Chapter 1117 - Treatment
Under Xue Ziliang's command, the city fell beneath the weight of martial law. Jeju City normally observed a curfew after sundown, but now armed patrols swept through the streets, conducting searches house by house. All four gates stood sealed; every door on every lane was barred tight.
The disturbance, both within the walls and beyond them, had lasted less than an hour. The militia mobilized for the operation numbered barely three hundred in total. Perhaps a dozen had slipped inside to start fires. According to the plan devised by Huang Yunyu, Cho Myeong-gwi, and their conspirators, once the horse corrals outside caught flame and the animals panicked, the Dwarf-Crop-Heads would surely dispatch personnel to reinforce—creating the chaos necessary for arson and poisoning. They had not anticipated the force sent to torch the corrals collapsing immediately, nor the militia lurking within the city being seized one after another the moment they stirred. Those who resisted were shot dead on the spot.
The gunfire had subsided completely. Xue Ziliang led his patrol through the city, inspecting every location of importance. His chief concern was the refugee camp—if panic erupted there, even with riot-control infantry on hand, unnecessary casualties would follow.
Though the military and civil command of Jeju Island was not his, fewer casualties remained preferable. The Forward Committee sailed in the same boat.
When his patrol reached the refugee camp, he encountered Zhu Mingxia wearing a stab-resistant vest and a Type 80 steel helmet, an SKS rifle slung across his chest—the very picture of readiness for battle.
"Any losses in the city?" Zhu Mingxia asked urgently as Xue Ziliang approached.
"None. Every bandit inside the walls has been captured or killed. A city-wide search is underway."
"Then the city is yours. I need to take some men out to check the corrals." The forces stationed outside were substantial, and what the locals called "militia" would prove no more than scarecrows even if four or five thousand of them came. But the corrals housed Nick—a Committee member who warranted "high concern."
Zhu Mingxia led his patrol through the gates and out toward the corrals. By the time they arrived, the fires consuming the sheds and grassland had been put out. Nick sat in the courtyard before his office, gripping his Glock pistol, surrounded by his apprentices. At the sight of Zhu Mingxia, his shoulders visibly relaxed.
"The corrals—are they safe?" Zhu Mingxia asked.
"All safe. Nothing lost but a few wooden sheds. Some horses spooked—they're being calmed." Nick paused, then let out a sigh. "Unfortunately, there are casualties. I was careless."
He had not dispatched personnel for further searches. Nick had likely decided that driving off the enemy was sufficient. In truth, sending small units to sweep the darkness at this hour would have been reckless.
When Zhu Mingxia entered the sluice house, the fire had already been extinguished. The cadets had rushed in to fight the flames the moment they spotted them. Not only had the sluice equipment that Kim O-sun had fought so desperately to protect survived intact, but the building itself had suffered nothing worse than broken doors and windows.
Kim O-sun was unconscious. Kim Yuk-sun was dead.
The crowd gathered there parted as Zhu Mingxia approached. He stepped closer and took in the scene: blood covered the ground. Two "militia" corpses lay sprawled there—one with his skull caved in, the other riddled with knife wounds. Both had plainly been dead for some time.
Bloodstains spattered the handwheel and screw, with a half-charred rag still clinging to them. The crude bench lay shattered, smeared with brain matter and gore.
Seeing a torn strip of cloth still clutched in Kim O-sun's blackened hand, Zhu Mingxia exhaled slowly, something stirring within him. He had always maintained a utilitarian attitude toward the people of this era. Their loyalty interested him only insofar as it served the Committee. All the political work methods and theories he employed were merely "techniques" on the road to global hegemony.
And yet these two siblings had fought to the death for a simple sluice house. Such pure, magnificent loyalty moved even his heart.
A medic was bandaging Kim O-sun's wounds. Zhu Mingxia spoke quietly. "How are her injuries? Is she in danger?"
"She was slashed three or four times on her body—none of them deep—and stabbed once in the forearm, also not serious," the medic replied. "But she's lost a great deal of blood, and both hands have second-degree burns. We'll need Official Feng's examination to know more."
