The Eve of the Storm
"Thank you for the offer, but I wish to remain at the Foreign Brigade Commander's side."
"Hm. Why is that? A man of your talents would be valued highly not just here in the Northeast, but in Beijing as well."
Why, indeed.
I had endured hell in this Manchuria just to finally reach the point where life was worth living. Why on earth would I suddenly start a Re: Starting Life in Beijing from Zero? The legendary wicked empress Cixi was still eating well and living large in the Forbidden City, and even now she was carrying on her parade of deranged power plays. And just how terrifying public authority wielded arbitrarily by a mad, absolute ruler could be—well, our dimwitted King Gojong had taught us that lesson all too well.
If the power of Gojong, who could barely squeeze a paltry three thousand ri of territory in his fist, was that much, just how fearsome must the combat strength of Empress Dowager Cixi be, the woman who reduced a country the size of an entire continent to a half-paralyzed invalid? Ah, too scary. No thank you.
"Well, I suppose a man who loves his homeland has friends left behind wherever he stays. If you ever change your mind, speak to me at any time."
"It is an honor, Prefect."
Shen Jinjian kept stealing glances at me, as if he couldn't quite let go of the idea, but apparently deciding that pressing further would cost him face, he said nothing more. Then, as we passed through Fengtian's west gate and reached the outskirts—
"Why did you do that?"
"Excuse me? Do what?"
Zhang Zuolin, riding ahead of me, glanced back over his shoulder. The clip-clop of hooves striking the earth filled the silence between men. When a few horses snorted and the quiet settled in again, he spoke.
"I'm asking why you didn't go to Beijing, you blockhead."
"Well, why would I go to Beijing?"
Out of nowhere he drops all pretense? It's already getting dark—say something wrong and let the conversation wander off the road, and who's taking responsibility for that?
"What do you mean, why! Money to make, careers to climb, beautiful women everywhere—"
"No. See, that's far too vulgar a motive. Can't we dress it up in something a little more noble?"
"Nonsense. Life can end any day. Living like some threadbare scholar moaning about virtue beats a hundred million times worse than enjoying one day of pleasure like a fat, oil-soaked grandee in Beijing."
A glutton worried about the look of his corpse, is he? Well, as far as Manchuria goes, the man's not exactly wrong.
"Frankly, I don't see any reason to go to Beijing right now."
"Why?"
"The Prefect is a high official here, but in Beijing his post would be overflowing to the point of embarrassment. A letter of recommendation from him would be nice to have, of course, but I doubt it would dramatically change anything."
After all, in a few years' time, that brilliant politician Sun Yat-sen will emerge over in Guangzhou. Blessed with a silver tongue and natural talent, he'll spark the great event known as the Xinhai Revolution and split the continent in two. Then that half will splinter again into a dozen-plus pieces, and the world will enter the great age of warlords. Every warlord will fight a bloody free-for-all to stitch the continent back together and claim their long-dreamed-of 'One Piece'—though honestly, I don't remember the details all that well.
Chiang Kai-shek of the Kuomintang unifies the realm in the end, but then gets stabbed in the back—first by some sashimi from the vicious little island dwarfs, then by sashimi from the Demon Cult leader Mao Zedong—and flees to Taiwan. Something like that?
In a future that's guaranteed to descend into chaos, what could I possibly accomplish by going there? Become China's supreme leader through divine political genius? Even the rubber boy from the comic books spent over twenty years in the Great Pirate Era without becoming the Pirate King—how would an ordinary human like me ever become a king?
Well, unless I planned to conquer the whole world, ascend Mount Tai, and declare myself Emperor—in which case Beijing would be a fine opportunity. But what was my goal again? Wasn't it to make Korea stronger, greater, and better than it ever was in the original timeline? Not my problem, is it?
Once I thought about it that way, the hellhole south of Shanhaiguan (scheduled) lost all appeal. Is this what Seop Baeok—no, what Sima Yi felt like, watching the Three Kingdoms from the sidelines? Before 1911, I refused to lift a single finger in the inland's affairs no matter what happened.
