The magistrate twirled his fingernail coverings around and adjusted himself in his luxuriously decorated and furnished sedan chair. He watched as a man dressed in a white martial arts uniform lifted a blocky sword up into the air with no difficulty. Below the sword was another man kneeling in similar garb. Despite apparently it being the last moments of his life, he was barely containing a smile. The long Manchurian queue that snaked down his back normally was pulled outwards, so that his neck was exposed. A nearby drummer beat out severe harsh notes, and the swordsman brought down the dadao so quickly that it was simply a blur to the magistrate. Expecting a clean decapitation (the magistrate had ordered his fair share of executions), the sword simply stopped at the kneeling man’s neck. It did not even leave a wound, simply a small indentation as a fingernail would make. The two boxers looked at the magistrate, expecting praise for their demonstration.

“Fake!” roared the magistrate. “The sword is a fake!” 

The boxer with the sword assumed a fighting position, as another boxer picked up a twig and threw it at him. He cut it in half flawlessly, before throwing the sword at the magistrate. Howling in terror, the magistrate leaned to the right just in time for the sword to cut into the wall of his sedan chair, pinning down the peacock feather of his velvet Manchu cap. His bushy eyebrows were raised in shock.  

“Now... “ the boxer retorted, clearly satisfied with his handiwork. “Get one of your soldiers, one with a Western gun. And shoot me.”

The magistrate had regained his composure, and complied. One of his guards, a thin man, raised his rifle immediately. Dressed in a sharp black turban and blue uniform, he aimed at the boxer who made the inflammatory comment, now confidently putting his arms behind his back, allowing a clear shot to the chest. The guard flashed him a worried look,  but upon receiving a nod from both the boxer and magistrate, fired. The bullet traveled through the air, and again the magistrate expected a thunk and the boxer to drop dead. But the bullet simply bounced off the man’s chest and ricocheted out of sight. The soldier was most certainly impressed, and so were the magistrate’s servants, but he himself did not share their awe. His ungainly bulk shook while giving a hearty laugh.

“Very impressive. However, I do not see why you are so confident that you can expel the foreign devils. It will take more than parlour tricks to deal with them, I am afraid.”

The boxer grinned, and then clapped. Hearing this, the other boxers marched off to the side, and in their place walked a young woman. She too wore the white robe with the evocative red character for “courage” sewn on. Her hair was arranged in neat little buns, and she wore a resolute expression on her face, keeping her clenched fists firmly at her side, and kneeled.

“If you think I am impressed because a girl has joined you, you will be sorely disappointed.” 

The boxer smiled again.

“This is Red Lantern Mei-Yi. She will be the highlight of today’s demonstration, and fair proof that the boxers will save China from the yolk of the foreign devils. She will harness the power of the gods and become one herself.” 

The magistrate, still not impressed thoroughly, leaned in closer on one chubby arm. He had known country bumpkins used a sort of childish Chinese folk magic, but had never seen much of it apart from mere mind tricks or disappearing acts.

Mei-Yi, despite her poker face of confidence, was a bit worried.

“Are you sure this will work?” she whispered to the boxer.

“As sure that the sun will rise tomorrow.”

He pulled a knife out of his robe. Placing the flat side of the knife on Mei-Yi’s head. He began to whirl it around Mei-Yi, swinging it at her as if about to cut and stab her, but stopping right before contact. The boxer then began to chant quietly, a low, groaning murmur. Mei-Yi evidently did not enjoy having a knife thrust near her head constantly, but did not object. She had trained with the Society for years and years, and she’d been waiting for this moment all this time. She would finally have a chance to strike back at the foreign devils. The rest of the boxers weren’t just standing around either. Behind them was a golden shrine, filled with statues, candles, and gold plates of fruit. Lighting a paper talisman, they handed it over to the knife boxer. He stopped the knife whirling thing and gave the talisman to Mei-Yi. Now the talisman was simply a little bundle of ashes, and Mei-Yi was not looking forward to swallowing it. However, seeing the arrogant smirk on the magistrate’s face, she popped it in her mouth and swallowed it. Then, she exhaled everything within herself. The knife boxer turned to face the magistrate. He waited. Mei-Yi sat there awkwardly, humiliated. After perhaps a minute of rather tense silence, Mei-Yi felt her body vibrate. Frankly, it was uncomfortable, and she began to fidget around. The magistrate opened his mouth to give another unencouraging remark, until suddenly Mei-Yi began to grow, for lack of better terms. Her body began to expand in size inhumanly fast. The magistrate staggered backward in his covered compartment. His guards all lifted their rifles towards Mei-Yi, and his servants all ran behind them. An unforeseen consequence of this was that Mei-Yi’s original clothes no longer fit her adequately, or at all, and they burst off during this growth. Once the growth stopped, she now towered over the very clouds, even though she was still crouching. Blushing furiously after realizing how exposed she was, she quickly covered her private parts with her arms. Although the change in size was certainly more than obvious, she felt no nausea, no headache, nothing. If she was normal size and the world shrank around her, she wouldn’t have known. The magistrate shook his head in disbelief. Though he was rather offended at seeing a naked woman being shown at a martial demonstration, he felt there were more important things to comment on than the state of her undress.

“I- No- Impossible! It’s an optical illusion! This cannot be happening! No way!”

Mei-Yi looked down at the magistrate and his little band. They stood there, necks craned upwards, terrified. The soldiers were aiming their little rifles towards her, as if it would do something. The servants of the magistrate were ready to flee, unlikely to go through the hassle of carrying the magistrate’s covered sedan chair. Mei-Yi supposed it was supposed to be empowering for her to be dominant over them, but now it just felt awkward and silly. The fact that she was completely naked did not help. The boxer who had performed the ritual had been dangerously close to being crushed by her now colossal feet, but did not appear to mind. 

“Now, you see, Mei-Yi is no simple girl anymore. She is a goddess! The foreign devils are as good as dead.”

The magistrate was now convinced. The arrogance in his face had been wiped off and replaced with fear. Mei-Yi wasn’t exactly feeling too confident either. Having her fellow brother disciples that she had trained with literally powerless and at her feet was going to take some time to get used to, for sure. Plus, her lack of clothes. 

“The best part is that she can ONLY hurt foreign devils. We fight only for justice, and against evil. Now, please, Mei-Yi, step on me.” 

Mei-Yi looked down at him in surprise.

“What?” 

“You heard me. Go ahead, it’ll be fine!” 

“No, Yong-liang, are you serious? I don’t-”

“Don’t worry, go ahead.” 

Mei-Yi pouted worriedly, and keeping her arms steady over her privates, lifted her foot over Yong-liang. She hesitated, but finally lowered her colossal foot slowly down. She closed her eyes in fear as she felt the weak body of Yong-liang collapse under her foot. There was no doubt that it would have crushed a house. Despite this, no anticipated “splat” was heard. Just after she pushed Yong-liang into the ground she lifted her foot up quickly. The magistrate scratched his triple chin curiously. What he had seen today defied all logic and reasoning. His personal status as a rather pompous windbag had allowed him to see many amazing circus performers. But all of them paled in comparison to whatever this was. Even if this was an optical illusion, maybe some kind of puppet, and timed perfectly, it had to be masterfully orchestrated. But the monolithic figure of Mei-Yi did not have the lifeless, garish feel of puppetry. But this simply could not be real. Unbelievable. Meanwhile, Yong-liang promptly stood up, completely unharmed. He rustled his uniform to get rid of some dirt, and cracked his neck casually. Mei-Yi sighed in relief. Yong-liang looked at the magistrate.

“Do I have the support of the Imperial Army now?”

The magistrate shook his head, but this time his thick lips did not curl into a smirk. What he had seen simply was amazing to say the least, and although he was completely convinced of the boxer’s magic, he still had to be completely sure. If he lent them the support of the Imperial Army and lost to the foreign devils, his head would be paraded around on a stick for weeks to come. 

“Very impressive indeed. However, this will be the final task. Pick up-” the magistrate pointed at the soldier who had shot the boxer- “that soldier.” Said soldier widened his eyes in horror.

“Wait, what! No, don’t-”

“Fear not, private, for I shall later drown you in an ocean of riches for this.” If the boxers could perform this, it would most convincingly prove that they were truly in contact with the gods and not just a band of traveling circus hacks or hoaxes seeking government funding, since picking up the soldier could not have been staged. Mei-Yi did not exactly feel like revealing herself (yet…) to the magistrate and his entourage, so she awkwardly adjusted one leg to cover her nether regions while reaching ungracefully for the little soldier. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” 

The soldier was literally in tears as her fingers carefully closed around him. Clutching his rifle, she lifted him up to face level. She let him sit down on her palm while she looked at him closer. The ends of his turban once sat neatly on his shoulders, but were now loosely hanging at his back thanks to his rapid ascent. He was a young man, with little to no stubble, and his brown eyes sparkled with tears. His face was rotund, possessing an unassuming little nose. His Western rifle now lay on the ground, its strap tied around his torso. A very cute little man. For him, however, the experience was harrowing. He felt every breath she took, and the ground underneath him was of soft flesh, HER flesh. Though her grasp was surprisingly ginger and delicate, being grabbed by her was still horrifying. Each hair on her head was probably thicker than the strips of cloth on this turban. Her eye was about as big as him, and being studied closely by one of those was not exactly what he would describe as pleasant. And she could swallow him in one gulp. Not fun. 

“What’s your name, soldier?” Mei-Yi inquired. 

“X-xiong… Xiong Hui-Liang..” 

Mei-Yi said nothing for a moment, and then laughed. This sent a tremor towards Hui-Liang, whose turban strips were blown into further disarray. 

“Your names are literally the opposite of each other!” (“Xiong” means fierce, and “Hui-Liang” means kind.)

“It’s, uh, not that xiong, but…” His voice trailed off as he realized that he was sitting in a very undignified position, and thus rose up carefully, adjusting his rifle so it hung over his back.

“I like your shirt.”

Hui-Liang wore a traditional blue uniform with black and yellow piping. Although his dress far from as ornate as the magistrate’s, it did contain a few patterns resembling clouds here and there. Perhaps the most noticeable feature was the large yellow circle sown in the middle of his jacket, with writing inscribed on it that Mei-Yi could not read. 

“T-thank you…” 

“No problem.” 

After a few more uncomfortable moments of staring, Mei-Yi gently let the soldier down. Now the magistrate was ready to go. 

“Thank you, private Xiong. We’ll see how much gold you can carry before your back breaks later today, heh heh. Now, thank you for this lovely demonstration, and I shall be sure to inform the Empress herself of this. Her majesty has received divine right to rule, and thanks to this divine display, I am wholly confident she will support the Society of Righteous Fists in expelling the foreign devils from our beloved homeland. As for you, good lady, I shall have my finest tailors weave a glorious outfit of the highest quality for you, made of the best silk in all of China-”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Mei-Yi boomed.

“Pardon?”

“Well, it’s just we’re trying to stay humble, you know? Trying to resist corruption, temptation, and all that… no offense. Just get me a larger size of my previous outfit, please.”

The magistrate agreed, but did take offense. He gave her a sad look, smacked his lips, and continued on with his monologue. He enjoyed ostentatious displays of his wealth, but was not about to argue with some giantess who was possibly a goddess. 

“Ahem. I appreciate your devotion to the common peoples of China! I shall return soon, and bring news of her majesty’s decision. Certainly, I am sure she will reciprocate your admiration of her. May the gods be in your favor! I bid you farewell!” And with that, the rotund little man hurried away in his sedan chair, whose carriers left a lot faster than they came. Private Xiong turned around to look at Mei-Ying one last time, before leaving with the rest of his posse. 

“So…” Mei-Yi adjusted her arms back to cover up her crotch and rested her leg down. She looked at Yong-Liang, who was sadly looking at the departing magistrate. (The magistrate had never bothered to give him back his sword, but we all make mistakes, don’t we?) 

“You said this was permanent?”

Yong-Liang wrung his hands. 

“Yeah. Sorry. No way to reverse it.” Mei-Yi sighed. Being a few hundred meter colossus had its benefits, but not without its fair share of cons. But, she thought, this was her method of taking revenge. Soon, she would have her vengeance on the foreign devils who had bullied her great country. She would bear through this.

Several years earlier, Mei-Yi found herself eavesdropping at a village meeting. She wasn't exactly old enough to have a part in village "politics," so she hid. Her hiding place was pretty bad to be honest, but the villagers were too invested to notice (or care).

“Something must be done!”

“Yes, simply!” 

“We can’t keep ignoring them!”

Mei-Yi managed to hear only this much as she kept her back silently to the faded house, whose brick and mortar foundation was beginning to crumble and come off in powdery tufts. Even if she wasn’t sneaking about and eavesdropping, she could still probably hear the conversation quite clearly, as this particular town meeting was performed in loud, shouty voices despite it being nighttime. Though she could not see them talking directly, she saw their shadows painted onto the walls of another house by their lapping fire. 

“I’ll give them a thrashing they won’t forget, for sure!”

“Oh no, you can’t do that!”

“How come? Are you afraid?”

“No, no! The devils are protected by their soldiers!”

“So what? We have a fucking army too, don’t we?”

“But wait! Remember the Summer Palace! The foreigners are barbaric in their ways, yes, but they are not to be underestimated!”

“My grandfather fought them at Jiulong! Their cannons harness the thunder of the gods, and-”

“So what? If a pack of cannibals beat you in a fight, does that mean they’re better than you? Certainly not!” 

Now Mei-Yi understood what they were arguing about. A week ago, a most interesting menagerie of creatures visited their village. They looked like normal people, but were disturbingly off. While normal men chose either a demure beanie, Manchu hat, or wore no hat at all, these individuals wore some kind of ugly white helmet of sorts that resembled an overturned water jug. On the front of whatever this was was some kind of golden ornament. Even worse, their faces. One of them, Mei-Yi recalled with shudders, had a ugly long nose. He, or probably it, had blue pupils instead of brown. Its hand was hairy and under its nose it had a long caterpillar of yellow hair. On its face it carried a permanent sneer In their hideous hands they carried menacing rifles. Their village had heard of foreign devils before, and had mostly dismissed it as some kind of urban legend or myth, but for them to personally pay them a visit… The village headman had attempted to communicate with them. When they opened their mouth, no words came out, but instead a string of unintelligible gibberish. At this, the rest of the devils began tearing up the village. Overturning baskets of fruit (and pocketing some for themselves), trampling crops, and bayonetting bags of rice. Any attempt at resistance was met with a rifle-butt to the face. Mei-Yi shuddered again. She managed to evade most of this by hiding under her bed. Her father received a black eye for his attempted heroism. (Mei-Yi’s mother was long gone, probably long dead before Mei-Yi could remember.) When the devils left, her village was without food and any method of gaining more food. No one spoke of it, and simply tried to ignore it, until now. Mei-Yi followed this unspoken vow of silence, but always thought about that one sneering devil.

“Are you kidding me? It is our army that is weak, not us! Those damn Northeasterns just had to make us wear that stupid-”

“Hey. Watch it.”

“Alright. The Imperial Army cannot even protect itself from the devils, much less us! Still, with our incorrigible hearts of justice and valor, we simply cannot lose!”

“I do not think we can outsmart a bullet-”

“But other villages exist! They, too, have been harassed by these-”

“Enough.”

This ‘enough’ was spoken in a quiet raspy voice, containing elements of a stern paternal scolding. The village headman. Mei-Yi listened even closer. 

“We shall lodge a complaint with the magistrate. If that does not work…”

Though none of the others in the meeting objected, Mei-Yi could hear exasperated sighs.

“Venerable headman, the magistrate is corrupted. It is rampant with the foreign devils. They only care about licking the boots of their foreign overlords.” 

“We must try, at least. We cannot jump straight into violence, even if those devils do. We must not stoop to their level.”

“Alright, but if this fails, don’t be surprised if you hear about a few dead devils later on.”

“Very well. Who shall go?”

Silence. And then-

“I will.”

The gruff, barrel-organ baritone voice of Mei-Yi’s father sounded out against the ominous silence of the fire crackling. She felt a burst of pride at this.

“Anyone else?”

“I will.”

The village blacksmith spoke in. 

“Very well. Leave tomorrow morning. Take the rest of our grain as a tribute.The journey should take you about a day, and the hearing ought to last for a week.”

From the sighs and small vocalizations, Mei-Yi could hear they were not satisfied with this deal. She could also hear them getting up, and dusting their clothes off. The shadows dancing on the walls disappeared as they smothered the fire, and Mei-Yi realized that she may not want to get caught. Rushing back into her house and jumping into her bed, she waited as her father entered and settled into his bed. Although her father slept quite soundly (judging from the snores that quickly appeared), Mei-Yi could not sleep. She had just thought of the foreign devils being just some sort of banditry, but it appeared this problem was far more widespread.

The next morning, Mei-Yi awoke to the sounds of movement. The first sight that greeted her was her father. 

“Good morning, Ding Mei-Yi!”

Her father was a simple farmer, but could easily pass for a soldier. His head was like a solid block of stone resting upon a tree trunk of a chest. The front of his forehead was bald, like all men in China, and down the back of his head snaked the long queue. His beard was of a heroic type, not like the ugly, unkempt hair of the foreign devils. 

“I wish you a successful journey, father.” Mei-Yi gave him a grin from ear to ear.

“Thank you, Mei-Yi. I’ll return in about a week.”

“I know.” 

His father cocked an eyebrow, and Mei-Yi flushed, realizing her mistake.

“You know?”

“Uh, of course! You talked so loud last night… yeah… everyone knows…”

Her father stared at her for a moment, but his inquisitive expression soon turned to a warm smile. He ruffled her hair.

“Goodbye for now.”

The blacksmith returned from his journey one day after. When he entered the village, shocked gasps were heard. 

“They’re back!”

Mei-yi looked up from her bowl of tree-bark soup. So quickly! The news must be decisive. She hastily put her “soup” down, spilling some of it in the process, but hurrying over. A great smile encompassed her face as she spread her arms out to hug her father, but suddenly stopped. The blacksmith was back alright, but not as he had gone. A bulging bruise obscured one eye, and his hair was ruffled. His queue had been cut, and some of his hair had been painfully pulled out. His lip was cracked and caked with dry blood. His shirt was torn, he was missing one shoe, and he had a limp. But he was there. Mei-Yi’s father was not. The hushed murmurs of the crowd did not stop her from the inevitable question.

“Where’s my father?”

An even more pained expression entered the blacksmith’s face. He opened his mouth gingerly, revealing several bloody stumps where teeth used to reside, and then closed it like a fish out of water.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Mei-Yi did not understand. 

“Is he still at the hearing?”

The blacksmith shook his head. Another villager decided to speak for him. 

“They never reached the magistrate. Some devil soldiers beat them up. Your father-”

The villager did not finish his sentence, and instead looked away. Mei-Yi understood however. She ran back to her house, yes, her house now, not her father’s, and cried her eyes out. Why? How could the foreign devils exist? Beings of pure evil and spite, how? And why didn’t the army stop them? Atrocious! Shameful! Her sadness turned to anger. Then she remembered something. A group of young men had once come to the village, before all of this, asking for food to defend China from the foreigners. At that time, no one had cared, and told them to hit the road. They had been the laughingstock at the time, with their scarlet turbans and ostensibly pretentious weapons, and talk of “exterminating” the foreign devils. But Mei-Yi now understood their motivation. She vowed that she would kill every last devil in the world. Every. Single. One. 

(A bit illogical really, but it was a relief to her feelings.)

Mei-Yi had to sleep face down in order to try and mitigate the worst effects of her state of undress, which did not exactly give her a good night’s sleep. Even though Yong-Liang had picked a very obscure spot in the wilderness where no one could see, it was still extremely uncomfortable. Although she didn’t feel too cold in the rays of the moon, sleeping naked for her was still not a pleasant experience. Luckily, most of her fellow boxers were all vowed to chastity, otherwise she would have gotten a few unflattering or annoying comments. After all, she couldn’t keep her arms over her privates forever, and occasionally had to trade a brief moment of exposure for a better position. So, she simply lay down twisted with her arms over them. Yong-Liang offered to let her use his blanket for the lower region, but that was far too small, and she didn’t want to impose. He had an intense debate with her about whether she would win in a fight against Wong-Fei Hong (popular folk hero), which she adamantly claimed she would be beaten thoroughly. Yong-Liang had asserted that even if she kept covering herself, and thus denied herself use of her arms she could still win due to her size. She secretly agreed, but just hoped the magistrate would come back soon with the clothes. 

“Hey, Li Huang? Can I ask you something?”

Mei-Yi’s voice resonated throughout the landscape. Li Huang was basically the stereotypical old, venerable martial arts master. Mei-Yi especially enjoyed talking to him, since he gave excellent advice in every possible situation, as well as pretty much never being wrong. He was a master of these magical jitong rituals that gave the boxers their mystical powers. As well as being responsible for her growth spurt. Also, he reminded her of her father… 

“Of course, Mei-Ying. What do you need?”

Apparently one effect of the magical growth was drastically improved hearing. Li Huang hobbled over next to Mei-Yi’s face, and she had to turn her head sideways to look at him. He, as you may have expected, sported a long, white beard whose length rivaled his queue. From behind his wise beard jutted his rather prolonged cheekbones. His eyebrows were almost always raised in a somewhat condescending jubilant manner. His sloughing skin was riddled with dark blotches. He carried a humble quarterstaff which he used both to fight and to walk.

“Well, it’s just since the ritual I haven’t felt thirsty, hungry, or anything. I know this is permanent, but I’m not sure if that’s meant to happen or…”

“I am afraid so. Didn’t you read the original manuscript for the ritual, like I told you?” 

Mei-Yi had not. Before performing the life-changing ritual, Li Huang had asked her to read an ancient treatise which told of all the criteria, effect, and dangers of the ritual. Mei-Yi was far too excited to read it thoroughly, and simply skimmed over it.

“No, I mean yes, I mean... Some of it.” 

Li Huang gave her a patronizing, telltale look.

“In case you happened to forget, this particular ritual isn’t just for anyone. It’s only for the jitong, one that has been selected specifically by the gods. Once the ritual has been performed, your body will be controlled by the gods, becoming a tongji. You, essentially, now are a goddess. You do not need food, water, or even air, to be honest. You cannot be hurt in any physical way. As for hurting others, you can only hurt those you mean to hurt. A quite useful ability. And yes, this is permanent.”

Mei-Yi sighed. Coming to terms with the fact that she would pretty much never eat again was bizarrely surreal.

“We all admire you for your outstanding sacrifice, Mei-Yi. Since our own army can’t stand up to the foreign devils, we must. You must.”

“Li Huang, can you tell me more about the foreign devils?” Li Huang was quite the soldier as a youth. He brushed off some residue from a large stone and sat down. Li Huang sitting down typically meant he was about to tell a long, rambling anecdote. Mei-Yi didn’t mind, as he was a skillful raconteur.

“Have I told you about the Formosan skirmishes?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“What about the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom?”

“Those crazy religious cultists?”

“Yes. I surely have not told you about the Annam ambushes?”

“Yeah, you-, actually, tell me again. The one about the river.”

Li Huang leaned backward on the rock and placed his two wrinkly hands together on his chest. Before he could begin, a low-pitched horn shook the area from nearby. Its deep, shaky wail preceded several loud cymbal clashes.

Mei-Yi got up carefully so as to not accidentally squash anyone nearby. Li Huang raised his ancient eyebrows patronizingly as they saw several garish bright red flags wave from over the horizon.

“That must be the magistrate!” Yong-Liang shouted.

Indeed, it was. Peeping out of his lavish sedan chair like an overweight snail, the magistrate also brought an even larger guard and retinue of servants. Behind him were several ox-pulled carts with an enormous stack of white cloth on it. Upon further inspection, it wasn’t just a monstrous pile of cloth, but rather only a few gigantic garments. The boxers gathered together, and all the normal sized ones bowed three times to the magistrate. The waving red flags flowed gracefully in the air as if flying, and towered over the magistrate and his group. Mei-Yi in turn dwarfed the whole retinue. They were no bigger than an assortment of colored rocks to her. The magistrate cleared his throat in a very matter of fact way.

“Heroes of China! I bring good news! Her royal highness, the emperor of the Middle Kingdom, has graciously returned your admiration! She has pledged to commit the forces of the Imperial Army!” He announced this in a parade-ground roar, much to the delight of the boxers. 

“You know, I have some friends in the high court. I knew Duan would come through for me!” he chuckled, in a much softer tone than before. His source of amusement was abruptly cut off however. Mei-Yi reached for the clothes. This simple act had a much greater effect on the people below. As soon as she moved, the earth shook. When her outstretched arm hovered over the magistrate’s crew, they instinctively cowered in fear. The oxen, startled, tried to stampede their way out, but were only barely restrained by the driver, who also ducked at the sight of Mei-Yi. She grabbed the whole stack. There was a short-sleeved jacket (with a rather misshapen character for bravery,) a pair of shorts, and some undergarments. As she retracted her arm, she noticed the reaction of the people below. 

“Sorry, I mean, I don’t really want to keep standing here naked.”

The magistrate was not used to being interrupted. In most cases he would have let his anger rise, but here he reasoned that getting angry was probably not such a good idea.

“Well, then! Let’s see how it fits you!” 

Mei-Yi blushed as she realized everyone was watching her. (They were before, but only now did she know.) 

“Actually, I don’t think you all need to see me get dressed. Sir, can you tell a story or something please?”

Much to his chagrin, the magistrate was particularly not used to receiving orders. He blinked a few times in rapid succession, and took a deep breath.

“That jacket you see? Woven from only the highest quality silk in all of the world! Silk from Her Majesty’s Own Precious Silkworms themselves, Dingding, Baobao, and Peony! Tailored by only the most skilled-”

The magistrate went on a ramble about how much it cost (from his vast personal fortune of course) to make the jacket in such a quick timespan, the material used, the personalities of Her Majesty’s Own Precious Silkworms, etc. Mei-Yi tried to keep the clothes pressed against her body to cover herself, but the pleats of the clothing kept dangling dangerously close above the heads of those below her. She got up, and walked backwards behind the crowd, carefully placing each step. Of course, no one really cared about Her Majesty’s Own Precious Silkworms, no matter how many leaves they supposedly ate in one day, and all eyes were still fixed on Mei-Yi. She did not appreciate her attention. 

“Uh, keep listening to the silkworm thing please. No peeking!”

The magistrate, a little insulted by HMOPS being called the “silkworm thing,” nonetheless continued on. Mei-Yi decided her breasts were the most flagrant signs of her nudity. As a result, she flipped awkwardly through the unwieldy clothing, and found a dudou, which she pressed to her body quickly, tying it on as hastily as she could with one hand. Some of the younger members of the magistrate’s entourage watched a little too closely, but most of the boxers held strong to their vows of chastity. After the dudou was tied securely on, she wrapped her jacket around herself. Finally, she slipped into her panties (which also had a striking red “courage” symbol, to which she scoffed at) and shorts. She pushed down some of the folds with relish. Finally, she was in a respectable state. The clothing, although miraculously stable, was a little too big. She walked back to listen to the magistrate, again shaking the earth and disturbing his fascinating tale about how HMOPS magically spelled out a prophetic message using their silk or something. She crouched down gingerly.

“Okay, what other news do you have, sir?”

The magistrate cleared his throat, and beckoned a few soldiers in his guard up.

“Yes, as I said, the Empress of all China has vowed to commit the forces of the Imperial Army. As such, I have assigned you your own personal squad. Allow me to introduce them.”

The soldiers advanced in a parallel line to Mei-Yi. They all wore a similar blue-black-yellow uniform, and on their backs they carried sleek, Western rifles. One of them had a familiar round face.

“I do believe you have already met Private Xiong. Well, he himself chose to be your rifleman!”  

Xiong turned away bashfully and kowtowed. Mei-Yi did the same.

“Of course, he’s not alone. Here, we have Luo-Yang, your pikeman.” 

Luo-Yang bowed. He carried an abnormally long spear, complete with some eye-catching red horsehair attached near the pointy end. To Mei-Yi, it looked incredibly fragile.

“This is Xue-Yu, the translator. That’s Kan-Tu, the navigator. Finally, the venerable Tong-Pao, the squad leader!”

