MLMD -Chapter 250 Interrogation

Bright moonlight spilled across the land, dispelling the darkness of the night and bathing the earth in a soft, silvery glow.

Along the official road from Changping to the capital, scattered refugees could be seen hiding. Most crouched behind hillsides or in dense woods, trembling as they watched the occasional military units speeding past. In recent days, this road had seen many passing troops—Ming soldiers, Tatars, and even multiple skirmishes.

Tonight, several of the hidden refugees caught sight again of a cavalry unit racing north to south. Their speed was remarkable; clouds of dust rose behind them on the road before they vanished from sight.

This cavalry was Bai Kai’s team. After killing more than twenty Qing soldiers, Bai Kai’s squad had captured nearly fifty warhorses. Adding the twenty-odd mounts they already had, nearly eighty horses now thundered down the road, creating an impressive and intimidating spectacle.

They rode deep into the night, until reaching a small mountain hollow about thirty li from the Liangxiang main camp. There, Bai Kai finally ordered a halt.

…

Nerbu was a Fende Boshu (a sub-unit commander) in the Manchu Bordered White Banner, a position roughly equivalent to a company commander in the Ming army—a junior officer. He was twenty-seven, in the prime of his life, and as a seasoned veteran, he had spent years patrolling the borderlands. This was his second campaign with the southern invasion.

As a skilled Manchu warrior, Nerbu loved military life. In nearly a decade of service, he had killed countless opponents in the most brutal ways, ranging from unarmed civilians to captured Ming night patrol soldiers.

He liked being a soldier; he enjoyed seeing the corpses of the enemies he had slain and relished watching Han civilians struggle and cry beneath his blade. Unlike many other Qing soldiers, Nerbu had an edge: he had learned fluent Chinese from the Han people captured by his family and was familiar with some of their habits, which he found naïve.

From his interactions with so many Han, Nerbu understood one peculiar habit: when they captured foreign prisoners, the Han often displayed exaggerated mercy, releasing their enemies in a show of benevolence. Nerbu found this both surprising and bewildering. What puzzled him more was that these same people could be ruthlessly cruel toward their own.

But these habits worked in his favor. Nerbu had learned a skill few other Manchu soldiers possessed: feigning helplessness.

During his ten years in the military, Nerbu had spent six years as a night patrol soldier. In that time, he had countless encounters with Ming night patrols. There were victories and defeats, but when he won, he never left survivors. Luck, however, is never constant. He had been captured by the Ming twice.

When captured, Nerbu relied on his specialty. Exploiting the Han belief in caution toward prisoners, he would put on a pitiful expression, wailing, sobbing, or appearing deeply remorseful. Both times, his captors treated him with kindness—feeding him well, letting down their guard—and eventually allowed him to escape. Nerbu would then orchestrate the capture of those same Ming soldiers who had spared him, exacting revenge.

Through such cunning, Nerbu rose to become a Fende Boshu in the Bordered White Banner’s reconnaissance unit.

From this year, he had heard rumors from higher ranks: a formidable Ming army, called the Yingzhou Army, had emerged. They had beaten the Blue, Red, and even his White Banner. Two years ago, when the Great Khan personally led the southern invasion, General Yang Wei, under Yue Tuo, suffered severe losses at their hands, losing thousands of men. The Red Banner was still recovering.

The White Banner had also fared poorly. During last year’s expedition against the Chahar tribes beyond the pass, they clashed with the Yingzhou Army again. Even the combined forces of the Fourteenth Beile Dolgun, Prince Suwu Haoge, and Yue Tuo could not gain the upper hand, and they had to retreat to Shengjing, suffering hundreds of casualties.

Such intelligence was technically beyond a low-ranking officer like Nerbu. But he had a good relationship with Niulu, a comrade from that expedition, and had gleaned some information through him.

Still, Nerbu did not worry too much. In his mind, the Han were rigid and foolish, easy to manipulate. As long as one survived, everything else was negotiable—pretending weakness, begging for mercy, feigning death—all was acceptable.

After entering the pass this time, although everything seemed smooth, Nerbu sensed something amiss. He volunteered to stay at the frontlines, sending constant reports of gathered intelligence back to the Qing main camp.

Just yesterday, after looting over a hundred Ming civilians, he had captured two attractive women. He intended to return immediately to Changping, but halfway along, fatigue forced a rest at a place called Nianzhuang. After satisfying himself, he handed the women to his men and went to sleep. Unluckily, this delay led to his capture by Ming forces.

