MLMD -Chapter 435 Saving Lives

Shakespeare once said, To be or not to be—that is the question.

Everyone fears death. In the face of it, few can remain resolute. Standing before a glinting bayonet, even the bravest of the Jurchens would submit. Of course, some fierce Jurchens roared and resisted, but so far, all such efforts had proven one thing: before firearms, no amount of bravery matters—it becomes a joke.

Over half a month, 30,000 cavalry swept through every village within a hundred li around Shengjing. Through meticulous, net-like inspections, all but the most remote settlements had felt the trampling of the riders’ iron hooves.

Today, Yue Yang was in high spirits. He led his generals and several hundred personal guards into a forest to hunt. There was plenty of game, and even with his mediocre marksmanship, he managed to shoot two wild rabbits and a small wild boar. He was overjoyed, forgetting that it was actually Chen Dazhi who had finished off the boar with a follow-up shot.

At this moment, Wu Chengfeng, who had been busy for the past half month, returned.

“Reporting to the Marquis! After half a month of searching and capturing, most of the Jurchens within a hundred li of Shengjing have been rounded up by us. Please, Marquis, give your orders!”

Yue Yang scrutinized Wu Chengfeng, noticing he had grown slightly leaner and tanned over the past two weeks. Nodding slightly, he asked, “Have the numbers of the Jurchens been tallied?”

Wu Chengfeng quickly replied, “Reporting to the Marquis, the Jurchens have been fully counted: twenty-six thousand three hundred and seventy in total. I have already stationed them over sixty li southeast of Shengjing, awaiting your instructions.”

“Instructions? There’s nothing to deliberate. Immediately inform Wu Qing to divide them into two groups: one by land to Shanxi, the other by sea to Shandong. As for you, rest for a day. Tomorrow, continue the northern search. Bring me every Jurchen you find!”

“Yes, reporting as ordered!” Wu Chengfeng saluted and was about to leave, but the generals of the Xuan army surrounded him, jokingly asking for celebratory wine. Wu Chengfeng, unused to such attention, blushed.

Feng Xiaoyun, currently Deputy General of the Xuan army’s right-wing, grinned as he slung an arm around Wu Chengfeng’s shoulder, pulling him aside. “Chengfeng, I’ve watched you grow up. I thought you, who couldn’t even make a fart with three sticks, would never get a wife. Never imagined you’d quietly win the heart of the Marquis’s daughter. Truly, the silent achiever!”

The other generals looked on with envy, jealousy, and admiration. Everyone knew Yue Yang had a beautiful sister, and many had tried through various convoluted ways to marry into Yue Yang’s family—but all were politely declined. No one expected that the quiet Wu Chengfeng would strike gold. Though currently a small guerrilla general, with Yue Yang’s favor, he could rise to Deputy General or even General of the Army within a few years.

Despite their envy, the generals understood fate is personal. After a brief round of teasing, they let Wu Chengfeng go.

Over a hundred li from Shengjing, on a secluded beach, a small fishing village had grown lively since the Weihaiwei naval forces arrived. Ships constantly came and went, unloading vast amounts of supplies to the frontlines. On their return trips, these vessels had another duty: transporting the captured Jurchens to Shandong.

Several tens of li from the beach, nearly 100,000 Jurchen civilians gathered within four to five square kilometers—cramped, struggling for food and basic necessities. The Xuan army, busy at the front, scarcely cared for these prisoners, providing only enough to keep them from starving. Resistance had been attempted before, but those who tried had ended up decapitated, their heads displayed on flagpoles—a simple, brutal, effective method of control.

By noon, hundreds of chefs in green uniforms pushed two-wheeled carts into the temporary camp. At the sight, the Jurchens surged forward like a signal had been given, bowls in hand, queuing obediently under the watch of soldiers.

A soldier approached, wearing standard green military attire with three yellow stars and a blue stripe on his left chest, marking him as a bai zong level officer. Behind him followed a young woman in Han Chinese clothing.

This officer was Bai Kai, formerly under Ye Bushou. Yue Yang’s reforms had transformed the Xuan army into a proto-modern military, recently introducing a rank system—a first in Ming history.

Entering the camp, Bai Kai frowned at the throngs and said to the young woman behind him, “Su Wan Gualjia, although most Jurchens around Shengjing have been captured, they’ve been relocated to several places. I can’t guarantee your family is here, so prepare yourself mentally.”

Su Wan Gualjia’s eyes reddened. “I understand. Whether or not I find my parents today, I will be grateful to you, master.”

