the same fate! At this thought, I felt calm. But my parents, who still felt the Sun family had been "gracious" to us, kept sighing and lamenting.

I returned home. My parents were overjoyed and relieved that I didn't have to go to battle. When I asked about Uncle Jizai, they said he hadn't returned yet. I'd caught a glimpse of him on the parade ground at noon, but after the riot I couldn't find him—I'd assumed he'd gone home first. Only after nightfall did Uncle Jizai finally return, carrying two full baskets of eggs on a shoulder pole. I thought he'd been off looting somewhere and scolded him—we couldn't do such things. Uncle Jizai said he'd prepared these legitimately beforehand and shut me up.

He had me call my sisters into the kitchen, instructing us to boil all the eggs that night without eating any—he'd need them tomorrow. He also extracted a large oil-paper-wrapped package of tea leaves from the bottom of the basket and told me to brew it and store it in a tea pail. My sisters hadn't eaten well in many days; seeing so many eggs yet not being allowed to eat them, their disappointment was plain on their faces. Uncle Jizai hesitated, then allowed us each to take one—but no more. The girls cheered and clapped with delight. I was intensely curious—such fine things, rarely seen in ordinary times—where had Uncle Jizai obtained them? And where were they going? He didn't answer, only reminded me to watch the sisters, lock doors and windows at night, and be vigilant against stragglers breaking in to loot. Then he vanished into the night.

The next morning, around six o'clock, Uncle Jizai returned with several strange, sturdy-looking men. He was extremely excited, his eyes bloodshot from obviously not having slept. He and his companions took the boiled eggs and the tea pail and departed. Before leaving, he told me to change clothes and wait for him on East Gate Street immediately.

I changed and headed out. By the time I reached the main street, the sun was already high. The street was packed with people—old, young, adults—just like any festival crowd. Yet tension hung thick in the air. People whispered to each other, anxiety written on their faces, looking lost. I searched the crowd for Uncle Jizai but instead spotted Brother Hai. He was big and easy to recognize. I squeezed through to greet him. He was delighted to see me but nervously asked about yesterday's events. Only after learning I was safe did he relax. I asked: "Why are so many people here so early in the morning?" Brother Hai looked at me in surprise: "You don't know? The baojia headman said the Australians have taken Zhaoqing! They've summoned us here for a rally. Look!"

My heart leapt. I followed Brother Hai's pointing finger, and there atop the tall Kuixing Tower, a blue Dawn Star Flag faced the morning sun. Right there—standing there—billowing proudly in the strong wind.

(End of Chapter)