Chapter 2222 - The Dagger Revealed
Wang Chuyi appeared unruffled. He asked, "Any news from Qinglian Market?"
"None yet, but I've notified the county seat to send word the moment they hear Zhen Huan has arrived at Qinglian Market." You Ciren was more worried about Qinglian Market; he had dispatched agents to monitor Feng Haijiao's movements. So far, Feng Haijiao showed no unusual activity.
Even if Feng did make a move—even if Zhen Huan's Mountain Company had not yet arrived—the normal march from Qinglian Market to here would take five or six hours on foot, and moving a large force would require a full day. So if Sun Dabiao were colluding with Feng Haijiao to catch them in a pincer here, Feng's troops would have to set out at least a day in advance.
Since Qinglian Market showed no sign of movement, Feng Haijiao was clearly not involved in whatever Sun Dabiao might be planning. Both Wang Chuyi and You Ciren relaxed—their greatest fear was the two forces joining together.
"Come, let's enter the town."
Sun Dabiao and all the "worthies" of Dalang Market were waiting at the gate. When they saw Wang Chuyi's palanquin approach, Sun Dabiao led the way; the assembled "worthies" fell to their knees in a wave. Sun Dabiao kowtowed deeply, calling himself a "humble commoner."
His show of deference was so effusive that Wang Chuyi could hardly ignore it. He lifted the palanquin curtain. "No need for such ceremony."
"Yes. Please, Your Honor, first proceed to the Dragon Mother Temple. Tea has been prepared." Sun Dabiao's manner was the picture of humility.
Wang Chuyi nodded. He was drenched in sweat—traveling in a palanquin under this blazing sun was like being steamed alive. Whatever Sun Dabiao was up to, finding a shady spot and a drink of water came first.
The Dragon Mother Temple stood beside the market square—an unremarkable three-room compound. Its only notable feature was the stage facing the temple gate—the site of today's "Golden Basin Hand-Washing" ceremony.
You Ciren entered the town on high alert, scanning in every direction, but nothing seemed amiss. The heat had emptied the streets; the market, recently sacked by the Yao, was still undergoing repairs, its buildings scattered and forlorn. He scrutinized everything but found nothing unusual. Key traffic nodes had already been secured by men from the Second Squadron.
When the party reached the Dragon Mother Temple, they discovered that practically the entire town had converged there. The shade shelters around the square teemed with people—several hundred at least, men and women, young and old, jostling for a view. When they saw the Australians had brought a Yao squadron, a ripple of unease passed through the crowd.
"Tell Pan Tianshun to keep his men under control," Wang Chuyi murmured, lifting his palanquin curtain. "Han-Yao tensions run high here. An incident would be no laughing matter."
"Yes!"
Escorted by the Yao squadron, the palanquin was carried all the way to the Dragon Mother Temple. Wang Chuyi alighted, entered the main hall, offered incense to the deity, and then seated himself in a chair set up beside the altar. Sun Dabiao's steward was already there with wash-water and tea, which he presented with utmost deference.
While You Ciren deployed security and made a circuit of the square, he noted that though the crowd was large, most were simply curious townspeople—no greenwood heroes or their ilk. A handful with an unmistakable jianghu aura were clustered in several shelters; the accompanying steward explained that these were Sun Dabiao's "friends," here expressly to witness the ceremony.
Being "friends," they were presumably bandits from various quarters. You Ciren filed this away—an excellent opportunity to sweep them all up in one net. He quietly instructed his men to watch those particular shelters; after the ceremony, they would pick them off one by one on the road.
Meanwhile, Sun Dabiao was not idle. The moment Wang Chuyi arrived at the temple, he came over with a retinue, offering greetings and tea, and repeating the terms Wang Chuyi had previously promised—over and over. Wang Chuyi grew impatient. "Master Sun, the terms have been promised. The Council of Elders always keeps its word. But henceforth your men must serve the Council with undivided loyalty. Set aside any other thoughts, and you will be guaranteed peace and prosperity."
"Yes, yes, I understand! This is all thanks to Your Honor's blessing." Sun Dabiao produced a gift list from his sleeve. "This is a small token of my sincerity. Please accept it."
Wang Chuyi did not take the list. He frowned. "Master Sun, I appreciate the sentiment. But the Council of Elders has discipline. I cannot accept private gifts."
"Yes, yes—Your Honor is upright and incorruptible! However, this gift is offered to the Council of Elders."
Since it was for the Council, Wang Chuyi accepted the list. The items were nothing remarkable—tea, mountain goods, leather, and other local products, plus five hundred taels of silver and five hundred bolts of cloth.
