Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 97 Chinatown Has Changed
Wang the tailor peered through the gap in the door panel, his hands and feet icy cold.

He saw a man in black nimbly climb the ladder, remove the plaque that read "Feng Haitang," and effortlessly hold it with one hand.

then……

With a snap, he broke the thick nanmu plaque in two and casually tossed it into the garbage cart.

Wang the tailor's Adam's apple bobbed violently.

How much strength does that take?

Across the street, Ah Bing, the laundry worker who owed Feng Haitang fifty silver dollars in usurious loans and was almost forced to sell his daughter, was squatting in front of his shop, pretending to scrub a tablecloth covered in grease.

"Pooh!"

He spat a mouthful of phlegm mixed with an inexplicable sense of pleasure onto the ground.

He ground the sandal with his straw sandal and muttered under his breath, "Damn it, good riddance! You bastard Jing Hai, you've finally met your match! You've really been punished by heaven!"

He dared not laugh out loud, but the morbid ecstasy that had been building up for so long made him almost want to grab the dirty rag and jump up.

If all those bastards like Feng Haitang were dead, then...

Does that mean I don't have to pay that debt anymore? Great!

Another force chose to withdraw in broad daylight.

Hewei Hall.

"drive!"

"Hurry up, all of you! Pack the stuff securely!"

"Be careful with my trunk, it contains my wife's dowry!"

A dozen or so horse-drawn carriages formed a long line, blocking the street from their main hall all the way to the other end.

He Wei, who had spent decades in Chinatown before finally securing his position as one of the three major triad leaders, was standing on the lead carriage with bloodshot eyes.

He didn't sleep all night.

He lost, but he is still alive.

This is more important than anything else.

Inside the convoy, a woman in a silk jacket and skirt was sobbing and tugging at his sleeve. This was his third concubine.

"Brother Wei, I don't want to leave, I don't want to go to Northern California..."

She cried, tears streaming down her face: "I heard it's chaotic there, full of red-haired Irish bandits and cannibalistic Native Americans. They'll scalp us; we're doomed if we go!"

He Wei's temples were throbbing.

The woman's cries were like an awl, piercing his already taut nerves to the point of almost snapping.

He turned around abruptly, and the fierce glint in his eyes made the third concubine instantly speechless.

"Shut your filthy mouth, you fucking know nothing!"

He flung the woman's hand away, his chest heaving violently.

"You still want to stay here? What are you staying for? To wait for that Qingshan to come and snap my neck tonight? Or to have you captured and handed over to his bunch of bastards, who may or may not be human, to be their toilet?"

"I, He Wei, have spent half my life struggling in Chinatown. To be able to leave here with my whole family and all our belongings intact is an incredible stroke of luck, as if God himself were blind!"

He ignored the terrified woman and turned to his still-dawdling subordinates, roaring, "Are you all fucking dead? Get moving! Whoever's carriage hasn't left this street within half an hour, they're the one who'll stay and die with Feng Haitang!"

Everyone sped up their movements.

Just then, several of He Wei's old comrades who had always followed him stepped forward. They didn't go to move anything, but just stood silently in front of the carriage.

The leader was a one-eyed man named Ah Hu.

"Brother Wei."

He Wei narrowed his eyes; he knew what these people were going to say.

"Wei, we don't want to go to Northern California."

Ah Hu paused for a moment, and the brothers next to him nodded in agreement.

“We are the mud of Chinatown, we grew up rolling in this cesspool.”

Another man named A-Chuan spoke up, laughing self-deprecatingly: "All we know how to do is guard the place with knives and collect protection money. You want us to go to Northern California to grow potatoes? Mr. Wei, we can't even tell the difference between a hoe and a knife."

"Yes, Mr. Wei."

"We don't want to farm."

“We would rather stay in Chinatown, even if it means working as porters at the docks and toiling like cattle for white pigs, than go to the countryside to be farmers.”

The dozens of henchmen behind He Wei gripped the axes and pistols at their waists.

He Wei stopped them from doing so.

He stared intently at Ah Hu and Ah Chuan for a long time.

"Still not giving up?"

A-Chuan lowered his head: "Brother Wei, we want to stay and see. That Green Mountain Society... maybe they need people like us."

He Wei suddenly laughed.

"Very well." He waved his hand. "Everyone has their own ambitions, and I, He Wei, will not force them."

He pulled a heavy money bag from his pocket and tossed it to Ah Hu.

"This is your resettlement allowance for this month, double the amount. Take it, drink, find women, or become the 'head' of the Green Mountain Society."

"Master Wei!" Ah Hu and the others knelt down with a thud and kowtowed several times.

"Take care, Wei!"