Mei-Yi was having trouble remembering their names. It didn’t help that they all wore pretty much identical uniforms, with the only exception being Tong-Pao wearing a Manchu hat with a trailing feather as opposed to a turban. Wait, was it Tong-Pao or Tong-Bao? Mei-Yi didn’t even get to see their facial features, since they were all kowtowing towards her. They bowed so obsequiously that their faces touched the ground. Even though Mei-Yi wasn’t even close to being a noble, they judged that to respect her would be quite good for self-preservation. 

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that…” she uttered gently. 

“The purpose of our bodies is to serve you!” they shouted with varying levels of enthusiasm. Though it was supposed to invoke classical values of piety, it just sounded provocative. This made Mei-Yi even more embarrassed. 

“Oh…” 

The magistrate decided to continue practicing his shouty voice. 

“As heroes of China, of course, you will not only be fighting against the foreign devils, but defending the common folk from the worst elements of our glorious society. In order for you to ‘practice,’ I have brought for you two condemned criminals.”

Two men stepped into view from behind a wall of servants and soldiers. Both were firmly headlocked in a cangue that was roughly adorned with anecdotes of their crimes. Their posture was hunched, and their hands held the thick wooden slab dejectedly upwards. Both their queues were rudely torn off and parts of their hair were missing, instead replaced with scabbed bare skin. One of them had a very fearful look in his constantly shifting eyes, while the other just looked annoyed. But both looked shocked at the sight of Mei-Yi. Mei-Yi was not looking forward to this “practice.” The magistrate continued.

“These two are sentenced to death. One of them killed another man in cold blood, while the other cut his pigtail. A sign of treason of the highest order.” the magistrate finished with relish. At this the scared man erupted into panic.

“No! For the great staff of Tu Di Gong, are you serious? Listen! Please, listen! I traveled to America to find my father, and the devils there beat me, and tore my hair off! I barely managed to escape! I didn’t do it!”

The magistrate waved his implorations away with one ring-adorned hand.

“Why were you traveling there, anyway? Are you a collaborator with the devils?”

 He sneered rudely, and he smiled like a malevolent toad. 

“No! My father went there some time ago because they had gold or something, and only recently did I try to find him, but the devils there were barbaric! They beat me, and-”

“A likely story! Whatever. You may execute them any way you like!” 

Mei-Yi had been studying them silently. The one that had voiced his displeasure was in stark contrast to the other silent murder convict, who just watched the whole thing as if it were amusing. She wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

“Good lady Mei-Yi, would you care to enlighten us all with a public execution?”

The terrified man stared up at Mei-Yi, imploring her pity, until she had to look away out of displeasure. 

“No! I mean, not right now, uh, eh, I don’t think so. How about in private? I think such a busy lord like you has better things to do, right?” 

The magistrate was somewhat disappointed, but instead adjusted his flamboyant golden fingernail coverings. 

“Certainly. I, however, have a little gift for your friend.”

He snapped his fingers, and a servant brought up a sword. 

“Yong-Liang, I recommend you don’t try out your fancy karate gimmicks ever again, since other officials may not have the lovely sense of humor I do. But, as a gift for you for your devotion to the people of China, I give to you your sword.” 

Giving something to Yong-Liang that he pretty much already owned was not particularly generous, but the magistrate liked displaying his wealth, and not so much of the giving away, unless for show. Yong-Liang accepted the sword from the servant with grace nonetheless.

“Thank you, sir.”

The magistrate beamed at this act of supposed charity, and then wiped at the perspiration gathering underneath his cap.

“I must be going now. I think I may be able to get you all a personal audience with Prince Duan himself later on,” he laughed haughtily. “But for now, protect all the villages you can from bandits and devils and all that. But for now, I must bid you farewell, heroes of China.” He waited for the boxers to bow down to him. Mei-Yi wasn’t particularly a big fan of the magistrate man, especially with his sympathetic consolation of the prisoner. She suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, magistrate! You know how we make silk?”

The magistrate did not appreciate being challenged by some peasant woman, no matter her size. 

“Most certainly. The silkworms just secrete it, like a spider. Why do you ask?” 

Mei-Yi grinned.

“Actually, we get the silk from the cocoons. And I am afraid they don’t survive the procedure.”

The magistrate gasped.

“You mean to tell me that-”

“That you committed silkworm genocide? Don’t worry, Her Majesty’s Own Precious Silkworms are safe. This is actually imitation silk.”

“What? Impossible! That’s the finest silk in the-”

“For clothing of this size, we would need every silkworm in China.”

“Outrageous!” he clamored. “I’ll have the tailors executed!”

Mei-Yi was not expecting his reaction to be, well, this.

“Oh no, that’s not necessary, this is good enough-”

“Certainly not! I’ll have them die by a thousand cuts!”

“Actually, you can just send them to me, and I’ll deal with them,” Mei-Yi lied. “In fact, I’ll find them myself.”

The magistrate wasn’t sure how to react, so he just nodded and signalled for his horde of servants to lift him and his sedan chair out of there. Even as their raucous procession waddled away, Mei-Yi’s little squad was still kneeling submissively. The prisoners just stood there awkwardly. They weren’t sure what was going to happen to them. Mei-Yi just stared at the prisoners uncomfortably. She sighed, as she thought to probably get the “execution” over with. Some of the boxers decided to practice martial arts away from Mei-Yi’s potential killing. Li Huang and Yong-Liang remained near her however, but soon started a game of weiqi. Mei-Yi leaned backwards and stopped crouching uncomfortably and instead sat down, now that the magistrate’s presence stopped denying her leg room. She spread her bare feet near the prisoners casually, her wiggling toes stretching high above them. The prisoners recoiled in terror, and Mei-Yi suddenly realized how rude she was. Muttering an apology, she then sat cross legged. There was silence for a little bit. 

“Uh. So. Here, let me free you from that cangue. Hold still.” She leaned forward and reached for the tiny wooden block. Taking as much care not to hurt the two squirming prisoners, she placed two fingers around the cangue, and slowly crushed it to avoid sending any splinters into their eyes. It, despite being a solid hunk of wood, crumbled like a wad of stuck together rice. The prisoners celebrated their new freedom by massaging their necks. Despite their apparent comradery, both of them winced away from each other, sharing an apparent mutual dislike. Mei-Yi, meanwhile, lied down on her belly so she could see the prisoners in much closer detail. She had to get up slowly so as to not cause any unwanted earthquakes, and then had to be exceptionally wary of her surroundings.Once she finally lied down, another awkward silence prevailed. The prisoners could not be expected to speak without being spoken to, since Mei-Yi was fully dominant over them here, as much as she tried to make them feel this was not so. Her gigantic breasts (to them anyway) were all they could see without craning their necks upwards, and if they did so they would have to look at her huge, almost hypnotic eyes. She studied them carefully, unintentionally making them very uncomfortable. She propped her head up with her arms, which tore into the ground, leaving a small indentation to her, but a crater to them. They saw her feet swing around in the air carelessly behind her. Suddenly, there was a cry from the direction of Mei-Yi’s kneeling squad. Kneeling for a long time was uncomfortable, and apparently the squad leader, Tong-Pao, had tumbled over. Now that he wasn’t keeping his face to the ground and butt in the air, Mei-Yi saw he was quite old. He didn’t have such a magnificent beard as Li Huang, but he still did not look to be a fighting type. As soon as Mei-Yi looked at him, Luo-Yang immediately sprang up and ran in front of him, dropping his obnoxiously long pike in the process. He spread his arms out as if to protect him, and looked Mei-Yi straight in the eye. The others rushed to help Tong-Pao up. 

“I’m so sorry, merciful goddess! Please, I beseech you, forgive Tong-Pao for this! He is old, and cannot stand kneeling for long! Kill me instead of him, I beg you, spare him!”

Mei-Yi was rather taken aback at this reaction. She hadn’t even done anything except look at them. The melodramatic display by Luo-Yang was pretty humorous to her, actually. She couldn’t hold back a little giggle. Luo-Yang took this to be cruelty and braced himself.

“I’m sorry, when did I ever say I was going to kill you? Please, I’m not your master! Just do whatever you’d like, for now. And Tong-Bao, I, well, I’m sorry about that. I hope you’re fine.”

Luo-Yang sighed in relief. The younger soldiers started teasing him, but quickly stopped when they realized Mei-Yi was still watching. (Tong-Pao decided not to correct Mei-Yi on the pronunciation of his name.) They were about to bow down again when Mei-Yi expressed her opinions.

“Listen, I’m not the magistrate, so no need to be so formal. Really. And call me Mei-Yi, not ‘merciful goddess’ or whatever. Seriously. Just be casual.” 

The soldiers nodded, but still very coldly, and then ran off to gamble. As Mei-Yi turned her head, she noticed Xiong was staring at her, but quickly ran off to rejoin the others. Mei-Yi now turned to face the prisoners, and cleared her throat. They hadn’t escaped, probably out of fear. 

“So… You.” She pointed at the scared prisoner. “What’s your name?”  

The scared prisoner stared up at her innocent brown eyes, then immediately continued looking at the ground, and gulped. He wore a simple brown tunic with matching pants, nothing out of the ordinary. His remarkably well shaven face had a rather distinct mousey look to it, which seemed to add to his apparently horrendous self-esteem.

“A-a-ao Ling.” this barely registered as a squeak for Mei-Yi. 

“Well, Ao Ling, what did you say about your pigtail?”

“Oh… so, listen, I know this sounds insane, but I recently traveled to America. My father went there to earn money for the family some time ago since they found gold there, and I-I thought I ought to join him eventually, he, uh, opened up his own restaurant there, but that was a complete mistake. They shoved me onto one of these huge metal boats, for what, ten, twenty days, I lost count, and brought me to America.” He paused, not for effect, but rather out of emotion, and shuddered. Mei-Yi did not expect a whole sob story, but still felt very bad for him.

“You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to…”

Ao Ling looked up timidly.

“But if I don’t, you’ll execute me…”

A look of surprised offense materialized over Mei-Yi’s face. 

“No! Why would I do that? Please, keep going. But only if you want to. I’m interested. Like, legitimately.”

The man nodded shyly, and continued.

“The devils made me take off my clothes and they poked me with a bunch of metal instruments. It was humiliating! After that, well, I expected to be greeted by my father, but no, instead there was this crowd of devils, and they beat me horribly! By the hairy whiskers of Dong Zhuo himself, it was awful!” he raised a fist, which to Mei-Yi looked cute. To him, however, it was a sign of defiance. “Why, if there wasn’t a whole horde of them, I would have given them a beating! But they pulled out my queue. They kicked me out of America, and I had to rely on a ship worker’s kindness to return back. I never saw my father.” he finished with a pained look. “So please, on your humanity, have mercy on me. It won’t take much for you not to end my pathetic existence, but for me, it would-”

“Whoa, I’m not going to hurt you! You can go if you want right now, actually. You have a family, right? I can take you to them.” Mei-Yi felt awful for the poor man, and was tempted to pet him, the sobbing little mess cowering on the ground. However, this would have been incredibly humiliating, so she restrained herself.

Ao Ling looked up at her, this time not just for a few seconds.

“R-really? You’re going to let me live? The magistrate said-”

“Of course! When have I ever said I was going to hurt you?” 

For a second, his brow lit up, beaming with joy. Then, it vanished. 

“But I have nowhere to go. I don’t even know where my family is, much less my father. And they’ll actually kill me if they see my hair. I’m not sure what to do.” he rubbed the spot where his queue used to hang sadly. The other prisoner was not particularly sympathetic, and simply scoffed as he stood there with his arms crossed. His queue was in a similar state of nonexistence, but he did not mind. 

“You know, you can stay with me for some time, if you want. We can search for your family, and maybe your father later.” Mei-Yi offered in a tender voice. Well, as tender as she could get her voice to be, considering how loud she spoke now even when whispering. 

“Really?” he looked up to her in amazement.

“Sure! You can also practice shadow boxing with us, in case you ever need it!”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you! I owe you my life, oh wise goddess!” he sang in joy. 

“Yeah, just call me Mei-Yi. All that ‘goddess’ stuff is not really my thing. Now, go join those two over there playing weiqi over there. Once I finish talking to this guy, you all can play mahjong.” she smiled warmly at him. Before, Ao Ling had walked with a shambling gait, but now kept his back straight and a lot more confidence. Mei-Yi redirected her smile towards the other prisoner. 

“So, what’s your name then?”

This prisoner did not have the desperate attitude of Ao Ling. He was pretty much the opposite of Ling, being rather tall and of a sturdy build. His unshaven face was blocky, and had deep eyebrows that seemed to be permanently in a scowl. However, he had the common decency to bend over for Ao Ling while in the cangue so that Ling could actually touch the ground and not just suffocate. He had several marks on his wrists that appeared to be indentations from shackles. 

“Xiang-Ru.” he did not say this in the same terrified way Ao Ling did, but rather it sounded like he was spitting unpleasantly. Mei-Yi did not appreciate this, but continued nonetheless.

“So, the magistrate said you killed someone? Why did you do it?”

Xiang-Ru sighed.

“For the love of Diaochan, what is this? 20 questions?”

“Hey, no need to be so rude. I’m just trying to understand why you did it. The magistrate is not exactly the most credible of witnesses.” she said this last part somewhat softly.

“If you insist. I killed that man because he didn’t pay up. He broke a promise to my family.” he snapped. Mei-Yi blinked a few times, trying to rationalize Xiang-Ru’s words. She really did not want to execute anyone.

“Well, I’m sure he deserved it, since he broke a promise to your family. What was it?”

“No, you dumbass, it’s a gang, not a legitimate family. (Mei-Ying narrowed her eyes a little at this.) That man didn’t just refuse to pay up, he couldn’t pay up. Asshole just would not shut up about taxes or some shit.”

“So, you’re not defending yourself?” Mei-Ying inquired. 

“Why would I defend myself? I literally turned myself in because a brother of the gang actually did it, and was suspected. You think I’m just here to waste everyone’s time? So, you gonna kill me? Or let me go? This is degrading. It’s humiliating to have to answer a shit ton of questions from some giant whore-”

“Hey!” Yong-Liang shouted over from the weiqi table. (It may not have been him actually standing up for her, since he was losing horribly to Li Huang, but we’ll just assume he was.) He stomped briskly over to Xiang-Ru. He glared at Xiang-Ru, and despite Xiang-Ru clearly being able to defend himself, he kept his arms behind his back respectfully. The arrogant look in his face betrayed this gesture though. 

“Listen here, buddy, keep talking like that, and you’ll find my fist to your face real quick.”

Xiang-Ru spat on Yong-Liang’s shoes. 

“You want me to teach this guy a lesson, Mei-Yi?” Yong-Liang clenched his fists.

“Well… he’s clearly guilty, and he feels no repentance. So you can do me a favor, and umm…” Mei-Yi, despite apparently swearing to kill all the foreign devils, found out that when it actually came to the killing, she was a bit squeamish. Xiang-Ru sneered.

“Wait!”

Li Huang came hobbling over with his stick, followed by Ao Ling.

“Mei-Yi, I am sorry, but you have to execute him yourself.” 

“What?” 

Li Huang gave her one of his charismatic stares.

“You have strengthened your body greatly, yes, but you need to strengthen your mind as well. If you do not kill this evil man right now, what will happen when you meet the foreign devils in combat?” Mei-Yi was thinking that maybe she wouldn’t actually kill all of them, and would probably just give them enough of a scare to sod off. 

“Well, if you say so…” Mei-Yi stood up, and brushed her jacket off, (showering everybody with specks of dirt and grass). She stood at the tiny figure of Xiang-Ru below her.

“Please, renounce your crime and I’ll gladly let you live.” Mei-Yi pleaded.

“Will you let me go free?”

“Well… I’m sorry, but I have to defend justice. Your brother, I think I’ll have to- I mean, I don’t think I can let you go.” 

“And live in bondage with you and your precious disciples? So my brother can get shot by the magistrate’s goonies? Ah, fuck you. Listen to the geezer.” Despite her shooting imploring glances at him, (he really was the opposite of Ao Ling) he refused to cast his scowl away.

Mei-Yi didn’t want to get her hands dirty, so she raised her foot over him. According to Li Huang, she could only hurt people she wanted to. She decided to think about it logically. By letting this guy live, she was actively obstructing justice. If she let him go, him and his gang would probably kill even more people. In a moment of decisiveness, she stomped her foot to the ground, half-hoping for him to just collapse over like Yong-Liang. There was a sickening crunch. She did not dare to lift her foot up. Tears welled up in her eyes. There was an eerie moment of silence.

“I suppose we’re not doing mahjong then.” remarked Yong-Liang gloomily.

Mei-Yi sat in her own posterior shaped indentation in the ground, holding her knees thoughtfully. The rest of the camp was eating lunch cheerfully, but she was exempt since currently she felt more ponderous than boisterous. Mei-Yi still felt awful about Xiang-Ru, and despite cleaning up the mess (with a lot of help from Yong-Liang), she continued to feel the mushy remains on her foot. She always checked as soon as she felt it, but her foot was perfectly clean. The boxer “camp” was no more than a bundle of untidy sleeping bags spread haphazardly throughout the bare ground. The soldiers slept separately in their little clique in tents. The boxers, however, refused to do so, since they had sworn themselves to poverty. Some of them grumbled about this, but none of them actually did anything beyond that. She looked over at the soldiers, who sat far away from the rest of the boxers. They weren’t shunned because they used Western firearms, though. As evil as the foreign devils supposedly were, the boxers reluctantly admitted that they weren’t particularly stupid, especially in the fields of killing things. The soldiers were hated because of how useless they were. The once-proud Chinese army now couldn’t even defend itself against a bunch of drug dealers. If a group of kung-fu zealots has to do the job for you, then there’s a problem. Though obviously it wasn’t their fault as individuals, they still weren’t very popular. This dislike showed in their meals. While the rest of the boxers ate home-cooked meals full of fresh meat and vegetables supplied by local villagers (better for the boxers, sworn protectors of the peasantry, to eat it rather than bandits), the soldiers had to make do with meager half-boiled rice and dried meat rations they had brought themselves, which they carried around in bandoliers. Mei-Yi glanced at the little circle of soldiers, sitting around a tub of rice. Their rifles were leaned against each other to create a sort of conical structure. The trademark queue meandered its way down their backs, and their thick disposition was reminiscent of a rat’s tail. Each had their own little bowl, and fished out of the tub if they needed more. Mei-Yi saw Xiong reach in with his chopsticks, and fiddle around as his compatriots peeked into the tub as well but did not join in. After some time, Xiong managed to pluck out a ball of rice no larger than his fingernail. He raised it to the others, implying if they wanted it he would give it to them. They apparently denied, and he stuck it straight in his mouth instead of his bowl. Then, they simply sat around and chatted, occasionally shooting an envious glance at the boxers. The tub was empty. Mei-Yi decided this would not do, and crawled over to the boxers, simultaneously thinking that she was never going to get used to this. (There was no reason to get up, take one point five steps and then sit back down.) The boxers were far from finished in their meal. The quantity of food, along with Ao Ling’s tragic tale of the foreign devils allowed them to take their time. It seemed the villagers were grateful for justice. 

“Hey, Mei-Yi? Want some?” Yong-Liang raised his bowl of chow mein, while happily stuffing meat into his mouth, but curiously avoiding the vegetables. A nearby villager strained to hold up a large pot full of stir fried beef for her. Mei-Yi smiled warmly, and picked it up with two fingers. She took great care not to press too hard, lest it explode on everyone. She placed it on her palm, and nodded at the villager and then Yong-Liang.

“Thank you, but it’s for the soldiers over there. They look a bit sad.”

Yong-Liang slurped heartily. Even though Mei-Yi’s voice was loud, it wasn’t ear piercingly loud, and still retained her feminine innocence.

“Really? Why don’t they just eat with us then?”

Mei-Yi was confused.

“Wait, are you excluding them or are they excluding you?”

“Neither, probably. Just a little shy, I think.” Yong-Liang shrugged and continued to listen to Ao Ling talk about how the devils had pulled his pigtail out. Though initially it had been a cheerful, casual anecdote, it now became a solemn moment of pondering as Ao Ling became progressively more choked up. Mei-Yi was unfortunately ignorant of this, since she was still feeling incredibly guilty of Xiang-Ru’s murder, er, “execution.”

“Right, well, enjoy your meal.” She crawled over to the soldiers, but not before hearing Li Huang scold Yong-Liang for his dietary habits.

“Yong-Liang, eat those vegetables. Unless you want to get scurvy.”

As she crawled over to the soldiers, they winced backwards subconsciously. She physically saw their faces lose their color. The spearman, Luo-Yang, had been in the middle of cracking a joke with a grin on his face, but as soon as Mei-Yi came over, he stopped and abruptly assumed a neutral, if not frowning, expression. Only Xiong looked normally at her, with a bit of childish naivety.

“What do you want?” This was spoken in a rather aggressive tone by Luo-Yang, but Tong-Pao waved this aggression down with one gnarly hand. Besides the aggression, his voice fluctuated a bit from fear. Mei-yi lied down on her tummy again. She wanted to get to know these soldiers. Also, it was likely they had killed people before, and she needed some reassuring about that. The rest of the boxers had only beaten bandits up, and had never actually killed. (Yet.)

“You guys looked hungry, so I supposed you could use some more food. And, uh, you can join them if you want.” She tilted her hand so that the pot slid down into the reach of the soldiers.

Xue-Yu stood up, and accepted the pot. As opposed to Xiong’s nearly compass-drawn circular face, Luo-Yang had a very lengthy one. His protruding cheekbones were also noticeable. His sharp nose and aquiline features would have made him a quite dashing individual, if not betrayed by his dull eyes. His eyelids were always half closed, which gave him a permanently sleepy or bored expression. His mouth kind of drooped as well, revealing his eye-catching buck teeth.

“Thank you, miss.” Now, he spoke calmly. He handed the pot over to the rest of his compatriots, and took a deep breath. Luo-Yang could not muster the courage to look Mei-Yi in the eye, so instead resolved to look to the side of her head. 

“However, please remember, that we are not boxers. We serve only Her Imperial Highness, and only her, and while out here, we serve Captain Tong-Pao, as he is the giver of Her Majesty’s word.” He spoke this robotically, as if reading from a paper, but this confidence was let down after he gulped nervously after glancing at Mei-Yi breasts that were probably bigger than a junk. “Under the circumstances we are with you, but please do not expect us to bow down to you.” They weren’t actually that keen on serving the Empress, who didn’t even acknowledge their existence, but rather did not trust Mei-Yi’s ability to lead. Due to her size, they assumed she would take the dominant position, and abuse her pedestal. 

“Alright, I’m just trying to be friendly. Can I at least ‘command’ you to talk with me?” Mei-Yi was kind of annoyed at the coldness they displayed, but she reasoned that fighting for a giant woman may be kind of disorienting. Tong-Pao nodded sagely, but still cautiously.

“Okay, so have any of you killed anyone before? Any foreign devils?”

If working for a giant woman was disorienting, then having a giant woman ask you such a blunt question would be too. The soldiers were taken aback, and looked at her in disbelief. Mei-Yi flushed and looked away.

“Sorry, but remember yesterday? That triad gangster, I, well, uh, you know…” she didn’t like the looks they were giving her. “Hey, just because I’m bigger, doesn’t mean I’m not human! I need compassion, not judgement!”

Xue-Yu stood up with his fists sticking firmly behind him, but actually stared directly at her, and made eye contact. He was a meek little man, and looked like he belonged in a library rather than the army. Xue-Yu wore thick spectacles that magnified his elfin eyes many times larger. Though not as old as Li Huang, he had a short moustache that was well-coiffed and organized in two different triangular segments, and had a few grey hairs in his waning queue. Though he seemed frail, he had a Western revolver tucked into his sash.

“Yes, yes I have. For Guan-Yu’s sake, yes. I have killed someone before. If I were you, I would have also done the same thing with the triad gangster. So there. Is that all, or will you ‘command’ us to be your personal boxer pals?” Xue-Yu, like most other non-boxers, spoke in a trembling voice of repressed fear that gave Mei-Yi the dominant position implicitly. But here his voice trembled more in anger than actual fear. Tong-Pao ushered Xue-Yu down with (clearly audible) whispers, but Mei-Yi still felt a little like crying. 

“Why are you being so harsh? I just wanted to talk to you, and you’re insulting me. Seriously, I mean you all no harm. So just calm down, and talk to me, okay?”

Nobody said anything for a few seconds. 

“We’re sorry, Mei-Yi.” Xiong’s quiet voice broke the uncomfortable silence. Xue-Yu did not seem pleased. 

“Sure thing, we can do that.” Tong-Pao quickly interjected to attempt to defuse the situation. He turned to Xue-Yu, who was still looking at Mei-Yi. “Xue-Yu, kindly apologize to her.” 

“I apologize for my rude remarks.” Mei-Yi nodded at him, started to say something, stopped, and then finally decided to commit.

“Actually, can you please tell me why you were so angry at me? I’m genuinely interested.” Xue-Yu paused for a few moments.

“Uh, I’m kind of tired and I’m in a bad mood. Really sorry.” Xue-Yu said, but this time he broke eye contact with Mei-Yi. Mei-Yi doubted that a soldier who had trained for years would not be able to control himself. Plus, if he was really tired, he would not have bothered to say anything at all. He was lying. 

“No, really. I can tell you’re not telling the truth. Please, tell me. I promise to listen.” She tried to give him a kindly, passive look, but you can only look so docile when you’re talking to someone who you could easily fit in your mouth. The rest of the soldiers took this as an opportunity to wolf down the pot of food. 

“Fine, fine. Look, I’m not a big fan of you and your friend’s “kill the foreign devil” slogan thingy.” 

Boxers were known to parade around in towns and cities, preaching the extermination of all foreign devils. In fact, the often recited boxer motto was “support the Qing, slaughter the foreign devils.” At the very least, the more lenient ones wanted all of them out of China.

“Are you a collaborator with them?” 

“No, it’s just, I guess you could say my father was. You remember the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom, right?”

Mei-Yi nodded. The Taiping Heavenly Kingdom was essentially a bunch of cultists that banded together under someone who claimed he was Jesus’ little brother. Although most folk dismissed it as a horde of zealots, it was actually an uprising of the mistreated poor, since a simple cult would not have affected all of China. The revolt killed countless millions, and destroyed much of the Middle Kingdom.

“Those religious cultists, right? So why don’t you seem to hate the devils? The Taipings followed a devil religion.” 

“Yes, but my father fought against them. They were terribly cruel, those Taipings.”

“As cruel as the foreigners?”

“Perhaps. They massacred entire villages for not converting to their devil religion. But, that’s not the point. You see, even though we were fighting foreign-corrupted soldiers, my father served under a devil.”

Mei-Yi was surprised. The foreign devils? The people who had taken HER father, destroyed countless villages, and blemished her country with opium, vice and depravity? 

“Wait, so you mean-”

“Let me speak. My father did not follow the devil religion, I can assure you. He hated the foreigners as much as you do, but after he served this particular devil, he changed. He even said this fellow was the most noble man to exist, even if a devil. My father once said that he was a direct blessing from heaven, that he was superior in manners, morals and skill to any foreigner he had ever seen, and he insisted on paying soldiers in full.” Less scrupulous officials (perhaps the magistrate) often pocketed government money that was meant to pay soldiers or paid them much less. Xue-Yu continued.

“His name was Gordon. I heard he died in Sudan somewhere. But you see, this is why I’m the translator.” Mei-Yi guiltily realized she forgot his role and his name entirely actually, but continued listening. “I devoted my life to learning the foreign languages. Not devil languages, mind you, foreign languages. I’ve met a lot of foreigners in my life, and I can tell you this, not all of them are awful. I don’t know what experience you had with them, but they are not all bad. I can tell you that much. Many of my teachers, many of which were like a second father to me, were devils. Which is why I was offended by your “kill all the foreign devils” slogan. But I’m really sorry. Really, I am. I don’t know what you’ve been through with the foreigners, so I was wrong to be so harsh.” 

 Mei-Yi was silent for a bit, since bringing up her experiences with the devils and her father was not pleasant. But she was grateful for Xue-Yu admitting all this and generally warming up to her. Observing this silence, the other soldiers ate somewhat more quietly. 

“Thank you, Xue-Yu. I didn’t know about that. I forgive you. My father was… killed by the foreign devils. I dunno, I just felt so… ...powerless. There was nothing I could have done to stop them.” She narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Now that I have the power to fight back, I certainly shall. We’ll see how they like it. And, uh, thank you for being so honest with me, but I’m not entirely convinced about the foreigners. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” 

Xue-Yu nodded gravely, and gave her his condolences.

