Chapter 36: Interrogating the Captives (Part 1)

Someone proposed a comprehensive interrogation and screening of the captives, to glean as much information as possible about the local situation. This would be far more efficient than relying on the intelligence and materials group to sift through books. And so, Ran Yao was given a new task: interrogating the captives.

While some raised concerns about the human rights of the captives, many were more interested in the practical application of torture. Before Ran Yao could even formulate an interrogation plan, he was inundated with enthusiastic proposals for various instruments and methods of torture.

“I’m interrogating captives, not filming a historical drama about the Ten Great Tortures of the Manchu Dynasty,” he said, exasperated. But with so many captives to process, he knew he couldn’t do it alone. He applied to the Executive Committee to have the two former law enforcement officers with temporary ID cards seconded to his team.

Little Guo, who had been relegated to battlefield cleanup after the battle, was thrilled by the transfer. He could finally do his old job again.

“Alright, Little Guo,” Ran Yao said, “you’re in charge of the interrogations. Get the process and outline ready by tonight.” He stretched. “By the way, we’ve also transferred Mu Min over. A male-female pair. It’ll make the work less tiring.”

“Team Leader Ran,” Guo Yi said tactfully, “she has a husband. Is it appropriate for me to work with her?”

“You’re quite the feudal traditionalist,” Ran Yao teased. “What, you want me to transfer the foreign woman to you? Salina is almost recovered, but they haven’t been appointed yet. It’s a tricky situation.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “By the way, Wu De will be cooperating with you. He’s in charge of the captives. The ones you’ve interrogated will be handed over to him.”

“No problem. I will cooperate fully with Captain Wu’s work.”

“No, you are cooperating with each other, not you with him,” Ran Yao chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Comrade Little Guo, you may not have a formal position yet, but you are a rare specialist in our security group.”

Guo Yi left the security group office in a daze. His new office was by the river, where the construction team was building a captive camp, the roar of the bulldozers and excavators filling the air. In the river, a group of naked men were bathing. He had no interest in watching, but as he turned to leave, someone called his name.

“Guo, Guo—” It was Xue Ziliang, a steel helmet perched on his head. “I finally found you. I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

“What is it?” Guo Yi asked, edging away. He didn’t want to be seen talking to the ABC.

“Guo, can you help me find your… leader? Tell them to change my job.” He looked at his worn-out gloves with a mournful expression. “I’ve been driving a tractor for two weeks. I’m ATF! A professional! You need me!”

“I can’t make that decision,” Guo Yi said, glancing around nervously. “I have a temporary ID myself. How can I speak for you?”

“God, why do you all talk the same way!” Xue Ziliang roared, looking up at the sky. “‘I can’t make the decision… This matter needs to be studied… The leader is busy…’”

Guo Yi had intended to dismiss him and hurry off to discuss his new assignment with Wu De and Mu Min. But seeing the desperation on the American’s face, he felt a pang of pity. “Xue, you have to learn to be Chinese now. And the first thing to be a Chinese is to have patience.” He poked Xue Ziliang in the chest. “Patience, understand? Do your job well. The leader knows everything.”

He then hurried away, leaving Xue Ziliang to ponder his words. It seemed the leadership trusted him more than the foreigners, and he didn’t want his image to be tarnished by association.

The captive camp was a simple affair, a clearing by the river enclosed by barbed wire. The captives were building their own shelters. The five men under Wu De’s command, seeing the new arrivals, immediately puffed out their chests, eager to show their ferocity and ability in front of their master.

The interrogation site was set up just outside the camp. A large wooden stump, a relic from someone’s collection, was placed outside the tent, a medieval battle axe resting on it. The axe had been smeared with medical waste from the infirmary, giving it a gruesome, blood-stained appearance. Though it had never tasted human flesh, the sight of it sent a chill down the spine of anyone who saw it.

Yu E’shui, the architect of this macabre display, had wanted to erect a forest of spears, each topped with a severed head, but his proposal had been met with unanimous opposition. The psychological impact, it was decided, would be too great, not on the captives, but on the transmigrators themselves.

