The Revolt of the Three Feudatories: All-in at the start in Beijing

Hakata Port is not far from Fukuoka Castle. If you walk west along the coastline of Hakata Bay, you can see the masts of the port in less than an hour.

Gao Yi walked at the front, followed by the old hunter and a group of Jurchen hunters. Each of them had two knives at their waists. They made no attempt to hide among the Japanese. The soldiers of the Fukuoka Domain had been wiped out, and there was no law in this port now.

The port was packed with refugees who had fled from Fukuoka Castle and the surrounding villages. Everywhere you looked—on the pier, by the warehouses, and on the beach—there were people wrapped in rags, huddled on the ground.

Some people were crying, some were calling out the names of their loved ones, some were squatting in the corner with their bundles, lost in thought, and several children were lying next to their mother's body, tugging at her sleeve. The mother was already stiff, her arms rigid and unable to bend back.

Gao Yi ignored the people. He crossed the main street and turned into a narrow alley. At the entrance of the alley were piles of stinking fish entrails and rotten vegetable leaves, and several skinny stray dogs were nudging the garbage heap with their noses.

The houses on both sides of the alley were low and dilapidated, with walls made of thin wooden planks and roofs covered with blackened thatch, a completely different world from the white-walled and black-tiled shops on the main street of the port.

This is where the "mixed-race bastards" of Hakata Port live—the mixed-race neighborhood.

"Come out, everyone!" Gao Yi stood in the middle of the alley and shouted at the top of his lungs. His Mandarin was clear and resonant, echoing through the narrow alley.

A rustling sound came from the alley, and several broken doors were pushed open a crack, revealing pairs of eyes.

The people slowly walked out; there were old and young, men and women, wearing coarse cloth shirts covered in patches, and straw sandals or barefoot.

Their facial features differed somewhat from the local Japanese—their noses were higher, their eye sockets deeper, and some even had fairer skin. But in Japan, no one cared about these differences; they shared only one name: Tang bastards.

"Listen up, everyone!" Gao Yi raised his voice, making sure everyone at both ends of the alley could hear. "The army that conquered Fukuoka Domain was the Han army! Now the Han army needs men, people who can speak Chinese, to help suppress the Japanese! There are only 500 spots available, first come, first served, and those who come late will be gone!"

The alley was quiet for a moment, then erupted into chaos. Someone rushed out of the door, grabbed a carrying pole leaning against the wall, and ran towards Gao Yi.

Someone turned around and yelled into the house, then grabbed his younger brother and ran out together.

A burly man in his thirties squeezed in front of Gao Yi, grabbed his sleeve, and asked in broken Chinese with a Japanese accent, "Gao Yi, is what you're saying true? The Han army really wants us?"

Gao Yi looked at him. This man was called Ashun. His father was a tea merchant from Quanzhou, and his mother was a fisherwoman from Hakata. She had carried sacks at the port for twenty years, and the calluses on her shoulders were as thick as tree bark.

"Why would I lie to you?" Gao Yi patted Ah Shun's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "Ah Shun, let me give you one more piece of advice: as long as you can wield a knife and dare to kill, and can speak a few words of Han Chinese, the Han army will recognize you as one of their own, regardless of whether your father or mother is Han Chinese, or whether you have Han Chinese blood. If you say you are, then you are."

Ah Shun paused for a moment, then grinned, turned around, and waved to the throng behind him: "Anyone else! Anyone who can handle a knife and dares to kill, come on over here!"

Influenced by the spirit of the shogunate samurai, the common people were also very courageous; as long as they could climb the social ladder, they were willing to kill people.

Now, upon hearing this more obvious call, the crowd surged forward, carrying shoulder poles, harpoons, and wood-chopping axes in dense array.

Gao Yi watched as more and more people surged in.

He whispered to the old hunter, "Bloodline doesn't matter, what matters is being able to wield a knife! There are plenty of Japanese too, why not use them?"

The old hunter looked at the 1.7-meter-tall mixed-race boy and suddenly laughed: "You're quicker-witted than I am."

Gao Yi stayed in Hakata Port for a day and a night. When he counted the number of people the next morning, he was shocked. There were no less than 500 people standing on the street at the entrance of the alley. Among them, at least 200 were pure Japanese, all of whom were laborers from the slums who were starving.

Gao Yi stood on the stone steps at the street corner, looking down at these people. He did some calculations in his mind. These people were indeed short, with most of them between one and one and a half meters tall, which was more than two heads shorter than the Jurchens.

Despite their short stature, these people had been carrying goods, hauling fishing nets, and fighting for territory in the port since childhood. Although their arm muscles weren't bulging, they were quite strong. Plus, he was suppressing Japanese people, so he didn't seem very tall.

After adding and subtracting, there is no difference!

When Gao Yi led the five hundred men back to Fukuoka Castle, Yarha was squatting on the stone steps in front of the castle tower, sharpening his axe blade with a whetstone.

He looked up and saw the dark mass of people behind Gao Yi. He paused in sharpening his axe, stood up, and threw the whetstone aside.

"Gao Yi, I told you to recruit mixed-race people, and you brought me so many?" Yarha was a little surprised.

Gao Yi knelt on one knee and pounded his chest with his right hand: "Sir, half of these five hundred people are true mixed-race, and the other half are pure Japanese, but they are all starving laborers. Not many of them can speak Chinese, but they can learn. The key is that they all dare to kill."

Yarha walked up to the five hundred people and scanned them.

They were short, really short; the tallest barely reached their chins. They were thin, all pale and emaciated, and swayed as they stood.

But no one backed away; they all looked at him with eyes that seemed to be filled with starvation, eyes that yearned to be superior to others.

Yarha tucked his axe into his waistband: "I don't care what bloodline they have. But listen up, everyone, from today onwards, you're all to be incorporated into the Imperial Army. Gao Yi, in the name of the Supreme Commander of Kyushu Island, I hereby appoint you as the Provisional Thousand-Man Commander of the Imperial Army. These people are all under your command. Your job is to continue recruiting. As long as they are Japanese willing to fight for the Han, no matter who their father is, bring them all over."

Gao Yi looked up, his eyes lighting up: "Thank you, Lord Xie!"

Yarha waved his hand: "Don't thank me. I'll give you soldiers, you work for me. There's still a bunch of Japanese devils in the castle tower who refuse to surrender. You take your men and train the captured arquebuses for me."

As Yarha spoke, he looked at the old hunter and said, "Distribute all the captured armor, samurai swords, and spears. The armor was too small; none of our Jurchen soldiers could wear it. It's perfect for them."

Upon hearing this, the old hunter stood up, turned around, and waved to Gao Yi. "Gao Yi, bring your men and come with me."

When Gao Yi followed the old hunter to the plaza below the castle tower, he saw all the military equipment seized from Kuroda Castle and Fukuoka Castle displayed there.

Gao Yi had several hundred sets of armor brought out and distributed them one by one. Those mixed-race people and Japanese who came from labor backgrounds had only ever seen samurai wear such armor before, and they didn't even have the right to touch it.

In their excitement, some people first arranged the sacrificial offerings, knelt down, clasped their hands together, and began the worship.

The Jurchen people watching nearby burst into laughter, slapping their thighs. Gao Yi, feeling humiliated, went over and kicked the Japanese soldier in the backside, yelling in Japanese, "Baka! Get dressed right now!"