Crucible of Solitude (7)
A few days after the raid on Hulong Bang, we successfully looted another secret vault belonging to a high-ranking Communist Party official. This underground vault didn't belong to a city-level bureaucrat but to a provincial government figure—one of the men who had thrown Gao Xusen's uncle, Gao Ninghui, into prison. The sheer volume of wealth and treasures that poured out easily doubled what we'd taken before. Cumulatively from both hauls, our share came to about 13 tons. Seven tons in bonds and dollars, another six in gold bars and precious metals. When the profits are so massive you have to weigh them, that's the reality. In Korean won, it roughly equated to 1 trillion. And considering the additional hunts ahead, we could ignore the "minor" margin of error in the tens of billions.
If we spotted the chance to swallow a vault whole without reinvesting, we'd add tens of trillions in one go. Artworks and antiques with poor liquidity were just side benefits. Even after skimming 10% for the crew's performance bonuses, the net profit would be staggering.
The Black Sea Party wasn't sitting idle either. I had no idea how they got such precise intel, but according to Gao Xusen and Miju, at least two more officials in Guangdong Province had their secret vaults hit. There had been major armed clashes between hunter groups seemingly hired by the officials and forces presumed to be Black Sea attackers.
Even in this situation, the officials couldn't request protection from public security or the regular army. It would be literal suicide. "Here are my slush funds," they'd be confessing outright, and the Central Party Discipline Commission wouldn't let that slide.
The dimwits get made examples of with public executions, and the seized assets get divvied up among the higher-ups.
China loves public executions. They hang banners in schoolyards or wherever, call it a "Sentencing Rally," pronounce the death sentence, then shoot the poor bastard in front of a crowd. The numbers dropped a lot around the Beijing Olympics, but that was only in areas foreigners could easily see. In the boonies, traveling tribunals carried out roadside or field executions like it was routine.
Gao Xusen, calling via satellite phone today, expressed eager anticipation that execution ceremonies for Party officials would soon be carried out. China, growing desperate on multiple fronts, was now executing public spectacles even in city centers—but never before for death row inmates who were Party cadres. Even the executioners couldn't treat it as just someone else's problem. There was an unspoken noble pact to at least send them off gracefully on their final road.
But the harsh times had shattered even that. The next ones on the chopping block were, without exception, officials whose vaults we'd robbed. Ignoring convention like this meant they'd judged pacifying public sentiment was that urgent.
"Oh, come on, the attacks on me have suddenly stopped! With me, Gao Xusen, leading the charge in arrests, my rivals have no choice but to cheer me on just to protect their own vaults and necks! Haha! What a triumph!"
The situation Gao Xusen gleefully reported was exactly as I'd predicted.
"Conversely, while those fools are dropping dead, Uncle's trial has been indefinitely postponed. Of course, no immediate release in sight. His life is like a leash the higher-ups have around my neck. But it doesn't bother me. How could it? These past four days since meeting the division chief have been the most precarious—and most gloriously shining—in my life!"
This Communist noble also boasted of his high chances of being named a People's Hero.
"It's selected once a year after review by the NPC Standing Committee, but in these times, a new hero is desperately needed, no? With special approval, I might even get my medal at Spring Festival. My name will stand alongside Lei Feng, and my tales will endure as new crimson classics in history!"
Spring Festival next year fell on February 12—less than two months away. Gao Xusen's optimism wasn't unfounded; if it happened, his path would be paved smooth. Manipulate him right, and I'd achieve my goal of tapping into China's intel network. Truth be told, my advice to monitor Uyghurs and neighbors stemmed from intent to elevate this man into counterintelligence.
Anyway, with things like this, other Communist nobles—regardless of rank—began forming a bizarre public consensus. The gist: introduce "citizen's arrest rights" like in the Anglo-American sphere. The right for ordinary citizens to arrest other citizens.
A bureaucrat on CCTV articulated it thus:
The bureaucrat's words had minor errors. First, citizen's arrest isn't exclusive to Anglo-American law; even civil law nations often codify it somehow. As he admitted, China was one such example.
Second, the militia overseer system was still under debate in the US—not yet yielding results as he claimed.
