All of the World
Plans for China
Li had originally intended to abandon the car, but the Chinese were low on good supplies such as these, and when he saw that no one was following him, he decided to risk remaining in the car for a while. After a few miles, he stopped the car, and upon perceiving that no one was following him, went to the back to look for supplies.
There were guns, many of them, and he took five good ones, along with a box full of grenades. He glanced back, noting the tire tracks. The Japanese were probably only lingering to see where he would lead them. Driving all the way to the base is too risky. The car was good, but not worth the lives of his comrades. He slipped into the trees. Years of practice rendered him capable of being absolutely invisible once within the forests, and he went quickly, leaving no trail, looking back once in a while to make sure he was not being followed.
He did not stop for three hours, until the base loomed into view. He was quickly seen, and his fellow men hurried over to him to help with his load.
" Were you followed?" Asked a squad leader.
Li shook his head.
They did not ask if he was hurt—they knew that if he was, he would seek help himself.
" Have they come back?"
" Who?"
" Old Feng and Wang."
The looks of dismay answered him.
" We separated," Li explained in a hurry. " Wang was shot. I don't know if they made it out, I had gone out to distract them." Which proved a bit futile, as the Japanese ended up heading into the Church, but he had meant to stop the rocket.
" Do you have the documents?"
" Of course I don't have the documents!" Li snapped. " I was distracting the Japs!"
The more elderly leader, Shen, who had been listening to all of this, sighed.
" Two men down." He muttered to himself, " And no progress."
Li tugged at his scalp in distress.
" Come on, kid." Said a comrade. " Let's get some food in ye."
But hours later Feng and Wang did show up. Wang looked pale and close to shock, but both were very much alive. And they had the documents.
" Heaven decided to give us a slight reprieve!" Shen exclaimed. " You boys sure have style!"
" Style?" Feng laughed, as Wang was taken by the doctor to have his wound treated, " You want style? Young Li here sent a fucking rocket at the Japs and stole their car in one go. Like, fifty of them must have died back there. Now that's style."
" So that's where you got the guns from."
" Nice going, kid," Shen grinned at Li. " You come up with new stunts every time."
Li shrugged. He had to. It was a matter of survival.
" Well, boys, it's been good. We'll take those documents and see what we can make out of it." Shen patted Feng on the back. " Go get some food."
" Yes sir!"
Li had been halfway through his meal, so he and Feng headed back to the barracks. Feng was exhausted and hungry, and so was Li—both wanted nothing more than a nice long nap. Often, rest can mean death, especially with the Japanese still within their borders. All had vowed, never to rest, until they expel the invaders from their country. This time, however, Li allowed himself to relax. He could afford to rest, for a little while at least. He was so tired.
It was not hard for Li Syaoran to hate the Japanese. When he was twelve years old, the Japanese murdered his father by gutting him with a hook in front of the horrified villagers. He had held back his screaming mother along with his older sisters. A demonstration, the Japanese said; an example to those who do not pledge faith to the powerful Emperor. The misery of the Chinese knew no bounds. Helpless, they could only watch as the innocent man succumbed. So much for claiming the proud line of great dynasties. Five thousand years, of being the center of the world, the envy of all men, the greatest of all races and empires, to be reduced to this! The twentieth century was wretched indeed. Without his father, the family suffered. His ailing mother grew ill but must labor to provide for the young. His sisters did what they could, but though older, they were but wome, and women had little power in a society such as this. Eventually his mother died from sickness, and when they went to the Japanese, in that far-fetched hope that perhaps some compassion could be found—the Japanese turned them away. Did they think medicines grow on trees? Well they do, the men laughed, but not the trees of China. Their wonderful Japan bore the peaches of immortality, but here in the Han soil everything was dirt dirt dirt. Please give us these peaches of immortality! Our mother is dying! But the Japanese just laughed. Stupid Chinese peasants do not deserve the power of true Japanese medicine. Never mind that almost everything the Japanese knew and had—their culture, their dress, their script, their philosophy, was borne from China. Li's oldest was shot, not a year later, by the same group of imperial soldiers who had killed their father, when his second sister was about to be raped by a Japanese commander, and she tried to protect her. She was raped anyway, and the Japanese, still lustful, went after the rest of the girls. In despair and shame, they dove into the river and drowned, leaving Li all alone in the world.
