Chapter 1597 - The Pursuit
The youth had been docile enough before, but now a flicker of defiance crossed his face. Still wary of the naked steel in Zhuo Yifan's grip, he could only mutter beneath his breath: "The government's never done anything but wring us for taxes and grain..."
Zhuo Yifan drew a sharp breath. "How can you say they do nothing? You people on this far-flung corner of Hainan have enjoyed two centuries of peace, food on the table, clothes on your backs—is that not the grace of the Great Ming? Paying taxes is simply a subject's duty. Besides, I've heard you say your family were tenant farmers—the taxes aren't even levied on the likes of you..."
"Before the Chiefs came, we were forever plagued by Li raiders, and the government did nothing about it," the youth countered. "And those grain taxes paid by the landlords? Every copper comes from us tenants in the end." His voice gained conviction. "Landlord Zhou used to raise the rent every year, always claiming it was court orders. But ever since the Chiefs arrived, he hasn't dared raise it once—he's even cut it considerably!"
Zhuo Yifan sighed. "Surely you're not claiming these Shorn Bandits forced him to lower the rent?"
"No, not directly," the youth admitted. "The Chiefs opened all sorts of enterprises in Nanbao—mines, shops, great factories. My parents have no special skills, only farming, so they went to work as laborers at the agricultural station. It's hard work, but at least the whole family has food and clothes now. We've even rebuilt our house." A hint of pride crept into his voice. "These days, Landlord Zhou practically begs people to rent from him. Who would bother?"
A world where landlords begged farmers to work their land! Zhuo Yifan couldn't help his astonishment. He had traveled the martial world far and wide, witnessed countless disputes between landlords and tenants erupt into bloodshed. Unless chaos reigned or disaster scattered the peasantry, tenancy was always a seller's market. The eternal struggle revolved around eviction and resistance, rising rents and falling wages.
The ways of Lingao were strange indeed. The grain-paying gentry formed the court's foundation—if the Shorn Bandits treated them this way, they would eventually lose all support. He sighed softly, struck by the realization that these Shorn Bandits possessed genuine skill at governance, yet clearly followed some crooked doctrine from heaven knew where. Such waste of natural talents as craftsmen and merchants! A twinge of regret stirred within him. "What a pity! These Shorn Bandits have the craftsmanship of Lu Ban and the commercial acumen of Tao Zhu, yet they refuse to walk the proper path." He regarded the youth again, sensing untapped potential, and sighed once more. "The Shorn Bandits truly lead their students astray—nothing but useless miscellaneous learning!"
Zhuo Yifan did not understand that children of this age burned with the fiercest curiosity. Though the youth had only attended school for a few months, the "Australians" had been in Nanbao for several years already. He belonged to a generation that had witnessed a desolate mountain village transform into a prosperous market town, experiencing the changes firsthand. Hearing Zhuo Yifan dismiss the Chiefs' learning as worthless, he couldn't help but argue: "Sir, isn't that judgment a bit hasty? When I learn the knowledge of the Chiefs, I'll grow more rice, weave better cloth, forge finer tools, work more efficiently. We'll all live in tiled houses someday, and no generation after us will ever go hungry again..."
So the Shorn Bandits rely on painting rosy pictures to fool the common folk, Zhuo Yifan sneered inwardly. Country bumpkins would always be country bumpkins, easily deceived by a few pretty words. Looking at the earnest expression on the youth's face, it was clear he had been thoroughly bewitched. Well—Zhuo Yifan's own situation was precarious enough. Why bother with this? He said nothing more.
His wounds were severe. Though the medicine had staved off infection, he had lost too much blood and been on the move all night. After talking for a while, dizziness swept over him. His vigilance remained keen; just before consciousness slipped away, he tore off a rag and stuffed it into the youth's mouth.
He didn't know how long he had been unconscious when he felt someone shaking him. Zhuo Yifan opened his eyes to Sima Qiudao's face, creased with anxiety.
"Sima..."
"Where's the youth?!" Sima Qiudao blurted.
Zhuo Yifan startled. Looking toward the tree, he saw only a canvas strap lying on the ground. The book bag's sturdy canvas had been too stiff to cinch tight—the youth had wriggled free.
"This is bad..."
"We must leave. This place is no longer safe!" Sima Qiudao hauled Zhuo Yifan to his feet.
"What about Brother Huang and the others?"
Grief filled Sima Qiudao's voice. "I entered the town, but before I got far, I heard a commotion ahead. The Shorn Bandits had sent a squad of Japanese mercenaries to surround the Huang Family Pharmacy!" His expression twisted with pain. "I didn't dare approach. I slipped out quietly."
Zhuo Yifan's heart sank, but nothing could be done now. Every man for himself—they could only pray for their own survival.
"Let's circle around Nanbao. We're not far from Li territory." He gripped a wooden stick for support and forced himself forward.