“The thing is, the Middle Kingdom itself is powerless like you were. But the government lacks the resolve to fight back like you do. Our government is full of corruption, focusing more on filling their treasuries than the stomachs of the people. The foreigners simply exploit our weakness, like the cessation of Annam, Port Arthur, Qingdao, Formosa, Korea, Hong Kong, and many others. Cutting up our country like a cake to be served to petulant brats! Believe me, there are evil foreigners, but there are good ones, thank Nuwa. Plus, their technology is intriguing as well. But we can only take the good and leave behind the bad, like… ...opium, and all that.”

Mei-Yi muttered her agreement. Xue-Yu, though still hungry, decided to allow his mates to dig in, as he prepared for another monologue by adjusting his glasses. 

“To be honest, us Imperial soldiers thought you boxers were a bunch of genocidal, backwards robbers that would punish each other for the slightest of misdeeds.”

Mei-Yi interrupted.

“The Society of Righteous Fists fights for justice. We don’t just fight foreign devils, we fight all kinds of evil. We defend villages from bandits, thieves, and other hooligans. We provide what the Qing cannot…... no offense. I’m sure sometimes we’ve gone overboard, but certainly, the Society is an incorruptible force that fights for the people.”

“Yes, YOU certainly do, but what about other sects? The Society is not one giant organization, but rather a loose collection of various militia. And you certainly fight for justice, but others that call themselves boxers may not. They just take advantage of the situation to loot and destroy. Trust me, I know.”

“They’re not boxers, then. They’re simply thieves and thugs pretending to be boxers.” 

“I see now we are mistaken about your ability to lead. I think you have proven yourself to be an exceptionally kind person, indeed. Kindness is an undervalued asset these days, especially in the Imperial court. It’s all backstabbing and poisoning and blaming.” The Qing Imperial Court was not very scrupulous, as evidenced by the magistrate. Xue-Yu was complimented by nods of approval by his fellow soldiers. 

“Sorry about that, Mei-Yi. I can see I judged you wrongly.” Luo-Yang admitted.

“Not a problem. And thank you, Xue-Yu. I won’t keep bothering you, so do enjoy your meal.” beamed Mei-Yi. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Later that day, Mei-Yi trained alone. She wanted to train with the other boxers, but it would be highly impractical to do so. It was strange to practice without Li Huang shouting out the count. She started out with basic punches. Each punch caused a massive gust of wind, which bent and gnarled the miniscule trees. The fluttering of her clothes was also quite noticeable, resonatingly rustling as she turned her hip to accentuate her punches. After that was done, she elected to skip blocking, since there would be nothing to block really. Her toes dug into the ground as she steadied herself for kicking. The soldiers watched with interest. Luo-Yang noticed that Xiong was watching a little too closely. While the others were watching with somewhat passing interest and chatting, Xiong was fixated on the form of Mei-Yi’s well-toned leg.

“Hey, Hui-Liang! You ought to be careful. The boxers say if you lust after a woman too much, your yang will get polluted by yin!” he teased. Yin and yang were the forces apparently responsible for Mei-Yi’s growth. Yang was the masculine one, which the male boxers harnessed with their chastity and thus became invincible to bullets and swords. Female boxers were actually in a different organization due to the stringent chastity rules, and were deemed “Red Lanterns.” (Actually Red Lanterns for young women, Blue Lanterns for middle aged women, and Black Lanterns for elderly women.)

“Shush!” Xiong’s face turned red and he covered it hastily.

“Don’t worry, though! If you train with the boxers, you could perform a ritual for her to like you!” 

Xiong swallowed his annoyance, and instead asked for advice. Despite Luo-Yang sometimes being annoying, he was still his best friend. 

“You think I should talk to her?”

“Not when she’s practicing. Wait for her to take a break or something. I’ll come with you, for moral support.” Xiong nodded gratefully. Mei-Yi was indeed quite pretty. She wore her hair in buns, not out of a want for beauty, but to be pragmatic. Fighting with long, flowing hair would be a disadvantage. (Sometimes, the boxers would tie their queue into a bundle so that it wouldn’t swing around incessantly.) Round eyes peered out from behind strips of shiny black hair. Mei-Yi’s smooth skin underscored her sturdy disposition, though not bulging with muscle. Her peach shaped face was proportionately plump, but not obese. Being overly waifish may have been beautiful to some, but Mei-Yi was a bit chubbier thanks to her priorities not being appearance-related. As such, Mei-Yi had finished off the kicks, and was now going to shadowbox. Though not very logical, (the foreign devils were the same size as her pals) it would be a good exercise to train stamina. Xiong and Luo-Yang approached cautiously, lest one of her exercises accidentally sent them flying. Mei-Yi held her fists up, and began to bounce forwards and backwards. The balls of her feet rolled effortlessly on the ground, scarring the ground immensely. This was to maintain mobility and to be unpredictable. However, this footwork was not meant to actually be an offensive move. Her prancing feet shook the earth so much that Xiong and Luo-Yang toppled over.

“Mei-Yi! Hey! Stop!”

Mei-Yi stopped. She saw them almost immediately, given how much their blue uniforms stood out in the rough grassland. She knelt down as face-to-face as she could and tried to help them up using a finger. This was way too big for them to grab on, but they appreciated the thought.

“Sorry about that. You guys okay?” her eyebrows curled upwards in worry.

“Yeah, no problem.” Luo-Yang answered. This was in stark contrast to his earlier demeanor. Luo-Yang knew when to joke and when to be serious. And this was not a time for the latter. “Hui-Liang here has something he wants to say to yo” Mei-Yi leaned in closer, as Xiong Hui-Liang turned bright red. Mei-Yi covered his view of the horizon and the blue firmament above. 

“Sure, what is it?

“Um… I, uh, just wanted to tell you that, erm, you look, well, uh, pretty today…” Xiong whimpered bashfully. Mei-Yi batted her eyelashes alluringly.

“Really? That’s sweet of you...”

“Yeah, I love your h-” Xiong quickly stopped, and realized that “love” might be too strong a word. Mei-Yi gazed at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Uh, actually, I don’t love you- No, no, I do love you, um, not like that, I don’t love-love you, I just love you like, uh, how I love dumplings, yeah.” Mei-Yi was a little confused, because ‘loving’ her the way he loved dumplings implied he wanted to eat her. However, she could tell he meant well, despite his poor phrasing. 

“Uh, okay. Thank you.”

Xiong tried to end it there, but Luo-Yang patted him on the back and propelled him slightly forwards. “Maybe we should talk sometime? You, um, have time right now?” Xiong blurted out. Mei-Yi remembered something and looked away awkwardly. 

“Sorry, not right now. I have to talk to Ao Ling right now. Don’t worry, we can talk later.” She patted Xiong gently with her pinkie finger, and then strode away rather quickly. 

“I thought she was practicing?” Luo-Yang scrutinized while Xiong dejectedly tried to pull his squashed turban up. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Xiong, it was just that helping someone’s belated family reunion come together seemed more important than curing someone’s boredom. But Xiong didn’t know that.

Li Huang methodically croaked out the count as the boxers punched and kicked in unison. Some of the villagers joined in too, and it wouldn’t be long before they shed their plain colorless tunics for the vivid white surcoats of the boxers. Some of the boxers still wore the archetypical conical straw hat as symbols of their humble origins, but most preferred a crimson headband or just a bare head. Ao Ling had resigned to watching the boxers practice from the sidelines. A local villager’s generosity had solved the issue of his disfigured hair, and he covered it up with a skull cap. But the queue that always stuck out from underneath was still very noticeably missing. Mei-Yi’s presence was also very noticeable, and Ao Ling started quickly after hearing the noisy swishing of grass being flattened by her feet. Realizing it was just Mei-Yi, he scratched a scab under his hat absentmindedly as she lied down with him. Not really ‘with,’ since her face was far from his level. It was more like breast-to-whole-body. But lying down was probably the closet she could get.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” As cordial as Mei-Yi’s voice was, Ao Ling was still intimidated. But his confidence with her had improved significantly since last time, as he was not begging for his life.

“So, not a big fan of martial arts?” 

“No, just been thinking a bit. About my family and such.”

“Hmm. Say, you know where your family is?” 

“I’m afraid not. They’re probably somewhere in this province, but I really don’t know. That son of a bitch magistrate probably fined my estate and evicted them.” he shook his head disdainfully and buried his face in his hands. Though he was exactly not a bodybuilder, Ao Ling still possessed the thick arms and calloused palms of a worker. “And my father’s probably still in America, and he doesn’t know about this, so he’s still sending money to that estate. And his money, which he earned with his sweat and tears is going to that fucking magistrate.” 

“I’m sorry. Do you have a picture of your family? We could track them down that way.”

Ao Ling rubbed his scalp causing his cap to slip off. He took no notice.

“That dumb cunt! I carried a picture of my family and my father with me, but they confiscated it. (As ancient and mystical the Chinese seem, “dumb cunt” is surprisingly common an insult, even today.) I even had my father’s address in America, but that pompous moron even took that. I can’t exactly remember foreign words, can I? Helpless, in both America and my own country!”  He started sobbing quietly. Mei-Yi felt a lot of second hand pain from his helplessness at the situation so she patted him gently on the back with her hand. It was more like hitting, and after one ‘pat’ which had Ao Ling keeling over a little, she stopped, and switched from physical comfort to verbal. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll ‘convince’ the magistrate to return everything. Once the foreigners are expelled from our country, you’ll find your family again. I’ll make that happen. I promise.” 

Ao Ling’s crying subsided for a few seconds, and turned to bubbling anger.

“It’s so goddamned unfair! For Cao Cao’s sake, it’s not fair! These people can just do whatever the hell they want! That magistrate hasn’t worked a day in his life, and yet he can still order everyone around. Those devils, just because our army is useless (the soldiers were out of earshot) the devils get to push us around. Such cruelty!” 

“That’s why the Society of Righteous Fists exists, Ao Ling! We fight for equality, to knock corruption down a peg! You really should try training with Yong-Liang and the others. It’ll take your mind off your family. Plus, you can defend yourself better.”

Although their conversation was sporadically disturbed by Li Huang’s hoarse voice shouting out the counts, it became even more jarring when this stopped. Mei-Yi looked over, cupping her hand around Ao Ling as if to protect him. Three men were now talking to Li Huang. They could not have been villagers, since they were dressed like scholars. Their long smocks stretched down to their knees. Two of them wore glasses, not some cheap kind made locally, but of the noble variety, with gold embellishments. Without warning, they bowed down to him, in the extremely subservient way people were expected to bow to an official. Li Huang escorted them back up, and they talked in harsh whispers. In the meantime, Yong-Liang continued the count. Once Li Huang and the strangers finished, Li Huang gave his staff several sharp taps. As everyone else snapped to attention, Li Huang gestured for them to gather around him.

Mei-Yi picked up the distraught Ao Ling and settled him down in her pocket, since he did not show any intention of listening to what Li Huang had to say. Plus, even though her jacket was imitation silk, it still was comfortable to touch.

Li Huang faced the crowd of boxers, red lanterns, boxers to be, and red lanterns to be, flanked by the strangers. His ancient eyes studied the confident faces of the young men and women in front of him.

“Listen, brothers and sisters! We, the Society Of Righteous And Harmonious Fists, have fought for justice valiantly in the countryside! You already know foreigners control much of China. Foreign soldiers patrol our forts, foriegn warships rest in our ports. Foreign unequal treaties control our very own government. Foreign merchants steal our resources, foreign drugs enslave the people, foreign machines blemish the clear skies with smoke, and foreign gods disturb the spirits of our ancestors. China is a prostate cow. No longer satisfied with her milk, the foreigners are now butchering her for her meat. The Germans have taken Qingdao, the Russians Port Arthur and the British Hong Kong. The French have Guangxi and Annam. The Japanese Formosa and Korea. Is it not a surprise that we, the common people, have risen up in revolt? And worse, the Imperial government is apathetic. Surrounded by an army of eunuchs, servants, and amenities, they ignore the commoners’ plight. Black tidings have reached us, from the capital of our great nation, Beijing! These strangers have risked their lives to inform me. The foreigners have corrupted Beijing, the heart of our country! Sections of our own capital are off limits to us! Foreign armies walk the streets, doing whatever they please! Until now. Now, the Society of Righteous and Harmonious fists will no longer tolerate the crimes against China. They ask us to put down our arms so that they may forgive our crimes against the foreign   devils. Contrariwise, THEY should lay down THEIRS so we might forgive their crimes against China! Tomorrow, we march for Beijing! We shall join our fellow boxers there, root out the foreign devils, and restore glory to the black-headed peoples!” The response to this heartfelt speech was a raucous rumble of cheering. Mei-Yi, remembering what Xue-Yu had said about the foreign devils, clapped loudly, but still conscientiously. She knew the foreigners were destroying her country, and she still held painful memories involving her village. But she kept Xue-Yu’s words in mind. Perhaps the foreign devils would learn that what they were doing was wrong, and rectify themselves. But she knew she could not count on such developments, and would probably have to give them a little reminder.

“But remember! Do not stoop to the level of the foreigners! Do not forget, we are defenders of peace and justice, not just China! Have compassion for the weak! If a devil surrenders, you will give him/her/it mercy! Do not lust after women! Even the slightest amount of yin can corrupt your yang! Resist corruption, even if it is in your favor! If a fellow brother or sister commits wrongs, correct them! Compose yourself in a manner worthy of example and praise! And finally, protect your fellow brothers and sisters with your lives! Now, onto Beijing!”

The plan was quite simple. Li Huang and the rest of the boxers would head directly to Beijing and begin preparing to kick the foreign devils out. Mei-Yi, Yong-Liang, and her ‘private squad’ would take a much longer journey, visiting as many villages as possible on their way to Beijing, to convince them of their noble cause. Her size was enough proof for anyone to be convinced the gods were on their side. In the meantime, she would also defend the villages from bandits and foreign devils if needed. She also planned to take an unofficial detour, visiting a certain magistrate. Ao Ling, despite wanting to go train with the others, decided that being seen without his queue was not exactly too good an idea and instead tagged along with Mei-Yi.

Li Huang and the main group left long before Mei-Yi woke up, probably to avoid convoluted tearful goodbyes. Breakfast was particularly unpleasant for the soldiers, as the villagers did not appreciate their continued existence. Those that didn’t leave with the boxers anyway. There was some debate about how they would travel with Mei-Yi, given her size it would have been nigh impossible for them to just walk with her. Ao Ling helpfully suggested the jacket pocket idea, which was unanimously approved. And thus began their journey. But they seemed to have underestimated actually getting into the pocket, by ‘they’ meaning Luo-Yang’s stupidly long pike.

“Here, lift it up a bit, yes, now, put it sideways, careful!” Tong-Pao ordered as Luo-Yang, only his scraggy hands clasping onto the pike visible from inside the pocket, tried to wriggle the pike in such a position so that it fit tightly into her pocket and held the fabric upwards. Not very practical, but having it stick out of her pocket sideways seemed a bit jarring.The blade was sheathed by a crude cloth cover that ensured it didn’t pierce Mei-Yi’s jacket, but that wasn’t the only thing in danger of breaking. Mei-Yi calmly stood there, stretching her pocket opening with one finger. She was kind of annoyed by all this, as Luo-Yang wasn’t going to be impaling horses anytime soon considering she, pretty much a goddess, was with him. Her patience was thinning slowly, since he actually had managed to cram it in, only to say that it was in a bad position and then swing it out again. 

“Can we maybe hurry it up? A village might be getting raided while we’re doing this.”

“Alright, alright, lemme just-” Luo-Yang swung the pike into the opening decisively. Unfortunately, as soon as Mei-Yi saw this, she pulled her over stretched pocket down so the pike would fit upright in her pocket. (Again, not the smartest of ideas.) As she did so, she pressed down with a little too much force, and she felt the tip of the pike snap. 

“Oops! Did anything break?”

“Uh, yeah. Everything.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

Although she feigned an apology, Mei-Yi was secretly relieved this troublesome affair had been dismissed. Not really an issue for Luo-Yang, since he could just use his sword. More likely, he wouldn’t even get a chance to use anything at all. Mei-Yi was much more disconcerted at how much power she had though. She had barely noticed her movement. One little involuntary jerk of the muscles, and the spear broke. She hoped this accident would not repeat with a person. Li Huang’s words, as wisely crackly as his voice was, did not fully dissuade all the anxieties underlying her concerns. 

“So.” she addressed the little group of soldiers waiting below (also similarly irritated). “You want to get in yourself, or should I lend you a hand?” 

“Please, help us in. We don’t need to spend another hour or so trying to climb in.” Mei-Yi was particularly pleased that it was Xue-Yu who voiced his accord. To let oneself be kept in another’s pocket did require a fair amount of trust. Mei-Yi simpered contentedly, and placed them snugly into one pocket. Yong-Liang and Ao Ling went in the other. Though it was dark and crowded in the pocket, there was much comfort in being under Mei-Yi’s protection. The soft texture of the jacket was also a source of comfort, as it was like being smothered with blankets in bed. 

“Don’t we have a navigator? I don’t know how to get to Beijing.” Mei-Yi realized that walking aimlessly was not going to get them to Beijing. 

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Mei-Yi saw a little hand protrude from within her pocket, waving. She pinched up the owner of said hand, and placed him gingerly on her palm, face level. He, like pretty much anybody, was a bit nervous seeing a face so larger than his. He decided to hide this by busying himself with setting up his navigation tools.

“I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“Kan-Tu.” Kan-Tu’s dress was the same as his comrades, but instead of ammunition and scabbards dangling from his sash there were strange metal instruments (no doubt some of them foreign) and a case with a rolled up map. He had an unassuming, angular face, and his lips were parted in an “o” shape, giving him the impression of eternal curiosity. His facial hair was not very noticeable, and Mei-Yi had to really look at him to notice. Near the ends of his upper lip were mere suggestions of a mustache, like a faint shadow. His eyebrows were similarly patchy. From his sash he produced some sort of odd black spoon, and a golden square with all sorts of little markings on it. Placing the spoon in the center of the square, he tried to hold it parallel to the ground. This was not easy considering he was being held by the uneven hands of a colossal girl, but he tried his best. As Mei-Yi watched in interest, the spoon shifted a smidge by itself. Mei-Yi tried to keep her hand still since it would interfere with Kan-Tu’s process, but the spoon then turned completely autonomously. Kan-Tu didn’t bend or turn the square, the spoon simply moved as if propelled by an unseen force. Kan-Tu read the markings on the square, and then put it down. Pulling out a strange metal instrument that looked like a fat golden pancake of sorts, he flipped its cover up, where a bunch of tiny tick marks and needles pointed. Mei-Yi could not see the details on it very well, but she noticed the needles moving, again unaided. Kan-Tu chuckled and put everything away. He pointed confidently.

“Aha. North-East. That way is Beijing. ” Mei-Yi was a bit confused on what just happened, which was rich considering she was literally a transformed giantess.

“Thanks. So, what happened there? What was with the spoon? Are you a magician?”

“Certainly not! The spoon is made of lodestone, and always points South, since it has north-south polarity. The golden compass is a Western copy, but it works just as well, though pointing to the North. It seems the foreigners are not as stupid as I thought. I knew the way to Beijing by heart, but just wanted to make sure.” 

Mei-Yi pretended to understand, and after thanking him and placing him back in, set off. Mei-Yi heard the muffled chatting of the occupants of her pockets. Stepping over fallen trees and boulders gracefully in her bare feet, she located a crudely-paved road pointing roughly towards Beijing. The road was already crumbling,  and several sharp rocks poked out flagrantly, which would probably be quite the liability for horses. Not wanting to damage it even more, she followed it but walked to the side of it. Towering over the tallest of trees, Mei-Yi could see far ahead, but there wasn’t much to see except empty grassland. But it wasn’t long before she spotted a patrol of foreigners. Though much too far away to see closely, they were dressed in matching khaki and marched in the opposite direction of her in parallel columns on the road. She reached in her pocket for Yong-Liang, who vocalized his surprise when her giant hand reached for him and fished him out. 

“Hey.”

What’s up?”

“You see that over there?”

Mei-Yi gestured towards the faraway blob of khaki. Yong-Liang placed his hands over his eyes to shield the sun, and gasped.

“Foreign devils! Quickly! Stop them before they loot another village!” 

“But don’t the foreigners have black magic and stuff? What if-”

“They might, but it’s not a match for the power of the gods!”

“Okay! Okay!” Mei-Yi hurriedly stuffed him in her pocket. With her large size, it was not hard for her to catch up to them. But it was hard to keep them from knowing that. By the time they were close enough for Mei-Yi to heave a rock at them, they were already organized in a firing line forming a terrifying phalanx of what appeared to be thick spears. The standing row lifted up their line of rifle tips with practiced hands, hanging over their kneeling companion’s heads, who positioned their bayonet-fixed rifle like a spear. Behind them, two machine guns had been set up to cover their flanks. Mei-Yi, despite dwarfing them immensely, was still frightened. Memories from her village flooded back. Their Western rifles were of the same long, threatening type used by the very soldiers in her pocket, but the way the foreigners looked made the rifles look even scarier. Unlike the traditional, familiar uniforms the soldiers donned, these troops wore all foreign fatigues with all sorts of devious pockets and pouches. These foreigners had some sort of odd cloth hat with what appeared to be a spike protruding out of the top rudely. Their moustaches were even worse than what she remembered. Not only were they coarsely brushed, resembling a bird’s nest exploding, but some of them curved upwards like the horns on a bull. Their faces were unnaturally still, their lips stiff, their eyes narrowing in unison. The sun reflected on some of their glasses, giving their eyes a ghostly glowing appearance. The machine guns were rather unnerving, too. Standing on an odd three legged stand like an injured dog, a riveted metal cylinder ended in a metallic box. The terrifyingly stoic crew twisted the devilish machine towards Mei-Yi’s face. The officer of this demonic army, sporting a horned moustache, lifted a pistol condescendingly. When he/it opened his/its mouth, Mei-Yi expected words to form out. Instead, a string of harsh, nonsensical growls escaped. 

Mei-Yi did not claim to be an expert in the devil language, but Xue-Yu did. Fishing Xue-Yu out, she was reluctant to place him on the ground in the company of these monsters. But he insisted, so she crouched down and did so. Xue-Yu said something in the foreign language as well. It was still recognizably the same guttural noises as the foreigners, though there was some relief in having him say it.

“The foreigners ask if we are the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists. I said yes. They don’t see you as much of a threat, since their arrogant confidence in their weapons has blinded them. They ask us to surrender, and become their prisoners, for our crimes against the foreigners. What should I say to them?” Mei-Yi was afraid, no doubt, but was confident that the spirits would not fail her. She thought of what Li Huang said in his speech.

“Tell them to lay down their arms instead, and become our prisoners, for their crimes against China!”

She delivered this in a sonorous shout, while glaring at the foreign devils, who backed up slightly. For a moment, Mei-Yi saw their confident facade be replaced with a frightened gape. This threat lost a lot of its effect when recited and translated by the calmer Xue-Yu. 

The officer patronizingly adjusted the luxurious monocle that perched on his cheek that made him look like he had some deranged form of heterochromia. He spat in the ground, and barked a single foreign syllable. He fired his pistol, but his arm went flying wildly, as if he was not used to the recoil. He missed completely, but the line of rifles behind him erupted into a geyser of fire and smoke, emphasized by the raucous crack of the rifles. The constant popping of the machine guns joined in. The machine guns’ quick rate of fire let them keep up an incessant stream of bullets towards Mei-Yi, like lethal horizontal rain. But they sprayed inaccurately, as if the rain was blown off course by a strong wind. Mei-Yi staggered backwards a little, until she realized it had no effect on her after a second volley was let loose. Regaining her confidence, she smiled at them. Xue-Yu had hit the ground, and was covering his head with his hands, but stood back up when he realized they were only targeting Mei-Yi.

“Last chance! Stop shooting now, and I’ll consider letting you live.” She did more than just consider this, and hoped that they would just talk it out and get along nicely. Though translated by Xue-Yu, the foreigners continued shooting at her. 

“Come on, men! Aim for the head! The Iron Cross will soon be ours!” snarled the officer, shooting his pistol ineffectively. (Xue-Yu translated this little piece of extraneous dialogue to show Mei-Yi they had no intention of surrendering.) Mei-Yi sighed, and as a last ditch attempt to resolve the matter peacefully, stood up to her full height. Lifting one gigantic foot over their pathetic line, she purposely wriggled her toes over them, drizzling them with little bits of dirt and grass. They were not in a position to make demands. 

The line broke. Seeing her show of power, the soldiers lost the stoic dispositions, and scattered. She brought her foot down after she made sure no one was under it, and this created a small storm of dust. The soldiers, though their formation was broken, continued shooting. Some of them dove into the tall grass to conceal themselves, working the bolts of their rifles firmly. Now, some of them threw what looked like sticks at her feet, sending Xue-Yu running behind her heel. The sticks exploded in a spectacular constellation of light against her feet. It would have been terrifying if it did more than tickle her. There was a constant hail of bullets whizzing towards her, and a steady rain of grenades, but she didn’t even feel them. Mei-Yi squinted through the choking clouds of smoke, and decided to resort to extreme means to convince them to surrender. 

One soldier had exhausted his supply of grenades, and could only fire his rifle from his hip desperately. Mei-Yi curled the rest of her toes back and decided to use only her big toe for more precision, and lifted it above him. His glasses stumbled off his face as he looked upwards in horror. He let out a scream, and for a second his popping eyes met Mei-Yi’s. She hesitated, and the soldier’s trembling hands shook so much that he almost dropped his rifle. Without warning he pulled out his final grenade, tore off the safety cap, pulled the string with his teeth, and lobbed it at her foot. It exploded in a fiery maelstrom, but did nothing. Another terrified yell escaped from the man’s gaping mouth, and he racked the bolt again, shooting in desperation. Mei-Yi plunged her big toe down, and despite the soldier lifting his bayoneted rifle upwards in a pitiful attempt to stop it, it bent like rubber underneath the horrific pressure of her toe. He pulled down on his helmet and curled into the fetal position, hoping the spike would save him. Down, down, went her foot, until it met the ground as if nothing was in the way of it. All that remained of himl was a red stain and his cracked glasses. Mei-Yi was disgusted, both with the remains and what she had done, but she convinced herself that the soldier would have killed her if he could have. Next, she targeted one of the machine gun crews. One of the soldiers fired the machine gun prone on the ground while praying the gun didn’t jam or run out of ammunition, while the other fed ammunition with a long strip of bullets. Once Mei-Yi lifted her foot above them, though, the whole process stopped. The still dripping viscera from the previous man caused the unwavering ripping of the machine gun to halt, as both crewmen tried to escape. The shooter tried to lunge to safety, but was jerked backwards. The machine gun was strapped to him, which he had neglected to take off. Now, he tried to hurriedly undo, and his friend rushed over and tried to pull him away. In the desperation of the moment, his shaking hands were simply not precise enough, and his friend could not pull him and the machine gun together. Mei-Yi gawked in disgust. She interpreted it as the foreign devils being uncouth enough to tie their own people to the machine guns to prevent them from escaping. She felt pretty sorry for them, but they had no problem shooting her when she wasn’t fighting back, and let her foot drop. This time, she felt the cold metal crack underneath her sole, as well as the rack of blood and guts. This convinced the other soldiers to only fight harder for their lives, so she decided to try a different approach. Seizing a random soldier by the legs firmly, she lifted him up in the air. His spiked helmet toppled off, and his belt slipped from his hip to his chest area, smacking him with all his ammunition and grenades. He tried to use his rifle butt to bash her fingers, which did not work. So, she simply dangled him over the ground, a screaming mess of a man. His squealing turned coherent, and started begging his fellow comrades to stop. Given that they did not wish to friendly fire, the other soldiers’ fire tapered off. 

“Surrender, or I shall kill this man!”

Once Xue-Yu hurriedly translated it, the shooting stopped completely. Except for a single (poorly aimed) pistol shot. The officer shouted without a moment’s hesitation right after Xue-Yu finished his sentence.

