Chapter 11 — A Narrow Escape (Part 1)
Snowflakes drifted down from the sky — tiny, salt-like particles that stung sharply against the skin.
Xie Jing squinted into the distance, trying hard to make out the direction ahead. He had copied the map several times and had a rough sense of the route in his mind.
For some reason, after chasing all the way here, he hadn’t seen the convoy of the eldest young master, Bai Mingzhe. Thinking it over, he realized that most of the bodyguards the Bai family had hired were likely bandits from the same gang. Since Bai Mingzhe had gone out through the front courtyard, who knew if he had already been captured? He could only hope that the fire at the trading company would cause enough commotion for people to come searching for Bai Mingzhe — maybe, by some stroke of luck, the man could still be saved.
The only person he didn’t need to worry about was Bai Mingyu.
The second young master had stayed behind at the trading company. With dozens of people running about fetching water and putting out the fire, he was the safest among the crowd.
Xie Jing rode his horse for over ten li (~5 km). He had left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even put on a fur hat; now, his hair and eyebrows were completely white with snow, even his long eyelashes dusted with frost. Each breath came out in steaming clouds, and he had to grit his teeth just to keep his frozen hands steady enough to hold the reins and not fall off the horse.
As he neared the distillery, he suddenly spotted a convoy of carriages and riders coming toward him from the opposite direction.
Xie Jing stiffened and pulled hard on the reins, stopping to take a closer look before shouting hoarsely, “Lord Bai Jiu!” He thought his voice was loud, but the smoke from before had already made it rough and weak. He had to shout several times and ride forward before the other party noticed him.
Amid the wind and snow, the convoy halted.
The heavy carriage curtain lifted a corner, and Bai Rongjiu turned his head toward him. “You’re from the Bai family of Qinghe? What’s the matter?”
Xie Jing was so cold his body had gone stiff; he almost fell off his horse. Stumbling forward a few steps, he was supported by one of Lord Bai Jiu’s men before reaching the carriage. Shivering all over, he pulled something from his chest and handed it over. “Lord Bai Jiu — the Bai family’s trading house at Heihe has been raided by bandits. The bodyguards around the eldest young master — they were all in on it! I stumbled upon them moving ammunition. They thought I didn’t know and lied that it was scrap metal.”
Bai Rongjiu took the object, his expression turning grave. “How did you recognize it?”
Xie Jing swallowed, looking up at him with effort. “I serve the second young master. There’s a Mauser pistol in his room. I’ve seen one before.”
“What’s happening at the trading house now? You’re the only one who escaped?”
“It should still be all right. When the bandits were busy moving things, I set their wagon on fire. The blaze spread quickly — there were a lot of people there, they should be fine. But I overheard them saying they buried something at the distillery — probably tar! When I lit the wagon, the burning liquor mixed with the tar and went up together, the smell was strong—”
Before he could finish, a hand grabbed him and hauled him up into the carriage. Bai Rongjiu said in a deep voice, “Get in — talk on the way!”
He took off his own heavy cloak and wrapped it around Xie Jing, while ordering the convoy to turn back at full speed.
Xie Jing hadn’t felt that cold while trudging through the wind and snow, but now that he was wrapped in warmth, his body began to shiver violently, his teeth chattering so hard he could barely form words, nearly biting his own tongue.
“Your body’s just thawing out — speak slowly.”
Bai Rongjiu handed him a flask of burning liquor. After a few gulps, warmth spread through Xie Jing’s limbs, his fingertips first tingling, then heating up.
“Lord Bai Jiu, please go on ahead and send men to rescue them. There are too many bandits—”
Bai Rongjiu lifted the curtain and looked outside, his brow furrowing. “No, the distillery has women inside. Without the carriages, they can’t get out.”
“Who?”
“Bai Mingzhe’s wife, Fang Yurou,” Bai Rongjiu said as he let the curtain fall. “And the unborn child in her belly.”
The Fang family was another prominent household in the region. Master Fang had studied abroad and was a modern-minded man — he had not bound his only daughter’s feet [1] and had even passed the family’s secret wine-brewing recipe down to her.