Yes, the word “again” is deliberate. This was not Nerbu’s first capture by the Ming, so he was not particularly anxious. He was already plotting his escape.

Unfortunately, these Ming soldiers were different from before—much harsher. Just moments ago, one of his men, Heidazi, had his head severed due to severe wounds. A foreboding dread rose in Nerbu’s heart.

While Nerbu’s thoughts spiraled, he suddenly felt his horse stop. Someone grabbed him like a sack by the ankles and dragged him along. Obstacles and small stones repeatedly struck his body and head, pain making him nearly faint.

Finally, they stopped. The black cloth over his eyes was removed. Swollen, he opened his eyes and slowly assessed his surroundings. He was on a small hill with a stream at his feet, kneeling alongside his captured men. Seven or eight night patrol soldiers, dressed as ordinary civilians, stared at him with smiling faces—but Nerbu discerned a hidden cruelty and savagery in their expressions.

Acting instantly, Nerbu struggled to rise. Tears streamed from his swollen eyes as he knelt before them, crying loudly in Chinese:
“Gentlemen of the Celestial Empire… please spare me…”

Bang!

Before he could finish, a small, middle-aged Han man kicked him sharply under the chin. Nerbu’s tongue was bitten, blood gushing from his mouth. A chilling sneer echoed in his ears:

“Dog Tatar, you’d better tell us everything you know. I’ll make it quick for you, or you’ll regret ever being born!”

The man looked to be thirty- to forty-ish, lean, wiry, with piercing eyes and sharp, sweeping eyebrows. When he looked at someone, it was like a venomous snake, sending shivers down the spine.

Even more astonishing to Nerbu, this middle-aged man spoke fluent Manchu. He realized that only elite Qing night patrol soldiers—the so-called Jianshao, or “sharp scouts”—commonly spoke Manchu, aside from border merchants.

Terrified, Nerbu could not respond, staring dumbly.

This man was Kuiye, a member of Bai Kai’s squad. Seeing Nerbu silent, Kuiye’s temper flared. He stepped forward, grabbed one of Nerbu’s fingers, and twisted. A sharp crack echoed; Nerbu’s finger bent backward at a forty-five-degree angle.

Nerbu screamed in agony. The pain was unimaginable, and despite wanting to faint, he could not. Cold sweat soaked him. Though a decade of military experience had toughened him, he had never seen such cruelty. Since when were the Han capable of such brutality? Weren’t they always preaching righteousness?

A cold voice whispered in his ear:
“I’ll ask you one more time. If you don’t speak, your next finger won’t be spared.”

Nerbu shouted in Chinese:
“You… you can’t do this! I am a warrior of the Qing Bordered White Banner! Killing prisoners is inauspicious! If your superiors knew, they would punish you!”

“Ha… not bad, your Chinese is quite smooth,” Kuiye said with a dark, cold smile. Bai Kai and the Su brothers watched eagerly, curious how Kuiye would deal with the Tatar.

“Since you refuse wine, you must drink the punishment,” Kuiye said, drawing a small hammer from his waist. “You should know the saying ‘ten fingers linked to the heart.’ Our authorities often punish villains this way. Let’s see if you’re still so bold when your ten fingers are gone.”

He and the Su brothers pressed Nerbu to the ground. Helpless from prior wounds, Nerbu could not resist. Kuiye grabbed his right hand, whispering:
“Be good. Don’t struggle, or I can’t guarantee this hammer won’t crush your entire palm.”

“Ahhh…”

Nerbu’s agonized screams echoed across the hill, startling a nearby flock of birds into the night sky.

“Your mouth is tough, eh? Let’s do another one…”

Screams continued. Each time he nearly fainted, a bucket of cold water would splash his head, keeping him awake.

Within a quarter-hour, Nerbu’s right hand was a mangled mass of flesh and bone. Even if he returned to Shengjing, his military career was over; he would be crippled.

Kuiye’s cold voice whispered again:
“Speak nicely, you don’t want me to cripple your left hand too, do you?”

Bai Kai and the others shivered at Kuiye’s method. They knew such torture, but no one else could remain so calm, methodical, and even slightly exhilarated while interrogating a prisoner.

Seeing Kuiye’s cold gaze, Nerbu grimly laughed through his pain:
“Fine… I’ll speak. I’ll tell everything. Just give me a quick end once I’m done…”

“See? Much better. Less suffering for you, less trouble for me,” Kuiye said with a savage grin.

Two “ke” (half-hour) later, Bai Kai and the others rode off toward Liangxiang, carrying two heads still dripping blood atop a warhorse.