"Go tell Official Feng that I said to save her at all costs. Understood?"
"Yes. I'll relay that immediately."
Zhu Mingxia returned to the city. Prisoners were already being brought in—interrogation fell to the Political Security Bureau. He proceeded to inspect the troop quarters. By the time he finished, dawn was breaking. But no trace of weariness touched him. He splashed water on his face and headed to the clinic to see Kim O-sun.
He had paid little attention to this somewhat plain woman before—he knew only that she was the White Horse Battalion commander's daughter, highly capable in her work, a promising naturalized cadre candidate. But the events of last night had roused his deep interest in her. He hoped she would survive and recover fully. Such steadfast and loyal naturalized citizens were rare treasures.
Clear bugle notes sounded from the city gate, followed by the "morning cannon" announcing that the gates were open. Crowds of commoners and Labor Service workers streamed toward the construction sites and workshops inside and outside the city. Fupo Army soldiers marched through the streets in neat formation, singing. The city resumed its rhythm as though no battle had occurred.
The night's disturbance had caused negligible losses. The results, too, were modest: over fifty "militiamen" killed or cut down, fifteen captured. Several packets of poison intended for the wells were seized. The interrogations to come would undoubtedly expose every "hostile element" remaining in the city.
Zhu Mingxia estimated their hideouts were likely local shops. But the Political Security Bureau would determine the specifics—they weren't going anywhere. The city gates had tightened inspections: only locals serving the Committee who held passes and Labor Service workers could freely enter and leave Jeju City. Ordinary civilians were permitted entry but not exit.
This meant Jeju Island's counter-insurgency campaign would have to begin ahead of schedule. Zhu Mingxia had originally intended to draft a plan based on the Political Consultative Conference's outcome before proceeding. That now seemed unnecessary.
He walked into the clinic. Feng Zongze and several nurses were hard at work. One nurse was cleaning and suturing Kim O-sun's wounds. Kim O-sun was pale, brows furrowed, an occasional soft moan escaping her as the disinfectant stung.
"How is she?"
"The wounds aren't too serious…" Feng Zongze wore a white coat with sleeves rolled high, the sharp scent of disinfectant clinging to him. "But she took quite a beating—seven slash wounds and one stab wound. The cuts aren't deep; with suturing, she'll be fine. But she's lost too much blood…" He gestured toward the IV drip. "I don't have plasma here, so I can only use glucose saline. Whether she'll pull through—I can't say."
"Her life isn't in danger, is it?"
"Hard to say. Without a blood transfusion, fifty-fifty." Feng Zongze shook his head. "I've given her tetanus shots and antibiotics. Infection shouldn't be a problem, but…" He gestured toward her hands, which were being carefully cleaned.
"Second-degree burns on both hands—I can't treat those here." Feng Zongze's tone was grim. "She may even need skin grafts. That can only be done at the General Hospital in Lingao."
"Then transfer her as soon as possible. As for blood—can we arrange an on-site donation?"
Feng Zongze hesitated. "Honestly, I'm not a doctor. Just a pharmacist. I can't handle surgical matters—and there's the blood type issue. We don't know hers."
"Can the nurses test for it? Should be simple enough, shouldn't it?"
"True, but the nurses don't seem confident about typing blood…"
Zhu Mingxia knew these nurses were trainees on rotation. Hesitating at a juncture where mistakes could prove fatal was only natural. But the situation likely could not wait for experienced nurses to be dispatched. He said: "First send a telegram to Shandong requesting a special ship with Dr. Xie aboard. If that can't wait, have them try—we must save her life."
Feng Zongze nodded gravely. "I'll do my best. As soon as she's stable, we'll arrange a ship to take her to Lingao."
Zhu Mingxia was leaving the ward when he heard muffled sobbing. Turning, he saw a man's figure crouched in a corner of the courtyard, shoulders heaving. He recognized Kim Yongjoo. His own heart ached. He wanted to say something but did not know what, so he slipped quietly away.
(End of Chapter)