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.