"Get lost." He Wei turned away, no longer looking at them.

"Brother Wei, if..." A-Chuan wanted to say something more.

“If you can’t make it here, or if Qingshan will look down on you bunch of rotten meat,” He Wei said without turning his head, “come find me in Northern California. I still need a few shovelers for my 300-plus acres of land.”

A-Chuan and the others stood up, bowed deeply again, then turned and disappeared into the crowd on both sides.

He Wei took a deep breath; the cold mist made his lungs ache.

He took one last look at the street he had known for decades.

His blood, his glory, and the dignity he shattered just last night are here.

"go!"

He lashed the horse's back hard with his whip, and the horse neighed in pain, pulling the heavy cart forward as its wheels rolled over the stone pavement.

More than fifty of his most loyal subordinates escorted a dozen or so carriages as they drove away from Chinatown in a grand procession.

As the convoy turned out of Chinatown's iconic archway, a completely different atmosphere greeted them.

A few carefree white youths were leaning against the railing of the Lucky Horseshoe Tavern on the street corner.

They had clearly drunk too much the night before and were waiting for the tavern to open so they could have a refreshing drink.

Upon seeing this long convoy of Chinese vehicles, they immediately perked up.

"Oh my, look, Jedi! The Johns have moved!" a freckled guy whistled loudly.

"Ha! Look at that pile of junk! They look like a bunch of yellow-skinned rats whose nest has been disturbed!"

"Hey, braids!"

Another drunkard took two steps forward and yelled at the convoy, "Where are you guys going? Going back to your damn Celestial Empire?"

Even more vulgar laughter erupted.

A tall, thin man, making lewd hip-thrusting gestures towards the carriages carrying women in the caravan, said, "Hey! John! How many little nightingales are hiding in your carriage? How about selling one to me? I have 50 cents! Enough for you to eat rice for a month, hahaha!"

"FUCK YOU!"

Ah Biao, the most hot-tempered mad dog in Heweitang, was so angry that he pulled out a short-handled axe from his waist and made as if to jump off the carriage.

"You white pig! I'll chop you up!"

"stop!"

He Wei's shout was faster than A Biao's movements.

With a sharp crack, He Wei's whip struck A Biao's wrist precisely, and the axe fell onto the cart floor.

"Master Wei!" Ah Biao said, his eyes red with resentment.

He Wei looked at him coldly: "If you dare to lay a finger on them here, in less than ten minutes, those bastards from the police station will surround us. They'd love to have an excuse to hang us all on telephone poles!"

He Wei didn't even glance at the white scum still jeering. These were just the lowest dregs of the city, mad dogs incited by those politicians.

It's not worth arguing with a mad dog.

"Everyone, no turning back, no trouble! Full speed ahead, to the dock!"

He Wei lashed the whip again, and the carriage sped forward.

……

Tong Fuk Tea House, in the heart of Chinatown.

This is where the presidents of the six major associations regularly have morning tea and exchange information each month.

Today, the atmosphere in the private room was unusually heavy.

With the window open, the commotion of the He Wei Tang motorcade leaving downstairs and the jeers of the white scum could be clearly heard upstairs.

The table was laden with delicate shrimp dumplings, siu mai, and chicken feet, steaming hot, but no one touched them.

Leading the group was Uncle Yu, the highly respected president of the Gangzhou Association. He was the oldest, holding two walnuts in his hands, and was one of the "rulers" of Chinatown.

Sitting next to him was Chairman Zhou of the San Yi Association, who was in the business of selling dried goods from both northern and southern China and exchanging currency.

Across the street is Master Luo from the Siyi Association, who controls more than 70% of the labor force in Chinatown.

Next to him was Chairman Nie of the Yanghe Guild Hall, an old angry young man, notoriously pessimistic and mean.

The group watched in silence as He Wei's last carriage disappeared around the street corner.

Uncle Yu skimmed off the foam with the teacup lid and let out a long sigh.

"The world has turned upside down." He looked out the window at the familiar yet unfamiliar sky.

“Longzhitang was wiped out overnight. Feng Haitang cleaned it up completely, even digging it out by the roots. Now even the most cunning He Wei has run away.”

He put down his teacup: "Just what is the background of this Green Mountain Society?"

Chairman Zhou frowned. He picked up his teacup but forgot to drink, staring at the tea leaves floating in the cup. "I sent someone to inquire last night. Uncle Yu, this is strange. All the people who made the move were strangers. The fighting was very short. Feng Haitang's gang of thugs didn't even make a ripple."

"They don't seem like thugs," Chairman Zhou concluded. "They seem like soldiers."

"Soldiers of the Qing Dynasty? Or soldiers of the Americans?"