Every time he heard the word "Japanese", saw the Japanese uniforms or the trucks and cars, he saw his father's anguished face, his mother's still, sickly features upon her deathbed, and the empty hut after his sisters had gone away and never returned—the neighboring elder holding his hand to break the news to him that all was lost, all was lost, all was lost to the damn Jap fiends. Jap fiends, they called them. Nothing was more hateful. Nothing sparked fury more than to be abused by outsiders. It was easy, then, to join the Communist Party, to learn to shoot, to fight, to read and write, with companions, comrades, who have suffered the same, if not worse. He beheld strong women who had been raped themselves and endured if only to slit the throats of the men who violated them. Men who lost families, who had families to lose—grim elders who cared for their men—wide-eyed youngsters who struggled to be brave in a cold, uncaring world. He looked at the Japanese faces as they marched or drove past and saw only a blank mask hiding a demon within. The women, too, were whores, all of them. They sleep with all the men and with each other, even. If they could sleep with dogs, they might. They were inhuman. They were animals, every single one of them, and their blood is like poison, only good when exposed.
A dead Jap is a good Jap.
Five hours later, Li woke up from a deep sleep. He was so exhausted he did not even have nightmares. Upon waking he dutifully reported to his superiors. The was work to be done, and he was anxious to do it, as soon as he was given the command.
" Syaoran," Said Shen, who had welcomed him back earlier that day, " You are up. That is good."
" What's going on?"
" Those documents," Shen pointed at the cabin where the lights were still on, " those documents you three retrieved, were a detailed blueprint of a laboratory facility."
" What laboratory facility?" Li asked. " Biological weapons?"
" Very likely."
Li swore.
" What should I do sir?"
" Before the party can do anything we must first learn more." Shen replied. " Time is of essence but we cannot rush into things. We will have to utilize your Japanese skills, Li Syaoran."
Li was fluent in Japanese—an advantage the party made constant use of. He learned it well because he hated it, and knew it was a dangerous weapon against the speakers. There were others who also were fluent in Japanese, but none of them were able to hide their hate as well as Li. When Li is pretending to be Japanese, he acted Japanese, and said everything the Japanese loved to say: that their Emperor must live long and their country will become the greatest nation in the world, that the Chinese were nothing but vermin, that everything Japanese was the best in the world—he said all of those with as much feeling and passion as any real Japanese soldier. Then he turns on them and shoots their brains out without them even realizing the matter. This heightened acting skill and keen sense of knowing what the other was thinking was something the party truly valued. Li hated the work itself, but he loved the results, and did it with gusto.
" What should I do sir?" He repeated.
" You will pose as a half Japanese merchant." Shen instructed. " The party will give you the means to maintain that act. You are a half Japanese merchant—your father was Japanese and your mother was Chinese. Your father left China shortly to join the army, leaving you and your mother behind. Your mother was killed—according to you, by the Communist Party."
Li nodded, though he was incredibly displeased. He knew all the comrades of the party—none of them would do such a thing, not now, and not before—but appearances must be maintained. " Yes. I loathe the Communist Party. What of my supposed father?"
" Your father was also killed by the Communist Party. Your name is Sato Masato, or Zuoteng . You wish to do what you could to help the imperials, but because the Communist Party was always close by, your hands are tied, so to speak."
" How would I infiltrate them then?"
" Lieutenant Kinomoto had plans to move to Ningbo. While there you can offer your services."
Li frowned. This really was not much for him to work with. " How would I get away with getting in touch with her?"
" You do so at night."
Li frowned even more. " What service should I offer?"
" They have shipments." Shen replied. " Our spies inform us that there are shipments directing toward Kinomoto for a while. They may continue so."
" And I know about the shipments…how?"
" You don't." Shen replied simply. " But imagine your position. How would you go about supporting the Japanese?"
Li frowned. " Well, I would never expect it to be easy at the start." He replied, unhappy. " Ningbo? When do I set out?"
" Tomorrow morning." Shen clapped his hand on the youth's shoulder. " We'll be there with you. But we're counting on you. If the Japanese—"
" I know." Li nodded. If the Japanese succeed in releasing the biological weapon, or whichever it was, hundreds of people could die. He would not let that happen to his fellow Chinese. " I will succeed, sir."
Shen smiled sadly. Li Syaoran was a good kid. There was a high chance he would not survive this, but then, for others, the chances were even greater. He had no choice. " God bless you." He said.