Swinging the Brick in a Full Arc

Swinging the Brick in a Full Arc

Crackle, crackle!

That felt good.

But the smell really was awful. He had eaten too many radishes at noon and had a bit of diarrhea. Even Wai Dai Mao could not help pinching his nose shut.

Jiang Hao left the city and watched Wai Dai Mao slip into a small grove. His eyes swept around, and he spotted a few broken bricks by the city wall. He hurried over, grabbed one, and slowly approached the grove.

Wai Dai Mao was enjoying his relief when he suddenly sensed movement behind him. He had only turned his head halfway when a dark shadow came flying at him.

Whoosh—

Smack!

Jiang Hao swung the half-brick in a full arc and smashed it viciously into Wai Dai Mao's head. Wai Dai Mao groaned in pain and collapsed with a thud, landing right on top of his own shit. His body twisted into an unnatural pose, and his eyes rolled white.

Was he dead?

Jiang Hao was not sure.

Gritting his teeth, Jiang Hao cursed inwardly. Damn it, this was what he got for stealing my liquor.

He quickly picked up the rifle and slung the bandolier over his shoulder. Fighting back his nausea, he crouched and searched Wai Dai Mao, but found only a few copper coins. What a poor bastard. Jiang Hao turned and ran. He could not stay here long.

He crossed the grove and plunged into a cornfield, vanishing without a trace.

As the sky darkened, Wai Dai Mao still had not returned. It was already past the time to close the city gates. Old Liu glanced at the sky, then left the city and headed toward the grove, cursing as he walked. "Si'er, did you fall into a dung heap, or did you shit your guts out? It's time to close the gates!"

Old Liu grumbled his way into the grove and immediately spotted Wai Dai Mao lying unconscious on the ground. He knew something had happened. He quickly unslung his rifle and held it at the ready, scanning the surroundings warily.

"Si'er—"

"Si'er! Are you dead?"

After calling twice, Wai Dai Mao remained motionless on the ground. Terrified, Old Liu hurriedly backed out, then bolted toward the city while shouting, "Something's wrong! Si'er's been beaten to death!"

Before long, the deputy commander of the Security Regiment came out with soldiers. They carried Si'er back into the city and summoned a doctor. After examining him, the doctor said that he had suffered a blow to the head and was not dead yet, but whether he would wake up was uncertain. If they wanted to treat him, they would need good medicine.

After the regiment commander came to take a look, he cursed furiously. "Damn it, ambushed while taking a shit! What a fucking disgrace! And he even lost my rifle!"

"Commander, are we saving him or not?" the deputy commander of the Security Regiment asked.

"Save him? Save my ass! That doctor said he needs expensive medicine like ginseng and Deer Antler. I haven't even had that shit myself. Bandage him up and let fate decide whether he lives or dies." The commander finished irritably and turned away.

Jiang Hao ran more than ten li in one breath before plunging into a sorghum field. Only then did he finally relax. He dropped onto the ground, panting heavily, and it took him quite a while to catch his breath.

He thought of Wai Dai Mao lying in shit with his eyes rolled back and wondered whether the man had died. If he had, then this would be Jiang Hao's second time killing someone.

Yet somehow, he did not feel as frightened as he thought he would.

He touched the rifle in his hands and began examining it. He had looked up plenty of information before, and he recognized its origins at a glance.

A Hanyang Type.

The rifle was seventy or eighty percent new, which was not bad. It came with more than thirty rounds. Jiang Hao guessed Liu Damao had gotten it from his older brother, Liu Dapao.

The Hanyang Type was famous in China's wartime history. Its prototype was the German 1888 Commission Rifle. In 1896, German merchants sold the design documents and production machinery to the Qing Government, and China began manufacturing it themselves. Since it was mainly produced at the Hanyang Arsenal in Hanyang, Hubei, it became known as the Hanyang Type.

How should he put it? This rifle's performance was not very good. It had problems such as difficult loading and ejection, unreliable extraction, and a tendency to burst. Its sights were calibrated to 1,800 meters, but hitting someone within 500 meters was already a miracle.

Its accuracy was mediocre at best. It could not compare with contemporary rifles like the Mauser 98 or the Mosin-Nagant Rifle. But what could they do? China was poor at the moment. Local forces were lucky enough just to have guns.

This rifle definitely could not be exposed. Jiang Hao hid the Hanyang Type together with his old homemade musket.

The sun set, and the sky gradually darkened. Jiang Hao was tired, thirsty, and hungry. He had long since finished his flatbread, and there was no water nearby. In the darkness, he did not dare wander recklessly through the sorghum field. Besides, he did not dare drink stagnant water for fear of getting sick.

A tender sorghum stalk stood beside him. Jiang Hao snapped it off, found its softest section, put it in his mouth, and chewed and sucked out the moisture inside. It was a little astringent and did not quench his thirst, but it was better than nothing.

He lay flat on his back, staring up at the Sky Full of Stars. His thoughts drifted beyond the heavens, and his whole body felt as though it were floating. He seemed to remember feeling this way only as a child, when he lay atop the village's firewood stacks to watch the stars. Once he grew up, the burdens of study and life gradually pressed down on him, and he never had moments like this again.

"Actually, it isn't just the final rewards from the missions. Going through the missions is a kind of gain too—experiencing different lives, hehe."

"If only I didn't have to go hungry."

Sleep, sleep. If he fell asleep, he would not be hungry. He had eaten once in the morning and once at noon. What was wrong with skipping dinner? What was so wrong with it?

He would not starve to death.

Look at all those people trying to lose weight. They went months without eating and were still fine, weren't they?

Stretching out his body, listening to the chirping insects and birds, Jiang Hao truly fell asleep.

Jingle. Jingle-jingle.

As the donkey walked, the bell around its neck rang wildly.

Today was the day for the three-day Return Visit. Jiu'er's father had come to take his daughter home. Jiu'er sat on the donkey while her father followed behind with his hands clasped behind his back, muttering nonstop.

"Daughter, you have to come back. You have to come back—"

"The Li family has such wealth and status. They opened their mouths and gave us a big black mule—"

"You became their daughter-in-law, yet you and your husband took turns using the shears. What kind of behavior is that?"

Jiu'er's father rambled on endlessly, and Jiu'er grew more and more irritated. She slapped the donkey's rump, and it broke into a trot. Her father shouted from behind, "Daughter, why are you running? Slow down!"

Jiu'er ignored him and urged the donkey into a run. Before long, she disappeared from sight.

Jiang Hao woke after a good sleep, but his stomach was even hungrier. He prepared to return to the city. No matter what, he could not starve to death out here.

As he pushed aside sorghum stalks and made his way out, he suddenly spotted a patch of vines ahead. Jiang Hao came from the countryside and recognized them at once—muskmelon vines. He just did not know whether there were any melons.

Jiang Hao hurried over and quickly searched beneath the vines.

"Haha, there really are some."

To his surprise, he actually found several melons beneath the vines. They were green-skinned muskmelons, two of them about the size of fists. He sniffed them and caught a sweet fragrance. They should be ripe.

Even if they were not, it did not matter. He was starving and thirsty. He had eaten unripe melons as a child, so why would he care now? He twisted one off, rubbed it against his clothes, and took a crunch out of it.

"So sweet!"

Jiang Hao wolfed them down. Before long, two muskmelons were in his stomach, and the negative feelings of thirst and hunger faded away.