Beiyang Dream

Chapter 75 has a trap? Duan Qirui, you jump into one!

The bell rang at 3 p.m. on March 3, 1891.

Chang Desheng, carrying his "Lanfang Sword," wandered around outside the town under the blazing equatorial sun, his steps uneven. Sweat streamed down his braid, soon making it reek. He wiped the sweat from his brow, cursing inwardly: "What the hell is this weather in Southeast Asia? It's this hot in January! Only the Chinese can endure hardship; if it were white people coming here, it would take three hundred years to develop!"

He was followed by a string of people.

Leading the group was Duan Qirui, who was standing with his hands behind his back, looking around carefully. His gaze was like that of a client inspecting a construction site—but no, he was the client, and the Beiyang government was the client here too.

Chang Desheng knew perfectly well: Old Duan was secretly trying to learn from him!

Ever since the sword-awarding ceremony the day before yesterday, Duan Qirui has been following him around, except for fiddling with the mortar a few times. He calls it "learning and observation," but in reality, he just wants to see what the advanced methods of the Prussian War Academy are like.

What kind of situation could it be?

Chang Desheng thought to himself, "Isn't this just a net-camping, mopping-up attack strategy?"

Next to Duan Qirui was Luo Xinglan, Chang Desheng's prospective brother-in-law. The young man was in his early twenties, very strong, and was grinning from ear to ear, looking quite pleased with himself... How could he not be pleased? If his father conquered Pontianak, he could just wait to take over the position.

Behind them were five senior students from Xiaolanfang Chinese Literature School. Last night, Chang Desheng flipped through the school's roster and specifically selected five young men from prominent families: Liu Wenqian, Zhang Qiming, Jiang Jiadong, Luo Shijie, and Que Wenzhong. These five boys all had impressive backgrounds: the Liu family was the Kapitan of Pontianak; the Zhang family was related to Zhang Bishi; the Jiang family owned gold mines; the Que family mined tin; and the Luo family was related to Chang Desheng's future father-in-law's family, and they also owned a rubber plantation. They had thus gathered together all the prominent Chinese families of Pontianak.

They were all incredibly excited, their eyes shining, and they were walking with a swagger.

No wonder, ever since the sword-awarding ceremony the day before yesterday, the atmosphere in Xiaolanfang has changed. The Chinese laborers who used to shun the natives are now standing much taller. Why? Because they have Li Hongzhang backing them up! They have German officials assisting them! And plenty of foreign guns and cannons have arrived! Aren't they finally able to hold their heads high?

Chang Desheng, however, was not as optimistic as they were.

His major project—the first phase of the Xiaolanfang defense system construction—has a very tight schedule.

The planned construction period is only ten days, and today is the sixth day.

The reorganization is now complete. The 340 militiamen are divided into three teams, with Shang Dequan, Wu Dingyuan, and Kong Qingtang each leading one team. For the three of them, this is essentially a practical experience in the army! Of course, it's the same for Chang Desheng. It's everyone's first time on the battlefield!

The equipment replacement is complete. The old, mismatched weapons have been replaced with Type 1888 rifles and bayonets. Although bayonet fighting still requires training from scratch, at least the guns are now standardized.

As for training... it's been going on for five days now. What are we training for? Just crouching and shooting + bayonet fighting. Nothing else is urgent, just these two things, they need to be mastered quickly!

The experience gained from this training will be useful when we arrive in Korea.

Those Huai Army soldiers, if they could quickly master crouching and shooting and bayonet fighting, could kill off countless ordinary people.

Of course, the most important part of Xiaolanfang's defenses was the construction of fortifications. To put it simply, it was about laying barbed wire and setting up machine gun positions. "Brother Zhenbang," Luo Xinglan came up and asked in Mandarin with a Hakka accent, "what do you think of this barbed wire... is it laid well?" Chang Desheng stopped and squinted at the "construction site" in front of him.

Goodness, this is quite a spectacle.

Outside the original wooden fence around Xiaolanfang Town, thousands of wooden stakes have now been driven in. A group of shirtless strong men are working hard to wrap barbed wire around the stakes. The barbed wire is German-made, imported from Hamburg, and was originally used to fence off pastures, but Chang Desheng is now using it as a defensive fortification.

But the work was done so poorly... it was truly unbearable to watch.

The wooden stakes were driven in crookedly, as if they were drunk. The barbed wire was loosely wrapped, some parts taut, others drooping. Even more absurdly, many strong men, afraid of the heat, went to work without gloves, resulting in frequent cries of "Ouch!" as their hands were pricked by the barbed wire, bleeding profusely. "Is this acceptable?" Chang Desheng pointed the scabbard of his "Lanfang Sword" to the ground. "Brother, look at this! These wooden stakes are driven in like an old woman's front teeth, all crooked and uneven. And this barbed wire is wrapped like a spider's web after drinking alcohol, full of holes."

