Chapter Thirty: The Rabble

Within the imperial powers, there is a widely circulated saying: To control Yanjing is to command the brain of Xinghan; to control Puhai is to grasp Xinghan’s purse. Thus, in the concessions of Puhai, adventurers and merchants from foreign lands abound.

In the eyes of these foreigners, a powerful magician has suddenly emerged in the Far East—a villainous Merlin, so to speak—who has gained terrifying strength by selling his soul to Satan. Not only has he caused their grip on the purse to slip, but like the sinister monk of the Ice Fortress, once such an evil and mysterious figure seizes power, he will inevitably prey on women! With his bedchamber sorcery, acquired through sacrificial soul offerings, every woman becomes utterly devoted to him! Surely it must be sorcery! How could there possibly exist a magician in this world who, by virtue of his timeless eloquence, far-sighted wisdom, striking visage, decisive authority, and a physique so perfect it weakens the knees of every female, commands the unwavering loyalty of wives and daughters? It must be wicked magic!

It is said that Felia, wife of the president of the Sindhu Shipping Company—a dignified beauty and a devout Catholic with an almost ascetic temperament—returned from an interview with that villainous magician Lan Yi only to be confronted at home by her furious husband, demanding to know what transpired between her and the evil sorcerer. To his surprise, Felia only scoffed: “You’ve merely been married to me for a dozen years; don’t presume to play the man and question me!” If that isn’t sorcery, what is?

As for other noble ladies and their maids and female bodyguards, the situation is much the same. Turmoil reigns; homes are unsettled; the hapless foreigners, their marital status in a state of uncertain superposition, have begun to secretly conspire. They want Lan Yi dead—not merely for fear of being cuckolded, but because their purse strings are slipping from their grasp!

To cut off a man’s livelihood is like murdering his parents. The hatred of a stolen wife is irreconcilable. When these two grievances combine, even the Dongyang men, previously suppressed in blood by General Geng Liangchen, must swear by severed fingers to avenge such humiliation.

Within the basement of a certain mansion in the British concession, a group of foreigners—who had come to Xinghan to reign as uncrowned emperors, only to find themselves rapidly issued green hats—gathered. Both Eastern and Western foreigners, having been cuckolded, wore expressions of foul resentment. Rage simmered within, threatening to burst forth, yet unable to find release.

They were now engaged in heated discussion.

“He must still be human. He requires food, air, water, sleep, and rest. Therefore, poisoning must be effective. Our Greater Dongyang Empire’s cyanide—if ingested by any human—guarantees death.”

This was the suggestion, delivered through gritted teeth, by a suffering Eastern party. Having infiltrated Xinghan most deeply, they possessed the greatest intelligence on Lan Yi. Lan Yi remained human, his body not yet fully modified; he did need nourishment and rest. If the opportunity was seized, there was indeed a chance to harm him.

The Western sufferers, by contrast, offered more direct advice.

“The monsters created by that evil sorcerer still fear heavy machine guns, artillery, and especially naval guns. If we have his precise coordinates, once the punitive fleet sails south and approaches Puhai, we can coordinate with them to launch a direct bombardment!”

The defeat of Eastern soldiers had yielded useful information. Naval guns, after all, are formidable. A single shot, and even the fierce General Zhao Jian would be blown to bits by the terrible energy unleashed. If Lan Yi were caught off guard, sleeping too soundly, and the Canghua hurriedly organized a defense, he would still not escape a grand burial by naval artillery.

“Exactly! We can plant explosives—enough to bring down a building—on the magician’s route!”

“We could contact Kent and Albert; they possess staffs!”

“Let those idiot Sindhu people become human bombs!”

The atmosphere grew ever more fervent. In their mouths, Lan Yi—the source of their green hats—was already being brought down by a multitude of assassination plots, left gravely wounded and on the verge of death. As victors, they imagined themselves sneeringly grinding Lan Yi’s bones to dust, parading his corpse to reclaim their lost dignity and manhood!

They would prove to their wives, daughters, secretaries, lovers, and maids that they were stronger than the wicked magician—that they were the true heroes, rescuing them from evil spells!

“We could even have those women, whose minds have been bewitched, strike! In bed with a woman, a man’s guard is at its lowest!”

An Eastern merchant chimed in with enthusiasm. But with his words, the previously heated atmosphere instantly cooled. Over half of those present wore darkened expressions; this damned Eastern dwarf had touched a sore spot. Their wives and daughters having gone to interview Lan Yi was humiliating enough; worse still, they couldn’t persuade them to strike at Lan Yi.

If they tried, those women, bewitched as they were, would immediately betray their plans to Lan Yi!

The Eastern merchant, perplexed by the peculiar behavior of these white men, muttered inwardly.

In Dongyang culture, it was an honor for the strong to sleep with one’s wife, and there was no issue in betraying the strong. These white men, so hesitant and shy, clearly weren’t cut out for great deeds!

“They’re just not made for grand undertakings—a rabble, nothing more.”

Meanwhile, in the neighboring basement of the same mansion, a man with closed eyes, listening intently through a concealed pipe dug for eavesdropping, sighed.

They had been monitoring the area for three days. This group of foreigners plotting against Immortal Lan Yi had yet to realize that all their schemes were of no concern to the master; their supposedly secret actions had long since been ruthlessly betrayed by women wholly absorbed in their blue dream.

The sufferers had grossly overestimated the bonds of affection between themselves and their families, and underestimated the methods of the martial group.

“Liu White Ape, if we don’t have a solid lead and settle things properly, Immortal will head north the day after tomorrow to punish the wild Boar Skins, and we’ll lose our chance to serve at his side.”

Beside him, Guo Decheng, sporting a fine mustache and a cigarette between his lips, urged impatiently.

It was said the punitive fleet would arrive in Puhai tomorrow. The city was in some disarray; otherwise, these rats would not dare to conspire.

Liu White Ape and Guo Decheng—among the latest and finest martial artists seeking immortal fate and martial gifts—were rare recipients of Lan Yi’s personal guidance, meticulously cultivating their innate energy.

Liu White Ape, an archer, possessed the ability to shoot by sound, discern locations, and track vibrations with unmatched skill. Guo Decheng, leader of an assassination organization nurtured by a high official with foot ailments, was a master of marksmanship and infiltration.

Presently, both served under General Geng Liangchen, specializing in espionage against foreigners.

“Shh, they finally have a plan: they’re preparing to assassinate the Immortal tomorrow and the day after! Quick, bring paper and pen—you write, then let the foreign woman providing intelligence correct and translate!”