Chapter 308: Sweet Port Turbulence — Burning the Temple
Xu Yingjie said, "This equipment hasn't seen actual combat yet. When I heard there was an operation in Leizhou, I brought it along. Rest assured—we've conducted extensive trials. I only brought items that are relatively mature."
Chang Shide nodded. "Just in time for an operation. We can test some of these properly." He turned to Beiwei.
"Good," Beiwei agreed.
"As for the rest—the sleeve arrow concept isn't bad, but I find it rather dangerous." Chen Tianxiong pondered for a moment. "Issue them as emergency equipment to the subordinates. I want five sets of chainmail vests. I have protection myself, but the managers at the sugar refinery don't. I'm asking on their behalf."
"We can't manufacture too many chainmail vests at present—materials are limited. I can only provide two sets. I brought four sleeve arrows; equip the subordinates first."
Past midnight, the moon had already drifted westward, obscured by ragged clouds, leaving everything on earth suspended in half-darkness. Dew floated low over the ground, and the group gathered in the courtyard was already damp with it. Li Yunsheng's sweat-soaked body felt cool under the faint breeze.
Watching the moon pass its zenith, he grew increasingly uneasy, his eyes constantly seeking the direction of Xuwen County.
Li Yunsheng was one of the few indigenous members of the Special Reconnaissance Team whom Beiwei had brought from Lingao. Like the Army and Navy, the Reconnaissance Team had begun absorbing indigenous soldiers, though the standards were particularly exacting. Candidates had to be orphans—no family ties whatsoever. They had to be young: anyone over fourteen was rejected outright. Those with vagrant habits, slow reactions, or who exhibited petty cunning were similarly dismissed. Finally, they had to pass a brutal series of physical and skill tests—truly one in a hundred. Except for drill and cultural classes, which fell under the Military and Political School, all training was conducted within the Special Reconnaissance Team itself. The cadets ate, lived, and trained alongside the transmigrator operatives, forging unbreakable bonds of belonging and combat brotherhood.
Beiwei's standing order to the team was clear: "Treat the cadets like your sons and brothers. They are not only the future seeds of the Special Reconnaissance Team—they are also the future guardians of the Transmigration regime."
These cadets had trained for only three months, and their missions were primarily reconnaissance. This was Li Yunsheng's first time executing a mission alone.
He had disguised himself as a betel nut vendor, hawking his wares all the way from Xuwen County to Hai'an Street. To avoid arousing suspicion, he continued selling through the afternoon, finally working his way around to Monk Zou's Temple. Under cover of peddling, he toured the grounds—front and back, inside and out—memorizing the building's structure and every entrance and exit as his training demanded. Then he returned to Hai'an Street, found a dilapidated temple to rest in, and waited until full darkness before moving to the designated rendezvous.
According to the plan, Chief Bei would personally bring men at midnight. They would then act based on the intelligence gathered.
Growing anxious, Li Yunsheng finally spotted a row of figures approaching swiftly along the field ridges. White cloth strips flickered on their arms—the recognition signal. He challenged them immediately.
"Password?"
"Sweep!" Beiwei's voice. He had indeed led the team himself.
The full team numbered fifteen, including those Beiwei had brought from Lingao previously and the new arrivals. Spirits ran high. Xu Yingjie had tagged along as well, determined to observe the weapons' performance firsthand.
They gathered in a huddle, concealing themselves among the chaotic grave mounds beside the road. Li Yunsheng reported the intelligence he had gathered during the day, sketching the topography of Monk Zou's Temple on the dirt with twigs and small stones.
According to his reconnaissance, Monk Zou's Temple was extensive—fully four courtyards deep.
"The thugs are gathered in the side rooms and under the eaves of the first courtyard." Li Yunsheng indicated the positions with his finger. "After dark, the temple keeper closes the gate to the second courtyard. The main gate closes later. Besides the main entrance, there's a back door behind the temple, but it doesn't connect to the front courtyard."
Drawing on this intelligence, Beiwei formulated his plan swiftly. He divided the fifteen men into four groups, assigned each group its combat role, and laid down strict discipline. "We're close to Hai'an Street. Unless absolutely necessary, no firearms. Resolve this with blades and crossbows. And leave nothing behind."
"Move out." Beiwei pulled down his hood.
