Chapter 408: The Pursuit

The boy, once so meek and submissive, now wore a look of defiance. Still, wary of the sword in Zhuo Yifan’s hand, he only muttered, “The government never does anything for us but take our money and grain…”

Zhuo Yifan caught his breath. “Nothing good? You’ve known two hundred years of peace in this remote and wild land of Hainan, with food on your table and clothes on your back. Is that not the grace of our great Ming Dynasty? As for taxes and grain, that is your duty. Besides, you said your family were tenants. Is it not the landowners who pay the taxes?”

“Before the Chiefs came,” the boy retorted, “we were plagued by Li bandits, and the government turned a blind eye. The landowners just pass their taxes on to us tenants. A few years ago, Old Master Zhou raised the rent every year, claiming it was the court’s decree. But since the Chiefs arrived, he hasn’t dared to raise the rent. In fact, he’s lowered it by a great deal!”

Zhuo Yifan sighed. “Did the bandits force him to reduce the rent?”

“Not exactly,” the boy said. “The Chiefs have opened so many businesses in Nanbao—mines, shops, great factories. My parents are simple farmers, so they took jobs as laborers on the farm. It’s hard work, but our family has food to eat and clothes to wear. We’ve even rebuilt our home. It’s a world away from the half-starved life we led as Old Master Zhou’s tenants. Who would want his land now?” He couldn’t help a flicker of pride. “Now Old Master Zhou begs people to rent his land, but no one will have it!”

A place where landlords begged farmers to take their land! Zhuo Yifan was dumbfounded. He had roamed the world and witnessed a great deal, including disputes between landlord and tenant that ended in bloodshed. Unless the law had vanished or some great catastrophe had scattered the peasantry, land was always a seller’s market. The fiercest conflicts always arose over seizing or resisting tenancy, raising or lowering the rent.

The world of Lingao was too strange. The grain-producing households were the very foundation of the court, yet the bandits treated them so. Sooner or later, they would lose the hearts of the people. He sighed softly, a sudden thought striking him: these bandits were surprisingly capable governors. They simply followed some perverse and heretical doctrine. To continue this way was to squander their talents on mere commerce and industry. A wave of regret washed over him. “What a pity,” he murmured. “These bandits have the genius of Lu Ban and the acumen of Tao Zhu, but they have strayed from the righteous path.” He glanced at the boy, who seemed a promising lad, and sighed again. “The bandits are truly leading the youth astray with all this useless, miscellaneous knowledge!”

Zhuo Yifan did not understand that children of this age possess the keenest curiosity and the deepest thirst for knowledge. Though the boy had only attended school for a few months, the Australians had been in Nanbao for years. He belonged to a new generation, one that had watched Nanbao blossom from a desolate mountain hamlet into a bustling town, a generation that had felt the changes in their own lives. To hear Zhuo Yifan belittle the Chiefs’ knowledge as useless was more than he could bear. “Sir, you speak too freely,” he argued. “In the future, with the Chiefs’ learning, I can grow more rice, weave more cloth, and fashion better tools to make our work easier. We can all live in proper houses with tiled roofs, and our children and grandchildren will never know hunger again…”

Zhuo Yifan sneered to himself. So the bandits relied on empty promises to beguile the common folk. A bumpkin was a bumpkin, so easily swayed. Seeing the boy’s devout expression, he knew the lad was deeply deluded. But his own life was on the line—why waste his breath? He fell silent.

He was gravely wounded. Though his injuries had been treated and showed no sign of infection, he had lost a great deal of blood and had fled through the night. The conversation left him dizzy. Ever vigilant, he tore a strip from a piece of rotten cloth and gagged the boy before darkness took him.

He knew not how much time had passed before he felt a hand shaking him. Zhuo Yifan’s eyes fluttered open to see the anxious face of Sima Qiudao.

“Sima…”

“The boy! Where is he?” Sima Qiudao demanded.

Zhuo Yifan started. He glanced at the tree and saw only a canvas schoolbag strap lying on the ground. It was a sturdy, stiff piece of material; the knot had not held, and the boy had slipped free.

“Gods…”

“We must go. Now,” Sima Qiudao urged. “We can’t linger here.” He helped Zhuo Yifan to his feet.

“What of Brother Huang and the others?”

“I went into the town,” Sima Qiudao said, his voice and expression etched with pain. “I hadn’t gone far when I heard a commotion. The bandits had sent their Japanese pirates to surround the Huang Family Pharmacy! I dared not go closer, so I slipped away.”

Zhuo Yifan’s heart sank, but he could not afford to dwell on it. It was every man for himself now.

“We’ll circle around Nanbao. It’s not far from the Li district.” Leaning on a wooden stick for support, he began to walk.