At night, blazing bonfires lined the path from the camp to the tent, casting long, dancing shadows and filling the air with an atmosphere of mystery and terror. The captives, already anxious about their fate, were brought to the entrance one by one. The sight of the blood-stained axe was often enough to make them collapse.

The interrogations were conducted by two people. Mu Min, with her years of experience in public security and criminal investigation, was far more skilled than Guo Yi, who had mostly just “invited people for tea.” But for now, she remained in the background, taking notes and occasionally offering a quiet reminder. The sight of a female pirate interrogating them, it was thought, would be too much of a shock for these Ming Dynasty men. Lin Xing, who had learned Mandarin the fastest, served as the translator, with Xiong Buyou monitoring to ensure accuracy.

The Internal Affairs Committee had instructed the IT team to create a personnel database for the captives, and the interrogators simply had to fill in the fields: name, address, age, occupation, family background.

Despite the terrifying atmosphere, Guo Yi and Mu Min soon discovered the inherent cunning of the Chinese peasant. They all claimed to be from three generations of poor peasants, with no roof over their heads and no land to their names. They all had an eighty-year-old mother and an eight-year-old child. Guo Yi was puzzled. Was being a poor peasant so fashionable in this era?

Their names and addresses were a tangled mess. Over a hundred men claimed to be from eighty or ninety different villages. Many were clearly hiding their true identities.

But for the agents of a modern dictatorial institution, this was not a problem. A lie, made up on the spot, is easy to forget.

“Gender?”

“Name?”

“Didn’t you just say your name was Zhao San? Why did you change your surname? What’s your real name?”

No matter how vehemently they denied it, the recording pen, a magical little device, would expose their lies. Some persisted, only to be caught again and again. They would be driven outside, forced to walk in circles around the fire, prodded with a long spear, until they were willing to tell the truth. It was a form of torture more effective than any physical punishment. One man, after his lies were exposed four times, walked in circles for half the night before collapsing and dying, a terrible warning to the others.

Soon, all the captives had confessed everything they knew about themselves and each other.

Most were indeed poor, but some were not. A third of them came from a large village called Huang Family Village. Their leader had been Huang Shoutong, the head of the Huang Family Village militia.

Most of the captured local braves from Huang Family Village were tenant farmers and long-term laborers. Some owned a little land of their own and rented more from the Huang family. As local braves, they were treated better than the average peasant, paying less in rent and receiving higher wages. Others were kinsmen or relatives of the Huang family, small landlords or self-cultivating farmers. They had come to fight for the reward offered by the county, and the promise of a reduction in their taxes if they won. The families of those who died were to be compensated.

The Huang Family Village militia had fought with particular bravery, and their casualties had been the greatest. According to one of the captured leaders, more than half of the attacking local braves had died.

“What about Huang Shoutong?” Guo Yi asked.

“I didn’t see Tuanzong Huang,” the leader said. “As soon as the masters fired their matchlocks, he got off his horse to command, and then he disappeared.”

The other captives were a motley crew, mostly long-term laborers sent by their masters to make up the numbers. Some were the poorest of the poor, with “no ties,” sent by their villages to fight because their deaths would not matter. Those who were reluctant to talk were mostly small landlords and farmers with some property, who feared implicating their families and inviting plunder and extortion.

From the captives, they learned a great deal about the surrounding area: the distribution of villages, their approximate populations, the wealthy households and landlords, and the local industries and products. Some, as they spoke, became animated, offering to join the pirates and lead them to plunder the rich households in their own villages, in exchange for the chance to kill their enemies.

The interrogation team carefully recorded their stories. Some of the men, overcome with emotion, burst into tears. Lin Xing, listening to their tales of woe, also wept.

“What are they talking about?” Guo Yi asked Xiong Buyou, seeing the looks of deep hatred on their faces.

“It’s truly tragic,” Xiong Buyou said, shaking his head in sympathy. “These men who are willing to join us all have blood feuds.”

“Let them talk,” Guo Yi said, a new idea forming in his mind. “One by one.”