novelSusiti Chapter 52 The Church
Chapter 52 The Church
Chapter 52 The Church
The valley is located in the Saint-Gabriel Mountains and is rarely visited by people. A clear snowmelt river flows through the valley floor.
Along the riverbank, dozens of conical tents made of animal hides and thick canvas are scattered, forming a small, temporary camp.
Upon seeing Chongyue and his group return, several people in one of the tents lifted the curtain and came to greet them.
Their clothing was distinctly different from that of the Native American warriors, but their skin color and facial features bore some resemblance to those of Native Americans.
Without exchanging pleasantries, they quickly ran to the wounded soldier's side and began to check his injuries.
"His left arm is fractured with obvious displacement. Give him tincture of opium for pain relief, and we'll put a splint on him later!"
"Shot in the abdomen, severe blood loss, already unconscious. Quickly move him inside, prepare hot water, alcohol, and tweezers. Remove the bullet and stop the bleeding immediately!"
"His breathing and heartbeat have stopped; he's beyond saving. Let's send him to be buried."
As they talked, they quickly categorized and treated the wounded, one seriously and one lightly.
The seriously injured were carefully carried to a specially set up, relatively clean tent; the lightly injured were arranged to rest and receive wound cleaning.
Bandaging and pain medication.
Watching all this, Zhan Ying couldn't help but whisper to Chong Yue, who was unsaddled beside him, "Brother Chong Yue, who are they?"
Chongyue lowered the saddle and explained, “They are Han Chinese, from the other side of the sea, a very distant country. Like us, they suffered discrimination and persecution from white people. Now, they are our companions, our brothers.”
After saying this, he turned to face the Native Americans who had been rescued behind him and said, "I am Chongyue, the leader of the Revenge Tribe."
His gaze swept across the crowd, taking in the wary or bewildered faces, and he continued, "From today onward, I am also your leader, and this place will become your new tribe and your new home."
He spoke in the languages of various Native American tribes in California, when suddenly a burly man in the crowd said, "I, Black Bear, do not recognize you as my leader! I have my own tribe, and I want to return to my people!"
Chongyue looked at the man, expressionless: "It was me and the people of the tribe who rescued you from the White People's courts, prisons, and chains, changing your fate of being enslaved to death by the White People."
Where were your tribe, your chieftains, and your people when you were chained up, inspected like livestock, and being sold off?
The black bear replied, "I didn't ask you to save me; you came on your own. Of course..."
He added reluctantly, but his tone was utterly insincere: "I thank you for what you've done. But I must return to my tribe. My people are waiting for me."
After saying that, he turned and strode towards the entrance of the valley, ignoring the cold stares of the soldiers around him.
"No way, this is arrogant?" One of the men beside Chong Yue drew his revolver, his expression menacing. "Leader, this ungrateful bastard should be killed as an example to others!"
Chongyue shook his head and looked at the remaining people: "Any of you want to leave? You can leave now."
Upon hearing this, several more Native American men wavered and left the area.
As Chongyue watched their departing figures, he coldly said in Chinese, "Send men to follow them, find their tribal location, and then have our white colleagues in the vicinity lure the county sheriffs there. The whites will take care of them for us."
The man who pulled out his revolver grinned, somewhat excited: "I understand, let's use someone else to do the dirty work."
After the white settlers have finished their slaughter, those who survive will be desperate and have nowhere else to turn. Then we can extend a helping hand, and they will naturally be completely devoted to us.
After the wounded were settled, smoke began to rise from several simple stone stoves on the open ground by the river.
In the iron pot, a thick stew simmered under the heat of the flames, containing dried meat, potatoes, beans, and some edible roots and stems that had been picked at random.
On the other side of the fire, a deer hunted on the way back was roasting. The fat dripped onto the embers, sizzling and releasing an aroma that was enough to awaken one's most primal appetite.
After the food was prepared, it was distributed to the newly joined Native American men and women.
A bowl of steaming hot mixed soup, topped with a piece of crispy-on-the-outside, tender-on-the-inside roasted venison.
No one offered to take the food; they just wolfed it down without even noticing it was hot, clearly because they were starving.
Chongyue also brought himself a bowl of soup, sat down against a large rock, and slowly drank it.
Suddenly, Zhan Ying came over with a bowl in his hand, sat down next to him, and hesitated to speak.
"What do you want to say?" Chongyue didn't look at him, but blew on the steam around the edge of the bowl.
"Brother Chongyue," Zhan Ying lowered his voice, "Are we really just going to leave those who left? What if they expose the camp's location?"
Chongyue took a sip of the mixed soup and said, "This forest is so deep that it would take several hours to ride a horse to the nearest white town. If someone were foolish enough to try and inform on us, we'd have to abandon this temporary camp before they even brought the person back."
"Don't think too much about it. Go to your tent and rest after you've eaten. We still have things to do tonight."
