Chapter 15: Ambushed
“No need for that. We’re all brothers here, aren’t we, Brother Li?”
“Don’t get so familiar,” Li Jun retorted, popping a piece of chewing gum in his mouth—a poor substitute for brushing his teeth, but effective at deflecting Little Wei’s greedy hand. “You’re what, in your early twenties? I was two years younger than you when I was serving in the mobile squadron. You were on watch, and you fell asleep. In the army, the squad leader would have beaten some sense into you by now. How can you even show your face?”
“It’s different here. We’re not in the army…”
“Bullshit. The Executive Committee is treating us like soldiers. Weren’t you the one telling Xi Yazhou and Bei Wei how much you loved the military life, the thrill of the fight? And now you’re sleeping on duty? Heh…”
“Quiet, both of you! Something’s happening,” Bei Wei hissed, waving them over. They scrambled to his side, crouching at the edge of the pit.
The morning mist was beginning to burn off, revealing the first signs of life on the post road outside the city. A trickle of pedestrians, then a steady stream, flowed towards the city gates—men carrying loads on poles, herding pigs and cattle, families supporting their elderly and clutching their young.
“Where are they all going? Is it market day?” Wei Aiwen asked, marveling at the procession.
“They’re refugees,” Li Yunxing said quietly. “Seeking shelter in the city.”
“Refugees? From what? The Japanese?”
Bei Wei stared at him, momentarily baffled by the leap in logic. “The Japanese? Where did that come from?”
“Well, the Ming Dynasty was plagued by Japanese pirates, wasn’t it?”
“They’re fleeing from us,” Li Yunxing corrected, his gaze fixed on the ragged, indistinct figures crowding the road. A chill traced its way down his spine. Can we ever truly bridge the gap between our world and the people of 1628?
“We haven’t done anything,” Little Wei protested, his modern sensibilities still intact.
“Perhaps not,” Li Yunxing mused, “but the rumors in the city probably paint us as green-faced, tusked monsters who feast on children and accost old women.”
Their conversation was cut short as the crowd on the road scattered to the sides. A disciplined group of men marched up the road, flanking three two-wheeled handcarts. Their leader, clad in an iron helmet and armor with a long saber at his hip, was clearly a military officer.
“Ming soldiers,” Bei Wei confirmed, silently counting them as they passed. One, five, ten…
Thirty men, not including the officer, and two handcarts. The crowd obscured a clear view of the cargo, but from the straining postures of the men pushing, it was heavy.
“They’re all armed,” Li Jun noted. Through the binoculars, the group appeared orderly, though only three or four wore any armor. The better-equipped ones had helmets, and every man carried a long spear.
The handcarts came into focus. The first held a small, dark iron cannon, a three-pounder by his estimation. The second was laden with boxes and jars—ammunition, most likely.
“Little Wei, get pictures!”
Wei Aiwen raised his digital camera, the telephoto lens whirring as he captured a series of images: the procession, the soldiers, the cannon, and close-ups of the officer and his armored contingent.
“Look!” Li Yunxing suddenly cried out, his voice sharp with surprise. “There’s a foreigner!”
Bei Wei shifted his binoculars. At the tail end of the column, a disheveled man with conspicuous brown hair stumbled along. His hands were bound behind him, a rope leading to one of the soldiers. He was barefoot, his calves streaked with blood, and a tattered fisherman’s straw cloak was draped over his shoulders. A young soldier behind him periodically prodded his backside with a spear, urging him onward.
A merchant? A missionary? A pirate? Questions flooded Bei Wei’s mind. Foreigners weren’t unheard of on the coasts of Guangdong and Fujian during this era, but what was one doing here, a captive of the local garrison in Lingao? A foreign pirate, perhaps?
“Get me the command post,” he ordered.
As the sun climbed higher, the Ming family and the trio of Chinese-American agents stood bewildered on the beach outside the camp.
After a restless night and a strange breakfast, Xiao Zishan—the man who had been spouting nonsense about them being in the Ming Dynasty—had approached them. The Ming family, weary of his delusions, braced for another round of insanity. Instead, he had politely informed them that they were free to go.
Before they could process the news, a transport boat had ferried them and their luggage to the shore.
The sprawling camp on the beach, the ships anchored in the harbor, the vehicles and machinery humming back and forth across the sand, the soldiers with their rifles… it all felt like a fever dream. These bandits were audacious beyond belief. If it weren’t for the familiar curve of the bay, the family might have thought they’d been spirited away to the Golden Triangle.
“You see? All your luggage is here, untouched. Feel free to check,” Xiao Zishan said with a broad smile, gesturing to the dazed family.
Ming Lang started to bend down and unzip a bag, but his mother stopped him. She forced a smile at Xiao Zishan. “We trust you, we trust you.”
“Where are we?” the pretty policewoman demanded. “You can’t just dump us here without telling us where this place is.”
The old woman quickly cut her daughter-in-law off. “No need, no need. Young comrade, just tell us which way to the main road. This place is so desolate. We need a direction, don’t we?”
“Ma’am, I told you yesterday,” Xiao Zishan said, his patience saintly. “This is Bopu Port in Lingao County. This river is the Wenlan. There are no highways here. If you follow the river upstream, you’ll eventually reach Lingao county town—the Lingao of the Ming Dynasty, that is.” Even as he said it, he felt a flicker of his own sanity waver.