“Keep shooting, men! You will be a martyr for the fatherland against the savages, sonny! You’ll get your Iron Cross! Posthumously, of course! The rest of you, shoot! Keep shooting! Fire!” The dangling soldier completely broke down into bawling. As soon as Mei-Yi heard the translation, she glared at the officer, who missed the glare because his head was turned backwards towards the rest of the lot as he continued fiercely waving, shooting and shouting. He stopped awkwardly as he realized he was the only one doing so. Mei-Yi was pretty disgusted at the officer, and the rest of the officer’s troops shared this disgust. A burly man with an expression of majestic contempt near the officer stepped forward, raised his sleeves as if to physically chastise the officer. Then, he threw his rifle to the ground loudly. The officer, gritting his teeth, jabbed his pistol barrel  into the man’s head. Mei-Yi dropped the shocked and disheveled but otherwise unharmed soldier down gently, and then pinched the officer’s leg without the same level of gentle courtesy she had given the previous soldier. The officer screamed in pain and terror as she squeezed hard enough to break bones, lifting him up roughly. His pistol clattered to the ground.

“Actually, stop shooting or I’ll kill this guy!”

The officer suddenly became thoughtful. His speeches about sacrifice for the fatherland mysteriously stopped. His once proud moustache drooped, and his monocle slid off his face and slumped down, hanging uselessly by its golden chain. His entire body, actually, hung uselessly, like a ragdoll suspended by an inconsiderate child. The burly soldier picked up his gun, and fired. He wasn’t actually meaning to hit anything at all, but just fired off to the side of Mei-Yi, as a purposeful fuck you to the officer. The officer’s eyes widened.

“THE KAISER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS! YOU’LL ALL BE FLOGGED, ALL OF YOU! I’LL-” he never got to finish his cursing, as Mei-Yi let him drop to the ground. He landed on the ground with a disgraceful thump, and Mei-Yi crushed him into the ground with her foot. After really twisting his gory remnants into the ground, she looked at the rest of the soldiers. The burly man gave her a somber look colored with some sadness. He let go of his rifle, and the others joined him. The other machine gun crew was not conjoined to their weapon by a strap, and walked backwards, hands raised in surrender. Although they sort of united against the officer, they were still foreign devils who were destroying her country. 

“Now, drop all your gear!”

Xue-Yu added a few liberties to his translation as the soldiers obliged, with things like “Yes, that too!” and “That very much counts as gear.” or “I can see you stuffing that in your shirt.” Once the soldiers stripped themselves down to just their fatigues and helmet, Mei-Yi got a surge of satisfaction. She liked, no, loved, the power she exhibited over these people. If she was still regular size, they would have beaten her, robbed her, or worse. But now, she could do whatever she wanted with them. Mei-Yi tasted the power, and she let it engulf her completely. Now that she was finally able to strike back at the foreign devils, she thought of an idea.

“If you want to continue living…  ...come over here and bow down.” She blushed and directed her glance elsewhere. Xue-Yu gave her a disappointed look while he translated, but she didn’t care. Common folk were expected to do what she ordered to people like the magistrate, and if they didn’t, they would be killed. She wouldn’t punish them like that, but she still wanted to be on the giving side of orders rather than the receiving. There was a tense moment of silence. The burly man sighed painfully, strode forward, and kowtowed down to Mei-Yi’s feet. Mei-Yi didn’t know if this was out of pure stupidity or courage, but he set an example which the others hastily followed. Mei-Yi blushed as Xue-Yu rolled his eyes.

“Alright, thank you, that’s enough.”

Mei-Yi remembered what Xue-Yu said about their supposed noble nature. Some of them anyway, considering the officer. 

“I need one person to sacrifice themselves to save the rest. Any takers?”

Xue-Yu hesitated to translate it at first.

“Mei-Yi, if I might have a word-”

“No, don’t worry, I won’t hurt them. I want to test something. Go ahead, tell them.” 

The usage of the word “sacrifice” was not reassuring. They looked amongst themselves, and then at Mei-Yi. Some of them were tempted to try to beg and implore her pity, but they doubted the veracity of this method. A few eyed the rifles on the ground carefully, and debated fighting back. But they were simply too powerless. There was nothing they could do. The burly man shook his head disdainfully, and took a half glance at the dead soldier’s glasses. He raised his hand.

“I’ll go!” his gruff voice immediately sparked a heated debate with the others. They tried to get him to put his grubby arm down, but he wouldn’t.

“Great.” Mei-Yi first took Yong-Liang and Ao Ling out of her pocket, and put them in with the Imperial troops in the other pocket like objects. She then stuffed the burly man into the now empty one. As crowded as the Imperial troops might be, she guessed they would prefer that to being with a foreign devil. Though somewhat tempted to crush the rest of the soldiers, she decided to spare them.

“Xue-Yu, ask them if they’ve robbed any villages. But not that bluntly, try to cross-examine them or something.”

“No need, they’re fresh off the boat. I can assure you they haven’t done anything.”

Mei-Yi didn’t know what to do with them now. She couldn’t fit all of them into her pocket, and didn’t want to just crush them. 

“Xue-Yu, what do I do?”

“Let them go.”

“What?”

“Yeah. But I’ll threaten them for you.”

“Uh, alright. But what if they rob people like right after?”

“If they do, you can always track them down. I’m pretty sure foreign bases keep detailed records of where all their troops are.”

“Okay.”

Xue-Yu cleared his throat.

“Alright, you lot! You are to the Chinese people what the officer was to you. Even though you have done nothing wrong yet, let me assure you that my friend here (Mei-Yi would have been delighted to hear her being called a friend, if she understood the foreign language) may not be as courteous as today if she catches you again. And don’t try to run, either, because once the foreigners have been expelled from China, you will be found. If your friend tries to do something funny, stop him, since it doesn’t matter who does what, she’ll bloody kill you all.”

“W-w-what about Klugm- uh, your prisoner?” One soldier piped in.

“ If you decide to bully anybody, well, give up hope on ever seeing him again. Or anything ever again. Now get out of here!”  The soldiers took off, running so fast they tripped on each other’s feet. Mei-Yi was still debating the ethics of letting them go, but finally resolved that they had learned their lesson. Mei-Yi knew Xue-Yu had worked with foreigners before, so she trusted his suggestion. Hoping that he was right, she picked up Xue-Yu and helped him into her pocket. Then, she continued walking along the road. Every step she felt the bloody remains of the soldiers she had murdered. Disturbed, she tried to focus instead on the devil in her pocket. The same kind of people that had killed her father and many others. She dreaded to know what he was doing alone there. While Mei-Yi thought of him in uncertain fear, Xue-Yu thought of him with empathy. How scared would he be, being in a giantess’ pocket?

Mei-Yi could not sleep. The canopy of the sky had long turned pitch black, but her eyelids could not resist opening to the sight of the stars. No position felt sustainably comfortable for her, and as a result she tossed and turned, unfortunately denying her fellow travelers of their sleep as well. She gave a haphazard glance down at the soldiers’ little tent, with the burly foreigner tied to a nearby tree. Yong-Liang slept in the open with his dadao in arm’s reach as a reminder of his vow of poverty, but Ao-Ling did so as well because he had no choice. She had thoroughly picked away at the day’s events, most notably the handling of the foriegn soldiers. Was it right to just let them go like that? Xue-Yu had assured her that they had learnt the error of their ways, but she still had her doubts. And the petrified face of the soldier with the glasses was a pervasive mental image in her mind. The way he looked up at her, with the permanent expression of terror and surprise. And the desperate manner in which the machine gun crew had tried to escape. But they were foreign devils, out to destroy her and her country. Still, she felt uneasy. 

Such disturbing thoughts were not exclusive to her.

“What news from Von Stransky?” The officer raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The soldiers who had just stumbled into his base were severely disgruntled, and deprived of all their gear. Their faces needed a good scrubbing. The officer was speaking to the second in command, since their commanding officer did not seem to be present. The candle flickered, revealing a mess of aged yellow documents on his desk.

“He, uh, dead, sir. Same with three others, I think.”

“Highwaymen? How many?” 

“No, no! By a terrible beast. Towering above the very clouds itself.”

“Right. What was it? A dragon? An ogre? Perhaps a giant?” The officer’s seriousness slipped off like a garment. 

“Yes, sir! A literal giant! No, a giantess! I don’t know what curse we may have brought upon ourselves, but it is unholy.”

The soldier raised his hands and tried to support his vivid descriptions with gestures. The officer simply laughed at the reporting soldier’s broken, babbling sentences. Placing down his pen, the officer adjusted his spectacles, not out of necessity, but more of expressing his skepticism. The candle flickered in front of the officer, illuminating his vaguely amused grin. The soldier, feeling foolish and angry, continued to attempt to warn the officer.

“No, you don’t understand what I saw! She was about, well, five times the height of the-”

“She?”

“Yes, sir, a ‘she,’ and she lifted-”

“I think I’ve heard quite enough about this ‘terrible beast.’ No more than a few bandits. You all ought to lay off the beer. Dismissed.”

“You’ll hear more of this soon.” The soldier left hurriedly. Upon being cheerily greeted by the sentry outside, he dejectedly gave a meaningless mumble in reply. The officer’s amusement left as soon as it had come. Tapping away on a telegraph, his brow furrowed in distaste.

Ministry of War  Stop

Chinese bandits have attacked a military patrol

Casualties not significant

Significant losses in equipment

All soldiers are to be on high alert

No quarter is to be given

No prisoners are to be taken

Stop 

They would indeed hear more of this soon. 

The next morning was awkward, to say the least. Everyone sat (or lied, in Mei-Yi’s case) together in a group, while the foreigner sat away from them, still bound tightly to the tree. No jokes were told, and no splendid stories of heroism against the foreign devils were shared. This could have been due to their poor rest last night, since Mei-Yi turning constantly did not contribute to an ideal good night’s sleep. However, the mood was still pretty somber.

“Should’ve killed them all, the bastards.” Yong-Liang muttered in contempt as he shot a glance at the foreigner with as much lethal hatred as a foreign gun’s bullet. 

“Did you see how helpless they were? They didn’t seem that bad.” Mei-Yi retorted. 

“Only because you beat them. Guess what they would do to women and children? Plus, each of them has a heart that can burn with vengeance and a hand that can shoot a gun. They’ll certainly be back, and they won’t be as friendly.” 

“Yeah, you’re probably right actually.” 

Mei-Yi’s initial defense of the foreigners seemed increasingly hollow even to her. Xue-Yu stirred his porridge, a brown, tasteless sludge, lethargically. 

“Only one way to find out. You should talk to that devil over there.” Xue-Yu stood up and walked over to the foreigner. Though Xue-Yu was considerably warmer to the foreigner than his compatriots, he still acted with caution. Mei-Yi scooted over to the prisoner. Sitting cross-legged, she picked up Yong-Liang and placed him on her thigh. Though put off a little by this unforeseen action, Yong-Liang still tried to act dignified. 

“Let’s begin then, shall we?” Xue-Yu began.

“Why did you surrender so easily? I thought all foreign devils were selfish and wicked, like the ones that killed my father.” Mei-Yi started with the bare essentials, wincing a bit at the part with her father. She found it hard to look at the devil’s crude facial features. The foreigner’s gruff disposition easened a little at hearing Xue-Yu’s translation. To everyone’s surprise, he laughed. An all out hearty fit of laughter that shook his chest. When he spoke his voice was a deep drawl.

“Out of all the things I expected a giant woman to say to me, this was not high up on the list. Now, what’s your name?”

“Mei-Yi... Yours?” She added sheepishly.

“Private Stanislaus Klugmann. Great. Now, May Yee, all ‘foreign devils’ aren’t as wicked as the bastards who killed your father.” Mei-Yi was indeed surprised to hear him describing h

er father’s killers as ‘bastards.’ 

“You see, the peoples of the world don’t know a lot about each other. Most Europeans think that the average John Chinaman is always cunning and cruel, and spends his time devising new kinds of tortures. They also think you all live solely on a diet of dogs, cats, rotten eggs, and bird nests alone. Plus, the same foolish Europeans reckon all Chinese girls have tiny, bound feet.” He nodded his head towards Mei-Yi’s own gigantic feet. 

“I can clearly see that is hogwash! They also believe every Chinese river is filled with unwanted baby girls, tossed in the second they’re born.” 

“See? I told you the foreign devils are awful! Look at what they think of us!” Yong-Liang whispered harshly, not quite getting the point. Mei-Yi ignored him and finally worked up the confidence to look directly at the little foreigner. Stanislaus was a squat, stooping man, of a stout, stocky iron-grey build, about 40 or so years in age. His face was swamped by a rather bulbous nose. Tufts of greying hair stuck out from underneath his spiked helmet. His unkempt uniform was half unzipped, revealing a sturdy hairy chest. “But I’m sure you’ve met Chinese bandits at some points. The point is, not all foreigners are bad, but not all Chinese are good either.” 

Mei-Yi appreciated his commentary on the interpretations of each other, and didn’t care whether its purpose was for self-preservation or legitimate goodwill.

“But if not all foreigners are evil, why are they invading our country? Why are they destroying our country, when we did nothing to them?”

“Do you agree with everything your government has done?” Mei-Yi thought of the magistrate and shook her head. “Well, there you go! If it were up to me, I’d say the way to resolve foreign conflicts would be for the diplomats, the ministers, and the generals to be let into an arena with clubs and duke it out. That way, they wouldn’t have to involve the rest of us. But we’re not completely innocent. Our inability to tell our beloved overlords to fuck off is certainly a cause for disaster. ” Mei-Yi pondered over what he said about people being dragged into causes they weren’t all that enthusiastic for.  

“What about the guy with the glasses I, um…” Mei-Yi could not think of a euphemism for ‘killed,’ but Xue-Yu filled in the blanks for the foreigner. A sudden chill came over Stanislaus. He made no motion at all, but stood rigidly still. 

“Oh. His name is, or was, Herman Boehm. Good man. Good grades, good manners, all that. Ironic, though. He never wanted to join the army, much less go to China. Unpatriotic, the teachers called him. Coward. Socialist. Traitor. All that. So, out of peer pressure, he joined, and well. Hopefully his estate gets some compensation.”

Mei-Yi was very surprised. It was much easier to think of Boehm as some random foreign devil than an actual person. Fat tears slunk out of her eyes and plummeted down to her legs below. Yong-Liang was hit with a particularly large one, and covered with the fluids, dry himself off in vain. Mei-Yi struggled to find her voice.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

“Who are we to judge you anyway? We aren’t exactly beacons of goodness. Remember the bison and the dodo? Fucking wiped out of existence completely. And the Tasmanians. All gone, within fifty years, thanks to the Englishmen. I really can’t exactly complain all that much about Boehm.”  

Mei-Yi did not understand what he meant by the bison, dodo or the Tasmanians, but got the main point. 

“Thanks,” was all she managed to say, since she didn’t even want to try and pronounce his name. 

“Now that that’s done, can I have some goddamned water? I’m parched.” Xue-Yu untied Stanislaus, and gave him a sip from his own water gourd. Popping the cap off hurriedly, Stanislaus dumped it in his mouth, a good amount trickling down his grubby chin. After finishing with great gulps, he wiped his face off and thanked Xue-Yu. They rejoined the other soldiers. Much to Ao-Ling’s delight, Kan-Tu was trying to figure out what the quickest path to the magistrate’s palace was. 

“Mei-Yi, if only your tears weren’t salty, we’d never be thirsty ever again.” remarked Yong-Liang, still trying to shake off his soaked clothes like a dog. Mei-Yi noticed his predicament, and lifted him up. She brushed him off with one finger in embarrassment. Her sheer size accentuated her motions, but even so her accuracy was greatly diminished. All she really accomplished was lowering Yong-Liang’s self-esteem.

“Alright, alright! Stop helping!” 

“Sorry!”

Mei-Yi placed the flailing figure of Yong-Liang back onto her leg.

“Lu Bu’s mighty tumescent halberd, now I’m moister than an oyster!” 

When a response did not come promptly, Yong-Liang noted that Mei-Yi was biting her lip sultrily at him and blushing fiercely. He suddenly realized the secondary meaning of his comment. His remark about Lu Bu’s halberd just added another layer of phallic implications. 

“You know what I meant. Don’t be immature.” 

“I know, I know. It’s just, I was thinking maybe, sometime, as friends, we could-”

Yong-Liang imitated one of Li Huang’s piercing stares. 

“I don’t think so. If a man lusts after a woman too much, he will be polluted by her yin. Not that I lusted after you, uhm, I mean, you’re pretty, but not to the point of- I think I’ll just stop talking actually.”

Now Yong-Liang was flushing. 

“Mei-Yi, you can, well, do it by yourself. You can’t be polluted by your own yin. I think it’ll actually increase your yin.”

Without warning, Mei-Yi picked up Yong-Liang. Before he had a chance to say anything, Mei-Yi lifted him to her mouth. Though instinctively tempted to punch at her gigantic fingers, he managed to restrain himself. Mei-Yi, puckering her lips, gave him a little kiss. Her lips covered pretty much his entire body, which did not help with his moisture situation. 

“Whoa, what’s happening?” 

“I-I don’t know. Just got caught up in the moment, I guess.”

Mei-Yi put Yong-Liang back down gently. He wiped his face with his sleeve and gave a little ‘hmph,’ but it wasn’t a legitimately angry hmph. Neither of them looked at each other, and instead tried to find little excuses to look away. Yong-Liang focused on tightening his red sash, while Mei-Yi stared away at the sky. 

“Let’s just never do that ever again, okay?” Yong-Liang suggested.

“Okay, okay.”

While she walked along the path, Mei-Yi noticed strange wooden poles sticking out of the ground. Lined up in straight rows, they were all connected with some kind of weird metallic string or rope. Though not even reaching up to her shins, they were still quite strange. Adequate size to use as chopsticks, though. She realized with minor surprise that she hadn’t actually eaten since the magistrate’s visit, not that she was hungry. 

“Xue-Yu, what are those?”

Xue-Yu poked his head out of her pocket, followed by Stanislaus’ spiked helmet. They had offered him his freedom, but he insisted that he would be court martialed for desertion if his foreign friends found him again. But the fact that he was allowed by the soldiers to stay in the same pocket as them was progress.

“Those? Telegraph poles.” Xue-Yu placed a finger to his lip curiously.

“We have those all around back in the fatherland.” stated Stanislaus. 

“So they’re a foreign invention?” Mei-Yi was tempted to pluck one out of the ground as one would do with a mushroom.

“Yeah. I doubt anyone around here can or would use them though.” Mei-Yi saw several homely columns of smoke rising behind a series of hills up ahead. Probably, rising from chimneys.

“I think there’s a village up ahead. We’ll see, then.”

“The village of Pingguan.” Kan-Tu’s muffled voice added. 

Each separate thud as her foot pushed deep into the ground was heard far around, scattering birds into the sky. She continued walking. The volume of smoke seemed to be abnormal. Not just a couple of streams crawling into the air like a Manchurian pigtail, but rather colossal black torrents of the stuff billowing into the air, like from a bonfire. They probably heard her footsteps and were preparing a massive feast or something. 

In the village of Pingguan, the cause of the smoke was immediately ascertainable, however. 

“Just as the huns under Attila made a name for themselves, one that even today strikes fear into the hearts of men, we shall do so as well. The Mongolians understood the power of slaughters thousands of years ago, and we shall follow their example. Fire!”

A line of rifles cracked, and a parallel line of bodies facing a wall slumped to the ground. The house wasn’t in good shape either. Flames petered out across its thatched roof. The fire consumed everything in its path: houses, people, crops, plants, everything. It tore further and further into the house, blindly, inexorably. 

Private Karl Hausmann puffed one last time on his cigarette, before rubbing the life out of it with his cupped palms. His long Western rifle leaned on his leg. An old hag crawled over to him, grabbing his pants with her wrinkled claws. Her imploration of mercy received a rifle butt to the head. She collapsed to the ground, dark red blood spilling out of her forehead. 

“Fucking whore,” he muttered under his breath, and kicked her corpse away. The only reason he put up with this job was because of the plundering opportunities. Indeed, an ornately decorated sword hung from his belt, involuntarily bestowed to Hausmann by its long dead occupant. By his feet sat an enamelled vase colored with Oriental textures. Bags of rice and other goodies were loaded onto stolen carts, overseen by a pig-faced officer. Today’s mission was executing a village full of bandits. The only resistance had been a couple of skinny teenagers armed with ‘rifles,’ old museum pieces of steadily diminishing martial value. Throwing themselves onto Hausmann and his fellow bastions of civilization with animalistic fury, they were quickly cut down. Though John Chinaman was indeed a ‘fighting man,’ his fighting tools canceled out any efficacy his spirit may have lended. That didn’t mean it was easy, though. He and his unit were up at the crack of dawn, rousing everyone out of bed. Kicking down doors and dragging them out if they didn’t move fast enough. A Chinese auxiliary policeman in the service of Germany from up North had done the translations, though it wasn’t necessary. Hausmann’s unit, eager for revenge against the humiliation of a previous force, decided to make this village an example. Though not an example to follow. 

Each hut was a haven for banditry, and was dealt with accordingly. Some were set on fire, others blown up with grenades. Their occupants were slaughtered as well. They had been gathered about into a huge foul-smelling horde, and mowed down with machine guns, the popping drowning out the many-voiced choir of despair. Some of the more creative fellows decided to use the cannons, by tying villagers to the muzzle and firing. A fitting fate for a bunch of barbarians. Another rattle of rifle fire broke out, and the screams ceased to ring. From within one of the smouldering huts a toddler waddled out, not understanding the situation with a foolish grin on his face. All the loud noises and vibrant colors excited him greatly. 

“This gold is yours if you can hit him... ...from the hip.” Krause, Hausmann’s friend, walked up to him and held up a golden yuanbao, shaped like some sort of odd elliptical boat. 

“Good as mine.” Hausmann raised his rifle to his hip, squinted, and fired. A tuft of dirt shot up near the toddler. 

“Shit.”

Hausmann worked the bolt on his rifle carelessly, letting the spent cartridge drop to the ground. 

“That sword does look pretty nice. Mind if I try for it?” Krause did not wait for a response and lifted his bayonet-tipped rifle up. Its bayonet was speckled with red. He fired, and the toddler dropped. Before he could celebrate, a loud thud shook the area.

“The fuck?”

As far as they were told, the Chinese army did have modern artillery. But only near major cities. The only cannons out in the countryside were Napoleonic black powder cannons, where crews would take their lives in hand when firing. Either way, these were still a threat, no matter how antiquated. The thud was not alone, and each subsequent thump got closer and closer. 

“Artillery! Get down!” Great care was given to the stolen treasures they possessed. Hausmann grabbed his vase and hit the ground. Several artillerymen zipped up their pants after committing some rather obscene acts, and rushed to manhandle their own cannons to return fire if needed. What appeared next muted the barking orders. A colossal figure blotted out the sky. Her shadow fell over all of Hausmann’s unit, darkening the radiant sun’s beams.

“My god,” Hausmann breathed out. The gigantic jacket she wore was dotted with bullet holes, as if she had met another unfortunate group of soldiers. 

“Hello.”

Mei-Yi’s greeting was abruptly interrupted by what she saw. The smoking huts, the numerous bodies piled on the ground, and the foreign soldiers. Her eyes darted to something red and white lying near a mud wall of a livestock fold. She looked closer, and saw the naked body of a woman folded across. She looked no more, and turned her now fierce gaze towards the tiny soldiers before her. Mei-Yi keeled over, holding her stomach, and retched. Then shock  left, and fury succeeded in its place. She could hear Xue-Yu asking something from within her pocket, but she did not understand a word he said. Her mind was so filled with pounding blood that it registered only as gibberish to her, as nonsensical as the foreigners’ language. A Chinese auxiliary policeman walked up nervously. He could have been mistaken for a villager if not for the massive heraldic eagle crest on his loose fitting smock. Inscribed underneath this crest and on a white armband was foreign text. Mei-Yi glared at him with contempt. A secondary devil. A collaborator with the people that were destroying her country. 

“Hello, miss. Can you understand me?” 

Mei-Yi did not feel very cooperative at this, and simply nodded gravely. She wasn’t actually planning on conversing with this secondary devil, but rather she was sizing up the opposing foreign force in front of her. The only thing that was concerning was the artillery. As she looked closer, she realized that the stacks of ammunition besides them was unusually empty. Then, she ascertained with disgust why this was. The policeman spoke placatingly, “Miss, please listen to me. These people were-”

“Fuck you.” 

Mei-Yi abruptly stomped on a nearby soldier. The policeman staggered backwards with phlegmatic shock, as if he was only a bystander and had nothing to do with it. The pig-faced officer guarding the loot stared with confident outrage, as if he expected Mei-Yi to just run away or surrender. 

“Open fire!” 

A hail of hot lead flew towards Mei-Yi. The sporadic volleys of rifle fire and the staccato bursts of the machine guns overlaid the fairy like twinkling of spent bullets. The cannon crews twisted the elevation wheel desperately, unused to aiming so high. If not for the spectacular display of pyrotechnics, Mei-Yi would not have known she was being shot.

Hausmann, on the other hand, was not feeling so great. His heart went into rapid palpitations, dispersing the blood through his body serenely only minutes before. He stared in complete disbelief as an impossibly huge foot lifted up into the air, its digits curling as if taunting them, and then crashed down upon a huddled group of soldiers. It shook the very earth itself, and Hausmann ducked to the ground instinctively. For a creature of this size, Hausmann’s expectations had borrowed extensively from the hideous cyclopes and gnarled trolls from folklore and mythology. But her/its foot was very smooth, free from any wrinkled deformities he had expected. Its soft beauty seemed quite young, petite even at this size. This certainly contrasted with the monstrous way the soldiers’ bones snapped when she crushed them. Still, this was impossible, was it not? Only children would believe in such things. Perhaps Hausmann was dreaming, stuck in an endless Chinese limbo. But he had no time to muse to himself, and simply acted on impulse. Framing the giantess looming before him in his rifle sights, he pushed his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. 

Nothing happened. The bolt moved slowly to the center. What the fuck? Hausmann wrenched the bolt in quick, jerky motions. The giantess ground the soldiers into the crater that was her footprint. She then turned and looked in Hausmann’s general direction. His legs went weak and he almost slid to the floor. 

“Fire!”

A cannon fired, vomiting up plumes of bright orange fire. The shell hit Mei-Yi’s right thigh, detonating with extravagant blasts of light. Mei-Yi only felt a light tapping sensation. Her shorts were not so lucky, and once the smoke cleared (enough to see anyway) there was a charred hole, with little bits of flaming cloth floating around it somberly. She, in return, shot a dark glare at the cannon. 

“Assholes!”

She stomped over in deliberately short-weaved steps to maximize the devastating consequences, muffling the foreign devil’s dying screams with her feet. The cannon crew at this time could have loaded another round and fired, but fear overtook them. Plus, what would it have done? Mei-Yi had simply shrugged off the previous shell. The officer started spouting propaganda and firing his pistol, while the others simply took off. Mei-Yi pulled her foot back and kicked the cannon. At impact its barrel was compressed into a thin shard. Its wheels simply snapped right off, like a twig. Its mechanical fineries were ground into dust. The cannon itself was tossed far, far away, like a throw pillow. The officer, though thrown off balance, continued taking well-placed (or so he thought) shots with his pistol. Mei-Yi’s previous experience with foreign officers was not pleasant, so she took care of him first, with the normal method. But this time, her foot didn’t crush his entire body underfoot. He crumpled at contact, and tried to worm his way out, but was only able to get his lower body out. He was scythed apart in an instant, bursting open in a splatter of bloody mulch as if cleaved by an invisible sword. Her foot exploded his squirming form in an injurious display of ragdoll physics. The other crew were vanquished just as easily, being flattened into red flakes before they could escape, the rounded spike on their artillery helmet providing even less protection. The other cannon fired, hitting her uselessly in the knee. This crew was more resolute, and desperately tried to load another round, and got as far as ejecting the previously spent shell until Mei-Yi’s foot plummeted down on them.

Hausmann slammed his rifle onto the ground in a mixture of frustration and terror. After destroying their pitiful artillery, she was coming back to finish off the infantry. Hausmann, giving up on his jammed rifle, tried to scramble away but he slipped on a thickening puddle of blood and hit the ground, his own helmet slamming into him. He tried desperately to get up but his faltering legs would not budge. They weren’t even legs anymore, just lifeless trousers stuffed with rags. The blood was from the woman he had killed earlier. Hausmann shut his watering eyes. Krause rushed over, and helped him up. 

“Fuck this shit, man, let’s get the hell out of here!”