Seeing Zhuo Yifan's pallid face and bloodless lips, Sima Qiudao's anxiety deepened. He hurried forward and took Zhuo Yifan's arm over his shoulder. "Let me help you. We should reach Fan Bao Mountain before dark—after nightfall we can slip past the checkpoint. Seventh Master said the garrison's been pulled out. It's just a toll station now. Should be easy to get through."
The two supported each other as they descended the mountain and crossed the fields toward a small hill ahead. Even with Sima Qiudao's help, every step sent pain lancing through Zhuo Yifan's wound, especially his ribs—even the gentlest breath brought extended agony.
Could I truly be dying?
He struggled to move his feet, feeling his body grow heavier and his vision dim.
Fearing discovery, the two made a wide detour, avoiding populated areas and keeping to dense forest. This made their progress even more arduous.
After traveling for about half an hour, Sima Qiudao saw that Zhuo Yifan was swaying and could barely walk. They sat down behind a large boulder.
"Rest here a moment. I'll find you some water." He loosened Zhuo Yifan's clothing and saw that blood had soaked through the bandages—the exertion of travel had reopened the wound.
Sima Qiudao's worry deepened. At this rate, Zhuo Yifan would die on the road.
Their only hope now was to successfully escape into Li territory. With the connections of the righteous men waiting to receive them, perhaps they could find somewhere hidden for him to recuperate.
He picked up a bamboo tube to fetch water, but Zhuo Yifan seized his arm and whispered: "Listen!"
Sima Qiudao strained to hear but caught nothing. Just as he was about to speak, a strange sound drifted from the direction of the small hill where they had rested the night before, growing from distant to near—a howling.
"Sounds like dogs," Sima Qiudao murmured. But this was no ordinary barking—more like a roar. He quickly parted the bushes and looked toward the source. A black-and-tan hound emerged from the woods on the opposite slope. The beast had a round head with drooping ears, and two large white spots above its eyes made it look four-eyed. Strangely, it appeared to have no tail.
Behind the dog came three or four soldiers in lacquered bamboo hats with swords at their hips—short, stocky men. Sima Qiudao recognized them at once as the Japanese mercenaries kept by the Shorn Bandits.
The dog was chained, led by one man, constantly sniffing the ground. It was enormous, like a small calf. The handler could barely hold it back as it lunged forward repeatedly, nearly pulling him off his feet. Three more dogs of the same breed emerged from the forest, all sniffing the ground. Behind the handlers came more than a dozen soldiers with muskets, a mix of Japanese and regulars. An officer-like figure stood beside a youth who was pointing and gesturing. Sima Qiudao's blood ran cold—this was the young herbalist who had escaped!
Zhuo Yifan had seen him too. He cursed himself silently, but it was too late for regrets. He could only curl himself up, making himself as small a target as possible.
The dogs across the way sniffed the ground as they approached. Zhuo Yifan whispered: "They've probably caught the scent of the blood."
"Crafty Shorn Bandits, using such tricks!" Sima Qiudao kept his gaze fixed ahead. "Brother Zhuo, we must split up, or when they catch us, neither will escape. Over this hill and a few more li lies Fan Bao Mountain. Go slowly—as long as you reach it before dark, you'll have a chance to slip through tonight."
He paused. "I'll head down the hill now, cross that valley, and take the hill on the left to reach Fan Bao Mountain. We'll meet there."
Zhuo Yifan was alarmed—Sima Qiudao's path would take him practically under the Shorn Bandits' noses. He was deliberately drawing them away.
"Brother Sima, you mustn't! I'm already gravely wounded—my time is likely short. You're uninjured and can move fast. You should go. Leave Yifan here to delay the pursuit—I'll take as many with me as I can!"
"Brother Zhuo, don't refuse! I, Sima Qiudao, crawled out of a pile of corpses and escaped the chaos of battle with my life—every day I walk this earth is borrowed time. Besides, I can run fast. When the Shorn Bandits chase me with everything they've got, you'll have time to escape—every one of us who gets away counts!"
As he spoke, he tightened his clothes and belt and secured his knife at his waist.
"Brother Qiudao!" Zhuo Yifan choked up, unable to speak.
Sima Qiudao looked at him and forced a smile. "Brother Zhuo, how do you know I won't escape? Rest easy! In my day, even Tartar cavalry couldn't catch me. What can a few dogs do?" He cupped his fists in salute. "Until we meet again! Sima Qiudao takes his leave!"
He turned to go, then suddenly stopped. Without looking back, he said: "Brother Zhuo, if you escape with your life—if ever you have the chance to go to Beijing—please burn a stick of incense at the grave of Lord Yuan Yingtai for me. When I served as his secretary, when Liaoyang fell, I should have died alongside him..."
"Farewell!"