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.