Mei-Yi’s colossal foot slammed down onto another group of soldiers. Mhe soldiers scuttled about in erratic patterns, shooting haphazardly while running. This wasn’t even a battle, it was just a struggle to prolong their survival. Each step was not just a casual step, but a real stomp, a harsh thrust into the ground, like separate stabs with a knife. If she wasn’t blinded by fury, she might have enjoyed it. The amount of terrified screams grew lesser in number, and why this was Hausmann and Krause understood with horrifying clarity. Not wanting to share their fate, they scurried away, only to ram into a large wall. Not a wall of mud bricks, but rather a warm, fleshy wall that was Mei-Yi’s foot. 

“Oh shit! Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

Krause plunged his bayonet into her foot, but it bounced off harmlessly. Hausmann took this chance to escape. Krause, realizing the hopelessness of the situation, failed to utilize this opportunity in a similarly timely manner. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” 

Mei-Yi’s foot rose upwards, and came crashing down upon Krause’s f-bomb. Hausmann tumbled to the ground and was splashed with Krause’s remains. One second a living, breathing person, the next only flesh. Hausmann attempted to crawl away, his legs dragging behind him uselessly. He emptied his bladder, as well as his tear ducts. Hausmann felt tiny droplets of blood drip down on him as he felt the heat radiating from Mei-Yi’s foot. He considered using the sword he stole, but instead dejectedly buried his face in the grass. 

“My god in heaven!”

Mei-Yi's foot rushed towards him with immense speed and turned him into paste. At this point, most of the soldiers were flattened. A few of them cautiously dropped their weapons and stuck their hands up helplessly. Mei-Yi’s hatred outweighed any other rational thought on the scales of her feelings and without hesitation crushed the surrendering soldiers. 

“Die, Chinese schweinehund!”

The thatched door of a hut opened to accommodate the long barrel of a machine gun spraying heavy fire at Mei-Yi. With that came more pangs of rifle fire. A few ran out, cocking their arms to lob grenades. Unknown to Mei-Yi, several soldiers had snuck up behind her and had assembled a pack gun. Its caliber was far too small for her to care, however. Mei-Yi raised her foot above the hut, but then decided against it. She didn’t want to destroy the village any further. Lowering herself down to the level of the hut, she felt the bodies of a couple of ill-fated soldiers compress and give out underneath her weight. Her feet unintentionally hit the pack gun, completely pulverizing the crew. By some miracle the pack gun was able to escape the worst fate by being captured between her toes (as well as some remains of the crew), but this did not last long. She scrunched her toes together, feeling the cold metal mix with the ooze of the crew. 

Surprisingly, Mei-Yi lying down on her tummy and facing their makeshift cover was exactly what the machine gunner wanted. Taking shots to her face would be far more inimical than to the body. Mei-Yi shielded her face with one hand and smashed a group of scattered infantry with the other. With a newfound resolve, the machine gun erupted even more fiercely than before, neglecting to fire in short bursts. A hiss and a cascade of smoke, and the machine gun’s barrel turned smoking red and refused to fire. The ammunition feeder, frantically pulling on the charging handle, realized it was overheated and made a mad scramble for his canteen. Mei-Yi gently moved the hut door open with one finger, and then pinched the now exposed machine gun. It imploded in a shower of metal bits, just as the ammunition feeder had opened his canteen, and the gunner whipped out his pistol and fired randomly out of desperation. Mei-Yi, careful not to hit the frame of the doorway, reached in with two fingers, and grabbed the gunner screaming and kicking by the arm. She was far gentler to the hut than the gunner, and the gunner screamed in agony and terror as her massive fingers crushed his bones. What made this whole ordeal even worse was that her hand was already covered with carnage from a previous group of unluckies. She dragged the gunner out, and as soon as he was out of the hut she flung him behind her. He whistled through the air, and hit the ground several hundred meters away and his head opened and its insides poured out. The ammunition feeder tried to scurry deeper into the hut, but Mei-Yi managed to snag him by the legs, although slightly deforming the doorway of the hut a little. The ammunition feeder flailed wildly for a few moments, kicking at her fingers with his free leg and swinging at it with his pistol butt after exhausting the ammo in the general direction of Mei-Yi’s face. She dumped the wretched man onto the ground, the grooves of her palm becoming his new view of the concave of heaven.  Covered in the remains of his comrades, the man began tugging hopelessly at the grenade pouch on his leg. Mei-Yi stopped lowering her hand, and watched curiously, since the threat to her was nonexistent. The ammunition feeder did not have the luxury to carefully unstrap a grenade, pop the safety cap off, pull the cord and throw it. In his panic he accidentally yanked a cord off with a telltale clink. Realizing his mistake, he tried to unstrap the live grenade, but his sweaty hands kept slipping, and he gave up halfway through and tried to slip the pouch off his leg. Too late; and he exploded in a spout of fire and flesh. Mei-Yi turned away from the explosion instinctively, but stared at the little pile of flesh with some passing morbid interest.

“Idiot.” her only comment was a little scoff at the man’s clumsy death.

While all of this was going on, two soldiers near the hopelessly twisted shards of metal that used to qualify as a pack gun had managed to survive. 

“God in heaven…”

Before them were the colossal overturned soles of the giantess. Within the creases were rags and caked blood. Shining a bit with sweat, her toes were curled casually, as if she were just laying down and reading a book. Luckily, she was unaware of their existence, and was too busy torturing some poor fellows over there. The younger of the two muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes in amazement. The elder soldier, rotund, red and out of breath, tightened his helmet chin strap. On his chest was a bronze medal with a picture of the Kaiser in profile. 

“We can’t fight against demons like this. Not with rifles, not with cannons.” 

“Then what do you suggest, Alber? We don’t exactly have a lot of options.”

Alber, the older one, twiddled his medal thoughtfully. The monster, despite being strangely beautiful, seemed to be invulnerable to small arms fire. 

“Artillery, Hans, artillery. We need to get out of here. Warn a garrison. They could pound this thing to bits. C’mon.” 

Alber and Hans picked up their rifles and started running. They got as far as the carts of loot before the ground began to tremble. 

“Dammit!” 

That could only mean the monster was getting up. They could by no means outrun such a being, and fighting it was already proven to be futile. The monster was busy crushing another group of unfortunate troops, but they wouldn’t last long enough for Alber and Hans to make a getaway. Alber turned to the cart. One could hide under it satisfactorily, and the monster, being too busy with its monstrous monstrosities, would easily overlook it. Plus, a dead heap of flesh and cloth that used to be an officer would obscure them. But, it had only enough room for one. 

“Quickly, Hans, get underneath the cart!”

“There’s no room!”

“There’s plenty of room! For you! Now get in!” 

Alber shoved Hans to the ground and much to his horror, started pushing him under the cart near the dead officer. 

“What the hell, Alber? What about you?”

Alber made sure the giantess was busy torturing someone else, and then took off his medal. He rubbed some dirt on it to make sure it wouldn’t reflect sunlight and give off their position and thus end their fragile existences.

“Hans, this was from my service in Africa.”

He flipped it over, revealing an engraving with some olive branches and the like. Above this was a grandiose crown with some text underneath. 

“Look, it says ‘the courageous soldier for Germany’s glory.’ You fit the description quite well, don’t you think?  I want you to have it, take it along as you go.”

Alber did not have the time, education nor spirit for a long, poignant monologue, and simply left Hans underneath the cart with a little “do not follow me” as Hans sputtered in fear. 

Mei-Yi found a great fat man crouching near the carts filled with stolen goods, probably reaching for some treasure underneath. Mei-Yi mustered up even more disgust. This jerk had the audacity, even for a foreign devil, to abandon his comrades and go straight for the loot. The fatty twisted around and before he could even comprehend what was happening Mei-Yi squashed him right there and then. Even when he was reduced to a stain, Mei-Yi could have sworn that she heard him continuing to scream. Not that big of a deal, since the foreign menace had been eradicated.

Now all that was left was the auxiliary policeman, who was cowering with his back to the wall of a hut, too cowardly to attack or run away. Mei-Yi turned to face him, and he tried to scrabble backwards more, but the wall was in the way so he simply struggled in place and fell to the ground. 

“M-m-miss! I-”

“Stop calling me that.” Mei-Yi spoke harshly, and moved closer to him. Every step she took was a tremor in the ground. She kneeled down.

“What the fuck are you even doing here? You’re a fake foreign devil.”

The desperate man snatched off his gua pi mao hat, revealing his shaved head. He lifted up his pigtail. 

“Look! Look! I’m Chinese! Please, I didn’t want this, I-”

“Then why didn’t you stop them?” 

“Their foreign weapons are too strong-”

“Coward. A pitiful excuse for a pitiful person. You’ve betrayed your country.”

“Mei-Yi! What the hell is going on?”

Xue-Yu’s exasperated voice came from within her pocket. She lifted everyone out and dumped them on the ground in an unorganized heap, her focus mainly being on the policeman.

“By the Fire and Wind Wheels of Nezha, what happened?” Xue-Yu surveyed the damage around him. A black bile, bitterly sweet, rose in Xue-Yu’s throat and overflowed through tightly clenched teeth and was finally stopped by his shirt sleeve. Yong-Liang peered into a foot-shaped crater, with the tattered remains of a khaki uniform. 

“Mei-Yi, did you do this..?”

“They were massacring the whole village. Devils deserved it.” Mei-Yi’s eyes suddenly caught movement. She spotted someone peeking out from behind a hut.

“Hey! Come out, you devil, and I’ll consider sparing you!” she shouted, not really caring if they understood Chinese or not. But they did, and it wasn’t a devil. It was a villager. Wearing a battered straw hat, she stepped out nervously from behind the hut. The first things she saw were Mei-Yi’s gigantic toes, stained a brilliant red, and whimpered a little. 

“Oh, no, don’t worry! I won’t hurt you!” 

More villagers followed suit, until there was a little crowd. Tong-Pao strolled up to them and offered medical assistance. Mei-Yi shoved the policeman roughly into her pocket so he wouldn’t slip off. Mei-Yi decided to give them an abridged version of Li Huang’s speech.

“Listen, good people, we are the Society Of Righteous And Harmonious Fists. We fight only for your wellbeing. The foreign devils have corrupted our country long enough. I’m sure you have all seen opium addicts wasting away on the streets, foreign missionaries perverting our traditions, and soldiers robbing our treasures. We provide what the Qing cannot.” she added a little “No offense” when her ‘private squad’ gave her inquisitive stares. 

An old man stepped forward, probably an elder or a leader. His queue was sparse and greying. Despite his wobbly, rheumatic stance and reliance on a cane, he kneeled down with a contorted expression of anguish. He kowtowed down to Mei-Yi. All around him, the other survivors did the same, a massive ocean wave of gratitude. 

“Thank you, Society. What can we do to repay you?”

“No worries, no worries. That won’t be necessary. All we ask is that you consider becoming brother or sister disciples of the Society. And once you have self-strengthened yourself, meet us in Beijing. Together, we will expel the foreign menace and restore glory to China.” She remembered Stanislaus. 

“But no matter the temptation, do not steal, do not rape and do not kill indiscriminately! Though the foreign governments are straight out of hell, not all foreigners are evil.” 

While Mei-Yi was discussing all this, Xiong and Luo-Yang explored the village. Giving contemptuous sneers at the foreign corpses and contemplative stares at the villagers, they spotted something moving far away. Just a little khaki speck sliding along in the distance. Xiong raised his rifle, but it was way too far to shoot.

The ostensibly lucky escape of Hans would actually doom many more of his comrades, however.    

“I told you already, he can’t do much if you just pick him up.”

“But his shadowless kick has more strength than a hundred tigers!”

“And you have more strength than a thousand of his kicks.” 

Yet another light-hearted debate had ensued with Mei-Yi and Yong-Liang. Partly as a distraction from the events of the previous day. The auxiliary policeman had been turned over to the villagers, to meet a most awful fate. Mei-Yi considered breaking his back by snapping him in half to literally hammer in how spineless he was, but Xue-Yu decided against it. But a village had been recruited into the noble cause. The elder had promised that within a month, every man and woman would be disciples of the Society. The invincibility ritual to harness the power of the gods had been demonstrated by Yong-Liang, and before they left they ensured the basics had been mastered, both in ideals and those ideals in practice.

“Doesn’t matter how ‘strong’ I am, he’s versatile. He’s mastered all five animal forms, you know. He’d probably crane kick me out of existence.”

“He’s mastered six, actually: turtle form. Once he sees you, he’d probably hide under a rock or something.”

Mei-Yi’s little band had refused an extravagant feast out of humility, much to the soldiers and Ao Ling’s dismay. They did, however, accept a hand-sewn flag with four monumental Chinese characters on them: “support the Qing, exterminate the foreigner.” After paying respects to the dead (not the foreign devils of course), they were back on the path to Beijing. The magistrate’s palace was on the same path. 

“Yeah, but he can flick rocks like a foreigner’s gun!”

“Won’t do much against you.”

“Sure. I’m only human, you know.” 

Yong-Liang rested himself on the pillowy flesh of Mei-Yi’s thigh as both he and Mei-Yi knew who would be the victor in a hypothetical battle with Wong-Fei Hung. Mei-Yi was just trying to be humble, since she still admired Wong-Fei Hung as sort of a childhood idol. The default for conversations between the two was now Yong-Liang sitting (or in this case lying) on Mei-Yi’s leg as she sat cross-legged. Taking a pebble out of his pocket, Yong-Liang placed it behind his bent middle finger, and with surprising power, flicked it at Mei-Yi’s hand.

“Hey!”

“See? Won’t hurt you in the slightest.”

“Let’s be honest, Yong-Liang, I doubt you can flick stuff as well as he can.”

“No matter. You’ll just step on him, and then it won’t matter how hard he can do anything.”

Yong-Liang shot a quick glance at the vast form of her feet. Her massive toes, tipped by hefty slabs for toenails, gently flexed in and out subconsciously. Glistening with a thin layer of sweat, her foot’s silky curvature dampened by little bits of dirt and mud. 

“Once we swing by the magistrate, you ought to get some nail polish. It’d look good on you.”

A flushing influx of red entered Mei-Yi’s face.

“You think?”

“Yeah. Li Huang told me nail polish was invented in the Dong dynasty.”

“Pretty sure it was the Zhou dynasty. Meh. What color?” 

“Red, for the Society.”

Leaning back comfortably, Yong-Liang’s triumphant smirk suddenly disappeared. He turned to look down at Stanislaus pouring Tong-Pao a refreshing, steaming cup of tea. 

“Mei-Yi, what do you think of Si-Tan-Ni-Si-La-Zi?” 

It took a moment for Mei-Yi to recognize this rough transliteration as the name of the foreigner.

“Oh, that guy? Well, he’s decent, I guess. For a foreigner anyway.” 

Yong-Liang did not seem to agree.

“Really? Look how hairy he is! He’s just as devilish as the others, I’ll bet! Probably just faking it to backstab us later.”

“Well, only Xue-Yu’s been around foreigners a lot, so I can’t really…”

Yong-Liang was actually angry now.

“By Tang Zang’s faithful steed, Mei-Yi! These people destroyed my village, my home, and your village too, and that’s what you say?”

“Yong-Liang, I know some of them might be pretty bad, but I don’t think all of them are.”

Mei-Yi’s attempted apologism did not have the convincing teacher-esque drone of Xue-Yu, despite her booming voice.

“What about the innocents? You know how many children the dwarf devils bayoneted in Manchuria? What about the hairy ones? They raped entire villages, Mei-Yi. Full of defenseless civilians!” 

“I know, I know, but-”

“It’s Xue-Yu, isn’t it? Just like that policeman. Brainwashing people with their foreign black magic.”

“Quit it, Yong-Liang!”

“Is there a problem?”

Xue-Yu (and everyone else really) had overheard this conversation.

“Hou Yi’s bow, of course there is! You’re the problem, you secondary devil!”

Mei-Yi physically recoiled at hearing this insult. 

“Okay, Yong-Liang, that’s enough, I think-”

“You think blind violence can solve China’s issues, you impudent young pup?”

Xue-Yu clenched his fists and stared angrily up at Yong-Liang, who was hurling insults down at him from the safety of Mei-Yi’s leg.

“Better than collaborating with the devils, you dumb cunt!”

“The only ‘devils’ you know of are from your picture books, you mentally deficient egg!” 

Yong-Liang racked his brain for a fitting retort, and then his mouth curled into a cheeky smile.

“Mentally deficient, huh? What about your Imperial Exam test results, you stupid melon?”

The Imperial Exam was an exceedingly hard exam that only the most determined and intelligent of civil servants could even hope to pass. Judging from Xue-Yu’s lowly position as a translator, it was obvious he either did not even take it or completely failed. 

“Oh, you male pubic hair-” 

“Stop it!”

Mei-Yi scooped up Yong-Liang and dropped him on the ground. 

“You two ought to apologize.”

Xue-Yu regained his scholarly complexion once the fuming Yong-Liang was on the same level as him. Yong-Liang’s face contorted in frustration, and for a few moments there was a stare-off, but he finally relaxed at Mei-Yi’s suggestion. Confucian principles placed heavy stress on respecting one’s elders, but his still cross gaze betrayed his ostensibly calm mannerism, however. 

“I apologize for losing my temper, Xue-Yu.”

“Apology accepted. Okay, Yong-Liang. You probably haven’t been around foreigners very often. Let’s go talk to Stanislaus.” 

The way he pronounced Stanislaus as a single word rather than a loose collection of familiar Chinese syllables flawlessly unnerved Yong-Liang, but he nodded respectfully. 

When they walked up to Stanislaus, he flung a little “nee how” to Yong-Liang awkwardly. Though he heard their argument, he hadn’t understood a word of it. Plus, he was too focused on his game of Western chess with Tong-Pao, which he was currently losing. According to him, his apparent Stockholm syndrome grew from an experience he had fighting against the French. Something about camaraderie, and how all men were brothers. Either way, it was all too foreign for anyone to really understand.

“Stanislaus, this is Yong-Liang. Yong-Liang, this is Stanislaus.” Yong-Liang was indeed even more uncomfortable at hearing Xue-Yu speak the foreign tongue, but begrudgingly returned a pleasantry to Stanislaus. 

“Stanislaus, I think you’re finished here,” Xue-Yu watched as Tong-Pao nonchalantly shifted a queen to a more advantageous position, cornering Stanislaus’ king. “You should play Yong-Liang.” 

“We should play Chinese chess, not Western chess.” Yong-Liang took the place of Tong-Pao on the grass, and pushed away the pieces. Yong-Liang poured out a little box full of round pieces with all sorts of esoteric Oriental markings on them. 

Mei-Yi watched Yong-Liang patronizingly lecturing Stanislaus on the use of the cannon piece with relish. Though the great Yong-Liang-Xue-Yu war had ended with a truce, Mei-Yi stared thoughtfully at Stanislaus’ spiked helmet, nestled in the grass. Its martial khaki contrasted jarringly with the soft green grass. Even odder was Stanislaus’ hair. It was literally and figuratively criminal for one to not wear a queue, and Mei-Yi had only seen gruesome heads mounted on pikes disobey this law. Stanislaus’ hair was unsettlingly alien to her, to have the forehead covered with grey hair as opposed to shaven clean, and to lack the signature queue trailing down his back. Li Huang had told her that men in China used to wear a topknot of sorts. Peculiar. She shifted her thoughts back to more pressing matters.

The foreign devils did not offer the indulgence of mercy, even to innocent peasants. What kind of goodwill did she owe to them? But wait, not all foreign devils were so evil. She remembered what Stanislaus had said about the governments and whatnot. But should she take his word for it? Well, she had only met soldiers so far, and hadn’t actually met the non-combatant variety. But someone had.  Mei-Yi reached over and plucked Ao Ling off the ground in a single cursory motion. She thought almost nothing of this simple action, but Ao Ling didn’t. He yelped as his stomach turned over and disjointedly flailed a bit, but eased up after coming to his senses. Mei-Yi deposited him tenderly on her leg. 

“Would you mind asking next time?” Ao Ling felt a little less like a person and more like some curio Mei-Yi found on the ground. Mei-Yi grinned ruefully as a sort of improvisatory apology.

“Sorry.” 

They listened to Stanislaus’ remarks about losing yet another piece to Yong-Liang for a bit. The esoteric sentences he pronounced were jarringly emphasized on nearly every syllable, giving it a guttural and unnatural tone. 

“Your hair is coming along nicely.” Mei-Yi offered a gateway to conversation.

Ao Ling’s hair still had much to improve, though. The front of his head wasn’t shaven clean, so a plethora of fuzzy specks of hair had taken root. The back hair was growing quite nicely, and it hung down in clumped strands from below his skull cap. Li Huang had drawn a picture of a Taiping rebel before, and they wore their hair in a very similar fashion. 

“Heh, you look like a Taiping, Ao Ling.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, maybe a little.”

Ao Ling seemed very uncomfortable resting on Mei-Yi’s thigh, but did not make his objections verbal. He constantly turned and shifted, unnerved by this ground of warm flesh. 

“So, Ao Ling. How was your experience in America?”

“I was on American soil for a grand total of an hour, so not that good.” 

“Dang. So how were the Americans?” 

“Typical foreigners. Nasty long beards, no queues, and barbaric mannerisms.” 

“Right.”

Ao Ling rested his face in his cupped hands gracefully like an eagle perching down in a well-deserved state of repose.

“You know… Si-Tan-Ni-whatever his name was… his unit didn’t do anything wrong, right? So, did you maybe…”

Ao Ling smacked his lips, and tried to disentangle his thoughts into a more coherent structure. 

“So, you know, the Pingguan foreigners, they, uh, well, you know what they did, so they deserved what they got. But Si-Tan-Ni-Si-La-Zi’s group really didn’t do anything.”

Mei-Yi gave him a piercing stare, which he couldn’t return. 

“What are you getting at?”

“Just saying, you might have, uhm, accidentally…”

“Hurt innocents?”

The unapologetic harshness of this contrasted greatly with Mei-Yi’s gentle voice. “Y-yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“Look, Ao Ling, I’m not exactly proud of what I did.”

Mei-Yi frowned, a subtle tug at the frayed edges of her mouth. She broodingly rolled her fingers over the embroidered courage symbol on her jacket, surveying the latticed texture. 

“But they tried to kill me. If they could, they would have killed me, most definitely. Or worse. I had to do it.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Think about it. Once we liberate China from the foreigners, that’ll be the end of the foreigners in the Middle Kingdom. Best case scenario for both parties. It’s not all in vain, you see?”

“Then what about Si-Tan-Ni-Si-La-Zi?”

A curt peal of laughter came from Stanislaus, as he had somehow managed to take one of Yong-Liang’s pieces. Yong-Liang reciprocated, and decisively slid his chariot piece near Stanislaus’ king. 

“We’ll see.”

Mei-Yi said no more than that. The melancholy face of Ao Ling turned downwards. To Mei-Yi, he was rather cute. Not like, say, Yong-Liang, but as one might consider a cat. There was a certain instinctual response Mei-Yi had towards his hunched form sitting on her leg, a sort of pity that she must protect this sweet little being, enveloped in his petty bout of sadness. 

“So, how’ve you been doing lately?”

The excessive casualness of this offer of conversation implied it was heavily forced. Nonetheless, it was better than nothing. 

It was also better than the temperament of a haughty man sitting in his study at the foreign legations in Beijing. Surrounded by a very stuffy collection of Western styled furniture and illuminated vaguely by a lamp, it was a very serene location, though its occupant was less than so. 

“Bunglers, bunglers, bunglers! The lot of them! An entire city could disappear and all you’d see would be a puff of smoke!” 

The German minister to Beijing was not in a good mood. His well-coiffed moustache twitched in fury as he skimmed through the telegram. Yet another force massacred, and with the same reports of the terrible beast. A servant walked in, bearing a steaming cup of tea. 

“Careful, Von Ketteler, sir, it’s hot.” The servant spoke with an obviously Oriental accent, slightly mixing his ls and rs. 

With an air of resolution, Von Ketteler immediately snatched the enameled cup. Not heeding the servant’s warnings, he recoiled, dropping it to the ground. 

“You chimpanzee!”

He firmly backhanded the servant, who retreated outside with inaudible mumbles of apology. Sinking back into his chair, he entered a more ponderous state. Why should he be concerned with Chinese hooligans? This wasn’t even his country. Not his fault the Orientals couldn’t fend for themselves. Regaining his composure, (if he had it in the first place) he picked up his pen and began writing a strongly-worded complaint to the Chinese ministry of foreign affairs. He would get their own troops to deal with their own problems. He paused, letting the ink from his gold-plated fountain pen create an ever-increasing pool of ink. No, no. The Chinese would promise to deal with the situation, and then forget about it forever. If the bandits were to attack another foreign force and lose, their force could take the head of the leader. With concrete proof, the Chinese would be forced to apologize profusely, along with giving another hunk of land as an repentant concession. Von Ketteler’s moustache curled upwards as he smiled at this thought. 

Mei-Yi and company faced no harassment for the next few days. Their next few experiences with villages were quite pleasant, in fact, besides a few lapses. The common people did not think much of the foreign devils. At one point, a more well off man with a sort of weird metal box had offered to ‘photograph’ her. A Western invention. She remembered the blinding effulgence and almost thought it was some devious tool from a foreign arsenal, but once a monochrome picture slid out, her fears were assuaged. A peculiar machine, curious indeed. She had had her picture taken, with Yong-Liang in her hand. Mei-Yi had held the photographer in one hand and Yong-Liang with the other. Though not the most ideal of setups, she was curiously satisfied with the result. Curious how the ‘camera,’ no more than a cubical contraption mounted on a spindly tripod, could capture things in such detail. Mei-Yi was also treated to much verbal and material praise, particularly for her defense at Pingguan. Several impromptu orchestras had given her renditions of classical folk pieces with her name sprinkled throughout, and townsfolk constantly questioned her about her glorious victories against the demonic foreigners.

Despite all this adoration directed at the Society, none of the villages she visited had any boxers. Though hatred of the foreigners was widespread, none of them actually bothered or had the courage to do something about it. Stanislaus, not understanding Chinese, was the subject of much of their more unflattering comments. Mei-Yi still wasn't sure why this dude was still around. The soldiers did not label foreigners with such a stigma as Mei-Yi did. But Stanislaus had a charm, of course. When Stanislaus talked with people, he gave a tacit impression of genuine interest, of not needing any other company. There was no arrogance to be expected of the devils, no existential fearful hatred of Mei-Yi and her country, no genocidal goals. Just a sort of benign equanimity. Yong-Liang suspected that it was all a superficial facade, and that he was plotting his betrayal, but he was still tolerable to speak with. His gift of food from their current place of sojourn did not receive much attention nonetheless, unlike Mei-Yi’s. 

“Here you are.”

“Thank you! You’re too kind, really.”

Mei-Yi readily accepted a small (for her) bowl of meat and vegetables. For being the ‘salt of the earth,’ the common peasantry did not seem to be treated as such. Donning only a patched-up tunic, the peasant strained to lift up the bowl. Sitting cross-legged was too taxing on her knees, so she lay down on her back in a somewhat lazy fashion. Her sleek legs hung over each other like gigantic marble pillars, easily dwarfing the people down below. Her massive toes squirmed in a daze of girlish nonchalance. Mei-Yi, with her aureoles of raven-black hair arranged in neat little buns, seemed to have stepped down from some ancient manuscript’s long-forgotten prophecy. A true goddess, if you could excuse her less than fancy attire.

Mei-Yi gingerly picked up the minuscule bowl and dumped the contents in her mouth. Though made with only the freshest of spices, dripping with sauce and slow-cooked to perfection, it was unfortunately way too small for Mei-Yi to actually taste. Her tongue barely detected its existence as her saliva stifled the rich flavour. She chewed melodramatically as if this prospect lent her the liveliest of pleasures, but it just wasn’t enough. Returning the bowl to the peasant, she sized him up. Though not spoiled enough to ask some poor farmers for such quantities of food, the little man’s mass would roughly be adequate to actually taste something. Perhaps she would ask the magistrate, who was not as poor. 

“That was delicious! Thank you so much!” 

The peasant was much intimidated by this voracious display, but nonetheless offered his support.

“Of course. Anything we can do for the saviors of China!”