"Ugh, ugh..."
I quietly raised my fist and hammered it once onto the head of Du Lisan, who was perched on the back of my horse.
Thwack!
"......"
Quiet now. With nothing but hoofbeats sounding once more, I spoke.
"Anyway, I think if I went to Beijing now, there's a high chance I'd end up looking at something unpleasant."
"Worried that madwoman Cixi might take you as her concubine? Shouldn't have been born looking so much like a gisaeng boy, then."
"...I hadn't thought that far, but now you've made it terrifying. Thanks to you, I have one more reason not to go."
In the distance, the sun crept up over the vast Manchurian plain. The light stretched itself awake by degrees, lighting the road ahead of us while also poking playfully at our eyes. I tugged my military cap down a little lower, and things got better. We walked the road home—unhurried, but certain.
A few days later.
"Come now, our Mr. Lisan. Let's quit this banditry and become government soldiers, shall we?"
"You insane bastard, you dare insult me like this!?"
Keep this up and I'm going to want to administer another 30 milligrams of sedative. Want another punch to the jaw? Sure, I did commit a slight—very slight—act of somewhat anti-Confucian conduct in front of your family, but that was strictly a bitter, unavoidable act for the greater good. Do you know how much my heart tore apart over it? I'm a victim here too.
I dragged a chair over and sat down in front of Du Lisan, bound like Prometheus. The legs scraped across the floor with a scrrape-thunk.
"Look, we're all reasonable men here—let's not make this tedious. Now that we've caught you, Mr. Lisan, you have exactly two options."
"Two?"
"First, become a corpse. Second, join our side while shouting, 'A dog like me wants an official post too!'"
What's with the side-eye? You're the one who wanted an official post. A second lieutenant is a civil servant in good standing, you know? Under me, admittedly.
"Is escaping and drilling a vent hole through your skull not an option?"
"Nope. Not an option."
I scratched my head.
"You're not... thinking your stronghold is still intact, are you?"
"What?"
Why are there so many naive people these days, starting with Zhang Jinghui? Or did they all take me for an idiot? And if so, would I really have just let that slide?
In fact, in the predawn hours of the day Du Lisan was arrested, Zhang Jinghui's forces had raided the stronghold and hauled back all three hundred men under Du Lisan's command. They were hardly a modern military organization—no training whatsoever—and once their dependable core lieutenants, the ones who would have filled the command vacuum in their leader's absence, were all dragged off to Fengtian, their entire chain of command had simply collapsed. If he couldn't manage even that much, Zhang Jinghui deserved to take off his insignia and go farm for a living. Even for a blockhead who couldn't read and had zero concept of economics, Du Lisan had after all been the captain of a village self-defense force in this Manchuria-Western frontier. Not zero military talent, at least.
— Clang!
"You son of a bitch! I'll kill you!!!"
Having heard my explanation, Du Lisan seemed slightly broken by the shock. The handcuffs were solid steel through and through—those had to hurt. Oof.
But the more broken a man was like this, the better the gaslighting worked. I leaned in close and whispered.
"Hey, come on, just listen. You don't get it—being a second lieutenant isn't bad at all. In that, uh, civil service ranking system, it's the equivalent of Grade 7."
"...Grade 7? You mean the seventh rank? Lower-seventh?"
"Yeah. Whether it's upper or lower, I couldn't say, but seventh."
Is it really seventh rank? How would I know? How am I supposed to know that? But unlike those barbarian Western titles, Eastern official ranks worked roughly like the 21st-century Korean civil service system. So seventh rank would be about Grade 7. And even if it wasn't—would that be such a problem?
Back in my cadet-commander days, I'd gone around recruiting sprouting younglings with pitches like 'a second lieutenant equals Grade 7,' 'a major equals Grade 5 administrator or higher,' and 'entering the military academy is the same as passing the Grade 7 national civil service exam.' Old habit.
