The Qing Dynasty is about to end

Chapter 743: Altai Bater Khan of the Indians
Most of the stained glass windows in the Topeka church were broken, and the cold wind blew dead leaves under the pews. More than two hundred white women huddled in front of the altar, and seventeen-year-old Emily buried her face in her sister's apron, which was stained with her father's blood - the blood had been splashed there last night when the black soldier with the gold earring stabbed the old man's throat with his bayonet.

"Keep your legs together, girls," said Belle Watling, sitting at the door of the confessional, her legs crossed, her scarlet nightgown slipped down to her thighs, "or you'll catch a cold." She had only one satin slipper on her foot, the other having been off her foot since she had been captured the night before.

Several Kansas farm women crowded around her, as if to use the fiery shadow as a talisman.

Suddenly, there was the dull sound of leather boots hitting the ground outside the door. The women huddled together as if they had been electrocuted, and Emily's sister covered her mouth tightly. Bell took out a half-smoked cigarette butt and lit it with the altar candle, and the sparks jumped in the dimness.

The door hinge creaked, and Xianfeng, wearing a blue woolen military uniform, walked in. He stood with his back to the light, his shadow dragging long. Lin Shu held the book and read: "Two hundred and seven people aged eighteen to thirty-five, forty-nine people aged thirty-five and above." Before he finished speaking, a baby cried in the corner. Zeng Ke strode over and picked up a woman wrapped in swaddling clothes like a chicken: "There is even a baby here!"

Xianfeng's eyes swept through the crowd. Belle blew out a smoke ring, and the collar of her pajamas slid down to her shoulders, revealing a large patch of freckles on her chest. She remembered the wolf-like look of the nigger who pressed her on the floor of the hotel bedroom last night. If it weren't for an officer who said that beautiful women should be left for the big guys first, she would have been ravaged by countless niggers by now. If she had known earlier, she should not have accompanied that Kansas profiteer back to his hometown. That unlucky guy was dragged out of her bed, and she didn't know if he was still alive.

"It's her!" Xianfeng suddenly raised his finger and pointed directly at the woman who was smoking calmly.

Lin Shu followed the direction of the finger and saw Bell's white thighs. His Adam's apple moved. Zeng Ke slapped the bench with the whip in his hand: "The one wearing red clothes! Get up!"

Bell stood up, tapping her single slipper, and the cigarette butt sizzled in the holy water fountain. When she passed by Emily, the little girl suddenly grabbed her skirt and said, "Please." Bell pried open her cold fingers and whispered something. Emily, who later married a black officer, still remembered that the prostitute said the most unpleasant word in Atlanta slang.

After Xianfeng picked out the women, he turned around and left without staying in the church for even a second. Bell wanted to follow him, but was stopped by Lin Shu. Bell looked at the tall and strong Chinese old man, squinted his eyes and asked: "Old man, you have to wait in line. It was that gentleman who picked me first."

Lin Shu sneered, then asked Zeng Ke beside him: "Have you ever tied someone up?"

Zeng Ke nodded. "Yes, I used to tie them up when I was the butler of Master O'Hara's house."

Lin Shu pointed at Bell and said, "Tie this bitch up and send her to the Governor!"

"Yes, sir!" Zeng Ke looked at Belle Watling's physique, then glanced at Governor Zhao Si's back, and immediately understood Lin Shu's thoughts. If this woman made trouble for the governor in bed, she might send the governor to see Hong Xiuquan.

The big bed in the governor's bedroom in the state government building creaked. It creaked for a full minute!

Bell stared at the swaying kerosene lamp on the ceiling. The pain of the hemp rope cutting into her wrist was a good thing - at least it kept her from laughing. This was the first time she had received such an easy job.
"You southerners' cotton quilts are really soft, almost as soft as your body." Xianfeng, who was lying on the bed smoking, suddenly spoke up, and the ash fell on the embroidered pillowcase of "Mede-California". Bell glanced at the silver photo frame on the bedside table. The old man in the striped suit in the photo was the governor who was beheaded last night.

There were footsteps in the corridor, and Heidehai's voice came from outside: "Governor, General Zeng has something important to do."

Xianfeng put out his cigarette, sat up, glanced at the woman beside him, and then reached out to take his clothes.

Bell suddenly said, "Hey, are you the leader of those blacks?"

Xianfeng's hand stopped in mid-air, and his eyes turned to Belle Watling, "Woman, what do you want to say?"

"You are bad! Very, very bad!" Bell didn't know where she got the courage from, she actually accused the man who "bullied" her for a minute.

"Hmm?" Xianfeng was not angry, he just squinted his triangular eyes and looked at Bell.

"Your slaves," Bell said angrily, "how could they do this? Kansas is a free state, and most people in Topeka are abolitionists!"

Xianfeng sneered and said, "That's right, the blacks under my command are not abolitionists."

"What?" Bell stared at Xianfeng.

"They are all slaveholders!" Xianfeng laughed. "Why? Is it hard to understand?"