Mei-Yi smiled indolently and the peasant scurried off. Mei-Yi lay rather far away from the village, while everyone else enjoyed a leisurely chat. Though Mei-Yi was clearly not a danger, being in the presence of what they perceived to be a literal goddess was humbling, if not downright terrifying. She asserted a sort of unintentional suzerainty over everyone else around her. Yong-Liang was snuggled in some wrinkles of Mei-Yi’s jacket, languorously lounging about on her midriff. Though he had a similar amount of food, he wasn’t as speedy in eating it. 

“Make sure you don’t spill anything on me.”

“Sure, sure.”

After a while, Mei-Yi let Yong-Liang down for a second helping. When he came back, he was wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“What, don’t like the food?”

Mei-Yi proffered her open palm, letting him clamber on. Yong-Liang gave her a disturbed look.

“No, no, there’s this kinda smell, it might be opium…”

Yong-Liang remorsefully stirred his bowl of food. Opium? The drug that ruined two-thirds of China’s population? Mei-Yi glanced around to check if any of the villagers were listening.

“You think these people might be secondary devils?”

“Maybe. You should go ask.”

“Right.” 

She dropped him down, Yong-Liang landing somewhat clumsily on the grass on all fours. Had she not been interrupted, she would have been inclined to follow along. 

“Hey.”

Xiong was standing below (to her, anyway) her pressing a little bowl of food to himself. As soon as Mei-Yi turned to look at him, he immediately tried to surreptitiously shift his gaze elsewhere.

“Hey yourself,” Mei-Yi returned pleasantly. 

“Just wanted to ask, if you know, we could eat together.”

“Sure.”

Once Mei-Yi settled him down on her chest, Xiong found that he could not maintain eye contact for long. Having a pair of eyes larger than him staring back was indeed a surreal situation. Though dimly, he could even see his reflection, its form somewhat more amorphous but resting its jaw upon its fist nervously. 

Yong-Liang was in a similarly intriguing state of affairs. After locating the faded brick building where the smell became no more than a cursory hint but a very much noticeable secretion, he let himself. Expecting a cheerily normal interior, he was instead greeted by a dark gap, like the mouth of a cave. Illuminated by only a flickering candle stump, Yong-Liang proceeded through creaking floorboards, no doubt worn away by the tireless march of unscrupulous feet. The smell now was becoming a choking haze, and through watering eyes he finally found what he had been looking for. 

The pungent aroma of opium mixed with the sickly-sweet odor of stale vomit, sweat and urine to concoct a very strangling combination. Though somewhat obscured by the thick brown smoke, he caught a glimpse of this particular opium den’s clientele. Out of the pervasive darkness were several glimmers of candles, showing a wide assortment of bodies lying in peculiar poses, reclining on cots, leaning on tables, and even a combination of the two. Most were almost completely still with lethargically bowed shoulders, but a few mumbled to themselves or to a neighbour in low, monotonous voices, the peak of their ‘conversations’ being a sudden influx of nonsensical verbal thoughts, before jarringly petering off into stillness. A sallow attendant approached Yong-Liang and offered a tray, signalling to an empty cot. In the tray was a signature opium pipe, the kind the Society of the Righteous and Harmonious fists was decisively against. It took all of Yong-Liang’s self-control not to swipe at the man, but he managed to utter his disapproval to dispel the attendant. It was a sordid sight indeed. Ironically, almost humorously, the furnishings of this room were in good taste. A couple of elaborately decorated tables, with the legs spiralling into flowery designs, were present. On the walls hung delightful traditional paintings, depicting happier environments, in one case a gushing waterfall, another a verdant forest. Several striking black characters on the wall indicated a poem, hanging there as if to instill a reminder of the Middle Kingdom’s superior culture in the den’s occupants, should they have any sort of doubt about their choices. Most of the users seemed to be fairly well off, sporting otherwise passable physiques. One man, collapsed in a chair, stole Yong-Liang’s attention. Unkempt, gaunt and pale, the man’s clothing had lost classification as such and instead qualified more as rags, where Yong-Liang could see imprintations of a sickly ribcage on the man’s belly. Jerking his head backwards and pointing his chin upwards in a single unnatural motion,  the man exhaled a puff of brownish smoke with a visage of subconscious ecstasy, showing several sets of rotted black teeth. The pipe between his spindly fingers dangled below his spread knees, as though relaxing limply in death. Below him was the fluctuating red-tinted light of the opium lamp. Even worse, lying near a pair of folded spectacles, was Xue-Yu. Even when engaging in such vice, he still retained his signature look of owl-like dignity. Yong-Liang had seen more than enough, and ran outside. 

Mei-Yi and Xiong did not have such significant discoveries. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they were immediately starved of conversational material and fell silent. 

“So, how’s army life for you, Xiong?”

“Pretty good.” 

China had soldiers, but no army. Instead, there was a loose collection of hopelessly decadent imperial soldiers, impoverished local militia, and regional mercenaries, each having more loyalty to their own commanders than to the empress or emperor or whoever. Each was armed as such, with some taking up foreign uniforms, others sticking to traditional Chinese garb, and some looking like something out of the medieval ages.  

Mei-Yi, somewhat annoyed at Xiong’s shyness, tried squeezing a few more decisive opinions out of him.

“Care to elaborate? Any fighting against the devils, or something?”

“Not much, just bandits and stuff.” 

“How’s the magistrate been treating you?”

“Ol’ Po-Han? Him? Not half bad. Not half good, though. As far as the empress knows, he has over ten thousand soldiers under his command. The real number is closer to one thousand. I bet you can guess where the extra pay goes.”

Mei-Yi nodded in approval, eager to hear more of the magistrate’s, or rather Po-Han’s exploits.

“And get this: us riflemen barely ever get to go outside. They always have pikemen, like Luo-Yang, outside training.”

“How come?”

“If any of the townspeople saw us with a Western rifle, they’d throw a fit! Can you believe it? The magistrate tried to force us to use these really old bows and matchlocks, but Xue-Yu convinced him against it. And don’t even get me started on the cannons.” 

Sure enough, the Chinese matchlock was one of the most modern and advanced firearms available- if only it were the fifteenth century. By this point, it was completely and utterly outclassed in every way possible, and would work better as a club than a firearm. Xiong seemed to be quite an expert in such militaria, and soon overcame his initial bashfulness to delve into a thorough explanation of the differences between matchlocks, flintlocks, and bolt action. Mei-Yi pretended to understand, giving a little honeyed ‘cool’ or ‘right’ every now and then. Not really interested in hearing foreign technology beat her country’s, she tuned him out, looking for excuses to change the topic. An excuse presented itself shortly, in the form of Yong-Liang running towards her.

Mei-Yi stood up, and placed Xiong, surprising him in mid-sentence, firmly on her shoulder, and did the same with Yong-Liang on her other shoulder. 

“Any news?”

It took a few seconds for Yong-Liang to catch his breath.

“There’s a huge opium den around here! And I saw that-”

He paused, debating whether to rat out Xue-Yu. The man was clearly a secondary devil, perhaps even following their unholy deities, but… As absolute pure evil as some foreigners were, the Stanislaus fellow seemed reasonably decent. No, no, but what they had done to his country was unforgivable. They had butchered innocents for sport. They had destroyed entire families for gold. Just because some of them were good didn’t mean-”

“Saw what?”

“Uh, I saw some dude with a really foreign looking mustache. It was really stupid. Anyway, you should probably go talk with them about it.” 

“Sure. Remember to point out the mustache if you see it.”

Mei-Yi started walking towards the village. Such a simple action meant that Xiong and Yong-Liang were subjected to great violent judders, and were forced to grasp onto Mei-Yi’s jacket for dear life. The fact that Mei-Yi wasn’t even aware of this made it rather infuriating. Yong-Liang, recovered from this shock, began to doubt the merits of his excuse. He could have ended the secondary devil’s machinations right here, but no. It’d be best to wait; the most likely way for Mei-Yi to see what that devil was was for her to experience it herself. The man’s ill-informed, devilish defense of the murder of countless innocents was bound to wear off anyway. 

Once she reached the village, (a few seconds at most) she immediately felt the weight of all eyes being pressed on her. Though most of them gazed upwards with reverence and awe, there was a sort of implicit fear to this universal stare. But Mei-Yi was a person after all, a human, not some plinth-worthy goddess (Li Huang hadn’t been very clear in explaining the process of jitong or whatever). 

“Hello. Can we help you?”

A wiry farmer supplied the beginnings of a conversation. Looking downwards, the townspeople were just little tops of conical straw hats or talking heads to her. The straw roofs sheltering the narrow streets were akin to a mound of dirt to her. 

Mei-Yi wasn’t sure how to begin. Though she would be embarrassed to blurt out another blunt, direct inquiry, there wasn’t much room to circumvent it with euphemisms. Plus, she had already gone over the pleasantries previously, and repeating it all again would be an unnecessary venture.

“Uh, you guys have any opium?”

The farmer, suddenly shaken that he was essentially the voice of his village, nodded.

“Yeah. Dunno if we have enough for you though.”

Mei-Yi was shocked. Staring speechlessly down at the man, she was personally affronted by his offer. The very implication that she might want the opium was beyond ridiculous and was tantamount to cursing her entire ancestry. But these were simple peasants, a product of the foreign devils’ machinations, not a cause. The farmer’s clothes had faded to the drab color of dry straw, and his eyes gazed over Mei-Yi with an expression of puzzled and repressed fear, the latter almost hypodermically so. His queue was coiled around his head, like a constrictor choking the life out of its prey. He alone was not at fault for this opiate of the masses, as fond of the pipe as he might be. The workings of the devils had certainly destroyed this village’s once crenelated heart and mind. 

“You do realize that opium came from the devils?”

“Yes, but so what? It’s a harmless vice. I quite like a good smoke myself, in fact.”

Harmless? 

“Sure, sure. Where is this den?”

The farmer pointed awkwardly towards the house. Yong-Liang gave a little shout of confirmation. 

“W-what are you going to do?”

The farmer was now scared, and rightfully so. Mei-Yi’s glare was fixed on the house in question. Her eyelashes lay like spiders on her fiercely glowering cheeks, implying less than amicable intent. The farmer backed up slightly. 

“This-” Mei-Yi paused for emphasis- “has got to stop.” 

Unfortunately, the poor timing of one of the smokers escalated her attitude. It was the particularly pale man from before. Stumbling out of the door while emitting spasmodic bouts of murmurs, the man’s shambling gait caught Mei-Yi’s attention.  Though she still detested the thing, previous demonstrations could not have prepared her for this. Prior to this, most opium smokers she was aware of were at least functional, indulging comparatively responsibly. This man had long lost all sense of honor and self-respect, and had sunk so low as to become a begging pest to his former friends and family. He would probably give the last rag on his body for another sweet whiff of the drug that had consumed his reputation, soul and flesh.

Another villager followed her gaze, and in a burst of frightened connivance tried to justify this.

“Don’t worry, none of us are like that, no, that’s just-”

 Mei-Yi didn’t care, and her demeanor changed completely. She stomped through the streets to the house, scattering the villagers. She could have easily crushed some of the slower ones, but instead directed her footfalls to more innocuous positions. This wasn’t the village’s fault, but the foreigners’. Still, her repute was beginning to become fearful. She got a better look at the pale man, still unsteady on his feet. She felt a most peculiar mixture of sympathy and contempt at this sordid scene. Sympathy for the situation this man must have been in, and contempt at his poor regulation of his desires. She pulled Yong-Liang and Xiong off her shoulders.

“Get everyone out of that house. I don’t believe this.”

One of the peasants tried to protest, but Mei-Yi’s imposing countenance stopped her from doing much. She crouched down, sending everyone darting away. Those directly behind her were exposed to an enticing, curvaceous sight, but were not exactly in a mood to appreciate it.

“Sun W-w-wu-Kong’s staff, M-m-mei-Yi, I think you’re overreacting a little. It’s probably not all that bad..?”

Xiong chirped in, his intended statement ending with a little upwards turn and turning into a question. Mei-Yi didn’t feel like a goddess or whatever, but everyone else did. She assumed she had some sort of authority then. 

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

She did not. A couple of villagers along with Xiong and Yong-Liang rushed into the opium den, dragging smokers out of their cots. Though most of them were now fully conscious, a good number were still limp and still. Once a disorderly dogpile had been formed of half-awake smokers, Mei-Yi was interrupted by a predictable source: Xue-Yu. Though looking rather ruffled, his moral ascendancy was still present. 

“Mei-Yi! What in the hell are you doing?”

“The right thing. I thought you said we had to take the good foreign things and leave behind the bad foreign things?”

Mei-Yi gave another glance fuelled by morbid interest at the pale smoker, who was still invested in his repulsive soliloquy. 

“Yes, but this-”

The next thing Mei-Yi did was beyond anyone’s expectations. She stood up, raised her foot over the building, and plunged it down into the opium den. Its brittle foundations could not stand the unimaginable force Mei-Yi’s foot exerted on it, and toppled over. The thatched roof instantly caved in, and the building exploded in a mass of brick. Despite her impulsive decision, she took some care not to damage the buildings around it. Mei-Yi lifted her foot again, ignoring the infuriated bellow of Xue-Yu and the panicked screaming of the peasantry. Little shards of opium pipes and trays tinkled to the ground, while the crumbling bits of stone stuck to her sole. She stomped again. Some portions of the building were able to avoid complete obliteration, being caught between her toes, standing out like broken teeth in an already decaying jawline. Though this was not for long, as once she scrunched her toes together they too shattered. She continued until she had compressed the entire den into nothing more substantial than granules amidst the shattered splinters of its fragile foundations. 

“Since you were unable to control your temptations, I’ve done so for you. Next time, perhaps some self-discipline would come in handy.”

She then picked Yong-Liang up and shoved him in her pocket. The villagers, believing her selection to be arbitrary, fled. She did the same with the rest of her party, the furious Xue-Yu, a resigned Xiong and his buddy Luo-Yang, Tong-Pao, the map dude, the supremely perplexed Stanislaus, and finally Ao Ling. The soldiers were easy to find thanks to their dark blue uniforms, and Ao Ling’s tiny frame was also distinctive. After sticking them all in her pocket, she found the Beijing road and left the village. Ignoring Xue-Yu’s ranting about her decisions being too extreme, she didn’t feel any remorse for what she had done. In fact, she felt gratification. No one was hurt, except for the foreign opium traders probably. Mei-Yi concluded that she’d done them a favor.

Mei-Yi was still arguing with Xue-Yu even as she left the village far behind. Though his voice was muffled and distorted by the acoustics of the pocket and Mei-Yi’s thunderous footsteps, he continued shouting until his throat was hoarse. 

“You went too far, Mei-Yi! That was completely uncalled for!” 

“You said that most foreign elements are evil! Opium counts! No one was even hurt, why are you griping so much?”

“But was that necessary? That certainly was not. You acted too rashly. ”

“Fine, I get it. Won’t happen again. Now let me walk in peace. ”

Xue-Yu reluctantly did so, and shook his head patronizingly. Mei-Yi was just an impulsive youngster. Her excuses were as banal as a child’s for dropping a plate or breaking a vase. She would be quite immune to reason for some time. Sighing, he relinquished his argument to the darkness of Mei-Yi’s pocket. He supposed the important thing was that no one had been hurt. He hoped that this impulsiveness would cease to exist, since down the line more than just some random building would be at stake. It wouldn’t.

Buchel had joined the army for the thrill; he had been an avid fan of the printed depictions of war in his youth. The wide-eyed officers frozen forever in a ear-piercing shout, the squealing horses rearing against lines of bayonets and rifles, infantrymen forever encapsulated in great, grandiose motions of charging or firing, the enemy collapsing in grotesque defeat, unruly in every manner possible, disgracefully so in their conduct, delightfully so in the way their legs kicked into the air after being mowed down. Buchel used to imagine himself as one of those sorts, the ones giving orders or carrying them out, the strong jawed, selfless hero of imperial glory. But that was in his youth, and by this point Buchel was disillusioned with it all. He had seen the massacres that choked the great Manchurian river, the rapes, the looting. He had made up his mind that colonialism was an evil thing. Secretly, he was all for the colonized against their oppressors. He hated the job because he had to carry out the dirty work of Empire, far away from the decadent courts and thrones of splendor in Europe. The sooner he left, the better. But for now, he and his troops were to protect the Beijing road. There had been reports of boxers, strange cultists of sorts that practiced ancient rituals. Though he sympathized with them, it would be another year or so before he could leave this blasted occupation. Beijing road was completely fortified, however much he did or did not like it. Panelled with sandbags and machine guns, the road was impervious to boxers, probably even the Imperial Army. Buchel and his men having little knowledge of the mindsets of the Chinese, a few troops from the Qingdao Chinese Company had been sent to ameliorate this matter. The coolies that had helped set up the sandbags (it was benefiting their country, after all) made small talk with the Chinese Company troops, the topic of which implied there was more to this boxer threat than just common banditry.

“They say strange thing!” one of the Company troops had conveyed in a shaky voice, pronouncing their German rather imprecisely. “About monster!”

If a white man’s word was needed, Hans had been redeployed with them. He confirmed these ostensible myths as well. Buchel had previously thought such creatures were limited only to folklore, but admittedly not knowing much about the  Far East, took their concerns seriously. Behind the machine gun nests were several imposing field guns. If this beast really was as described, there would be no doubt superior firepower could bring it down.

Hans was still musing over the events at Pingguan. He and Alber were just talking that day. Alber was telling him about a new coat he got, specifically tailored for him. He was wheezing on about how much he paid, how fine the wool was, how the buttons were changed, how much silk there was for the lining. He had gotten on to the pockets before the- that beast attacked. She, no, it had killed Alber without mercy. Hans ran his finger over the medal Alber gave him, the details slightly filled in with mud. The thing that disturbed him the most was the appearance of the creature. This had been the detail which sparked disbelief in his commanding officers. Suddenly, there was a cry from one of the Company soldiers.

“Ni kan! Yao guai! Zai naer!” 

Yow gwai. Hans racked his brain for the meaning of that Oriental word. Monster. He peeked out from behind the streamlined hill of sandbags. He felt his heart flutter. It was the monster from Pingguan, walking towards his emplacement! He raced to Buchel’s sitting form, spitting out incoherent babbles about monsters.

“Sir! Sir! It’s-it’s the monster! The beast!”

“Calm down. Lemme take a look.”

Buchel did so, and trembled so violently that his peaked cap almost fell off. From the confused and frightened shouts emanating from the rest of the soldiers, similar reactions were had by the others. Far away, perhaps a few kilometers, was the confident form of a young woman strutting along. Not particularly abnormal, but it was almost like an optical illusion. Though the woman was far away, her figure was still exceptionally large, resembling a negligently drawn perspective in some sort of surreal painting. The Company soldiers in particular were the most terrified in particular, for their folklore had told of such demonic beings. The others were more in a state of shocked disbelief rather than just accepting that it was divine fate. Buchel overcame his initial fear very quickly. 

“That’s not a monster, that’s just a girl!”

To Buchel, the beast didn’t really seem all that terrifying, compared to his expectations. No terrifying horns, no swishing tails, by all means, this was an ordinary girl, minus the size. He had previously pictured an ichthyic anthropoid of sorts. She had smooth skin, not like the scabrous peeling he had imagined. Warm brown eyes, not lifeless reptilian apertures. She was barefoot, and dressed in a kind of short sleeved Oriental coat of sorts. From his short time with the people of China, they were docile, and timid, if not supremely cautious. Surely, this ‘boxer’ would see reason. Though her facial expression was indiscernible at this distance, she did not seem belligerent by any means. Hans disagreed.

“Are you fucking serious? This mons- this thing murdered all my friends at Ping guan!”

“And what were you doing at Pingguan? ‘Liberating’ them from their lives?” Buchel snarled back. “Get back to your positions. We’re not fighting.”

One of the company soldiers ran into him in his terrified scramble.

“Mister Buchel! We must flee! It is-”

“You’ll be fine, son. Get back to your post!”

Buchel gave him a little shove and defiantly stood in the middle of the road to block the girl’s path, but blocking her path would be giving too much credit. More like merely existing in her path. 

Mei-Yi was confronted by a bundle of foreign fortifications on the road, with the familiar forms of metallic gun muzzles lining the sandbags, backdropped by a fluttering red, white and black flag with some kind of eagle. Along the row of pointed helmets were Chinese conical hats, more traitors in lieu with the cowardly policeman from Pingguan. They shoved cartridges in the magazines and waited, fingers brushing against the trigger. Behind them was the toyish artillery. Mei-Yi was tempted to grab one and try to fire it herself, as one would do with a well-designed puzzle contraption. She was surprised the cannons hadn’t actually opened fire, as she didn’t notice them until now. Or maybe they had been firing, but she might not have even noticed. There was no threat to her, obviously. She gave them a cartoonish wave, an ostensibly innocuous reminder that they were entirely at her mercy. And what was this? One of them was foolish enough to actually approach her. Without the crutch of foreign weaponry, this miniscule man was completely helpless, and even with armament it would make no difference. Mei-Yi studied the minute details of this suicidal idiot. He was not a pretty-boy action hero, but was quite ugly. A bulbous nose that immediately reminded Mei-Yi of the word ‘proboscis’ was flanked by fuzzy sideburns on a most prognathous chin, like some decaying gargoyle overtaken by moss. 

Buchel placatingly stuck his hands up in a nonverbal gesture of surrender, ignoring the cacophony of pleas and complaints from behind him. He craned his neck upwards, making eye contact with the colossal almond shaped reservoirs of unintelligible emotional content. In her hypnotic brown eyes was a flickering of amusement. But she had not attacked them, yet anyway. He was absolutely terrified. With the simplest of movements this giantess could end his life. Decades of laughing, weeping and working all ending at the careless feet of some teenage Oriental. But she hadn’t flung herself upon them in bestial aggression, so there had to be at least some shred of reason in her. He kept his shaking hands in the air and continued to stare her in the eye, even as she scooped him up. Her fingers trapped him like the bars of a fleshy cage. Some of the soldiers were tempted to fire, but he shouted at them not to. If they opened up, well, his fate would be sealed. But for now, there was a glimmer of hope. A glimmer that could end this conflict peacefully. Buchel was not religious, but surely a God would support a nonviolence end to this mess. Now that he was face to face with this being, he saw the nature of this ‘beast.’ Her eyes displayed a kind of juvenile innocence, as large as they were, and her flat nose, bunned hair and casual smile further assured Buchel that this was not the heartless monster he had originally envisioned.

“Nee how. Nee jeow shuh muh ming zee?” 

Buchel hadn’t practiced his Chinese all that much, but Mei-Yi appreciated the attempt. Buchel placed heavy stress on each syllable, almost convincing Mei-Yi that he was talking in his foreign language. But after a few moments, she realized the meaning with a giggle. The man, not knowing any other terms, had said hello and asked (very crudely) what her name was. 

“Hello to you too. My name is Mei-Yi.”

Buchel gave a great sigh of relief. The monster did have manners. A nonviolent end was plausible. He felt a surge of almost paternal appreciation for this May Yee, and could already tell he was going to like her. 

Hans aimed his rifle sky high towards Mei-Yi’s face. Her body was impervious to virtually everything, but the head… He imagined an invisible tunnel through her head and into the brain. In particular, through one ear and out the other. At the slightest of aggravations, he would put a bullet into her brain. The next problem was going to be where her body was going to fall, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. Some kind of petty vengeance made him hope the moron Buchel wouldn’t survive the ordeal, but he dismissed that thought. He lined her in his cross sights, before adjusting his grip. His sweaty hands had gone weak from trembling, and his legs were asleep for being in the same kneeling gesture. All of a sudden, a bang. Someone had shot, perhaps accidentally. Hans did not bother to ascertain where it came from or why, and jabbed the trigger, feeling the kick of the rifle against him. There was a great cacophony of rifle fire, but the beast did not drop dead.

Buchel’s ambitious aspirations had all been ruined by some buffoon with poor trigger discipline and mob mentality. As Mei-Yi glared at the brave but fruitless efforts of the soldiery, Buchel shouted in desperation. He racked his brain hurriedly, aware that he only had a few precious moments to prove the innocence of his men and save their lives. The stock pleasantries in his Chinese class would be no help. Verdammt, what was Chinese for “no?” Gott in himmel, Gott in himmel! Fine, then ‘bad.’ Come on, come on! Was it how? Or was it booh how? Buchel had no time to dwell on this, and simply blabbed the shorter one, hoping pure luck would save this noble ordeal. He waved his hands fearfully at the scowling giantess, to no avail. Frantic in his predictions of what was about to happen, he reached for his holster. A few shots in the air would surely commandeer her attention and hopefully ease the ticking time bomb of her patience.

Mei-Yi was amused at the hopelessness of it all, but also offended that they even had the audacity to shoot at her. But what of the man in her hand? Was his initial friendliness some kind of poorly planned trap? Or were his intentions genuine? A great senility seemed to have descended upon him, as if he was the one getting shot. In the rare chance that he wasn’t trying to screw her over, Mei-Yi reasoned, his troops were still his responsibility, and their failures at least partially his. She saw this as a realist representative sample of the foreigners. Even if a few were tolerable, even likable, the rest just ruined everything. Plus, the good ones hadn’t done anything about the humiliation of her country, which made them just as bad. She looked at the man, pondering her rationale and whether she should put him out of his misery. Ah, but Xue-Yu, with his proctorial air, said to keep the good and kick out the bad. She would deal with the hostile ones and keep the man in her hand unharmed.

Unfortunately, at the very moment Buchel thrust his arm towards his pistol that Mei-Yi turned to look at him. What was this? As soon as she wasn’t looking, he went for his pistol? Tch. A flagrant violation of her trust. Still, it was rather sad. Sad how this puny man and his even smaller ‘weapon’ could even dream of defeating her. And he went through all the trouble of talking to her as well, just to betray her. Oh well. For his troubles, Mei-Yi supposed she could give him a quick, painless end. The man was raising his arms now, in the same surrendering gesture with the pistol. As soon as she turned to face him, now he was giving up. Pathetic. In a sudden burst of unthinking cruelty, Mei-Yi closed her fist, before Buchel even had time to react. There was a wet crack as she felt the man’s bones crumble and the warm remains fissured through clenched fingers. He caved in like an eggshell. Though Mei-Yi felt a pang of guilt, her startling catharsis was mostly of blissful abandon. She had tried to reason, she hadn’t attacked them, no, quite the opposite. Now that she had dwelled on a satisfactory justification, she was no longer held back by moral restraints. A shell whizzed past her face, missing her by mere centimeters. Not like it mattered, though. She shook off the butchered butchery of Buchel, before swerving her attention to the troops in front of her. She was now quite used to being treated with an initial reception of surreal wonder, before scandalizing terror and disbelief followed. The frantic shouts of orders that came from innumerable throats gave her a sort of perverse pleasure. The devils who had thought themselves above the four hundred million people blessed by the Jade Emperor now being humbled by her, her of all people, was most certainly empowering. And the fact that she succeeded when the mighty Chinese Imperial Army had failed warranted a major ego boost. 

Another few volleys had hit her, and she hadn’t even noticed. Hans’ mind now conjured up horrifying images of what was to happen to him, and it took all his self-control not to give vent to a scream. They continued shooting, but the only reaction the bestial thing had given was a theatrical yawn, taunting them. Their guns, their cannons, all their modern weaponry had done nothing but bore her. Their failure to even inconvenience her was severely emasculating. Her next action was to take off her coat and place it on the ground behind her with unusual gentleness. She had a diamond shaped velour Eastern undershirt, which did an inadequate job of covering her body, especially the rather pronounced chest region. Hans noted with an infusion of flirtatious interest and disgust that this mountainous blasphemy was actually quite exotically beautiful, somewhat curvaceous, if only she weren’t such an incredible size. A cold sweat of terror enveloped Hans as he pondered the motives behind her new state of undress, the main hypotheses presenting themselves in tense and evil expectancy. 

Mei-Yi, now liberated from her jacket and feeling the soft wind skim across her bare skin, lied down. The periodic flames spouting from the cannons were of no concern to her, much less the minuscule bullets that peppered her face. Propping her head up with her clean hand she nonchalantly smiled at them. She raised the other hand above the main sandbag position, engulfing them in an ominous shadow, and wiggled her fingers to spite them further, inciting an influx of jabbering patois from those below her. Mei-Yi slammed her palm down with tremendous force, splintering those who could not escape. Some felt absolute despair or were simply not quick enough, but others managed to renounce themselves to their vestigial instincts of survival and scrambled away. Some of the Chinese Company troops gave up entirely and sought to overwhelm her with protestations and pleas for mercy. Her hand was still coated with a tangle of bodies and gore which she did not pay much attention to, and she flicked the pitiful machine guns out of existence with contemptuous ease. She took her thumb and pressed down directly on top of a few soldiers, the only traces of their existence being a red puddle in a cracked imprint on the road.