"—Think about it. After grinding through the provincial and metropolitan examinations just to qualify for the emperor's own examination, you'd need a middle-or-better result just to reach seventh rank. And the pass rate for those examinations? But a second lieutenant ranks equal to a man who scored middling at the emperor's own examination."
"A-ah... is that so...?"
"How long do you plan to live as a thug and a vagabond? Want to keep hiding money in a floorboard-hollowed shack because you can't even trust a bank with it? Or would you rather live with dignity in a thriving city, wearing a sharp uniform and earning everyone's respect? You have parents to care for, don't you?"
"Urk... Father..."
"Defect now, and I promise this: your old subordinates—maybe not all of them, but a good number—will be assigned back under your command."
"That's... not bad... maybe...?"
Drink it down, Health Cream. ...Seize your destiny.
Barely a few hours later, Du Lisan wrote his three-character name on a blank defection pledge.
Easy.
"—That is not a matter for you to discuss with him."
"Damn it all. Is one of them not enough—now even the old gentleman has to circle around that guy?"
"I truly can't fathom how the talk keeps leaking. He manages the supply of the entire unit. Why should it pain you so that I wish to speak with him?"
After successfully abducting, imprisoning, and brainwashing Du Lisan, I stepped outside to find two familiar voices drifting into my ears in tandem.
"Elder Zhang Ziyun? And—Brigade Commander Zhang Jinghui, is that not you?"
"Eep!"
"Oh! Taeo, my boy! I was looking for you!"
Eep? What is that estrogen-drenched sound?
Zhang Jinghui shuffled backward as though he'd just laid eyes on some plague demon, while Elder Zhang Ziyun broke into a wide grin, strode up, seized my hand, and shook it up and down with delight.
"I heard the news! The Foreign Brigade Commander is to be made colonel, and you at least a major!?"
"Ha, nothing is confirmed yet."
"My boy, why so modest? Bowing even when there's no need to bow isn't humility—it's paring down your own reputation with your own hands."
At his Sun Tzu-style admonition, the Three Bonds and Five Virtues Master himself, Lee Tae-oh, could do nothing but nod along in agreement.
"By the way, what brings the Baguadao Merchants Association all the way out here to the unit's encampment?"
"It's a slightly, ahem, delicate matter to discuss out of doors..."
"Then come this way. There's a quiet spot nearby. ...Brigade Commander Zhang Jinghui, won't you join us?"
At my words, Zhang Jinghui cleared his throat and shook his head side to side.
"Ahem. Urgent business. I'll leave it to you."
"Ah, yes."
So leaving Zhang Jinghui behind, Zhang Ziyun and I made our way to a quiet, sparsely trafficked corner, where the old merchant began to speak.
"You know that Korean settlement you told me about a while back?"
"Pardon? Ah—yes."
"Nothing serious, really. From a merchant's standpoint it's a fine thing—demand has grown, after all. And the man who serves as headman of the settlement seemed a decent, agreeable sort."
An Jung-geun? Surely nothing's happened over there?
"Then what exactly...?"
"This time, the settlement's headman asked our people whether we couldn't procure him some firearms."
"Firearms?"
"Well, in this Manchuria a man can't sleep easy for a single day without a gun at his hip, so it's hardly strange. But if those friends of yours cause an incident, sparks could land on you, no? So I came to give you a word of warning, that's all."
Hmm. I see. From the independence army's standpoint, every single gun, every single round of ammunition, must be precious. If supplies—even just staples and some materiel—could flow steadily, it would open up their airways overnight. But if things went wrong and they were caught by the Japanese railway guards or the puratchi informants, it would become very, very tiresome indeed. So Elder Zhang Ziyun had come to drop me a hint—and perhaps to hear whether I had any good ideas of my own.
Was there... some clever solution?
"...Elder Zhang Ziyun. In short, so long as we're never exposed, everything works out—that's what you're saying?"