To me, both were deliberate. Framing it as ‘we’re falling behind the enemy’ effectively stirs the masses.
Reading the true intent was easy. I chuckled bitterly inwardly.
They want to legitimize their private hunter armies...
Official public security and military are too watched for vault protection. But pro-government militias with overseers? Bribe a few, and they're usable anywhere—or appoint your own.
Then their hunters get military-grade gear legally, shed secrecy for massive cost savings, and maybe even state funding. Perfect.
Central government surely saw through it, but I figured they'd greenlight private armies for local nobles. The country couldn't even declare martial law freely due to economic woes—doing so might backfire and explode public rage.
Their corruption purge quota system was a hasty band-aid. Sacrificing mid-level lambs soothes the masses only so many times. Efficacy wanes with repetition, and with every noble corrupt, fear of one's turn breeds endless infighting and smears from within.
For these fake communists rotting together, they desperately needed a sustainable alternative. A policy letting them unite against chaos without airing shared dirty laundry.
Militia legalization was a solid ploy—making nobles fund their own security. Long-term side effects inevitable, but great for immediate crisis.
It synced with the party's "Awakened Rise" slogan too. In chaotic times, nobles' private forces were a grand Chinese tradition.
Leaning on Becklux's stern rail, facing the mild southern winter breeze, I sensed future hunts would get trickier.
"Hyungnim. Yongping-ho's arriving soon, per the call."
"I see it."
Radio from Suyeon on the bridge. I gazed at the faded white hull slicing through the Beijiang River's gentle currents far down the bend. Yongping in Chinese characters and alphabet sat proudly on the bow left.
This Yongping-ho was the small cruise we'd newly leased for Uyghur housing.
Combining Hulong Bang survivors, Hushu Ying's hidden "premium goods," and those rescued from Communist noble Maizuchi's social club, we had 287 Muslims.
Landing them ashore was risky—escape attempts or exposure. Isolation meant a ship was best, but Becklux, fine as she was, lacked capacity for all at once. We'd been cramming them on vehicle/cargo decks, a headache.
"Contract issues?"
Instant reply:
"Secured a week trial under test ops. Not for actual sailing, so we'll negotiate price during dockside use."
Rushed deals like Becklux invite suspicion. Suyeon was "negotiating to negotiate," not pinching pennies.
"Uyghurs' condition?"
"Physically much improved. No need for more malnutrition therapy."
That covered the sex slaves locked in the abandoned club. Dorm setup was prison-like; with even overseers fleeing charges, mass starvation was inevitable.
First thing I did opening those stench-filled doors? Whip up liquid food from the club's pantry stores. Too many mouths, too few hands—I even pitched in. Absurd for me, personally.
When was the last time I cooked?
Humans last three days sans water, three weeks sans food—but malnourished slaves couldn't hold that long. Apparently, owner Maizuchi had slacked feeding even before his purge. Who visits clubs in this mess? No owner, no guests—neglect follows.
I'd overlooked that.
Suyeon's report flowed smoothly:
"Mobile ones grouped by origin, sect, ethnicity, intake route—six groups now. Optimal at 15 post-recovery. Sect breakdown: Sunni 191, Ismaili 35, remaining 61 refuse answers or can't communicate. No sect conflict signs yet...
China paints Uyghurs as Islamist extremists, but Xinjiang's more secular than Turkey. Sunnis and Shiites coexist peacefully—what extremism?
After the full report, I said:
"Once aboard Yongping-ho, give the healthy ones special meals."
"Special meals...?"
"Tomorrow's Christmas."
"Ah."
Jesus—Prophet Isa in the Quran—is holy to Muslims too. Not on the Hijri calendar, but near-festival for non-hardliners.
Tonight, spoil the kids a bit.
Morale via minor holidays? High ROI.
Kyung-tae'd get a real drink taste—not just a sip like last time. At least a couple hours of pleasant buzz.
Gazing past the docks to the bustling streets, even this chaotic city kept elite life humming downtown. But no Christmas decor anywhere affluent. Obvious—celebrating Western holidays now? Perfect way to catch the Party's eye.
Childishly pathetic, not even worth a scoff.