All useful things, Wang Chuyi thought. He pocketed the list. "Since it's for the Council of Elders, I will accept it for now. In a few days, the county will issue you a receipt."
"Yes—thank you, Your Honor!" Sun Dabiao beamed, as if he had gained tremendous face. He glanced at the sky and said, "The hour is upon us. Shall we begin?"
"Mm. Begin." Wang Chuyi set down his teacup and rose.
Yangshan County Seat.
Near noon, the streets were almost deserted. Shops were open but listless, their bamboo blinds hanging limp. The county seat had been sacked; trade routes to Hunan were still not restored. Every business was hobbled. Some were ready to close—only because the newly arrived County Magistrate Wang had held several merchant assemblies, promising exemption from commercial taxes and miscellaneous levies, had the shopkeepers been persuaded to keep their doors open. But trade was so slack that half a day might pass without a single customer. In the heat, from proprietors to shop boys, everyone dozed.
The only lively spot in the city that day was a residence on County Front West Street—the very mansion Sun Dabiao had recently purchased. Since buying it, he had acquired the neighboring houses and shops at high prices, demolished them, and begun grand construction: expanding buildings, laying out a garden. Dozens of laborers worked the site daily, making a constant racket.
At noon, the laborers drifted out of the worksite in twos and threes, tools in hand, heading for an eatery near the West Gate—where the workers took their three meals. This scene had been the same ever since Sun Dabiao began building in the county seat. The National Army soldiers on street patrol no longer gave it a second glance. Even though Section Chief Luo had specifically raised the alert level that day, no one was particularly concerned—only, the number of National Army personnel on duty near the Sun mansion worksite had increased.
Zhang Tianbo sat in a tea stall in the suburbs outside the West Gate, sipping tea absent-mindedly and stealing glances at the street from time to time. As "Squad Leader," he was a commander without troops. His so-called Detective Squad had some twenty-odd retained constables, but Security Section controlled them directly; they took no orders from him. Luo Yiming did not trust him and gave him no assignments. Once the pacification negotiations were underway, he had nothing to do—just wandering the streets every day, stripped of his former swagger. When people greeted him now, there was a wilted quality to their manner.
Everyone in the county seat knew Zhang Tianbo had fallen out of favor with the Australians. The perks of his old days were gone; those he had wronged in the past, though not daring to confront him openly, now showed him no courtesy on the street—some even grabbed him to demand explanations. Zhang Tianbo gave way every time, swallowing it all. Revenge can wait ten years. Having boarded Feng Haijiao's boat, he might as well go for a big score—bet it all.
He glanced at the West Gate again. Because security remained unstable, Yangshan's gates were not open from dawn to dusk. In summer, though daylight was long, the gates opened at eight in the morning and closed at five in the afternoon. Even then, only one leaf of the gate was kept open—so it could be shut quickly in an emergency.
A squad of National Army soldiers stood watch at the gate. It was mealtime; a cook had arrived with buckets and was distributing food. Nearby, laborers from the eatery squatted or stood around a large wooden basin of vegetables, eating in silence.
As they ate, someone suddenly cried out: "Fire!"
Zhang Tianbo's heart surged; he could barely contain his excitement. He looked east: sure enough, a column of black smoke was rising from Sun Dabiao's mansion worksite.
The site had been piled high with bamboo and timber; now, soaked in tung oil, it was ablaze. In the dry summer heat, the flames spread uncontrollably within minutes—a pillar of fire roaring into the sky.
Whistles shrilled on the street. The patrolling National Army soldiers fell into confusion; many ran toward the fire. At the gate, several sentries left their post and stepped into the street to gawk.
"Now!" Zhang Tianbo sprang to his feet, hurled his teacup to the ground, drew a dagger from his coat, and charged toward the gate with a roar. At his signal, the twenty-odd "laborers" who had been eating dropped their bowls, snatched up shovels, carrying poles, and hoes, and surged toward the West Gate.
The nearest National Army soldier stood gaping, bowl in hand. Seeing Zhang Tianbo rush at him, face contorted in a snarl, dagger flashing, he cried out, flung his bowl at Zhang's face, and turned to run—only to trip and fall hard. Zhang Tianbo closed the distance in three bounds, planted a foot on him, and drove the dagger home.
The other soldiers who had come out to see the commotion had no time to react; they were bludgeoned by the onrushing bandits and went down in an instant.
The bandits' charge into the gate was momentarily checked by the barriers. Those precious seconds saved the remaining soldiers' lives. The squad leader raised his rifle and fired, dropping one bandit. In the bandits' momentary confusion, the survivors fell back into the guard chamber inside the gate.
(End of Chapter)