The old man scoffed. “My god, Bopu? You might as well tell me this is New York City.”
“I’m really not lying,” Xiao Zishan insisted, long past taking offense. He pointed to a distant structure. “Isn’t that the beacon tower of Lingao? And that’s Lingao Cape over there. Sir, you served in Hainan. You must recognize it.”
“Lingao Cape? Then where’s the lighthouse? Where’s the liberation monument? Did you eat them?”
(The two major landmarks on Lingao Cape were the customs lighthouse, built during the Guangxu era, and the monument to the liberation of Hainan.)
“This is 1628. The People’s Liberation Army hasn’t quite gotten around to liberating Hainan yet.”
The old man shot him a look of pure disdain, but a sharp nudge from his wife silenced him.
“Bopu it is, then,” the old woman said, trying to smooth things over. “Thank you. We’ll be on our way. Please, go back.”
Xiao Zishan smiled. Just then, Guo Yi and his companions were brought over.
“This is Comrade Guo from Section X of Public Security,” Xiao Zishan announced. “He’s accompanying two foreign guests. You can all travel together. Look out for one another.”
A fresh wave of anxiety washed over the Ming family. What was this man’s game? Guo Yi’s group was equally perplexed. This morning, Ran Yao had escorted them from the ship, and Guo Yi had been on edge the entire time, expecting a sinister end. He’d imagined a bullet in the back on deck, being tossed overboard from the transport boat, or facing a firing squad on the beach. He had not expected to find a family with a mountain of luggage.
“Little Guo, you and your friends can go with Mr. Ming’s family,” Xiao Zishan said, watching with amusement as the two groups eyed each other with mutual suspicion. That Yu E’shui was a devious one. But then, thinking of what these people might face on the road to Lingao, his amusement faded. He hoped they would all be safe.
Seeing the amount of luggage, Xiao Zishan flagged down a farm truck and had it drive them to the riverside.
“This is as far as we can take you,” he said, his voice sincere. “This is Hainan in the 17th century… so…” He trailed off, watching the seven of them turn and hurry away without a backward glance.
The two groups walked in a tense silence, each believing the other to be accomplices of the bandits. Soon, the Ming family began to lag behind.
“Silly boy, why are you walking so fast?” his mother chided.
“I’m not tired…” Ming Lang said, confused. The path was uneven, but it was flat. A suitcase was no great burden for a young man.
She pursed her lips, nodding subtly towards the three figures ahead. “Slow down. We have too much luggage…”
Understanding dawned on Ming Lang’s face. His mother wanted to create distance. The family’s pace slowed to a crawl, and the gap between the two groups widened.
Guo Yi’s party, unburdened by luggage and composed of fit law enforcement officers, had set a brisk pace. He was glad to see the family fall behind. He touched the Type 64 pistol that had been returned to him. He couldn’t fathom the bandits’ motives, but having his weapon back was a relief. Losing a service pistol was a career-ending mistake. His current location was a mystery, but the path showed signs of human activity. A settlement couldn’t be far. Where there were people, there was communication. Once he contacted his superiors, everything would be manageable.
“Old Xue, what do you make of all this?” he asked Xue Ziliang, his mood considerably lighter. The burly man, carrying a massive backpack, navigated the rocky, overgrown path with surprising ease.
“Beats me.” The ABC shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t want to piss off US law enforcement.”
What nonsense, Guo Yi thought. This American, for all his Chinese heritage, was an arrogant fool.
“Xue, that’s a thoughtless thing to say.”
“What else is there? We don’t even know where we are. What was that place he mentioned? Lin-something?”
“Lingao. It’s a county in Hainan Province.”
Xue Ziliang, it turned out, had no idea where Hainan was, and even asked if it was part of China. A dumbfounded Guo Yi was forced to give him a crash course in Chinese geography.
“But he could be lying, right?” Xue Ziliang said.
“I think so. If we were really in Lingao, the police would have been all over a commotion this big. And our phones would have a signal.”
“There you have it, Guo,” Xue Ziliang said. “We’re flying blind. We can’t infer anything until we have more information. Let’s just find a town.”
The terrain began to rise in a gentle slope. The land here was cultivated, with small paddy fields flanking the river, fed by irrigation channels. But beyond these pockets of civilization lay an endless, desolate wilderness, where the grass grew as high as a man’s head. The path was lined with scrub and low bushes, with few tall trees to offer shade. The river flowed beside them, its water remarkably clear.
“Let’s rest a minute.” The sound of rushing water grew louder in the distance. “Sarlina says she’s not feeling well,” Xue Ziliang suggested.
“Oh? Did she catch a cold?” Guo Yi asked, slumping onto a rock. He took out his Type 64, eager to inspect it. The bandits returning his pistol was a strange, welcome anomaly. Whatever their reasons, it had saved him a world of trouble.
“No, she wouldn’t…” Xue Ziliang started to say, but his words were cut off by the frantic clang of a gong from the tall grass. The three of them jumped to their feet just as a volley of feathered arrows erupted from the surrounding wilderness.