Chapter 2125 - A Prisoner Once More
"The troops at Bangshan were household retainers personally trained under Governor Xiong's auspices. Their commander was Company-Captain Song Ming."
The shadowed figure murmured something inaudible. Someone immediately exited the chamber.
"Where is Song Ming now?"
"The day you took Bangshan, he fell into the river while attempting to cross. His retainers pulled him out—I heard he was unconscious. After that, no one knew whether he survived."
"Anyone else of significance?"
Chang Qingyun hesitated briefly, debating whether to mention Yi Haoran and Jiang Suo. Then logic prevailed: their identities and actions were hardly secret. Why shield them? "Another was the company-captain of the retainer unit, one Jiang Suo."
"What were these retainers' origins? Who trained them?"
"All were trained by Jiang Suo." Chang Qingyun understood their interest perfectly: how the retainer unit came to be drilled in "Australian methods."
"What's Jiang Suo's background?"
"That, I truly do not know—" Seeing their expressions harden, an old memory sent ice through his veins. He hurried to add: "Jiang Suo is a student of Yi Haoran, who serves on Governor Xiong's staff."
The figure in shadow spoke again. The recorder immediately dispatched a slip of paper outside.
No doubt they were sending men to hunt for Yi Haoran and Jiang Suo. Whether those two had managed to escape...
"What's Yi Haoran's background, and how did Jiang Suo come to study under him?"
Chang Qingyun had tasted the Council of Elders' iron fist once before. He dared not withhold information. He explained Yi Haoran's history—how he'd been sent to purchase "Australian muskets" and had recruited Jiang Suo during that journey; how the pair had been dispatched by Governor Xiong to Guizhou to recruit retainers, then to Guangxi for "troop training." He rambled nervously, terrified that omitting any detail might provoke the interrogating "cadre."
"Tell us everything you know about Jiang Suo."
Chang Qingyun described his impressions: Jiang Suo was profoundly reclusive, rarely interacting with anyone save Yi Haoran. He was meticulous in his work, thoroughly versed in Australian firearms, techniques, and drill procedures. He displayed no interest in women, no taste for luxury, and complete indifference to wealth.
"...A peculiar individual."
Half an hour later, the interrogation concluded. The examiners summoned two soldiers to escort him out. As he was led toward the door, he caught the shadowed man speaking:
"Process them as follows... All POWs, literate or otherwise, report first to the isolation camp. Keep them productively occupied—they should contribute to Wuzhou's reconstruction during isolation. Simultaneously, screen them rigorously. Anyone who looted, murdered, aided atrocities, or is widely despised—if there's an accusation, investigate. Once confirmed, they enter a separate category. We'll conduct war crimes trials. The Council of Elders is establishing rule of law in Guangdong; don't let emotion dictate justice..."
Chang Qingyun hadn't yet cleared the threshold, so every word reached him. Instinct told him the speaker must be a genuine Australian—only a true Australian would speak with such unhurried authority, and only a true Australian would discuss scholars with such casual dismissiveness.
"A prisoner once more! A captive again!" Shame burned through Chang Qingyun. It would almost have been preferable to be trampled to death in the chaos or cut down by rioters when the city fell. Instead, he had clung desperately to life, and—exactly as at Chengmai—his legs had turned to water at the sight of those guns. Captured by the Hair-Bandits, he lacked even the courage to dash his head against the wall. Before his captors, not only could he produce no defiant "no," he had eagerly divulged everything, falling over himself to ingratiate.
Head bowed, too mortified to meet anyone's gaze, he allowed the soldiers to lead him to the wall, where a row of sally ports had been converted into improvised holding cells for prisoners requiring "custody" after initial screening. At that moment, Chang Qingyun felt utterly desolate. Following his capture at Chengmai, they'd been confined to a POW camp, forced to endure the humiliation of head-shaving and compulsory bathing, compelled to labor daily on road construction. For someone like Chang Qingyun who had never "performed manual work," it had been "nearly fatal." Without Qian Taichong's constant assistance, he might well have perished from exhaustion before his family's ransom arrived.
Given the Hair-Bandits' established procedures, he would likely undergo all of that again—only this time without Qian Taichong.
Thinking of Qian Taichong triggered a stab of guilt. When he'd been ransomed, he had promised Qian Taichong that upon reaching the mainland, he would raise funds to ransom him as well. But after calculating the costs, he'd been reluctant to part with the silver—particularly after learning his family had sold farmland to secure his release. The thought had pained him so acutely he'd simply pushed the entire matter from his mind.
He wondered what had become of Qian Taichong... Had he been worked to death by the Hair-Bandits by now?
If so, this was karmic retribution...
Chang Qingyun sighed in despair. When retained yamen runners brought food and water for the prisoners, he didn't touch it.
As Chang Qingyun sat with eyes closed, agonizing over his predicament, the elderly man distributing food roused him—a veteran clerk from the yamen with whom he was acquainted.