Seeking new ways to humiliate them even further, Mei-Yi decided to try something a bit unorthodox. She inhaled deeply, filling her cheeks innocently like a chipmunk with air. After pausing for effect, she let loose a massive squall, toppling over the stacks of sandbags and overturning some of the soldiers. Many of the troops had rushed to their wounded comrades’ assistance, only to be literally blown away. Their guns flew out of their hands as they were comically heaved backwards by her breath Wow. Simply by exhaling, she could disorient an entire field force. Wasn’t that one of Sun Wu-Kong’s feats in Journey to the West? Though having plenty of time to reflect on literary treasures, Mei-Yi instead focused on the artillery. As soon as they caught her gaze, the crew tried to make a desperate dash, but Mei-Yi smashed them with the side of her hand. She then crushed every single cannon except for one. Gingerly picking the last artillery piece, she decided to try and fire it. After all, the soldiers before her had no hope of escape, much less beating her. The main tube of the cannon was connected to a bunch of diminutive levers, buttons, dials, and all sorts of esoteric foreign technology. From what she had seen before, cannons were fired by placing a torch or something to the back of the barrel, but none of the artillerymen seemed to employ such methods. There was a promising string that sagged from the machinery, though. Mei-Yi pointed the muzzle at the remaining members of its howling crew, and pulled tenderly on the lanyard. A gust of flame, and the air was full of pink mist. Delighted at her technical prowess, she pulverized the cannon in her hand and decided to have a bit more interaction with her victims. After all, by destroying her country and home village they had made this very personal. It was indeed gratifying to see justice served. One of the more foolish soldiers, an officer by the looks of the gaudy epaulettes and other embellishments on his uniform, raised a sabre resplendently and shouted something in his brutish babel of a language. He was trying to inspire his men, to rally them, to salvage this otherwise ignominious defeat. His pride had taken advantage of him, he really thought he was above this mere girl. Though the air was foul with his patriotic snarlings, his martyrdom was alone. None of his men followed his gallant example. He charged forward, only to be easily picked up by Mei-Yi, still swinging haphazardly. Regaled by this man’s defiance, she swung him around a bit like a pendulum. Close enough to grab at the loosely hanging dudou that barely covered her enormous breasts, he managed time a hack while swinging at Mei-Yi’s clothing. The damage was a tiny rip, almost undetectable, but the fact that this idiot even had the audacity to damage her property was bewildering. Mei-Yi decided to end things now. Dangling the man above her pectoral cordillera, she waited for any last shouts of futile anger or horror. Staunch as ever, the officer hollered several infuriated syllables, before Mei-Yi dropped him down. His dizzying fall was caught by her breasts. Mei-Yi was deluged in a power rush. She could feel him thrashing about, feeling the pinpricks of his sabre against her soft flesh. Pressing her breasts together, she heard the man’s yells grow louder and louder, before suddenly cutting off. She felt his body give in and diminish to nothing more than a stain on her enormous breasts. Her only reaction was one of slightly aroused hilarity.

After smacking the last surviving holdouts of military might into showers of blood, she chose one of the Chinese Company soldiers to examine in closer detail.

Jie Zhang had seen better days for sure. Having dismissed the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists as a mere collection of disgruntled country bumpkins, he had never expected to actually fight them, much less be cornered by a ridiculously huge boxer girl. Now, he sat rubbing his forehead after having literally been blown to the ground by her. Fighting was of no use. Zhang, like many others, had been raised with romantic stories of gods and demons. What he saw before him was a mix of both. Though having the appearance of a goddess, she had the temperament of a demon. But judging from the conversation she had with Buchel, perhaps there was something vaguely corresponding to logic hidden away in her dark recesses. When her hand reached for him, he did not struggle, for he knew it was useless. Her hand was still layered with gore, and Zhang suppressed an urge to vomit. He let himself be carried up to her face, hoping that this would allow her to see him in closer detail, revealing some traces of humanity. Her mouth was curled in a condescending smile. Jie Zhang was practically convulsing with fear, but decided to be proactive in his struggle to survive, to desperately search for some divine egress from this horror.

“M-m-may I ask how m-miss is doing today?”

He tried to use honorifics to apply to her classical (hopefully present) values of respect. Weren’t the boxers all about traditional Chinese values and all that? 

Mei-Yi was surprised at whatever the dude in her hand was trying to accomplish.

“Doing quite well, you?”

There was a sparkle of sadistic humor in her eyes when she asked how Zhang was.

“G-good, thank you.”

Zhang’s blatant lie elicited a chuckle from Mei-Yi. The man was dressed in a decidedly foreign costume, covered in a khaki wrapper like the candies she would get from market stalls. Unlike the food before, if Zhang was a piece of candy, she would have been able to actually taste the flavor. In fact… But what if she just… Mei-Yi dismissed the thought from her mind. Such civic degeneration might be pleasurable, but inappropriate. She patted Zhang’s bald head a few times. Scanning the battleground in front of her, she found one of the conical hats that had been dropped by a deceased soldier. The little plumes in the colors of the German Empire were stained scarlet. She picked it up and mockingly placed it on Zhang’s head, almost snapping his neck in the process.

“That’ll protect you from the sun.”   

Another man started trying to surreptitiously pull a grenade out, one of the last in the now eerily silent field. Mei-Yi used her other hand to pop his head like a berry. Zhang let out a cry of shock.

“Please, I throw myself at your mercy. I’ll do anything for you, anything, if you just spare the lives of me and my friends!”

Mei-Yi cocked her eyebrow confidently.

“Anything?”

“Yes! Please, just don’t kill us!”

Mei-Yi, intoxicated with the dominance she exerted over this pitiful being, questioned whether she should take pity on him. 

“Sure thing. Here’s my request: where’d you get your idea for that beard?”

Jie Zhang sported a kind of soul patch, a thin strip of hair underneath his chin like the hair of a brush. 

“W-what?”

“What’s with the beard?”

 Zhang wasn’t sure if this was some cruel rhetorical question or if she was foreshadowing some awful course of action.  

“It l-looks cool…”

Mei-Yi, no longer finding any more use for this toy, decided she ought to finish up. Killing the man didn’t seem very moral, so she settled for a half-measure. She caught Zhang’s right leg between her obelisk-esque fingers, and applied a bit of pressure. His questioning swelled to an ear piercing scream as his muscles ripped and his bones broke. Now, he was desperate. In between sobs, he tried to beg for his life.

“P-p-please! You s-said you wouldn’t k-k-kill me! I just want to g-go home! Please!”

“I said I wouldn’t kill you, not hurt you. Maybe next time don’t replace your home country’s language with the foreign tongue, eh?”

“B-but why?”

“Insurance, to make sure you don’t get in trouble

“W-wait! One more question! What is your n-name?”

Mei-Yi was silent for a moment, questioning whether giving him her name was a safe prospect. Considering how well modern military might had performed against her, she concluded there was no harm. Heck, it might even convince the foreigners to leave her country with much more haste.

“Red Lantern Mei-Yi.” 

“J-Jie Zhang.”

“Right. Once the foreigners have been expelled from China, I’ll give you and your lovely family a little visit. So be nice, alright?”

She stood up and placed him in the grass beside the road after flashing him with a hubristic smile. She was done here. The force had been completely eradicated. Of course, some of them were probably playing dead. For a second Mei-Yi debated crushing them all, but her ego got the better of her and supposed they would definitely spread the word of her deeds. Wiping her hands clean(ish) on the road, she put on her coat. She would now continue her journey to Beijing.

But wait! Stanislaus, the foreigner in her pocket. What of him? Most likely he was planning a most devious plan. Gaining their trust, putting up a show, and betraying them when able to. Of course, she wasn’t afraid of any foreign attack on her, but her smaller friends were certainly at risk. On a whim, Mei-Yi reached into her pocket and fished out the man in question. Dumping him on the ground, she prepared to end his pitiful life with a quick stomp. The man looked up at her with questioning eyes, but fear soon succeeded in its place. She lifted her foot over him, but hesitated. Xue-Yu would freak. She assured herself that she held the moral ascendancy in this ‘battle’ because they attacked first. Yeah, that’s it. As long as the enemy did something heinous or fired the first shot, her retaliation was justified. Nothing but self-defense. Satisfied, she left Zhang and Stanislaus alone, a bloodshed-filled scene surrounded by little bits of torn uniform, abandoned weaponry and of course carnage located at the bottom of mini-craters.

The visit to the magistrate’s was, of course, immediately commenced with loudly voiced plaudits for Mei-Yi’s devotion to the ‘common people of China.’ Of course, this would have been a lot better had the magistrate not made his appearance in a somehow even more ostentatious parade. Given the poor appearance of the nearby villages and towns supposedly under his care, the habitat of such a specimen was sure to be very taxing on his treasury. Though his servants and soldiers were supposedly on his payroll and allowed a generous salary, by the time the money actually passed through his ‘inspection,’ it somehow dwindled to less than half the original amount. This was not a one time accounting error, either. When faced with the question of Ao Ling’s spouse, the magistrate’s apparent apathy to his ordered executions angered Mei-Yi greatly. The great fat man had been picking his nose ungracefully and had responded with a bored ‘who’s that?’ and mumbled vaguely  about Ling’s spouse going to Beijing. Even though Mei-Yi merited the full confidence and support of the magistrate, the fact that people like this influenced four hundred million people needed to be addressed. She would have very much liked to pop him like a berry, but that would be unwise in the grand scheme of things. To become an enemy of the Great Qing would become quite an issue, so it would be better to take baby steps. Expel the foreigners, then deal with the problems at home. If one thing good came out of it, she was sent back on her way with lots of goodies. There was now an established routine of traveling on Beijing Road: walking along, chatting with villagers, and occasionally stomping out any opposition. Sometimes she met bandits, other times foreign patrols, but it always ended with her strutting away from a horrific venue of bloodshed, glad to have served justice. Of course, she had to satisfy the punctilious moral code of Xue-Yu, and she put up a great show of sparing less courageous enemies. The countryside was essentially a vast expanse of yellowing grass as far as the eye could see, occasionally shaded with clumps of trees, backed by expansive cordilleras, or increasingly common the unnatural growths of telegraph poles. 

One experience in particular was very unique. It started with Yong-Liang calling from within Mei-Yi’s pocket, and sticking his head out. 

“Hey, hey! You hear that?”

‘That’ was not very descriptive, but what it was referring to was obvious. There was a high mewing wail, like that of a child’s. She glanced about hastily, hoping the source wasn’t falling victim to highwaymen or foreign devils.

“Yeah, where is that coming from?”

Even with the booming resonance of Mei-Yi’s voice there was a mounting shake of concern. The bawling continued. 

             “Further up the road. Hurry!”

              She began walking at a much brisker pace, taking long steps spaced so that she could compromise between skimming the area over efficiently as well as moving as quickly as possible. The road was absolutely empty, just an endless line stretching out into the distance. Eventually, Mei-Yi found that the crying was endemic to inside a bush along the side of the road. She revealed the contents to be a lone child. A greasy head topped by a few plaits of black hair melted into a mess of shrieking gums and dewy eyelids. The absence of a pigtail marked it as a little girl, and no parent or guardian of any sort seemed to be nearby. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Where are your parents?”

     In between her irregular and jerky suspiring the girl showed her leg, which had a thin streak of blood. The poor paving of the road was a likely cause. But the lack of a parental presence nearby gave Mei-Yi a mounting sense of unrest. 

“Man, that sucks. But where are your parents?”

The kid tried to say something, but everytime she let out a coherent syllable she was immediately choked up by her hyperventilations. Mei-Yi decided to let one of her smaller friends do the talking, as speaking with someone that was several times their size would not be very reassuring. Though she instantly thought of Xue-Yu, she decided against it. Xue-Yu, though of course very wise, possessed a very stern countenance at all times which would probably convey the less than encouraging message of failure and disappointment to the child. Yong-Liang, with his previous concerns about the kid’s safety, seemed like a good option. He seemed like a good candidate for a ‘big brother’ type. She fished him out and placed him next to the child. Yong-Liang quickly set about using a torn rag as a makeshift bandage. As puerile as it all seemed, he worked with patience and interjecting with sympathetic noises every time he was confronted with an expression of pain. A shudder crossed his face, and Mei-Yi was amazed to see the look of real, sincere love and tenderness on that otherwise tough mug of his. When finished, Yong-Liang offered her some of the candies that the magistrate had given them. 

“My name is Yong-Liang. This is Sister-Disciple Mei-Yi. We’re part of the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists. What’s your name?” 

“W-w-en-Wen.”

With a few encouraging pats, Wen-Wen regained her composure.

“Wen-Wen, where are your parents?”  

Tears appeared in her eyes, and it seemed that the mention of her parents was enough of an excuse for her to start bawling again. 

“I-I don’t know. I ran away.” 

“Where’s your home?”

“I don’t have one.”

Yong-Liang noticed a rectangular strip of paper on her shirt, perhaps a talisman of some sort. Upon closer inspection, it read one hundred wen in misshapen, messy lettering with dots of ink splattered everywhere. Wen was the currency typically used in the countryside. It was a price tag. But for what?

“Is this for you?”

Wen-Wen nodded sadly. There was no doubt about it now, and the tragic conclusion which had been slowly obtruding itself into Mei-Yi’s reluctant mind was now confirmed. Wen-Wen was probably being sold as a slave or worse, and had escaped. One could not fail to notice the sickly build of Wen-Wen. Mei-Yi could not dissociate this from the haunting images of severe opium addicts, desperate beggars, hopeless consumptives, or brutal criminals selling their children. Paintings of famine-struck towns so desperate that they severed even the sacred ties of kindred for a meager bite pressed upon her, and the stories of unscrupulous philanderers unwilling to face the consequences of their unfortunate actions and leaving their progeny in destitution were made even more tragic with their basis in reality. Chinese culture has a strong emphasis on filial piety, and to have a child simply abandoned like this was disheartening. 

“Do you want to come with us then?”

“Okay.”

The ascending intonation seemed to be a question, but there really was no other choice for her. Wen-Wen was staring at the stocky sword hanging at Yong-Liang’s sash. Most weapons used for local self-defense were horribly crafted by blacksmiths of dubious quality. Yong-Liang’s sword was spared from such deformities. Its angular shape was crisp and lucid in its molding, and its handle was tailed by a strip of bright red cloth. Such quality weapons were inevitably imbued with romantic power in the eyes of the peasantry. Yong-Liang drew the sword, and swung it around, doing a few tricks. It shone brilliantly in the sun, and when swung about it gave Yong-Liang an almost messianic look. Wen-Wen’s hazel eyes beamed with curiosity, and followed the movement of the blocky sword. 

“Here, I’ll let you hold it!”

Apparently forgetting completely about her traumatic past, Wen-Wen stuck her hands out expectantly with a chortle of delight but immediately she sagged downwards when receiving it. 

“Wow, brother Yong-Liang is strong!”

Chinese people typically address their elders as either uncle, aunt, brother or sister depending on the disparity of the age difference. Though this did not always imply that there was a quasi-filial bond, Yong-Liang was still happy to hear it. He chuckled and hung the sword back at his hip. He tenderly picked Wen-Wen up, with a gentleness Mei-Yi had rarely seen. 

“Right, let’s get a move on.”

Looking around in a last ditch attempt to locate any parents or guardians, Mei-Yi put both of them in her pocket. Reinvigorated by this wholesome experience, she continued walking along the path.  It was a perfect summer day. The sky was painted a clear azure blue, the sun mellow, the air sweetened by wood smoke and its culinary products. According to the mapper, there was a river further up the road, and she planned to stay there for a bit to refill all their canteens and perhaps they would even be afforded the luxury of taking a bath. 

Zhou Ming hurled out the fishing net with an involuntary grunt. Fluttering through the air like a wisp of fine muslin, it landed in the water unceremoniously, and after bobbing thoughtfully for a few moments sank downwards. Below Zhou’s boat was a vast, teeming school of fish that perhaps stretched for miles and miles. Indeed, the river was alive with a copious stream of squirming fish. They formed a sort of prolonged ophic shape underneath the gently rippling waves, an endless mass of writhing, sliding, jostling. However, the slightly murky water would muddle up its shape somewhat, giving less attentive souls the appearance of a single organism. Zhou’s rudimentary knowledge suggested that it was mating season, but no further analysis was needed to know that it was a veritable gateway to a good catch. They would sometimes leap high into the air and return into the same opening in which they had come out of, arranging beads of water on the side of his rowboat. Zhou felt a subtle tug at the submerged net, and this was quickly followed by several more. With practiced hands he began to pull his web back into his boat, armful by armful. Today’s catch seemed to be quite plentiful judging by the heavy weight of the net’s contents, etching the latticed patterns into his aging palms. It seemed today’s would-be catch developed a collective effort. Their jaws snapped convulsively in haphazard bites of air and the flapping horde’s acrobatics goaded Zhou to tip forward and almost fall overboard, but at the last second he managed to catch himself on the splintery periphery of the boat. Pulling the strain of the net over his shoulders, he heard someone clear their throat apparently right behind him. 

“I’ll be right with you,” he announced through bared teeth and sharp breaths. He also acted as the de-facto ferryman for this particular river. At last, the sagging bottom of the net bumped into the starboard and he felt the shock of cold water drip onto the floor. After dropping the burden into his boat, his sharp eyes caught a bright color in the water before him. Overlaying the dark shadow of the fish and his own waving depiction, the somewhat distorted reflection was of his next passenger, apparently a young woman in a martial arts uniform. But it seemed way too large to be normal, a distortion caused by the water. But Zhou Ming knew this river better than anyone else, and its mischievous tricks and illusions had no effect on him. His interest piqued, he turned around.

Mei-Yi was getting used to the dazed automatism of surprise when meeting new people. She put on a warm smile to convince him of her friendly intentions. This time, the old man on the boat staggered backwards with such shock that Mei-Yi questioned whether his heart could handle it. But once he recovered, a cheerful and undefeated color materialized in his eyes. The legend of the giant boxer had reached his venerable old ears as well. She gave vent to a quick hello and tried to get the introductions over with.

“Hey. I’m Red Lantern Mei-Yi of the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists, and we’re fighting to restore honor to the Middle Kingdom.”

“Greetings. It seems you don’t need me to ferry you across.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you while you were fishing.”

Zhou wiped at the perspiration at his brow. The sun was as round as a full moon, but shining with splendor in its golden crown, the high branches of trees black against its dazzle.

“I see. Well, you are a nice girl, Mei-Yi and niceness is dearly underrated in today’s world. Now, you want anything? I have a bit of wine, tea, and of course fish.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose or anything. Just wanted to get permission to, uh, cross the river.”

“Please, I insist. Usually people just yell at me while I’m trying to fish.”

There was a little hut on the other side of the river. He began to paddle back, taking great care not to disturb the swathes of fish below him. Mei-Yi easily crossed in one bound. He wore nothing except a pair of heavily patched up trousers, the sewing uneven and crooked. The brown blotches of benign tumors invited by the incessant blazing sun and creased scars like timeworn canyons in a desert were spread all across his body. A few straggling black strands of a mustache shading a sunburned surface made up his only facial hair, and his pigtail was a scraggly collection of individual hairs curled in irregular patches. Though he was for the most part thin and gaunt, there was a certain stoutness to his limbs that indicated some vestige of strength and sagacity in his ancient muscles. His bearing was upright and noble, with dark, piercing eyes. He paddled in great laborious strokes, with each push of the oar eliciting a weary wince. The way he moved conveyed a sense of elderly fragility and great strength at the same time. His solitary, lopsided decrepitude reminded her of the isolated cluster of villages gently burrowed away from urban life that had been her home. 

Mei-Yi crouched down, and dipping her fingers into the water gently so as to not create too big a splash, she gently stirred the water towards the bank, sending most of the fish darting away from their previously presented illusion of unity. The scale of such an action was more than adequate, and thanks to the hypnotic ripple of the waves the boat rocked against the shore.  Mei-Yi barely knew anything about this man, his family, his education, his loves, his hopes and wishes, but she felt absolutely at ease. Before Zhou could murmur his gratitude, Mei-Yi lifted the full net with two fingers, squashing the little knot Zhou had tied at the top.

“Where do you want it?”

Zhou tried to assert his humility by waving away her proffer of assistance, but finally he gestured at a spot near the hut. Placing the net down at the cost of marking her hand with a distinct fishy smell, she let the contents of her pocket out. Surprised at her retinue, Zhou nonetheless engaged in an exchange of introductory verbal chaff. Zhou did not expect such the bundle of youthful innocence that was Wen-Wen to accompany them. Zhou lifted her up into the air and spun her around, eliciting gurgles of joy from her. 

Once a meager fire had been built and the issue of food had been addressed with the catch of the day and the magistrate’s goodies, Mei-Yi had a much better look at her natural surroundings, that would be her home for a few days. The surface of the river was hardly water. It was so thickly littered with the green palms of fallen leaves and blades of grass that it looked like an extension of the grassland. Within the patches of clear water the reflection of the first stars could be seen like specks of gold in the soil, as the sky cleared to reveal the opaque darkness of night. Sinews of aquatic plants, gnarled branches and mangled twigs sat coated by the mood, like the bones of sunken ships. A majestic swan settled down amongst the weeds. The river was surrounded with trees growing almost to the water’s edge, a vibrant cloth of green, gold, yellow and orange, interrupted only by the grey headstone of the road and the clearing in which Zhou made his residence. A sapling near Zhou’s little hut was patterned with yellowing leaves, its knobbly branches dissolving into the darkness behind it, and there was an impression that the air was flecked with elegant pellets of gold. Though Mei-Yi was just sitting around watching everyone eat, the impact she had on the unyielding ground beneath her was still enormous. Several clumps of sodden dirt were pushed out by her toes as they dug into the ground, and the floor seemed to quiver like a hunk of tofu whenever she adjusted her seat. Zhou busied himself picking the tobacco (thankfully not the opium poppy) he himself had grown, spasmodically interrupted by telling Wen-Wen a joke or ruffling her hair in such a way that it triggered a peculiar sense of pseudo-memory in Mei-Yi, as if the simple gesture solicited some agnatic image from a deep crevice in her mind, the retentive functions of which wholly ancestral and primal. This fatherly emanation was further reinforced with Zhou’s marvelous celerity, pouncing upon and tossing aside the tiniest pieces of unwanted matter that may have become admixed with his precious tobacco, which only a trained eye could discover at all. Mei-Yi’s father used to smoke as well, though she had never known the amount of work required to produce such a luxury. As small as their figures appeared to her, she could still see that Zhou sported his pipe like a marshal’s baton, even jokingly offering it to Wen-Wen. When she accepted immediately, Zhou chuckled and instead added a particularly large chunk of fish to her bowl. Any passerby would not have doubted for an instant that they were legitimate father and daughter. Mei-Yi felt a patch of inexplicable jealousy and sadness at this, but could not determine why. 

Von Ketteler was outraged and demoralised. Less by the impending doom many under his command would likely face, less even by his and their inability to prevent it, but by his failure to determine the cause. Curiosity was a pervasive element of his well-trained mind, a subdued pounding in his mind that constantly asked why and how. Years of studying science did not prepare for the magnitude of this humiliating failure. Civilization had been ravaged with diseases, wars, famine, and strife seemingly impossible to solve, many that almost wiped out entire continents before wasting themselves. But in the end, it showed its dominance. They gave names to the black powder, the germs, and the beasts that threatened their very existences. This situation… not much could be deduced from the horrified rambles of the returning soldiers. A mythological deity of Oriental origin, according to the jabber of coolies. It was a personal affront that this creature continued to assail his troops with such impunity, a personal affront to his pride, a major root of chagrin. But how? Science had been his god. But here there was no sort of science, no sort of logic, no reasonable explanation that could be applied. In its variety of power, science preserved humanity when they cooked their first meals above a meager fire and leapt at the shadows dancing upon the walls. Rational thought had been free for them to criticize and sometimes even reject as people have always rejected gods, but-

“Sir?”

He turned from his desk. A military officer stood by the door of his study, numerous campaign banners and medals dangling from his chest. One sleeve of his coat was tucked into his pocket, and upon further inspection in the connexion between pocket and sleeve there was nothing organic present. In his (only surviving) hand he held a small slip of paper. 

“I think you should see this.”

 Expecting another report of a humiliating defeat at the hands (or feet) of the boxer thugs, he instead received a photograph, apparently of some Oriental girl. The one-armed officer swallowed nervously. As Von Ketteler skimmed over it, an expression of horror worthy of Greek tragedy commandeered his face. 

Separated from the Beijing foreign compound in which Ketteler and his fellows resided, a discussion with the same topic was about to begin. A large delegation of horsemen dressed in traditional Manchu armor pointing their spears and triangular flags directly upright like a holt of pine trees preceded a saraband of Manchu infantry, their large lanterns on sticks swinging cheerily above them like ripening fruit on a branch. After this came a cyclopean palanquin of stupendous size, covered with golden brachiate engravings. The various pictures on the palanquin exhibited rich and luxurious expression, and the exaggerated, color-coded embroidery was arranged so that it formed a visual story of sorts. The palanquin bearers were also nothing to scoff at. With each synchronous step, each confident swing of the arms, there was a sense of supple charm and there was no doubt they had trained for hours and hours for the simple action of walking. Every other footstep a rumble of drums, gongs, and chimes rang out, startling nestled birds away from the slanted roofs of buildings. Their clothing consisted of a spectacular album of symbolic colors: symbols of longevity in virtuous green, belts of courageous cerulean and lined piping in stalwart red. Behind this was a gaggle of mandarins, eunuchs, aides, servants, magistrates, and officials, their hands hidden inside their long sleeves. The whole procession stopped, and General Guwalgiya Rong-Lu, second rank of the Plain White Banner, exited. Upon his smooth silk manchu hat was an opaque coral, attached with several mesmerizing peacock feathers. The spiraling turning of the gleaming lion on his mandarin square presented an all too obvious corollary to the rest of his escort. A cord of iridescent beads hung from his neck, and his robes stretched down to the ends of his knees, giving him the impression of wearing a dress of sorts. They approached a gargantuan red door, and with a low-pitched groan it opened, its impetus a formation of lavishly dressed bannermen. 

Rong-Lu strolled in, and amidst the thick smoke of fragrant incense sat the ruler of one third of humanity, the Empress Dowager Cixi of the Aisin Gioro clan. Delicate, alert eyes studied Rong-Lu’s entrance, and the many furrows and creases on her face accentuated as the door slammed shut. Her elaborate coiffure was assiduously strewn a la Manchu, in the style of liangbatou. The tall ivory headpiece was adorned with a novel scaffolding of flowers, tassels, and jewels, perhaps invoking the horns of an ox, as if to enable her to fend off political rivals violently. Around her were columns and columns of various buddhas, arhats, spirits, and gods, a blank expression etched into their stony visages. Living attendants were present as well, be it the unassuming eunuchs bent in an eternal kowtow near her throne, or the concubines (of the emperor in name only) fanning themselves incessantly. Rong-Lu performed an elaborate bow, a complicated ritual involving swinging the arms around, flapping the sleeves about. Bolstering the already extremely unwieldy robes and ludicrously long sleeves, this was meant to expose and rid officials of any means of assassination. He ended it with a submissive kowtow, which was waved away by the Empress’ ring encrusted hand.Though thoroughly Chinese by sympathy and education, Rong-Lu had an immense admiration for Western sciences, and for the inventive faculties displayed by them. Much to his chagrin, he was also ever ready to admit the superiority of Western arts and appliances, and eager to advocate their introduction into China.

“Your illustrious majesty, I regret that I must bring black tidings to you today. It is with a heavy heart that I appear before you today. The German minister to Beijing has sent a diplomatic letter of unsavory character, a threat if you will.”

“And I presume this concerns the boxers?”

“Your highness is correct as usual. The German minister has requested that we intervene and stop these terrorists, as well as another scandalous concession, a small island near Qingdao.”

A cold, calculating look of dignified contempt entered the Empress’ face. She scoffed sumptuously, letting the plumes on her headpiece swing about, before letting her anger rise. 

