Chapter 2119 - Captured Again

"It matters little—as long as we draw breath!" Chang Qingyun declared with forced optimism. "If they possess any conscience, they'll return of their own accord. If they've chosen to abandon my service, let them take the silver and forge their own path."

Even as he spoke, Changqing suddenly squeezed through the refugee throng toward him, crying out upon spotting his master: "Master!"

"Quiet!" Chang Qingyun hastily silenced him with urgent gestures. "We're fleeing for our very lives—dispense with formalities. Don't expose our identity!"

Changqing quickly sealed his lips, glanced around furtively, then whispered in a low voice: "Changwei proved treacherous! He deliberately abandoned me and absconded with the silver, disappearing into the crowd!"

"Think nothing of it. When disaster strikes, even spouses must fend for themselves individually. Let him go." Chang Qingyun smiled bitterly. Of his three servants, Changwei had been his particular favorite. Who could have anticipated that when crisis materialized, he would be precisely the one to abscond with their funds.

"Let's proceed quickly—escape means survival!" With that, the three of them blended into the refugee exodus and headed toward the river.

A saber suddenly barred their path: "Surrender your valuables!"

Observing several men in military tunics closing in from both flanks, Chang Qingyun instantly recognized that reasoning with these rogue soldiers was futile. He plastered on an obsequious smile: "Brothers, we fled the city in desperate haste and brought no silver. Please permit us passage..."

Before he could complete the plea, the lead soldier had seized him by the collar, snarling viciously:

"Cease your theatrics, you pampered scholar. Look at yourself—soft and pale-skinned, with servants attending you. You must hail from a prosperous household! Better surrender your silver with dignity intact, or don't fault this blade for failing to recognize faces." With that, he suddenly slashed at Changshan's throat. Chang Qingyun felt something hot and wet splatter across his face; Changshan collapsed, legs twitching rhythmically, dark blood pooling rapidly around him.

Chang Qingyun was petrified with absolute terror. These soldiers were committing murder openly—utterly lawless savages. He possessed not a copper cash; provoking their wrath meant certain death. He stammered desperately: "Brothers... brothers... please exercise restraint—I genuinely possess no funds..."

By now tears threatened to spill. He bitterly regretted his rash decision to volunteer. The determination to perish a hero's death had evaporated entirely; in an instant, his aged mother, wife, concubines, children... all flickered through his consciousness like a revolving lantern of lost futures.

Precisely as Chang Qingyun squeezed his eyes shut and awaited death's embrace, a rapid string of sharp reports erupted like exploding firecrackers. The sound proved all too familiar—not three-eyed blunderbusses, not matchlock arquebuses, but the devastating quick-firing rifles of the Australians!

At the first shot, Chang Qingyun instinctively dropped into a defensive crouch. From the nearby hillside came a man's voice, amplified to thunderous volume so everyone could hear:

"All Ming soldiers and civilians, heed this proclamation! The Fubo Army of the Great Song has surrounded your position. Further resistance is utterly futile..."

"Damn them all—follow me, we'll cut our way through!" The soldier who had menaced Chang Qingyun swung his saber overhead and rallied the scattered troops to charge the hillside.

A distinct "whoosh—thunk" sounded. A bloody crater exploded from the man's chest cavity; he toppled backward in slow motion, landing adjacent to Changshan's corpse.

Everyone within several hundred meters froze motionless.

The amplified voice continued inexorably: "...Your resistance is futile. Discard all weapons upon the ground, clasp hands atop your heads, and assume squatting positions! The Fubo Army of the Great Song displays mercy toward the virtuous and treats prisoners with humanity..."

Clang—a saber clattered to earth. Then erupted a cascading chorus of weapons striking dirt.

All resistance evaporated instantaneously. No one possessed any inclination to test the marksmanship of Australian sharpshooters. Several hundred individuals squatted en masse. Chang Qingyun ventured a covert upward glance and observed approximately ten soldiers in short blue tunics descending the slope, each cradling a quick-firing rifle fitted with its characteristic short blade.

"Have I... been captured again?" Chang Qingyun felt consciousness swimming.

What followed constituted a "disturbingly familiar routine." First, a dozen Australian soldiers dispersed along both flanks of the roadway, each crouching with rifles still raised—what he recognized as "securing the perimeter."

Two additional Australians stood upon the high ground, directing thirty or forty soldiers to consolidate the crowd and commence systematic organization. By Chang Qingyun's reckoning, perhaps five to six hundred individuals had been captured alongside him. The soldiers operated in squads of seven or eight, wielding bayoneted rifles, torches blazing, methodically dividing the mass of prisoners into manageable groups. Despite their overwhelming numbers, the captives dared not resist—not even a stifled cough among them.

An officer positioned on the elevated ground extracted a megaphone and bellowed in both Cantonese and Mandarin, repeating continuously: "All women and children, stand immediately! All men, maintain squatting positions! Anyone moving without express permission—don't fault the bullets for possessing no eyes."

After multiple iterations, the mass of squatting prisoners began stirring uncertainly. Initially a few, then progressively most women rose to their feet. The soldiers demonstrated zero concern for propriety—they physically hauled hesitant ones upright. Several men from prosperous households attempted shielding their womenfolk, but one glance at the menacing bayonets prompted them to squat hastily back down. All women and children below waist height were assembled in groups of ten, bound by their right arms with rope, and led away in connected chains toward the roadside. The women commenced weeping; the men squatting on the ground joined their lamentation.

