Crucible of Solitude (9): Blood on Christmas Streets
The streets seething with age-old han—that deep-seated Korean resentment—showed signs that the blood of the poor would flow without fail, even on Christmas. After all, a day with special meaning didn't magically fill the bellies of the starving.
I'd received an urgent call from Gao Xusen and headed out to the hunting ground on the eastern edge of the city at dawn. This particular site was an industrial complex occupied by peasant workers. Before sunrise, protesters had seized factories large and small, their numbers easily topping ten thousand at a glance. The laborers had used their familiar tools and materials to erect barricades like walls. They’d even built multi-tiered watchtowers at key chokepoints.
From my perspective, it was a hunting ground offering zero profit—not even a speck. But Gao Xusen, whom I was propping up from above, was in charge of the Patrol Police Detachment, the unit handling public security. One wrong move, and the heroic reputation I'd carefully built for him could be drenched in massive bloodshed.
I let out a sigh laced with irritation. Tsk. I'd anticipated something like this ever since pulling public security officials into my pocket as lackeys. Still, standing with the imperialists against the oppressed didn't sit right with me. It was just an unavoidable stepping stone on my path to London.
For now, I'd console myself with the knowledge that someday, the Chinese Communist Party itself would be my target.
"How are the guys holding up?"
Kyung-tae answered my question with dead seriousness.
"Honestly, not the most appealing gig, but if hyungnim says do it, we do it. Plus, experience tells me not everyone's down there as innocent as they claim."
This ruthless pragmatism was the result of my repeated mental conditioning. No, brainwashing is more like it.
When life is brutally harsh and all you have are your human connections, people get the urge to exploit those ties unjustly. They treat promises like jokes, borrow money and talk big, seize any chance to scam others—and commit every petty crime imaginable—yet feel no guilt because "life is hard." Many of my subordinates had suffered near-death at the hands of such scum.
Just gathering them regularly to share stories was enough for solid ideological training. Few brainwashings are as unshakable as those built on hatred, grudges, and trauma.
At the end of this education emphasizing humanity's universal malice, I always drilled the same words into them:
Besides that, those with extensive human-hunting experience on the mainland knew firsthand how vicious and selfish the discarded underclass here had become. In the capitalists' paradise built by communist nobles, there were no good groups above or below. The purely kind without power had long been weeded out or devoured.
If someone tried to jump to their death, crowds of onlookers would jeer, "Hurry up and jump already!" That was how broken society had become. A verbal spat could escalate to knives in seconds—that was the average for China's communist-ruined lower classes.
At that moment, I repeated a near-hypnotic suggestion to myself: There are no underdogs. That's a crucible of solitude down there.
Gao Xusen, who'd summoned me here, was still tied up in a pissing contest with other departments on site and hadn't shown his face yet. Whatever it was, it'd take time before he reached me, and there were no signs of the situation deteriorating rapidly, so I could afford to watch and wait a bit.
In the distance, at the occupied complex, an Awakened worker stood on a factory roof like a pulpit, spewing his grievances like blood.
"I'm Duan Chao from Shizai Town! From now on, I'll tell you all about what my colleagues and I have endured!"
His eyes reddened from the start.
"Me and my 27 colleagues! We haven't received a single penny in wages for the past nine months!"
"We first went to the city Labor Inspection Bureau to resolve it! They got mad, saying 'Who comes straight to high-level offices?' and told us to go to the district bureau since it wasn't their job!"
"At the district bureau, they said the same—go to the Complaints Office! But the Complaints Office guy snapped, 'Why bring inspection matters here?' With nowhere left, we gathered in front of the city hall demanding justice! Then the responding public security officers beat us and chased us off!"
"The cops called us traitors! Said we were only chasing personal gain while the country struggled, making things worse! That the factory owner couldn't pay due to hard times, so we all had to sacrifice!"
"But the factory owner lives well! He drives a Huachen BMW! His wife and kids ride Audis! He bought a new car even while stiffing our pay!"
"Desperate and wronged, we went to court last! The owner offered to pay in bear dolls from the factory! The judge banged the gavel and approved! He even calculated at retail price, not wholesale! The judge ignored our cries!"
"In the end, we got more bear dolls than we could carry! The owner threatened storage fees if we didn't take them quick! We tried selling, but they wouldn't move even at half price!"
"He sued us for warehouse fees! The judge ruled we pay! The owner said take goods if no cash—and reclaimed the dolls at wholesale!"