Apart from the necessary sentry posts, Chongyue ordered everyone to return to their tents to rest and recuperate.
It wasn't until the sun was setting that he gathered all the warriors, along with the new recruits, back together in the open space in the center of the camp.
Chongyue took out a map of Southern California and laid it on a flat rock.
He pointed to churches near Los Angeles and said, "Our next target is the churches of white people."
"According to intelligence, after our people’s tribes were swept away and their homes destroyed in recent years, the children who lost their parents or were forcibly abducted were sent to the nearest church mission school."
"The closest and largest one to us is this church near Los Angeles."
Twenty-two years later, the U.S. government passed the Indian Civilization Fund Act, officially intervening in the education of Native Americans. It systematically and on a large scale established boarding schools throughout the federal government, isolating Native American children from their families and forcibly assimilating them.
For decades or even centuries prior, this work had been the responsibility of missionary schools in various churches.
The names and managers may differ, but the core, cruel nature of the business has remained almost unchanged for over a century.
They wanted to exterminate Native American culture and convert them into believers in the Lord.
Of course, the stated reason is to spread civilization and science.
But the truth doesn't lie.
Even the white people's own media couldn't stand it in later generations, and countless news reports covered this kind of thing.
Did no one manage to get out alive?
Of course there are, but they are less than one in ten.
Chongyue recalled the information Zeng Tai had sent him and told everyone the true nature of the church school.
"What are we waiting for? Let's go!" The man beside Chongyue said bluntly, "No need for a meeting, rush over and kill those bastards, rescue the children!"
His words immediately drew a chorus of angry growls and echoes.
"Short operational meetings are always necessary."
Chongyue raised his hand, suppressing his agitation. "Anger is our weapon, but we must not let it cloud our judgment."
"My plan was simple: sneak over there quietly, wait until nightfall, and rescue the children from the mission school first."
"Once the children are away from the church, we'll storm in and kill all the clergy inside."
Another companion nearby complained, "It's really too simple. This isn't a plan; it's just an idea."
Chongyue shrugged and said, "There aren't many armed forces in the church, just a few people. If it weren't for rescuing those children, any two of them could have wiped out everyone inside."
"Alright, everyone, start checking your weapons and ammunition. Don't let them misfire. New recruits who don't know how to shoot, use bows and arrows and battle axes for now. We'll have unified training in a few days."
His gaze swept over the crowd, especially the new faces, and he said slowly, "Those children are currently suffering inhumane treatment. They are in fear, in pain, and missing their loved ones; they are slowly dying. They need us."
Just like not long ago, you needed us.
He put away the map, checked his firearms, and loaded the gleaming yellow bullets one by one into the cylinder of his revolver.
"Set off."
At dusk, the setting sun was like blood.
On a slightly elevated, gentle hillside in the suburbs of Los Angeles stands a church.
The church is constructed of brick and stone, presenting a solid and rustic box-like shape. It has a two-story structure, with an iron cross atop its spire. The tower on one side of the main building has a distinct Spanish style, clearly built by Spanish colonists during the Mexican era.
In front of and on both sides of the church are vast ranches and farmlands belonging to the church, where hired cowboys and farmers work.
Behind the church is a cemetery lined with crosses, many of which have been newly added today, and the soil is moist.
Behind the cemetery, in a dark and damp spot, stood several low, mud-brick houses. These houses had no windows; one could only enter and exit through thick wooden doors.
That was the dormitory and school for the Native American children.
Inside one of the mud-brick houses, in a space of less than twenty square meters, more than twenty Native American children were crammed together. They huddled tightly together, relying on each other's body heat to keep warm.
"Sister, I'm so hungry, my stomach keeps growling." A thin, small child leaned against his sister's chest, his voice barely audible.
"When are Dad and Mom coming to pick us up and take us home? I miss Dad lifting me up high, and I miss Mom's roasted corn and rabbit soup—"
"It'll be soon, it'll be soon."
The older girl hugged her younger sister tightly, her chin gently resting on the top of her head. She bit her lip, her eyes reddening, but she held back her tears so her sister wouldn't worry.
That evening, white cavalrymen stormed into their tribe. She witnessed her father and uncles die fighting to protect the tribe, and saw her mother pinned down by several white men, finally being disemboweled and killed.
Their parents would never come to take them away, and the tribe had long since turned to ashes. But she still didn't know how to tell her sister these things, and could only comfort her with ambiguous words.
She quietly felt around her waist, where her robe had a small pocket. She took out a small piece of black bread, barely larger than her little fingernail.
It was a small crumb she had secretly saved two days earlier while distributing dinner, desperately trying to suppress her hunger.
She put the crumbs into her younger sister's mouth and whispered, "Keep them in your mouth, then go to sleep. You won't be hungry when you wake up."
Meanwhile, inside the main hall of the church.
Dozens of oil lamps were lit, illuminating the spacious hall, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of burning oil and the strong aroma of incense.