“Germany? GERMANY? How dare they?! That is pitiful. Our population is eight times theirs. It is not even worthy to be a province of the Great Qing Empire! We are the most ancient, most honorable, most royal of peoples that have walked on this earth. We have our destiny to accomplish, set by our forefathers centuries ago. What do we care that it does not tally with the destiny of Germany?”

“We must show that the Great Qing Dynasty is not in any way associated with these boxer bandits. If we do not act, they will turn upon us. I trust I do not need to remind Her Majesty of the military prowess of the foreigners? The foreigners’ warships can run even faster than our horses on land. Their cannons harness the power of a thunderbolt when they fire. ” 

“And I trust I do not need to remind you of their many crimes. Thirteen of eighteen of our provinces are under foreign control. Foreign armies patrol our roads, foreign warships occupy our harbors. Foreign narcotics poison the masses, foreign machines blemish the sky with smoke. Foreign weapons destroy our land, and foreign gods disturb the spirits of our ancestors. I personally do not believe in the magic of the boxers, but their cause is noble and just.” 

Rong-Lu bowed several times meekly, before the door opened again. As Rong-Lu saw who it was, he scowled. It was Prince Aisin Gioro Zai-Yi, second rank of the Bordered White Banner. Dressed in similar pomp and circumstance as Rong-Lu, Zai-Yi essentially acted as a counterweight to the comparatively pro-Western Rong-Lu. Having studied Chinese classics, law, literature and history extensively, Zai-Yi had mastered the art of bribery and extortion. Endowed with a profound contempt for all the barbarians who dwelled in the pale of Chinese civilization, his first action was to immediately announce something instead of kowtowing.

“Your omnipotence, one of our magistrates has openly declared his support for the boxer patriots, along with thousands of the common folk! The voice of the people has spoken. With their magic, we can expel the foreign devils from China once and for all!”

“If we are to support the boxers, a dozen foreign armies will descend upon us. Simple magic tricks cannot destroy their armies.” Rong-Lu  growled through gritted teeth. 

“Let them come! Even if their magic cannot be relied on, surely the hearts and minds of the people can be! We are hundreds of millions strong. Let their navies come. We will not notice them. Send their punitive expeditions. To land even a thousand soldiers on our shores would strain their resources, and our millions will swallow them down in a mouthful. Send a million, five million, and China will swallow them down just as readily. Poof! A mere morsel.”

Rong-Lu rolled his eyes as if being confronted with a petulant child, and turned to the Empress herself.

“Does Her Illustrious Majesty really believe where the guns and cannons of the Imperial Army have failed, the swords of the boxers will prevail?”

“The Imperial Army is tainted with the stench of the foreigners!”

“We must fight fire with fire! Our armies are not prepared yet for war. We should suppress the boxer terrorists first, and give the foreign devils the head of the magistrate. This way, they will not have any excuse to resort to arms. We can slowly build up our arms.”

“Another concession, as if we do not already have enough?! To treat these guilty devils as honored guests in our lands is ludicrous. If we simply fold our arms and yield, we would have no face to greet our ancestors after death. 

“Have we not learned enough from the failures of history? China is frail, to make even more enemies than we already have is guaranteed extinction of our great dynasty! There is no proof of their foolish magic! The accounts of opium addicts do not count. The boxers have risen like a great storm, but like a storm they shall disappear as quickly as they have arrived.”

“We must never surrender to such humiliating terms again! We will be traitors to our Celestial Empire! China is a prostrate cow. No longer satisfied with her milk now the foreigners are butchering her for her meat. If we must perish, why not fight to the death? If our Great Qing suffers yet another great humiliation, I’ll kill myself in front of you!”

The Dowager Empress raised her eyebrows and cleared her throat condescendingly, at this motion both officials kowtowed several more times. Her face was twisted into a visage of majestic irritation. She spoke slowly, her diction icy.

“The voice of the nightingale is silent. I hear only the sound of crows.”

Both officials swallowed their pride, as it would be much better for their necks if they did so. However, they simultaneously gave each other murderous stares. The Empress continued speaking.

“The foreign devils are barbaric and ignorant. But I shall exhaust every option before war first. I will see to it that the boxers are put down, and the magistrate dismissed. The island is but a drop of water. The boxers will be dealt with, violently if necessary, but the hearts and minds of the people cannot be so easily quieted. If the foreign devils’ insatiable greed continues, we shall have no choice but to support them. That is all.”

Zai-Yi ruefully shook his head in sorrow and disgust, but Rong-Lu had a similar reaction. He derived little pleasure from further humiliation of his country, but what other choice did they have? A bunch of country bumpkins claiming to have ‘magical’ powers could not be trusted. He would personally have his contacts in the Banners to deal with this threat to peace. Zai-Yi trembled with indignation.The Empress was certainly mad! Destroy the boxers and then support them after the foreigners inevitably err? She was senile! As he stormed out of the Empress’ throne room, a eunuch bowed to him, lifting a small slip of paper above his head. Zai-Yi returned the courtesy, and took it. It was a photograph, of the foreign kind. He stared at it like it was a liquid he had found on a toilet seat, but once the initial hatred of the barbaric foreigners and their demonic technology passed he marveled at it. It was of a young woman in a martial arts uniform. Even in the fuzzy black and white mire of the photo, the redness of her cheeks and the raven black of her hair was clearly visible. Sure, not really anything special, but in her hands she held… ...what appeared to be another boxer. Perhaps an optical illusion, or some well-crafted doll. Zai-Yi squinted closer. No, no, the camera seemed very far away from the girl. The perspective seemed impossibly real, and the tiny boxer in her hand was far too realistic to be a doll. The position of the camera also bolstered the impression of the boxer’s size. At the bottom, it read “Red Lantern Mei-Yi.”

News about the “Giantess of Shandong” spread like wildfire. Germany had been humbled several times, and now a fierce scramble began to capture her. The photo of Mei-Yi had been posted in every magazine and newspaper from Tianjin to Hong Kong, with varied responses. There were long-tailed Chinamen in their dresses and skull-caps, snickering about the humiliation of a “barbarian nation.” Mei-Yi was given superhuman and superhero qualities beyond her size by the hushed conversations of coolies and the discussions of old men. In an age of social upheaval, she was a classical hero, defending China from the machinations of colonial atrocities and banditry. There were also appalled foreigners, clutching their pearls and pocket watches in disgust. Finally, there were the Western soldiers deployed in China. The more caddish fellows viewed her alleged martial arts skills as arousing: they imagined her fighting as curiously delicate but still fierce, akin to an erotic dance of sorts. They fantasized about capturing her, or equally commonly, the bounty that came with her capture.  

Such criteria described Corporal George Chetney. His commanding officer was a boorish buffoon whose only order was “line up!” and only pedagogy was flogging anything that moved. But set some coin or a voluptuous lady in front of him and he would suddenly join the ranks of the most well-behaved of scholars and statesmen. And now, here he was, in the rice paddies of China. He and his unit were set out to win the “hearts and minds” of the Chinese people by distributing famine aid. Some top commander had expressed worry that the brutish behavior of other nations would cause a diplomatic scandal, so now Chetney was here handing out bags of rice instead of kicking some yellow behind. The Krauts had turned the whole countryside into a charnel house. After all, the price for a white man’s head had to be paid for with heads five-score. Smoke trailed up on every horizon. A pile of bodies of every age and sex was present at village after burned village. Sometimes when they felt economical they would line up the unfortunate villagers into an open field, and bayonet them one by one. The smell of the dead mingled with the poisonous miasma of burning homes. A necessary evil for civilization to prevail over barbarism. 

Xiong Hui-Liang filled Wen-Wen’s cup with some hot water, which she drank with small, reserved sips. They were getting close to Beijing now, as they saw increasingly prosperous towns and villages. Several helpful wooden signs also confirmed the fact. Among the goodies they had received as gifts from the people was a tub of red paint, which Mei-Yi had wanted for her nail polish. Now that they were having a little sit down and break from their journey, she had a fine opportunity to go ahead and use it. The breeze felt comforting on her bare feet, especially with all the walking she had been doing. It also helped that Yong-Liang was carefully painting her toenails with a brush, lying belly-down on the slanted arch of her foot. Being an uneducated country boy, he was pretty much illiterate, and handled the brush with unwieldy awkwardness. Each individual toe was innocently elegant in their finely molded shape, and the clumsy way Yong-Liang splattered on the paint tickled slightly. 

“What did you say the religion of the foreigners was like?” Mei-Yi questioned. 

“The foreign devils’ dog-fart books stink like dung,” said Yong-Liang. “They worship this thing called Celestial Hog.”

“Yeah, but why would anyone even follow them then?

“Living men hate the devils, and the spirits of the dead hate them even more.  Those who follow the devil religion are not true men. It is hateful that the disgusting name of the Hog should descend a hundred generations.”  

“Don’t they do lots of weird stuff?”

“I mean, drinking menstrual blood and eating fetuses probably counts.”

“Ew!”

“That’s where they get their strength to fuel their demonic army!” 

Yong-Liang, whenever questioned on the topic of the foreign devils, liked to go on incredibly vitriolic rants. After all, he had too been greatly wronged by the foreigners, perhaps even more so than Mei-Yi. 

“Maybe at some point we’ll get to meet some of their monks. That would be interesting. You think they’re just as nasty as the soldiers?”

“That I know not of. But it would be better for all the world if they packed up and went back to whatever hole they came from. Here, stop moving!”

Mei-Yi had been tapping her foot gently in her pondering, and Yong-Liang had almost stumbled off. Xue-Yu sat nearby, muttering criticisms on the shortcomings of Yong-Liang’s brushwork. But now he joined the conversation.

“The Occidentals have a religion that is similar to the ones we have in the Western provinces,” he began. 

“Of course you would know.” scoffed Yong-Liang, who had just finished painting Mei-Yi’s big toenail. 

Xue-Yu ignored him.

“Their religion is monotheistic, I recall, and focuses on-”

“Cuckoldry, prostitution, and murder! They harvest the eyeballs of children for their medicines, the testicles of newborns for their potions!” 

“Contrariwise. I admit their clergy are indeed often disagreeable, but having spent much time with them I will say they mustn’t be treated like dogs-”

“They slander the holy men and sages; they vilify our Gods and ancestors. All they know is greed! Ten thousand arrows would not excuse their crimes.” 

“That is a very one-sided view.”

“You stuck up intellectual types always make big fusses out of nothing.”

Yong-Liang hopped off of Mei-Yi’s foot and accosted Xue-Yu. Though Xue-Yu was considerably shorter than Yong-Liang, he stood his ground.

 Afraid of another spat between Xue-Yu and Yong-Liang, Mei-Yi quickly changed the topic. She scooped up Yong-Liang and brought him closer to her face. 

“Hey Yong-Liang, who is your favorite character from Romance of the Three Kingdoms?”

Yong-Liang did not answer and continued staring into Xue-Yu’s reflective glasses. Finally, he gave a final scowl to Xue-Yu, but before he could answer he spotted the distant figures of an approaching caravan. Mei-Yi noticed too, and rather absentmindedly shoved everyone into her pocket and strode confidently towards the caravan. 

The caravan was of foreign devils, dressed in bright red. They carried several carts full of bags and barrels. Behind them trailed several iron artillery cannons towed by horses. Their commander was a burly, thick-lipped butterball in a pith helmet that looked like an overgrown pimple. Next to him was his adjutant, a lanky, skull-faced vulture, whose asymmetrical eyes were hideously contrasted with a massive monocle. To complete the comedy trio, a scrawny officer whose belt was heavy with all sorts of devious foreign innovations stood beside them, hand resting on the butt of a revolver. They were the most hideous foreigners Mei-Yi had seen.

On the contrary, Mei-Yi was one of the prettiest Chinese Chetney had seen. Dressed in a red and white smock slightly faded with dirt, her hair was tied into those classic Chinese coiled buns. She stood several stories high and looked far feistier than the prostitutes of Beijing. Once the shock subsided, Chetney actually looked forward to subjugating her. She would be a delightful attraction in a zoo in London, he imagined.

Mei-Yi felt no need to fall into conversation and kicked the mounted commander into the distance. The rest of the convoy barked orders and began to scatter, but she wasn’t about to let that happen. She lifted her foot and brought it down upon a couple of the lancers, smearing them and their horses into pulp. She crushed several more, savoring each crunch as the little warriors buckled underneath her weight. Mei-Yi dropped onto all fours, crushing a few soldiers with the weight of her palm. When she lifted her palm up to strike again the mangled viscera and gore remained stuck to her hand like a malignant rash. She slammed her hand down on another foreign devil, grinding his remains into the dust. With a pathetic amount of force, she turned a grenadier’s midsection into bloody mush, and a quick press of her thumb disappeared a howling redcoat’s leg. The feeling of total domination over her foes was satisfying to Mei-Yi, enjoyable in fact. She wasn’t a Chinese peasant or a country bumpkin anymore, waiting to get married off to some guy who owned more pigs than her family. She was a powerful, dangerous woman, who stood for righteousness and harmony. She was a hero, like the classical gods and goddesses of old. She had the wrath of a tiger, the strength of a dragon and the cunning of a fox. The devils were against China and all her people, and so she was against the devils. Did they really think they would get the best of it? 

All Chetney could focus on was her smile. It was the cheery grin not of a sadistic killer, but of an ordinary girl playing with her toys. She seized a man’s leg from underneath him, dangling him upside down. The man desperately thrashed and tried to poke her with his bayonet-tipped rifle, and she responded by squeezing his torso with increasing intensity. The giantess giggled slightly as the sickening wet sound of the man’s torso imploding preceded his silence. The hail of bullets hitting her was barely noticeable, and Chetney dropped to his knees in abject horror and despair. Her laugh was so innocent and immature, and yet the remains littered around her were the most gruesome masses of flesh. Though the giantess’ face was undeniably beautiful, Chetney could not really look at it any longer. 

A couple of soldiers snapped out of their stupor and began to fire in more coordinated volleys. The hussars rallied their horses and charged. With one quick motion, she swept away the vanguard of the cavalry into a giant heap. Some of them managed to swerve just in time to avoid her. The lancers circled her, poking at her with their long spears. Though their horses were fast, their maneuvers were predictable. She simply held out her hand in front of them, watching with glee as they struggled to turn or brake their horses or rammed directly into her palm. One of them had gotten behind her and thrust a lance straight into her pretty little rump, causing Mei-Yi to yelp in surprise and embarrassment rather than actual pain. She got back on her knees and turned to face the cavalryman behind her, but not before taking out another unfortunate rider. The lancer who had gotten the lucky shot had tumbled off his horse, and was now defenseless. He reached in weary desperation for his sword, but Mei-Yi grabbed him before he would do anything of value. She then turned to face the rest of the convoy, and popped the little man in her hands right in front of them. The explosion of gore apparently shocked the infantry, allowing her to quickly grab a handful without them scrambling away. The feeling of half a dozen men against her hand squirming helplessly against her grip gave her such smug satisfaction that it was almost arousing. With their little red uniforms, they looked amusing, almost like the candied fruits and tanghulu she used to get at the marketplace. They had a very distinct tangy sweet flavor, and she used to collect their wrappers and sticks.

It suddenly occurred to her that she had not really eaten anything in quite a while. She looked at the soldiers ponderously with her big brown eyes until they could see their own reflections. What if… Mei-Yi popped one of the little fellows into her mouth and chomped down, sending the soldiers in her hand into a desperate frenzy of yelling. Her teeth bored through flesh and bone alike, and the screams of the tiny man melted away into incomprehensible gurgles. As she continued chewing, Mei-Yi evaluated the taste. At first he was sweet, but as more and more of his innards spilled out it simply tasted of raw blood. He was very chewy, kind of like the slices of beef tripe the Muslim merchants used to sell when they came to her village. She swallowed and decided to pick another one. One of the foreign devils, a roguish man with great long tart-catching sideburns, looked appealing. She placed him on her outstretched tongue and reeled him in. This time, she decided not to start chewing immediately. This man apparently had excellent hygiene, for he had a particularly agreeable taste. He wrestled against her massive tongue, and the feeling of him punching and kicking against it was enjoyable. Every now and then Mei-Yi opened her mouth slightly to give him some vestige of false hope, and also to let his friends see down into the caverns of pale pink throat which they were about to be acquainted with soon. He seemed to tire out after a while, and once his will to fight was completely exhausted she swallowed him. His comrades in her hand traced with unending horror the visible bump on Mei-Yi’s throat as he went down. Swallowing them whole was far more pleasing an experience.

The Britishers had not exhausted their surprises, however. The artillery had set themselves up, and they fired without hesitation. As usual, Mei-Yi was more offended than hurt. She instinctively raised her arms to cover her face, and the shells that burst actually blew up the soldiers in her grasp. But all things considered, it was entirely innocuous. Their ridiculous cannons drummed all along her body, while the infantry peppered her with shots. She waited for a bit for effect, and comically raised one eyebrow in disapproval. 

The red blossoms of flame created a series of sparks that fluttered around her body like snowflakes. Within the smoke, a spark caught fire and began to burn away at her jacket. At first she did not notice, but once her clothing began to actively go up in flames she recoiled in surprise.

Mei-Yi ripped her jacket off and threw it to the ground, stamping out the flames. Her pants had caught fire as well, and she took those off and patted out the flames far more gently, in consideration of her friends inside. Now she stood at her full height, pretty much completely naked except for her tattered undergarments. The slightly tanned complexion of her face gave way to a clearly visible flush, and her large dark eyes, formerly full of softness and intelligence, now brandished unquenchable anger. She was about to curse out the Britishers’ mothers when another salvo hit her. Her bare body felt every single round slam into her, and with her legs spread out, a few shells hit her crotch. She doubled back in repressed pleasure, squirming as the bombs massaged her sex. She barely managed to get out a moan of surprise before more explosions detonated between her thighs. Mei-Yi fell backwards onto her ass, sliding onto and grinding some of the horsemen to paste. Pangs of arousal resonated down there. The poor Britishers, seeing the effect of targeting her erogenous zone, thought that was her weak spot and began to aim there. The outline of her cunt was a very tempting target. They thought her moans were of pain and impending death. In reality it was the opposite.

Mei-Yi was having a hard time trying not to enjoy it. Her body felt warm and fuzzy and the bombardment now seemed like a massage on her body. Finally, Mei-Yi gave in. After all, she was a “dirty” woman. She didn’t have to adhere to the male boxers’ solemn vows of chastity. Since Yong-Liang wasn’t a giant, this would have to do. The realization of her level of power was exciting. 

“You little fuckers asked for it.”

Mei-YI scooted forward, spreading her legs out wide. She then closed them around the tiny enemy and their pathetic cannons, trapping them all with a smooth wall of skin. The soldiers ran around like headless chickens now, abandoning their guns and mates and instead trying to find an escape route that did not exist. She had never had any guys “inside” her before, and this is not how she expected it to occur. Nonetheless, Mei-Yi pulled away her red panties. Then, she took one of the soldiers and inserted him into her vagina. The man was apparently one of the stronger ones, and his pushing and punching against the enveloping pink walls only aroused her even further. His thrashing became too much to bear, and with a sharp exhale Mei-Yi involuntarily contracted her pelvic muscles on him. He was crushed in an instant. 

But only one man would not be enough to satisfy Mei-Yi. Keeping one hand in between her moist lips, she reached out to grab a few more new tenants. The next victim was a young boy with dark brown hair. He was a pathetic little thing and offered little resistance as all the sides of Mei-Yi’s vagina closed in on him. She squished him unceremoniously and with a slightly disappointed scoff. Her pussy throbbed and moistened even more now. Mei-Yi meticulously plucked every single toy soldier and filled her hungry cunt. She brought her legs together, crushing whatever was in between. 

Chetney’s long day of expectancy had been succeeded by the excitement of battle. He had little time to dwell upon the occurrences of the day, as one of his comrades cried out to him. He- Travers, was it? Yes, his name was Travers- was bleeding profusely, and Chetney rushed over. Chetney tried to lift him up, but the wail of agony stopped him. Travers’ leg had been completely smashed by the giant’s hand, and out of the mutilated lump of flesh Chetney saw the white of bone. Still, he could not be left there, so Chetney began dragging him away. Terrified, Chetney took a look at the giantess. She was… …masturbating? What in the devil? He stared in a mixture of shock and slight arousal until someone shoved him over from behind. As he turned around in alarm, he was slightly relieved to see a normal sized Chinaman. Chetney tried to blubber out an explanation in what little Chinese he knew, but Yong-Liang was not a sympathetic audience by any means. 

“Who is your commander, you pig?”

“I-”

“WHO IS YOUR COMMANDER?!”

“It- It be-”

“NONSENSE! YOU HAVE NO COMMANDERS! WHO RUNS YOUR COUNTRY?”

Chetney barely understood the question. 

“I- What-”

Yong-Liang gave him a particularly painful kick in the chest. Chetney babbled something incoherent along the lines of “leave me alone.”  Though he did not understand every insult Yong-Liang hurled at him, he got the point. The boxer’s contorted yellow face was bent over Chetney’s cowering figure, showering him with spittle.

“FOOL! YOU HAVE NO LEADERS! NO NOBLES, NO OFFICERS, NO ADMIRALS, GENERALS, COLONELS, OR STATESMEN! YOU HAVE ONLY FELLOW ANIMALS WHO GRUNT LOUDER THAN THE REST! YOU PERVERTED SCUM! YOU PIG!” 

Chetney whimpered in response. 

“YOU FAITHLESS WHORE! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?”

“What-”

“WHAT. DID. YOU. DO. TO. HER?!”

Yong-Liang grabbed Chetney’s laced collars with both fists, shaking him with each word. 

“WHAT KIND OF DEVIL MAGIC DID YOU LAY UPON MY FRIEND?”

When Yong-Liang saw that Chetney was not going to provide any helpful information, he pulled out his sword and cut the devil’s head off with one clean stroke. Turning his attention now to Mei-Yi, he began to cry out desperately for her to stop. 

She was about to stop, anyway. Mei-Yi had run out of opponents to humiliate, and consequently she returned to her senses. She seemed to suddenly realize how naked she was, and how shameful her actions had been. Mei-Yi sheepishly reached for her tattered clothing. Yong-Liang ran up to her. 

“Why? Mei-Yi, what the hell happened?!”

She could not explain her sudden promiscuity either. Some terrible influence had seemed to drag her into unnamable abysses of lust. Mei-Yi was debating whether or not to pretend that she had been possessed by some kind of foreign black magic. Mei-Yi tried to keep a tight rein on her emotions, but her face must have betrayed it all. 

“Y-yong-Liang! Thank Nuwa you’re here! The heretic foreign devils and their vicious magic attacked me!”

Yong-Liang stared blankly. Mei-Yu continued ranting. 

“The horror! It was a nightmare! Like 18 chambers of hell! They tried to corrupt me, to turn me into one of them!”

Mei-Yi’s thoughts were suddenly blotted out by an unaccountable horror of sharp intensity. Public masturbation? She had just violated all five cardinal values, corrupted public morals and injured good manners. Such values were not uncommon of the foreign devils, but what she had just done was all of her own volition.  Mei-Yi was disgusted by her own alacrity. 

And yet, it felt good, in a way, like it awakened some kind of evil primal pseudo-memory of lust. It was a kind of perverted pleasure. She had just imposed her sexual desires upon an entire army, without any regard for their dignity or morality. She didn’t just destroy them, but she did it with her most sensitive and private parts of her body, just to satisfy her lust. It was an act of complete and total domination. It felt good. But she knew it wasn’t good. Anything more foul, more blasphemous, more dishonorable would be impossible to conceive. The horrific atrocities she had just committed had no source save her own fancy. The abrupt feeling of moral responsibility flooded Mei-Yi’s eyes with tears. 

But Yong-Liang was convinced otherwise. Swayed by the hellish religions of the foreign barbarians, he ran over and tried to hug her thigh with both arms outstretched. At this point, he was sobbing too, in mourning of his friend’s innocence. Mei-Yi lifted him up to her cheek, and allowed him to embrace her plush cheeks, now drained of their color. 

Beijing, China in the year nineteen hundred. For Matthew Holman, it had been an exotic land of Oriental fantasy, abacuses, Mandarin gowns, funny hats and chow this and chow that. A land of mysticism, adventure, opportunity and of course fun. He knew every girl and every bar near the American legation in Beijing. He learned to eat with a pair of sticks and drink oolong tea and sit in a bamboo chair and ride rickshaws.

But recently the fun had died. A deep wave of discontent was passing through China, and the whole vast land of the Middle Kingdom became a hostile territory. Insults and curses were lobbed from every crook and nanny, and pamphlets and posters advocating the total extermination of the “foreign devil” posted in every nook and cranny. He was eyed with suspicion in market stalls and on the street. The news of the boxers’ success had emboldened the Chinamen against colonial oppression. And they seemed to have taken the most scathing of their criticisms out on Holman. 

The students were the most hateful. Whenever Holman walked the streets, a whole mob of jeering young men would come running towards him, waving signs and booklets. Apparently they had nothing better to do than scream abuse at passing Europeans. Shouting slogans like “down with imperialism” and “down with colonialism,” they followed him wherever he went. Some of the slogans, like “oppose the Treaty of Nanjing” or “return Hong Kong'' and “ban opium” had nothing to do with him and his country, and the pervasive “go back to Europe'' and “go home” actually made him laugh. He had been stationed in China so long that he considered it his home. But the students didn’t,  and as a result he spent most of his down time playing (and losing) Go with coolies inside the safety of the legation or reading newspapers. 

Obviously, he had heard about the infamous Giantess of Shandong, but dismissed it as the delusional vision of opium addicts and superstitious mendicants. Still, the boxers becoming more and more active was concerning to him. Boxers were common sights in Beijing’s streets now. They performed in marketplaces, silencing the bustling chatter with their chants and martial arts displays. They hadn’t done anything nasty to anyone in Beijing yet, though the sight of these terrorists walking the streets with halberds and axes was concerning. 

But one day, after sneaking around the main nests of the student protesters, this was proven false. He saw a gathered crowd surrounding a gigantic water wheel, and Holman walked over to investigate. The water wheel groaned and creaked as it went up and down, and suddenly a body appeared out of the water. He was strapped to the water wheel with his arms out like he was being crucified. His head was down and his hair was matted with water and blood, but as the water wheel went up and up Holman saw from his deathly gaunt face that he was a European. The man plunged downwards into the water again, without making a sound. Holman placed his hand on the shoulder of one of the observers, and tried to start a conversation.

“Nee how, nee how.”

The man turned around, and when he saw that Holman was a foreigner slinked backwards as if Holman had just rubbed excrement onto him.

“Shut up, adulterous offal.”

The chances of their friendship blossoming were not great now, as Holman saw the man was wearing a baggy white smock. On the front was a circular red disk that read “HARMONY.” From his sash hung a crimson-tasseled sword. This man was a boxer, no doubt. And quite a few of the crowd were also boxers. And boxers weren’t really fond of foreign soldiers. Holman backed away slowly.

“What the shit do you want from me, you foreign louse?” asked the chief boxer politely. 

All eyes were on him and Holman now. Blood vessels appeared on the man’s queued cranium as his eyebrows furrowed in contempt. Holman raised his hands, in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

“Whoa, calm down there, pal.” Holman said in what he hoped was a placating voice. But he spoke English, which was not the most comforting language to a Chinese boxer. 

The boxer gave him a violent shove. 

“This is China, you clumsy egg! Speak Chinese!”

Holman fell to the ground and tried to reach for his gun. The little beard on the boxer’s brutal moon-features twitched, and for a moment Holman thought he was going to reach for his sword and decapitate him in one stroke. But the other boxers couldn’t ignore this spat any longer and ran over. They seized Holman from underneath his arms, lifted him up, and then threw him to the ground again for good measure. After checking the area for any officers or other Westerners, they snatched his pistol. 

And then, suddenly, in an instant, the crowd was upon Holman. The whole braying mob kicked and punched and swore at him. Greedy hands searched his pockets, and he was helpless. The worst case scenario came into being as a band of students noticed the ruckus and sprinted over to scream some broken English curse words at him and smack him with rolled up posters and calligraphy brushes. After the crowd had all gotten their kicks in (literally), and they felt that the tyrannical imperialist had been humbled, they fled in all directions. The chief boxer whispered some unpleasant threats into Holman’s ear, before also running off. 

Holman lay there in the fetal position for perhaps a few hours until some charitable coolie brought him back to the American legation. Yes, Holman concluded. The fury of the Chinese people had reached its boiling point.