"Now he claims no responsibility! We got nothing! How are we supposed to live?!"
I'd been listening quietly, but at that point, I forgot my displeasure and let out a chuckle. Wasn't there that guy who paid wages in bricks a while back? Last year or the year before—I couldn't recall exactly—but some lunatic paid per-worker wages in stacks of ten thousand bricks. The people's court sided with him then too.
Duan Chao's cries grew more bloodcurdling toward the end. But they stirred no real emotion in me. I'd heard too many similar tales; every wail felt like déjà vu.
As the peasant workers shared grievances and ramped up their fervor, the forces encircling the complex swelled by the minute. Judging by the uniforms, it wasn't just public security—they'd dragged in armed militia too. Concentrating cops here left other districts exposed; it was unavoidable.
China's militia differed greatly from Western notions. Alongside the People's Liberation Army and public security, they formed one of the three armed forces defined by national defense law—something between reserves and civil defense, but not quite. They got mobilized for all sorts of state projects. Just this spring's COVID outbreak saw them heavily deployed for quarantine ops.
So communist nobles mimicking Western militias to build private forces needed distinct names from the official ones. These ability-user groups were hoisting unique banners amid the militia ranks to advertise themselves.
Gao Xusen finally showed up, grumbling at the sight.
"They're using this mess as a springboard to legalize private ability hunter corps. Create precedent for civilian hunters suppressing riots under police control, then claim legitimacy."
Sayong meant privately run, opposite of state or official. Ineng was primitive magic ability, yeopsa hunters, byeongdan a military unit.
"What's the problem with that?"
It only hastened the inevitable; they must've coordinated with higher-ups beforehand. Gao Xusen shook his fist in outrage at my casual probe.
"They stole my thunder! You think I don't want my own corps? Circumstances didn't allow it before, but once they improved, I was scouting hunters who'd bagged a few fierce ability beasts. Rivals snatched the good ones first, making it tough, but I figured time before legalization..."
Ah, got it. Still sidelined by the city committee, he hadn't gotten the heads-up on upper-level coordination.
"You're pissed they took first dibs."
His wrinkles deepened at my words.
"As the division chief said when we hit Hulong Bang, first-mover advantage builds massive fame. They won't capitalize, but my rivals will settle for robbing me. They see you, your men, and me as one—practically your private army. Must've spooked 'em."
The communist noble glared at me with fiery eyes, preaching in a stirring tone.
"This is a huge loss for our venture! To avoid more damage from their cabals and schemes, we need superior forces! So I beseech you, my division chief: train our future hunter corps to crush the rabble! I'll cover all recruitment and training costs!"
Ha. So that's why he laid out his pathetic spot—hoping I'd slip and commit. Agree casually now, and later regret meant apologizing first. It played well on Chinese face-saving; reneging hurt pride.
Where'd he learn this cheap trick?
I countered with disdain.
"How much consulting fee did you have in mind?"
"Huh?"
He feigned surprise.
"What? Charging for a joint effort? It'll hinder your ops too, considering their influence. Even elites falter outnumbered—overreach and all."
"Sure, if short-staffed it's regrettable, but who profits more—you or me? Bluntly: whose corps will it ultimately be? If I take half when I leave this country, no fee needed."
"..."
"It's your corps, not ours, division chief. I'm a businessman; you gain ten, I get one—so I must charge. Suggest first. What value do you place on me and my men's skills? How much to impart them fairly?"
By framing it so, I bundled the fee with my face. Gao Xusen struggled to hide his sour expression.
"How could I quantify your worth? Please consider our constructive ties and offer generously."
As he backpedaled, I named an impromptu price.
"Skip the cash. Help my company establish its own corps—that settles it. Deal?"
"A corps?"
"Yes. From permits, overseer picks, to securing ops zones—your pull would be appreciated."
Thinking it cheap, he brightened and nodded eagerly.
"That? Easy! I'll help however!"
"Good."
I turned my gaze.
"Now, to the real problem at hand."
Outwardly, public security faced off in boring stalemate with the workers. But I saw beyond: the complex held a fireworks factory. Fireworks used black powder. Flawed for modern firearms, tweak the mix and it fueled explosives or propellants for heavy weapons.
Al Qasim already made RPG-7s with it. With Spring Festival demand peaking and under two months away, the factory brimmed with stockpiled materials. Workers once making festive consumables now churned out blast charges to kill their oppressors on the same lines.