Master Luo slammed his hand on the table, making the cups and plates rattle: "Who cares who they come from! Now that they're here, the world of Chinatown has changed hands!"

"I don't care what you think. I've already given the order: any of my brothers in Siyi who dares to approach the places and women left behind by Feng Haitang, I'll personally chop off their dog paws!"

He slumped back in his chair with a loud thud: "We'll just wait. We'll wait for that Qingshan to come and negotiate with us old guys."

“Master Luo is right,” Uncle Yu slowly took over the conversation.

"Everyone, keep your men in check. At this time, anyone who reaches out will die. The territory left behind by the three major gangs is not only a piece of fat meat stained with blood, but also a hook laced with poison."

“We are businessmen, members of the Six Great Associations! We provide shelter, collect corpses, mail letters, and send money back to our hometowns for our fellow villagers. We are not thugs.”

"We didn't touch the dirty business that Feng Haitang and Long Zhitang did before. Now we can't touch it either."

"That's the truth."

Chairman Zhou nodded: "But Uncle Yu, Master Luo, could this be an opportunity?"

Chairman Nie picked at his ear with his little finger and then slowly flicked it on the tablecloth.

"President Zhou, you are still too young."

He picked up a piping hot shrimp dumpling, blew on it, and stuffed it into his mouth, mumbling indistinctly:
"All crows are black, these scoundrels are all brawn and no brains. What do they know about business? What do they know about the rules?"

Chairman Nie took a sip of his liquor; the strong flavor made his face flush red, and his words became even more cutting:

"This Green Mountain Society will be even more ruthless and greedy than Master Long and Jing Hai!"

"Why?" he asked himself, tapping the table with his chopsticks. "Because of hunger! A wolf driven mad by hunger is always a hundred times more ferocious than a fat dog that's full and lying around burping!"

"We'll see."

Chairman Nie slammed his wine glass down: "In less than three days, they'll be coming from house to house to collect tributes. At that time, I'm afraid you won't even have time to cry!"

Silence fell in the private room.

……

Chinatown, the highest point on Dupan Street.

This was once the private rooftop of Long Zhitang, a nest built with rosewood and Persian carpets.

Now, its surname is "Luo".

Aoyama, or rather, Lawson, was standing in front of a huge circular window.

This window is like a giant lens, taking in the chaotic, dirty, yet vibrant territory below.

He had a rough cigar between his fingers, one of Master Long's stashes.

Heweitang's convoy had become a series of wriggling black dots at the end of the street corner.

The sudden collapse of the three major sects left a huge power vacuum on the ground.

Streets, shops, venues—these are all spoils of victory.

This is not enough.

Lawson slowly exhaled a puff of smoke.

Cleaning up a few ringleaders is far from enough.

What he needed to clean up was this "sardine can".

Chinatown……

It sounds like there are a dozen wide streets and a vast community.

The alleyways run north-south, spanning six city blocks. They also stretch east-west, covering two city blocks.

In fact, the total size is only about twenty-seven standard football fields.

That's all there is to Chinatown.

On this tiny piece of land, more than 40,000 Chinese people were crammed in.

More than 40,000 mouths, more than 40,000 breathing lungs, and more than 40,000 buttocks that need to defecate and urinate every day.

They were piled up like cargo.

A basement room of less than ten square meters could house twenty people, who worked in three shifts, taking turns sleeping on a shared bed that smelled sour and musty.

The air is always filled with the smells of sweat, feet, and rotting food scraps.

And the nauseating, burnt smell of opium.

Life here cannot be called life; it is merely existing.

A state of being the lowest, most primitive, and utterly undignified form of clinging to life.

Lawson's gaze swept over the densely packed wooden sheds and attics that looked like illegal structures.

He could even imagine how many families were crammed into one bed right now, separated from each other by a tattered curtain.

On one side, the parents are having sex, and on the other side, the child is defecating.

Why don't they leave?

The answer is simple.

Because they had nowhere to go.

Where else can we go after leaving this cannery area?
Outside, it's the world of foreigners.

There, wearing braids is considered a sin, and having yellow skin is considered a disgrace.

Workers' Party thugs will hunt you down like they hunt wild dogs.

They would throw stones at you, beat you with sticks, or even hang you from the nearest telephone pole with a rope, all for a cheap political frenzy.

Language barrier.

You can't even get a job carrying bags at the docks, because the Irish will band together and throw you overboard with iron hooks.

Different customs.

Eating pig offal is considered barbaric by them. Worshipping ancestors is considered heresy by them.

They discriminate against you like they discriminate against a dog that can walk on two legs.

Return to the Qing Dynasty?
(End of this chapter)