Bai Kai waved a hand irritably. “I’ve told you, we Han don’t do master-servant titles. Call me by my name—I came from hardship too, no need for such formality.”

“I dare not,” Su Wan Gualjia whispered, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

There were simply too many Jurchens. As time passed, disappointment darkened her expression. Bai Kai, noticing, silently followed.

Suddenly, a commotion arose. Curious, Bai Kai and Su Wan Gualjia approached. Several Jurchens were beating an elderly man on the ground, cursing in their language. The nearby soldiers watched lazily; as long as no one died, it wasn’t their concern.

Hearing the old man, Su Wan Gualjia’s expression changed. She ran over and asked in Jurchen, “Uncle Bayan, is that you?”

The old man looked up, stunned. “Su Wan Gualjia? How is it you?”

“Uncle Bayan, what are you doing here?” she exclaimed, trying to help him up.

The Jurchens nearby jeered. One middle-aged man shouted, “What’s this woman doing? Got itchy hands?” Another tried to strike her, but a force from Bai Kai’s abdomen sent him flying to the ground.

Angrily, the attackers rushed forward, only to hear a sharp Jurchen command: “Whoever moves again dies!”

It was Bai Kai, a Ming officer, aiming a pistol at them. The attackers froze, remembering the Ming army’s ruthless reputation: internal Jurchen fights were ignored, but attacking a Han meant severe punishment, from flogging to beheading. Now, under threat, the brutes became meek.

Bai Kai waved them off, and they scurried away. Finally, he focused on Su Wan Gualjia and Uncle Bayan.

Su Wan Gualjia helped him up, tears in her voice. “Uncle Bayan, have all our villagers been captured? What about my father, mother, and siblings?”

The old man, seeing her, brightened. “Su Wan Gualjia! After you disappeared, your father and mother worried themselves sick.”

Su Wan Gualjia’s eyes filled with hope. “Are they here? Are they alright?”

“They are… but your father has been ill, running a high fever. Your mother has been caring for him. You should see him,” he said, his tone dimming.

Turning to Bai Kai, Su Wan Gualjia pleaded, “Master, may I see my father?”

Bai Kai sighed. “Let’s go together.”

Led by Uncle Bayan, they reached a large tree where a bed of straw held an elderly man, a white-haired woman, and two children aged seven or eight. Su Wan Gualjia ran forward, embracing her father, weeping uncontrollably. Soon, the old woman and children recognized her, and the family cried together. Bai Kai quietly turned away.

After a while, Su Wan Gualjia choked out, “Mother, Father has always been strong—how did he fall ill like this?”

Her mother sobbed, “After learning your uncle’s village was massacred by the Ming, we thought you were gone too. Your father’s health declined, and since we were captured, food has been scarce. A few days ago he fell gravely ill.”

Su Wan Gualjia asked, “Why didn’t you call a doctor?”

Her mother forced a bitter smile. “What nonsense! The Ming are our mortal enemies. How could we expect them to send a doctor?”

Su Wan Gualjia gritted her teeth, about to speak, and noticed Bai Kai had returned with a doctor carrying a medicine box. Bai Kai indicated her father, and the doctor checked his pulse and forehead.

“He is weak and feverish due to prolonged illness and stress. Without prompt treatment, his life is at risk. I will lower his fever.” The doctor performed a skin test, then injected the patient. “I’ll return tonight for another dose. With rest, he will recover.”

“Thank you, doctor!” Bai Kai said, offering silver coins as a token of gratitude. The doctor accepted, understanding the use of penicillin—a rare, modern medicine brought by Yue Yang.

After the doctor left, Su Wan Gualjia knelt, crying, “Master, you saved my father! I will serve you my whole life!”

Bai Kai sighed, lifting her up. “Enough. You are under my protection. Your family has suffered, and I will provide supplies for them.” He turned and walked away. Su Wan Gualjia repeatedly bowed, whispering promises of lifelong gratitude.

Her mother and Uncle Bayan understood without speaking. Since being captured by the Ming army, survival had been uncertain; now, under Bai Kai’s care, their chances improved greatly.

Night fell once more. Thick clouds blanketed the sky, punctuated by lightning and rolling thunder. Rain began to fall, growing into a torrential downpour.

In the darkness, a shadow slowly moved toward Shengjing. Its movements were cautious, evading Ming patrols. After roughly half an hour, it reached the city walls.

Once it vanished from the Ming lines’ sight, two figures in black emerged. Lightning illuminated them, revealing one as Jiang He, Deputy Director of the Youshan Division…