He crouched down and used his sword sheath to probe a section of barbed wire: "Look, it's only a foot off the ground; a person could just crawl over it. We'd have to lift it two and a half feet! And this stake, it's only a foot into the ground; one kick and it's over. We'd have to smash it down three feet!"

Luo Xinglan blushed and quickly shouted, "Did you hear me? Change everything according to what Master Chang said!"

Chang Desheng stood up, patted the dirt off his hands, and sighed inwardly.

There's no way around it, this construction team is no good. They're skilled at rubber tapping, but complete novices in civil engineering. Looks like I'll have to keep a close eye on them... Besides, this is also valuable experience. When I get to North Korea, I'll definitely need to practice my skills in driving wooden stakes, wrapping barbed wire, and digging trenches.

As he was pondering this, gunshots rang out in the distance.

They're practicing shooting over at the rubber drying area.

A group of militia members from Xiaolanfang are practicing shooting.

Shooting is easy; these young Lanfang militiamen already have a foundation in it. Now they just need to get used to the Type 1888 rifle and shooting from kneeling and prone positions. As for bayonet fighting... Chang Desheng personally devised three moves: first, stab the throat; second, stab the chest; third, parry and counterattack.

Right now, Shang Dequan was yelling at the top of his lungs in the rubber drying area: "Just these three moves! Master them and you're guaranteed to survive! Prick! Pull back! Prick again!"

Chang Desheng privately told Shang Dequan: He had to work hard, because there would be important tasks assigned to him later! They were all from Zhili Tianjin, they were all on the same side, and he couldn't let them down.

Therefore, Shang Dequan has been training his troops with extra effort these past few days.

As for the eight Maxim machine guns, they were all handed over to Hessmann, Wolfgang, and his twenty-two German veterans. Some of them knew how to use them, and even if they weren't very familiar with them, there were German instruction manuals, right? They could figure it out as they went.

And eight 80mm mortars...

Chang Desheng glanced at Duan Qirui beside him.

He is now the captain of the artillery unit, in charge of eight mortars.

"Zhiquan," he began casually, "how's your artillery training going?"

Duan Qirui's expression was not good: "We fired three shots each the day before yesterday and yesterday, and knocked down two rubber trees in total... The accuracy was not bad."

He was holding back his anger.

Of the eight cannons, he was the only one who could use them, and he had over a dozen Chinese language school students as assistants and apprentices. The remaining seven cannons were just gathering dust in the warehouse. What the hell is this?

The artillery captain was in charge of one cannon and a dozen or so artillerymen, and he was the only one who actually knew how to fire a cannon!

What's even more frustrating is that he's been following Chang Desheng around like a shadow, hoping to secretly learn some of the advanced techniques from the Prussian War Academy. But these past two days, Chang Desheng has been dragging him and Luo Xinglan around like "foremen," teaching people how to hammer wooden stakes and how to wrap barbed wire.

What's there to learn from this?

"Alright, once you've mastered it, that's fine." Chang Desheng nodded, without saying anything more.

He knows how to use a mortar, and Shang Dequan knows how to use one too... but the others can forget about it for the time being, including those German soldiers who actually served as artillerymen—none of them have ever used a mortar before!

He turned and continued walking forward, and the group arrived at the rubber drying area, which was the area between the three enclosed buildings.

Six machine gun emplacements were built on these three buildings, and six Maxim heavy machine guns were mounted on them. The six machine gun emplacements were all positioned on high ground, allowing for crossfire. This location, personally chosen by Chang Desheng, allowed for crossfire coverage of the entire rubber-drying field.

"These six points," he said to Luo Xinglan, pointing to the fortifications, "each point has a Maxim gun, operated by Hessman's men. With enough ammunition, six points can cover the entire rubber drying field. And if the Sultan of Pontianak wants to attack from the north bank of the Pontianak River, they will most likely rush straight to the rubber drying field—block all other routes with barbed wire, and deploy sharpshooters to force the Sultan's men towards the rubber drying field. At that time, these six machine guns will be very effective." He then pointed to the east and west of the town: "There's a machine gun emplacement on each of those sides. Hold them and don't let the enemy get around to Xiaolanfang's rear... There are several villages behind Xiaolanfang, all of which are our Chinese territory."

Luo Xinglan's eyes lit up: "Brother Chang, this arrangement... is truly brilliant!"

Chang Desheng thought to himself: What's so great about it? It's just a simplified version of trench warfare and street fighting from World War I. But it's enough to deal with the natives.

He turned to the five students and said, "Wenqian, Qiming, Jiadong, Shijie, Wenzhong, go to the rubber drying yard and find the caravan officer. Practice your marksmanship and bayonet fighting with him. Remember, you are adjutants now, and you will be leading troops in the future. You need to practice until you understand it yourself."

"Yes!" the five young men answered in unison and ran off excitedly.

Chang Desheng then led Duan Qirui and Luo Xinglan toward the Luo family mansion. The sun was beginning to set, and he thought he'd take a bath first—the weather in Southeast Asia was so hot and sticky. After his bath, he'd go chat with the "super-rich woman" and try to build a closer relationship.

