Chapter 2244 - Night Raid on Dalang Market (II)
As the night drew to a close, even the most inveterate gamblers at the table could barely stay awake. The dealer spoke up. "Master Zhang! Let's call it a night. You can win it back another day..."
"Bullshit!" Zhang Tianbo had bet "small" over a dozen times in a row—every time it came up "big." On his last hand, he switched to "big"—and the dealer rolled "small." Smoke practically poured from his nostrils. If the dealer hadn't already been changed several times, he would have flipped the table.
Why is my luck so rotten tonight? Zhang Tianbo seethed inwardly. Since his inside-man scheme failed, his life at Sun Dabiao's camp had been miserable. Though he was one of the "Three Tyrants," he had no real power. At Dalang Market, Sun Dabiao found his sworn brother useless—now that they had openly broken with the Australians, there was no need for him as a go-between—so he was rarely invited to councils. Sun still treated him politely for old times' sake, but the cold shoulder was obvious. Naturally, Sun's underlings saw no reason to "remember old ties." Zhang Tianbo was having a hard time—and he couldn't even see his family. Thugs Sun Dabiao had sent to Xin's estate to fetch them came back saying: "Master Zhan is already 'looking after' them. Master Zhang needn't worry—just focus on his work." Zhang Tianbo was so angry he nearly foamed at the mouth—but there was nothing he could do.
At least Zhan had delivered the promised reward—a measly twenty taels—so Zhang Tianbo wasn't reduced to begging. His real wealth was buried under his city house; some valuables had gone with his wife to Xin's estate.
At Dalang Market, Sun Dabiao still provided his meals—he still ate "first-class fare" among the bandit officers. But underlings had sharp eyes: seeing Sun Dabiao grow more and more dismissive of Zhang Tianbo, his "first-class fare" quietly degraded. Meat grew scarce; even vegetables were carelessly prepared. Sometimes it was just mess-hall slop ladled into his bowl. Zhang Tianbo knew his rations were being skimmed by the underlings—but he didn't dare complain. He was a guest on sufferance, of little use to Sun Dabiao. Having food at all was lucky.
Disappointment and boredom left Zhang Tianbo killing time with whoring and gambling. Fortunately, he had been a yamen regular—quick-witted, able to chat up all sorts—so his days weren't entirely wretched.
But these past few days, his luck had turned foul. First, one of Sun Dabiao's officers had summoned him to "stand night watch." Zhang Tianbo had to beg Sun Dabiao himself to escape that duty. Soon after, he was evicted from his quarters—he had been sharing one of the three surviving compounds with Sun Dabiao and other senior officers. Now the steward said his room "needed repairs" and moved his belongings outside without so much as a by-your-leave. He was assigned a shanty built from fire-scorched timbers and rubble, roofed with straw.
Such "shacks" were thrown together from the fire's debris after Sun Dabiao's return. They weren't even good enough for ordinary thugs. Going from a proper room to this made his status painfully clear. Zhang Tianbo pleaded again—but this time Sun Dabiao was evasive: "When the repairs are done, I'll invite my worthy brother back." Yet when he went to look, new tenants were already in his old room.
Zhang Tianbo didn't dare argue with Sun Dabiao. He swallowed his pride and "made do." From then on, he knew he was a "cast-off shoe" to his sworn brother.
Sun Dabiao, you bastard—may you die horribly! Zhang Tianbo cursed inwardly, but a faint regret stirred. If he had known Sun Dabiao was such a bastard, he would never have waded into this muddy water—even if he hadn't worked for the Australians. Cursing was one thing; he knew he could never turn back now—he had burned his bridges with the Australians. Black as Sun Dabiao was, he had to stick with him for now.
His gambling luck had collapsed along with everything else: he lost almost every bet. Tonight he had scraped together a stake hoping to win it back—only to lose more completely than ever.
"One more round—I still have money!" As he spoke, Zhang Tianbo's hand reached instinctively for his money pouch—only to find it empty. He had lost every last coin.
Someone advised: "Master Zhang! Your luck's bad tonight—don't push it. Dawn's almost here. Don't fight fate..."