Because of that, the distillery relied heavily on Madam Fang. Despite her gentle-sounding name, Fang Yurou had a forthright personality. She worked and lived alongside her husband in the distillery, showing no sign of pampered frailty. Even after she became pregnant, she insisted on staying at the factory. Originally, she should have returned to Qinghe County for rest as the New Year approached and her pregnancy advanced, but upon hearing about Bai Rongjiu’s talks with the foreigner over machinery orders and expansion plans — matters where she could be of help — she chose to stay a few more days.
By the time Bai Rongjiu and his party reached the distillery, gunfire could already be faintly heard from the nearby woods.
Xie Jing had taken the shortcut to reach them — all he’d managed was to buy them this sliver of time.
Bai Rongjiu had no time to evacuate the workers; he only ordered them to gather inside and defend from the sturdy watchtower. The Fang family, having brewed wine locally for generations, had suffered bandit attacks in the past — so when the distillery was built, a fortified tower was constructed in the northwest corner, easy to defend, hard to assault.
There were seven or eight workers still in the distillery, plus Madam Fang and her maid, and Bai Rongjiu’s team of about ten trained men. Most of the workers were older, honest folks — the sound of gunfire outside made them want to crouch down and cover their heads, of little use in a fight. Xie Jing, by contrast, stayed calm.
Bai Rongjiu ordered them to bring over sacks of grain and stones. The grain was stored aside, and the stones were stacked up to reinforce the thick wooden door.
The gunfire drew closer and closer. Soon, two explosions shook the courtyard, followed by a deafening blast. Through the narrow window of the tower, they could see flames leaping outside.
Xie Jing stayed close behind Bai Rongjiu, habitually standing a step to his right and slightly back, ready to obey orders.
After surveying the scene outside for a while, Bai Rongjiu realized someone was behind him. Normally, he was cautious to the extreme, but for some reason he was oddly tolerant toward this youth who had appeared out of nowhere. He merely glanced at him and said nothing.
Bai Rongjiu’s men took up positions at the four corners of the tower and began returning fire. The bandits had the advantage in numbers, but their marksmanship was poor, and their weapons inferior to those in Bai Rongjiu’s hands. After an exchange of gunfire, Bai Rongjiu’s expression remained calm. Downstairs came the sound of the wooden door being rammed. Xie Jing turned toward the staircase, worry flickering in his eyes, then glanced back at Lord Bai Jiu.
The workers below were terrified, but they obeyed orders and stayed quiet.
Suddenly, Bai Rongjiu asked, “What’s your name?”
“…Xie Jing.” Xie Jing hesitated briefly but chose to give his real name.
Bai Rongjiu pulled out a pistol and handed it to him. “Do you know how to use a gun?”
“Yes.” Xie Jing looked at him nervously. “I’ve seen the second young master use one before. I think I can manage.”
Bai Rongjiu chuckled softly. “You’ve got guts. Come here — I’ll teach you.”
When Bai Rongjiu drew him close from behind and guided his hands, Xie Jing couldn’t help trembling slightly. Then came that calm, steady voice beside his ear — familiar somehow: “Don’t panic. Aim carefully.”
Xie Jing took a deep breath — and steadied his hands.
Downstairs, in the narrow hall, Madam Fang sat wrapped in a heavy wool cloak, supported by her maid. The two clutched each other’s hands tightly. Fang Yurou’s face was pale, fine beads of sweat forming on her forehead.
The maid spoke softly to her, planning to fetch something for her to eat, but before she could stand, Fang Yurou gripped her arm hard. The maid’s sharp eyes widened in alarm as she whispered, “Madam — your water broke!”
Fang Yurou was already breathing in short, pained gasps, her face as white as snow. Blood mixed with amniotic fluid seeped from beneath her skirt. The child in her belly was not yet full term — the fright she had suffered was sending her into premature labor.
Footnotes:
[1] Foot binding – was the Chinese practice of breaking and tightly binding young girls’ feet to stunt their growth, creating small, “lotus” feet as a symbol of beauty and status. The painful and disfiguring practice, which began around the 10th century, limited women’s mobility and resulted in lifelong disabilities. It became widespread, though never universally accepted, and was eventually abolished in the early 20th century after being officially banned multiple times, with enforcement gaining traction after the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1911.