With Li Yunsheng guiding, walking point alongside Beiwei, they threaded through vegetable gardens, wheat fields, irrigation ditches, grave mounds, and tree rows on the outskirts of Hai'an Street, eventually reaching the collapsed pavilion north of Monk Zou's Temple. The team members took cover in silence, watching the temple. Under the drifting cloud-veiled moon, the surrounding landscape was dimly visible.
The temple gate stood half-open. Two thugs—evidently drunk—sprawled snoring beneath the threshold. Faint light flickered within.
Beiwei carefully surveyed the surroundings through the team's only infrared telescope. Though Monk Zou's Temple technically stood on Hai'an Street, it occupied the far end, isolated amid vegetable plots and chaotic grave clusters. Only the open ground before the temple appeared somewhat maintained, crowded with merchant stalls—all empty now at this midnight hour.
Minutes passed. Suddenly the temple door swung open. Two figures emerged, each carrying a bundle. They glanced furtively in all directions before heading toward the team's hiding place.
The pair crept along the vegetable garden's edge. Seeing no one about, they straightened and walked more openly. Just as they rounded a corner, two team members hiding there pounced silently, tackling them around the waist. The thugs started to cry out, but hands clamped over their throats. They were dragged behind a grave mound, knife points pressed to their chests.
The two thugs went limp against the grave, terror replacing bravado. Believing they were being robbed, they groveled immediately. "Great Kings, spare us! We're just small fry—we've got a few taels of silver on us. It's all yours!"
"Silence!" A team member flashed his blade.
"Are you Zhao Jijiao's men?"
The two exchanged glances, and comprehension seemed to flicker in their eyes. One of them recovered half his wits and managed a sickly grin. "I was wondering who it might be—so it's the South China Sugar folks—"
Beiwei's wrist flicked. A dagger sank into the man's chest. His eyes went wide with disbelief, and he died.
Immediately the stench of loosened bowels filled the air. The other thug had lost all control.
"Are you Zhao Jijiao's subordinate?"
"Yes—yes, I am—"
The terrified man answered instantly, all pretense of swagger gone.
"What were you doing going out at midnight?"
"Going to the factory to set a fire."
They searched the bodies. Indeed: each carried a bundle of firewood stuffed with oil-soaked kindling, along with fire-starters.
"Who sent you?"
"It—it was our boss."
"Zhao Jijiao?"
"Yes, yes, him."
"Who's paying for the arson?"
"I heard Zhao Jijiao say it was Third Master Zhu."
"How much?"
"That—that we don't know. Silver and money, Zhao Jijiao handles all of it. We get one tael per job. Ten if something actually burns!"
The price was not insignificant. Beiwei listened to the interrogation. Master Zhu, you are generous indeed.
"Where is Zhao Jijiao now?"
"He's—he's gambling inside the front hall."
"How many men inside?"
"Twenty-something."
"All of them?"
"One went out to set a fire yesterday and hasn't come back! And there are a few drinking outside."
"How many haven't returned?"
"Three or four. People come and go—I don't know exactly. Please, Master, have mercy!"
"Does Zhao Jijiao have friends or contacts outside?"
"Just a regular whore he visits sometimes."
Seeing the interrogation was complete, Beiwei nodded. The interrogator thrust his knife forward, finishing the man.
They stripped the corpses and threw them into a deep pit amid the chaotic graves—unclaimed bodies were routinely dumped here. The group then advanced on Monk Zou's Temple. Beiwei left one man to watch outside, led seven others to scale the north wall using a human ladder, stepped onto the wall, climbed a large pine tree, and slipped into the rear of the first courtyard hall.
The front hall was modest in scale and visibly dilapidated—completely incongruous with the buildings behind it. Moreover, a high wall separated front from back. This was because the first courtyard had long served as a gathering place for beggars, vagrants, and thugs. To give these people shelter while avoiding constant nuisance, the renovation had simply abandoned the first courtyard, refurbishing and expanding only the rear three. With the middle gate closed, the back courtyards became a world unto themselves.
Light spilled from the front hall's windows, accompanied by the din of gambling and the slurred babble of drunks. The gang clearly knew how to enjoy their evenings.