"Mm? That's right. Honestly speaking, I'd love to sell off that artillery you spirited away behind the Korean garrison's back. What's bad money in this world?"
"As it happens, there are a few friends of mine not currently on the military rolls."
"Oho."
A name like Du Lisan I couldn't do anything with, but a few of his lackeys going missing? Nobody would ever notice. A few days after the prisoner interrogations wrapped up, I quietly selected the men with promising backgrounds—former merchants and smugglers, or the fellows who'd managed provisions at Du Lisan's mountain stronghold—and spoke with each one alone. The former would know the logistics network of Manchuria inside and out; the latter were men you could trust to that extent. In backwaters like this, the men who held the key to a community's food supply were the ones with the highest social standing. Nobody hands over the rice-warehouse keys to a rude lout who won't cooperate with anyone else.
Convincing them turned out to be surprisingly easy.
"You have a sick mother at home?"
"How could you possibly—"
"How? It's all in the paperwork. So what'll it be. Stay and be beheaded, or defect to the government army and do some dirty work for me? The money to care for your mother will be paid properly."
"H-how can I trust you?"
"Oh? Then don't."
"Eh?"
"Who loses their head here—me, or you? Your poor mother must be weeping."
"I-I'll do it! Only spare my life!"
Bring up family at the right moment, shake them like that, and most of them come over. What? What if they double-cross me? I'm the one who brought up their families—how exactly would they double-cross me? Of course I have absolutely, absolutely, absolutely never-any intention of harming them, but playing the family card is a very, very common move in this Manchuria. Even Zhang Zuolin nearly lost his wife and infant son to a vengeful bandit band while he was out suppressing them, back when Zhang Xueliang was still in swaddling clothes.
Those fellows' mouths must be dry as dust by now.
"Are these the men?"
"Yes. Every one of them has family he's responsible for."
"Hm. There's no one more dependable than a man who understands a household head's duties."
Old Zhang Ziyun would put these suddenly-disappeared gentlemen to good use. Why not? Smuggling was daily bread in Manchuria anyway—did capitalism look like a jotso to anyone? Time to ladle myself a spoonful while I was at it.
Not long after, I received a letter from a familiar name.
I am deeply, immeasurably grateful. May the grace of God be upon you.
— An —
Late 1908.
"Keep an eye on a certain officer, you say?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. A talent worth watching."
At the Prefect's words, the newly appointed General of Shengjing and Viceroy of the Three Northeast Provinces, Xu Shichang, let out a dry chuckle. He leaned back and, in a lower voice:
"Hm? Isn't that man the one who—"
"Yes, General. Du Lisan, the bandit captured by the former general, Zhao Erxun."
"...He is now Second Lieutenant Du Lisan, General."
"Ha. I'd have sworn he'd have been put to death by now?"
"Overwhelmed by the majesty of His Imperial Majesty and Your Excellency Xu Shichang, he repented his crimes and resolved to devote his talents to the state."
"Well, this is amusing."
So there were decently clever officials even in this backwater corner of the frontier—though apparently only to this degree. Xu Shichang held no particular hopes or expectations for the Northeast. Hadn't he taken the post in the first place on Yuan Shikai's orders, to somehow clean up the Northeast after the Russo-Japanese War had smashed it to pieces? Any talent to be found here would be middling at best. Throw him a few troublesome assignments and be done with it.
"Those little island dwarfs have been making a fuss lately."
"Ah, they claim their railway guards were attacked—"
"They have the gall to press me for troops on the grounds that their own railway guards got themselves killed. Just how feeble must one be to be raided by those sickly Korean bandits?"
Xu Shichang spoke with stately gravity.
"Next year, the former Prime Minister of Japan is said to negotiate with the Russians here in the Northeast. Until then, it will suffice to have Zhang Zuolin and his brigade stabilize the region's security."
"I humbly comply with Your Excellency's instruction."