The memorial mass and requiem service for the white victims who died in the Indian attack in Los Angeles today has just ended. On the benches, dozens of relatives of the victims had red eyes and tears streaming down their faces, their crumpled handkerchiefs already soaked with sweat.
The priest, presiding over the ceremony before the altar, wore a sorrowful expression. He descended the steps, comforting the relatives and offering words of solace: "We entrust his soul into the merciful hands of God, hoping that the Lord will grant him eternal light."
May he rest in peace, and may eternal light shine upon him.
"Death is not an eternal separation, but a temporary parting in the Lord. Believe firmly that we will be reunited in Christ at the resurrection on the last day."
His voice was steady and solemn. The relatives nodded numbly, or briefly thanked him by holding his hand, and then dragged their heavy steps out of the church's heavy doors, disappearing into the increasingly dim sky outside.
As the last sobbing old woman disappeared through the doorway, the church finally fell silent, with only the crackling of burning oil lamp wicks remaining.
The priest let out a long breath, and the compassion on his face quickly disappeared, replaced by a blank expression.
He rubbed his temples, having presided over the funeral ceremony for an entire afternoon. This kind of collective ceremony, filled with grief and requiring constant solemnity, consumed far more mental energy than physical strength.
He now desperately needs another ritual to relax his nerves and regain his ease and joy.
The priest turned to the monk beside him and said, "Jose, choose a lamb and take it to the cellar."
Beside him, José, a man with short hair and wearing a brown robe, froze: "Today?"
But when he saw Father Juan's indifferent and cold eyes, fear swept over his heart.
"Yes, Mr. Juan, I'll go right away."
Juan nodded in satisfaction, then looked at José with some regret.
What an adorable child! Why did he grow up so fast? He still prefers Jose as he was when he was little.
José quickly left the main hall, crossed the desolate cemetery, and stepped on the rough stones to reach the row of lifeless mud-brick houses.
The clouds obscured the moon, and not a single ray of moonlight could be seen.
Two guards, carrying dimly lit kerosene lamps, lazily patrolled the perimeter of the church complex.
The younger guard on the left yawned widely and couldn't help but mutter a complaint: "I really envy those who go down there. They get to play and then they get meat to eat."
Unlike us two unlucky souls, stuck patrolling outside in the cold wind.
"Alright, Brother Jose said it's our turn next time, so be patient."
The guard on the right picked up a kerosene lamp and waved it around to illuminate the way ahead: "Focus on your patrol. If any thieves manage to sneak in, we'll be getting yelled at tomorrow."
The guard on the left shrugged, dismissively saying, "The city was just ravaged by Indian lunatics today, dozens of people died. People are terrified, how could anyone possibly sneak into this desolate wilderness in the middle of the night?"
"With that kind of guts, why be a thief? Wouldn't it be better to just be a robber?"
The two chatted in hushed tones, their conversation gradually shifting from complaints to the tragedy that had occurred in the city during the day and the possible bounty.
When they reached the cemetery area, both of them quickened their pace without prior arrangement.
To be honest, even knowing that this place is filled with the dead, and that it's a land blessed by God, won't suddenly rise from the dead or be haunted by ghosts. Passing by here every day, I should still be afraid.
"Splash—"
A soft sound suddenly came from the depths of the cemetery, sounding particularly clear in this deserted cemetery.
The two men stopped abruptly, their bodies tensing instantly. They exchanged a glance, clearly having both heard the sound.
"Who? Who's there?!"
The guard on the right gave a low shout, but received no reply.
The two men simultaneously raised their oil lamps, trying to shine them in the direction of the sound, while their other hands quickly reached for the handle of the revolver at their waists.
The light shone on the place full of crosses, and they gradually approached the source of the sound, finally seeing the culprit behind it.
"Meow--!"
Startled by the light and footsteps, a stray cat nimbly darted away into the distance. Its body scraped against the bushes, creating a rustling sound.
"Damn it, it's just a stray cat!"
The guard on the left breathed a sigh of relief and grumbled.
He turned to his companion and said, "You scared the hell out of me! I thought there really was a thief in the middle of the night—"
Before he could finish speaking, his pupils suddenly contracted!
Behind their companion, a brightly colored, demonic face appeared, grinning maliciously at them!
Almost at the same instant, he saw the same look of terror on his companion's face!
Native Americans?!
Are they the ones that rioted during the day today?
Patrols are searching for them everywhere; how dare they return to Los Angeles?!
puff!
Just as he was about to shout a warning, a hand reached out from behind and suddenly covered his mouth and nose with such force that he thought his bones were about to break.
Almost simultaneously, a sharp pain shot through his side. A sharp blade pierced and twisted, instantly rendering him incapable of resistance, and the oil lamp and revolver slipped limply from his hands.
Then, he felt the knife leave his waist and gently press against his throat—
An even more intense cutting pain followed, and then, eternal darkness descended.
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