Stacked beneath the gable wall lay piles of bone-dry firewood and baskets of clear vegetable oil, along with numerous bamboo torches imported from north-south goods firms—their heads treated to ignite easily and burn long.
Beiwei led his men along the gable to the doorway. Crouching in the shadows, he peered inside. The hall lacked even clay idols now—only empty pedestals and a bare incense table remained. A crowd huddled around it, shouting and gambling. Straw covered the floor on both sides, littered with sleeping bodies.
Sticks of various sizes leaned against the walls—presumably their weapons. Using blades was a serious crime, and the thugs were remarkably law-conscious on that point: they strictly employed sticks when committing violence, lest anyone catch them on a felony charge.
He soon confirmed Zhao Jijiao was among the gamblers. To catch bandits, first catch the ringleader. This man could not be permitted to live. Beiwei withdrew and signaled. Two team members rushed to the main gate, silently dispatched the sleepers on the threshold, dragged the bodies inside, and dumped them beneath the gable. Others busied themselves around the perimeter.
"Action!"
The hall's four windows shattered simultaneously, and four incendiary grenades arced inside. These were the Molotov cocktails of this timeline—renamed "Xu Yingjie Cocktails" to honor his great sacrifice in concocting the foul mixture.
The porcelain bottles smashed against the floor and ignited instantly. The flames burned at extraordinary temperatures with fierce adhesive properties—they could consume steel until the fuel was exhausted, far more devastating than torches.
One of the first grenades landed on a straw bed, and flames leapt up at once. Before the men inside could react, a second volley followed. One struck the gambling table directly; burning liquid splashed onto bodies, setting them ablaze. Screams and desperate cries for help erupted amid the chaos.
"Quick, put out the fire!"
"It's burning! Burning!"
"Get water!"
In the pandemonium, bamboo tubes were thrown through the windows, bursting on impact. Grey powder exploded everywhere. The choking reek of pepper sent the men inside into fits of coughing and sneezing, compounding the chaos.
"Someone's attacking! Grab weapons!" Zhao Jijiao reacted quickly, kicking over the burning table. Covering his nose with his sleeve, he fought through the crush of bodies toward the weapons stacked against the wall. Just then, a large dark object sailed through a window, smashing at the base of the wall and drenching him in liquid.
Zhao Jijiao tasted it. Oil.
This was clearly the same oil he had purchased—oil meant to burn the South China factory.
His mind worked with desperate speed. Someone was giving him a taste of his own medicine. It had to be the Sugar Company's men.
They meant to burn them alive.
Terror seized him. Forget the stick. He roared: "Everyone run! The factory's men are he—"
Before the word "here" left his mouth, more grenades flew in. One landed right beside him. High-temperature flames splashed through the pooled oil. He let out a scream and was swallowed by fire.
Those quick enough to react rushed for the hall door, only to find it already ablaze. Unbeknownst to them, dry wood had been piled at the entrance and was burning furiously. The bravest charged through anyway—only to be driven back by crossbow bolts from the men waiting outside. Those struck fell directly into the flames, screamed once, and went still.
The firewood and oil beneath the gable walls ignited. The sea breeze blew strong, and the entire front hall was soon sheathed in flame.
The fire swelled. Screams and cries for help carried far on the wind, but the temple stood at some distance from Hai'an Street proper, and at this midnight hour, the street's fire brigade dared not venture out alone to fight it.
Beiwei listened intently. In the distance, fire gongs clanged their urgent alarm; presumably the local militia was mobilizing as well.
From Hai'an Street to here would take at least five minutes on foot. By the time they mustered and set out, his men would be long gone.
"Has the fire spread to the back?" Beiwei asked.
"No," reported a team member. "There's some distance, and the partition wall is a fire wall. They probably feared a front-courtyard fire when they built it."
"Mm." That was for the best—not out of concern for cultural relics, but because the temple had been collectively renovated by the Hai'an sugar merchants. Burning it completely would provoke them unnecessarily.
"Anyone emerge from the rear?"
"I heard movement—people getting up—but no one opened the door. Sounds like they're splashing water on it from inside."
They were preventing the fire from spreading. The fact that they hadn't come out relieved Beiwei; he had no desire for unnecessary killing.
Seeing the fire now raging fully and the sounds from within gradually fading, he waved his hand.
"Withdraw."
(End of Chapter)