"Master Chang, accept your fate. Never mind that no one knows whether Governor Xiong is alive or dead currently—even had you not been captured by the Australians, the court would have arrested you for trial. Serving on his staff, you'd certainly be implicated! Earlier, Master Yi claimed he had a stratagem—and what came of it? All for nothing. Even if you won't consider yourself, think of your wife and children at home. At least the Hair-Bandits don't massacre innocents."
He spoke truth. Having been captured, his integrity was already forfeited; better to preserve life. Perhaps with his battered body he could still honor his parents, provide for his wife and children...
"You're an educated man who comprehends reason. I've observed the Austr—the Australians; they're quite reasonable, and they treat people decently. If Your Honor simply bows his head slightly, this will pass..."
After all, his hair had been shaved once already; shaving it again was no great tragedy. And he'd performed roadwork before. Perhaps he could endure it again.
Having rationalized thus, Chang Qingyun resigned himself. He accepted a wooden bowl, ladled porridge from the bucket, and drank it down.
That afternoon, he and the other prisoners were marched outside the city to clear rubble. With two prior experiences as a POW, Chang Qingyun's movements had become practiced; he even anticipated orders before they were issued. Within days, he had evolved into a model "reform-through-labor activist."
Xu Ke studied the interrogation transcripts. Clearly, Jiang Suo was the "spy" referenced in Lone Wolf's intelligence. Synthesizing information from multiple sources, this individual appeared to have served in the Fubo Army at some juncture. Xu Ke ordered an inquiry dispatched by telegram to the Fubo Army General Staff's Political Department in Lingao, requesting searches of military desertion and defection records for anyone named "Jiang Suo."
"If the Political Department has nothing, we'll need to comb through service rosters—that'll be searching for a needle in a haystack," Xu Ke mused. "I wonder if Lone Wolf possesses any intelligence on this Jiang Suo."
The contact signal for Lone Wolf had already been deployed. Immediately upon entering the city, Xu Ke had implemented the External Intelligence Bureau's emergency contact protocol: a coded symbol painted on the spirit wall of the Cangwu County yamen. If Lone Wolf saw it, he would find means to make contact.
Yet thus far, no one had appeared. Anxiety gnawed at Xu Ke: could Lone Wolf be dead?
The city had been in chaos before and during the assault; casualties had been extensive. If he'd truly perished, that would constitute a tremendous loss...
He was absorbed in these thoughts when he noticed the newly appointed Wuzhou Military Government Director, Xie Erren, hurrying out with his entourage. Spotting Xu Ke in contemplation, Xie Erren approached with a smile and greeted him:
"Well, I'm about to depart your jurisdiction. I'll be relying on your robust support going forward."
Xie Erren had arrived from Zhaoqing only the previous day. As Wuzhou's military government director—and future mayor—he carried weighty responsibilities. Yet for most of the journey, he had essentially been working under Xu Ke's direction. The Guangdong campaign encompassed vast territory and numerous prisoners; a thousand loose ends, far too much for Xu Ke's modest team to handle alone.
"Nonsense—you're the one shouldering the heavy burden." Xu Ke gazed at Wuzhou's battered walls. "Holding Wuzhou won't prove easy."
"With the Council of Elders and the Fubo Army supporting me, these are trivial matters!" Xie Erren brimmed with confidence.
Before crossing into this timeline, Xie Erren had been a reporter at Oriental Monday in a southern city, earning his living by exposing scandals from other provinces. Just prior to the Crossing, he'd heard through a police contact that a pyramid-scheme cult had rented an abandoned camp for a "grand training session."
Having gone three months without a cover story, he'd sensed a scoop: "interest value, proximity, sensationalism"—all criteria satisfied. If this story broke, a department head position was guaranteed, perhaps even an editorial board seat the following year.
Xie Erren had volunteered to go undercover. Each day he'd trained alongside five hundred people, suppressing laughter as he awaited these fools embarrassing themselves. Then D-Day arrived, and he discovered he was the fool.
Though he hadn't suffered immediate psychological collapse, he did spend a period in severe depression—nearly ending his own life.
After laboring in basic work details for over half a year, he'd finally accepted reality: there was no returning; he might as well optimize life in the Ming Dynasty and become an "aristocrat."
Though he was a hundred times more professional as a media practitioner than Ding Ding—reading the Lingao Times Ding Ding produced daily felt like perusing a school newsletter—when the opportunity arose to select a new career path, he decisively abandoned media work.
"I've spent my entire life as a mouthpiece, accepting payment to speak for others. Now I should join the ruling class, determining what people can and cannot say!"
Firmly convinced that "political power grows from the barrel of a gun," Xie Erren was enthusiastic about all coercive agencies. Yet the military proved too professionally specialized; as a keyboard military enthusiast, he held no genuine prospects there. The Political Security Bureau, with its shadowy operations, offered no opportunity to satiate his craving for public recognition—plus it was far too easy to become ensnared in political struggles. As a former Oriental Monday reporter, he'd witnessed far too many examples of political downfall.
(End of Chapter)