"The remainder—civilians, stand! Soldiers, maintain squatting positions!" the officer bellowed again. This time a substantial crowd rose. Chang Qingyun calculated: I'm a scholar, not wearing military uniform—and stood accordingly. This time, the soldiers exhibited markedly greater caution, positioning themselves outside the group wielding bayoneted rifles. "Emerge singly!"

The men were likewise bound in groups of ten and led to the opposite roadside. Pleas for mercy arose from all directions; some who clearly appeared to be wealthy merchants were transparently attempting to curry favor, extracting silver ingots and calling cards: "Sir, sir—my family conducts commercial ventures with the Austr—ah, with the Great Song, in Guangzhou. The chiefs recognize my household's reputation..." The soldiers remained stone-faced, accepting neither silver nor entreaties. They left everyone's personal belongings undisturbed, permitting each person to retain their possessions.

The remaining Ming soldiers numbered merely approximately fifty souls—some bare-chested with tunics slung across shoulders, some still wearing armor. By torchlight, Chang Qingyun could distinguish insignia from four or five distinct military units. These apparently represented those who had declined risking their fortunes "striking it rich" within the doomed city.

The discarded swords, spears, and matchlock firearms littered the ground in chaotic profusion. The soldiers didn't bother sorting the weaponry; they simply bound all military prisoners together and segregated them separately.

"Everyone, compose yourselves. The Fubo Army does not oppress the innocent or brutalize prisoners. Women and children will be liberated immediately upon conclusion of hostilities. Excepting active soldiers, all other civilians will be released following completion of our investigation." Midway through this proclamation, a crisp cannon shot suddenly echoed from Wuzhou city's direction; the crowd collectively flinched.

"No cause for alarm," the officer announced, grinning broadly. "That constitutes the Fubo Army's victory signal. By tomorrow morning, Wuzhou city will have returned to the governance of the Council of Elders of the Great Song. Everyone will be permitted homeward shortly! As for tonight, I fear you must exercise patience momentarily."

The bound prisoners exchanged whispered speculation, but no one dared vocalize openly. Preserving their lives already constituted extraordinary fortune—no one presumed to hope for additional mercy.

"Fortune favors me being classified among the civilian contingent," Chang Qingyun reflected internally. "Heaven knows where the military prisoners will be dispatched for forced labor." He found himself bound behind a common porter, whose greasy, malodorous back pressed against his chest, inducing queasiness. He could only seal his eyes and endure the discomfort.

Suddenly, shouting erupted among a group of newly apprehended soldiers.

"Sir! There's an official concealed here!"

Chang Qingyun started violently and opened his eyes. The soldiers were gesturing directly at him—he vaguely recognized them as men from Xiong Wencan's standard battalion.

Catastrophe! Before Chang Qingyun could shrink back defensively, two soldiers had already seized him and dragged him before the commanding officers.

Both officers were naturalized local recruits, speaking official Mandarin inflected with distinct Qiongzhou accents. "You claim to be a Ming official?"

"No, no—those soldier-scoundrels fabricate malicious lies! Moments ago they attempted robbing me and murdered one of my servants. They're manufacturing false accusations against me—please investigate thoroughly, Chief..."

But the soldiers raised a clamorous outcry:

"Sir! Don't credit his deceptions! He's Xiong Wencan's personal staff adviser!"

"He maintained constant proximity to Xiong Wencan—Xiong Wencan implemented everything this man proposed!"

...

Chang Qingyun's complexion drained to ashen white; he continued protesting desperately.

"Indeed? Then what profession do you practice?"

"I'm a merchant—a cloth trader."

"If you genuinely trade in cloth, state the price per foot of Songjiang cotton? Per foot of watered silk? Per foot of Shandong homespun? If I require three feet of Songjiang cotton, five feet of watered silk, and six feet of homespun, calculate the total cost?" the officer demanded.

"I..." Chang Qingyun never concerned himself with trivial household expenditures at home—how would he possibly know fabric prices? But Changqing handled all household purchasing; he would certainly know. "Sir, I have a servant present here—" He pivoted searching for Changqing. "Sir, if you would permit..."

Changqing, possessing no capacity for guile or deception, observed his master brought before the officers and glancing back seeking him; he assumed his master had established advantageous connections. Excitedly, he waved enthusiastically: "Master! Master!"

He was brought before another officer. "What profession does your master practice?"

Observing the officer's pleasant demeanor, Changqing relaxed considerably. "My master is a provincial graduate scholar—how could he possibly engage in commercial trade?"

Realizing his catastrophic verbal slip instantly, both officers exchanged knowing smiles.

"Men—escort them both to the military prisoner group! Position one at the formation's front, the other at the rear."

Chang Qingyun cried "Injustice!" repeatedly but no one showed the slightest attention. He was dragged to the prisoner column and bound together with the very soldiers who had denounced him.

At a sharp command, the prisoner column moved out first. Escorting soldiers marched ahead bearing torches; firelight glinted menacingly off their bayonets. Chang Qingyun's heart went frigid—he wasn't comparable to these common foot soldiers; he possessed a documented "criminal record." If the Australians recognized his identity, this "second capture" might very well cost him his life!

At that terrifying thought, his stomach lurched violently. He couldn't suppress glancing around desperately for any escape opportunity. Before the guards could even issue reprimands, the soldiers who had "exposed" him had already hissed venomously at him:

"Hold absolutely still! You pampered bookworm!"

(End of Chapter)