Zhang Tianbo wasn't ready to give up. "I, Zhang Tianbo, was somebody in Yangshan County—a man who stood on his fists and let horses run on his arms! You think I won't pay you back?" He tried to borrow—but no one would lend. He was still cursing when a voice murmured behind him: "Want a loan? I've got money."
Zhang Tianbo was delighted. He turned. "If you'll lend, name your interest. I, Zhang Tianbo, always keep my word..."
Before he finished turning, a hand clamped around his throat. His right arm was twisted painfully behind his back. He couldn't move.
He looked around. Somehow, a dozen men had appeared—each with a shotgun or dagger. The gamblers were frozen, faces ashen in the dying torchlight, ghastly as demons. One—perhaps trying to struggle or call for help—lay crumpled under the table in a spreading pool of dark liquid.
Zhang Tianbo spotted the shotguns—Australians! In an instant, his courage shattered. His legs went weak; he nearly lost control of his bowels.
"You are Zhang Tianbo?" the leader asked quietly.
"I... I'm not..." Zhang Tianbo denied instantly.
The leader nodded slightly and turned to the bandits around him. "Is he or isn't he?"
The bandits, ambushed and stunned, hurried to answer. "Sir! That's Zhang Tianbo!" Another chimed in: "That's him—the worst villain in the county, one of the Three Tyrants of Yangshan!"
Zhang Tianbo groaned inwardly. He knew capture meant death. As the man's grip loosened slightly, his left hand crept toward his leg-wrapping—inside was a thin, sharp dagger.
But before his fingers touched the binding, he was caught. The man wrenched his arm up and back. The pain was excruciating. He begged: "Mercy, sir! Mercy!"
The man pulled the dagger from his leg-wrap, hefted it, and smiled. "A fine blade. I'll take it." He tucked it into his own belt and demanded:
"You want to live—tell me where Sun Dabiao sleeps."
Dalang Market had burned to the ground. Only three intact compounds remained. The Mountain Company was small; they couldn't cover all three. They had to strike the heart first—take out Sun Dabiao himself.
"Sun Dabiao and his main officers are in the 'Lao Henghe' Mountain Goods Depot." Zhang Tianbo felt no psychological burden selling out his sworn brother.
The Mountain Company reached Dalang Market around three in the morning—half an hour later than the County Squadron, though their route was far shorter. After linking up outside the market, Zhen Huan made the disposition: the Mountain Company would "strike the heart" inside—take out Sun Dabiao and his key lieutenants, throwing the bandits into chaos and flight.
"Dalang Market has only two exits. One road goes to the Yonghua Yao region—that's suicide; they won't take it. If they do, the Yonghua Yao won't let them through. The other leads toward the county seat. They'll run that way. So you set up a pocket at that choke point..."
Under cover of darkness, Zhen Huan led his men to the outskirts of Dalang Market. Sun Dabiao's defenses were clearly lax. Since the fire, the place was effectively unfortified. Beyond natural terrain, there was only a crude wooden palisade—gaps wide enough for a man to slip through. A wall was under construction, but Sun Dabiao lacked materials and funds; progress was slow. Only a short stretch had been built; most of the perimeter was still deer-horn barricades and fencing.
To compensate, Sun Dabiao had placed his men's shacks right up against the palisade—bodies as a warning line, ready to fight at the first alarm.
But in the predawn hour, even the lightest sleepers were dead to the world. The sentries could barely keep their eyes open. The Mountain Company used only daggers and poisoned crossbow bolts to take out the guard posts—the Company's training syllabus emphasized "night raids" and special operations. Much of it came from the Special Reconnaissance Unit. Though they weren't "the Council's sharpest blade," they were far superior to ordinary troops.
Inside Dalang Market, Zhen Huan grew anxious. Three intact compounds—Sun Dabiao had to be in one of them—but he didn't know which. Hitting the wrong one would let the ringleader escape.
Just then, he spotted gamblers among the ruins and decided to grab a tongue.
One grab—and he had landed a big fish! Zhen Huan was secretly pleased. He ordered: "Squads—execute the plan!" Then, quietly: "Tie these men up. This one"—he pointed at Zhang Tianbo—"guard him closely. Don't let him run."
(End of Chapter)