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.