Seeing Zhuo Yifan’s pale face and bloodless lips, Sima Qiudao’s heart tightened. He stepped forward, supporting Zhuo Yifan with his right arm. “Let me help you. We’ll reach Fanbao Mountain by dusk and slip through the pass under the cover of night. Seventh Master said the barracks is gone, replaced by a simple checkpoint. It should be an easy crossing.”

Supporting one another, the two men descended the mountain, crossed the fields, and made for a small hill ahead. Though Sima Qiudao bore some of his weight, a sharp pain lanced through Zhuo Yifan’s wound with every step. The ache under his ribs was so intense that even the slightest breath was an agony.

Am I going to die here? He dragged his feet, his body growing heavier, his head spinning.

Fearing discovery by the bandits, they took a long detour, avoiding settlements and keeping to the dense mountain forests, which only made their journey more arduous.

After walking for the better part of an hour, Sima Qiudao saw that Zhuo Yifan was staggering, barely able to stand. He helped him to the ground behind a large rock. “Rest here. I’ll find some water.” He unbuttoned Zhuo Yifan’s tunic and saw the bandage, soaked crimson. The long journey had reopened the wound.

Sima Qiudao’s heart was heavy with worry. If this continues, he thought, Zhuo Yifan will perish on this road. Their only hope was to reach the Li district and, through the connections of the righteous men there, find a safe haven for him to recover.

He picked up a bamboo tube to fetch water, but Zhuo Yifan seized his arm. “Listen!” he whispered.

Sima Qiudao strained his ears but heard nothing. Just as he was about to speak, a strange, roaring sound drifted from the mountain where they had rested the night before. It was growing closer.

“It sounds like a dog,” Sima Qiudao said, but this was no common cur. The sound was a deep-throated roar. He quickly pushed aside the bushes to peer at the opposite slope. A black and yellow dog emerged from the woods. It had a round head, drooping ears, and two large white spots above its eyes that gave it the appearance of having four. Stranger still, the dog seemed to have no tail.

Behind it were three or four stout soldiers in lacquered hats, swords at their waists. Sima Qiudao knew them for what they were: the Japanese pirates employed by the bandits.

The dog was on a leash, straining against the man who held it, its nose to the ground. It was a massive beast, the size of a calf, and its handler could barely keep his feet. Three more identical dogs emerged from the woods, all sniffing the earth. Behind them came more than a dozen soldiers armed with muskets—a mix of Japanese pirates and regular troops. And beside an officer, pointing and gesturing, stood a young boy. Sima Qiudao’s blood ran cold: it was the herb-gathering boy who had escaped.

Zhuo Yifan saw him too and cursed himself in silence. But recriminations were useless now. He could only curl into a ball, trying to make himself a smaller target.

The dogs on the far slope were sniffing the ground, moving in their direction. “They must have caught the scent of blood,” Zhuo Yifan whispered.

“The bandits are cunning, to use such a trick,” Sima Qiudao said without turning. “Brother Zhuo, we must part ways. If they catch us together, neither will escape. Fanbao Mountain is just over this hill and a few miles beyond. You go on. Move slowly. If you can reach it by nightfall, you have a chance to escape tonight.”

He paused. “I will go down the mountain, cross the valley, and take the smaller peak to the left. I will meet you at Fanbao Mountain.”

Zhuo Yifan was aghast. The path Sima Qiudao described would take him right under the noses of the bandits. He was creating a diversion.

“Brother Sima, no! I am gravely wounded and will not last much longer. You are uninjured and swift of foot. You must go. Leave me to delay the bandits’ pursuers. I will take as many of them with me as I can!”

“Do not refuse, Brother Zhuo. I, Sima Qiudao, have crawled from piles of the dead and fled the bedlam of battle. I live now on borrowed time. I am a fast runner. The bandits will surely give their all in chasing me. The farther I lead them, the more time you have to escape. One of us must survive!”

As he spoke, he tightened his robes and secured his knife in his belt.

“Brother Qiudao!” Zhuo Yifan was so choked with emotion he could not speak.

Sima Qiudao looked at him, a deliberate smile playing on his lips. “Brother Zhuo, how can you be so sure I won’t escape? Do not worry. The Tartar cavalry could not catch me in their day. What are a few hounds to me? We shall meet again!” With that, he cupped his fists. “Sima Qiudao takes his leave!”

He turned to go, then paused. With his back to Zhuo Yifan, he turned his head slightly and said, “Brother Zhuo, if you survive this and find yourself in Beijing, I ask that you burn a stick of incense at the grave of Lord Yuan Yingtai for me. I was his advisor. When Liaoyang fell, I should have died at his side… I am going.”