But as soon as they entered the mansion, they ran into Luo Jingrou.

And there's Haruko beside her, her eyes red.

"Brother Zhenbang," Luo Jingrou spoke first, her voice tinged with embarrassment, "You've come back just in time... Sister Qingzi has something she wants to ask you." Chang Desheng looked at Qingzi.

The Japanese female spy was wearing a light pink kimono today, her hair loosely tied up, her eyes red-rimmed, and tears still clinging to her eyelashes. She looked so pitiful.

"Mr. Chang..." Haruko stepped forward, bowed, and said in a soft, gentle voice, "Please... there's something I'd like to ask for your help with."

Chang Desheng sneered inwardly: Oh ho, the little fox's tail is about to be revealed?

However, he asked gently, "Miss Haruko, please speak frankly. I will definitely help if I can."

Haruko looked up, tears streaming down her face. "A few days ago... when I came to Xiaolanfang, I passed by the Pine Leaf Building in Medan's Chinatown... it's a Japanese brothel. At the entrance, I saw a little girl... she looked no more than thirteen, her neck covered in bruises—..." She choked back sobs, wiping away her tears with a handkerchief. "The way that child looked at me... it was like my sister when she was little... Changjun, I want to rescue her... but it's not convenient for a woman like me to go to a place like that... Sister Jingrou said you could come with me..."

Luo Jingrou nodded beside her, her eyes also reddening: "Brother Zhenbang, that child is so pitiful... why don't you go with Qingzi to save him? Chang Desheng immediately understood—the female spy wanted to harm me!"

But this is also an opportunity... like the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind!

However, I'm not going to be a cicada. Who's more like a cicada?

He glanced around. Luo Xinglan looked quite handsome, not much like a cicada. And Duan Qirui… well, you can be the cicada!

Thinking of this, a troubled expression appeared on his face: "This... a place like a brothel, it's not really appropriate for me to go, is it?"

Luo Jingrou exclaimed anxiously, "What's inappropriate about it? We're going to rescue people!"

Chang Desheng thought to himself: "You're quite the show-off, you super-rich woman! But I like people who know how to pretend..."

He then looked at Haruko.

Haruko was good at pretending; she bowed again, her eyes brimming with tears, "Mr. Tsune... please... only you can help me..."

Chang Desheng remained silent for three seconds.

Then he laughed, turned his head and patted Duan Qirui on the shoulder.

"Zhiquan," he said casually, "you don't have anything planned for tomorrow, so why don't you accompany Miss Qingzi on this trip? You're reliable, I trust you the most."

At the same time, at the Sultan's Palace in Pontianak.

Sultan Abdul Rahman, now middle-aged, stood on the white marble sunbeams of the palace. He wore a well-tailored black suit, a red Turkish cap, and a gilded Western-style sword at his waist.

His attire seemed somewhat out of place in this tropical palace. But he didn't care, because he was an "enlightened monarch" educated by the Dutch, fluent in Dutch and English, and had read "The Prince" and "The Social Contract," though he hadn't fully understood them.

He leaned on the railing, watching a thousand royal guards train in the square below.

The guards were uniformly armed with Dutch Model 1871 breech-loading rifles, genuine third-hand firearms (one from the Dutch mainland army, and the other from the Dutch East Indies army). The guards were trained by three retired Dutch officers, practicing marching, formations, and shooting with impeccable precision, looking no less disciplined than the Dutch colonial army in Batavia. This was his confidence. It was also the reason the Dutch allowed him to exist; a puppet wasn't just about obedience, but also about helping the Dutch to suppress dissent. "Your Majesty the Sultan."

A court steward dressed in a traditional Malay robe strode over and handed over a folded piece of paper with both hands.

Abdul Rahman took it and unfolded it to take a look.

The note was written in neat Dutch.

He squinted, looking closely.

"According to investigations, Luo Zhenxing, a Kapitan (local chieftain) in Xiaolanfang, recently secretly purchased a large quantity of weapons from Qing China and hired Qing military officers and German mercenaries as military advisors. His daughter, Luo Jingrou, is married to Chang Desheng, a Qing Dynasty Beiyang Army officer (a graduate of the Prussian War Academy). The Luo family is currently constructing fortifications and training militia in Xiaolanfang, with unclear intentions..."

A cold smile slowly crept onto the lips of Abdul Rahman Sultan.

"Chinese armed forces..." he muttered to himself in Dutch, "Luo Zhenxing, what are you trying to do? Rebel like the Aceh people?" He shook his head, carefully folded the note, and stuffed it into his suit pocket.

Then he turned to the chief steward and said, "Go and tell Lord Van der Wiel that tomorrow... I have important business to discuss with him."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The steward withdrew.

Abdul Rahman Sultan looked out the window again, the setting sun casting a long shadow over him.

Once Chinese people have guns, they'll want more. Land, power, dignity… and ultimately, they'll want the chair they sit on. That won't do.

We must nip them in the bud before they gain any real power!