"This..." Bell struggled with the rope, the thorns piercing her flesh: "The girls in my brothel all dream of getting rich, but they don't want to kill people or burn things." She looked at Xianfeng, as if a dead pig was not afraid of boiling water, "You must have taught those black slaves to do bad things!" Xianfeng laughed: "The lion in the New York Zoo ate the trainer. Do you think the lion learned the cruelty of the trainer, or is it bad by nature?"

Bell seemed to have figured it out a little bit, and sighed, "I know a girl in a brothel in Atlanta was beaten all over by a brothel owner, but later she became a brothel owner, and she beat people more cruelly than anyone else!"

Xianfeng laughed: "You are quite an interesting woman."

Bell blinked: "So what are you going to do with me?"

Xianfeng laughed and said, "It's a pity to leave you to those black ghosts to ruin you."

He took out a paper cutter from the drawer and cut the rope that tied Bell into several pieces. "Go north, don't go back to Atlanta." He threw the paper cutter into the corner, and took out a bag of gold from his military uniform pocket and threw it to Bell, "Go to New York, the future of the United States is in New York!"

"In New York?" Bell looked at Xianfeng in surprise, "Aren't you a general in the south? How come..."

Xianfeng waved his hand and said in Chinese: "It's too late, too late." Then he said to Bell in English, "Go to New York's Chinatown, buy a shop and live a good life!"

After saying that, he put on his clothes, pushed the door and left.

The Missouri River made a dead turn in the Montana prairie, like a frozen gray snake. Black Bear Khan squatted on the high slope of the river bank, chewing a piece of salted and air-dried bison meat, and the stench mixed with the smell of blood drilled into his nose. He looked at the densely packed deerskin tents in the river bend and remembered that two years ago his Cheyenne tribe had been as desperate as the Blackfoot tribe in the river bend.

At that time, Amur Buddha led hundreds of Mongols and hundreds of white cowboys from California to the Colorado grasslands, chasing the Cheyenne people and finally driving them into a valley like driving buffaloes. They also killed all the buffaloes within a hundred miles around, not just for meat, but to cut off the food supply of the Cheyenne people and force them to surrender.

"It's all rotten," Black Bear Khan spat at the meat scraps, "It stinks like the Confederate Army's socks."

Dozens of buffalo carcasses lay on the riverbank, with scary bullet holes on their heads. These were driven here by the soldiers of the "Red Man Brigade" to be slaughtered. They had been dead for some time, and maggots were crawling in and out of their eyes.

"The Buddha said," the interpreter of the Red Man Brigade held up the yellow silk edict and read it in a language that the Blackfoots could understand, "those who surrender to Altai Bater Khan will be given pastures and salt as rewards. Those who resist" he glanced at the hungry Indians at the bottom of the slope, "will be fed to vultures. The Buddha also said that all the buffalo herds within a radius of 300 miles have been killed. Even if you can rush out, you will starve to death!"

Amur Buddha's prayer flags were tied in the wind, and the sheepskin scrolls were blowing. When Hongyun Khan lifted the curtain to come in, the archbishop was adding oil to the butter lamp with a golden spoon, and the flames illuminated the neatly arranged scars on his bald head.

"Yes," Hongyun Khan took off his wolfskin hat, "The chief of the Blackfoot tribe wants to see you."

"The grace of Altai Bater Khan," Archbishop Amur Buddha twisted his Buddhist beads, "Those who surrender will not only not be killed, but can also be crowned Khan! Altai Bater Khan will also help them drive the white devil out of their grasslands!"

The "Altai Bater Khan" he mentioned was actually the new Khan title given to himself by Emperor Xianfeng. Altai means "Golden Mountain" and Bater means "warrior", so together they mean "Golden Mountain Warrior Khan".

The surrender ceremony was held at noon the next day, and 37 Blackfoot tribes raised white flags. The 37 chiefs of the Blackfoot tribe led more than 10,000 people and left their camp to face Amur Buddha and his two brigades of Indian Mongolian cavalry.

The sound of Amur Buddha's chanting was mixed in the wind, and the words of the True Covenant on the prayer flags were bleached by the sun. All the Indian and Mongolian cavalrymen took off their Mississippi rifles and fired into the air.

"Buddha, surrender." Hong Yunhan handed over a parchment scroll written in blood, on which were crookedly painted the totems of 37 tribes. Amur did not take the parchment scroll. The copper bells of the prayer wheel jingled in the wind. He looked at the endless prairie in the north and could not help but think of his distant hometown. Although the glorious past of the Mongols was unimaginable to the Indians on the American prairie, when the wheels of industrialization rumbled over, no matter how hard the Mongols tried, they still could not change their inevitable fate of decline.
"Lord Buddha, it's time to bless." Black Bear Khan reminded, holding the salt bag.

Amur grabbed a handful of salt and sprinkled it on the crowd. The salt grains looked like a light snow in the sun.

The oldest chief of the Blackfoot tribe took the bag of salt with both hands and asked in trembling English: "Great Bishop, can your Eternal Emperor God really help us regain the land of our ancestors?"

"Yes, I can," Amur nodded and said, "Tomorrow I will take you to destroy the white people's stronghold, Bannak!"

(End of this chapter)