The Faith and Salt

“Xiao Yan.” Hong said, “We must kill.”

David remained entirely distracted for the rest of the day after breakfast.

Hong's words kept echoing in his ears.

"China, countless people, want to kill them."

Xiao Yan was just one of them.

Hong used over half of his limited English vocabulary to describe people exactly like Xiao Yan: "parasites," "trash," "spies," "bad men."

"Why do you hate them so much?"

"They, bad to my country."

David quickly realized Hong always talked in big terms about the nation, the people, and absolute good versus evil.

Walking back from the street to his room at the local inn, David saw that the heavy cannon was still being used as a trash bin.

A deep sense of helplessness gripped his chest.

Back in his room, he could not stop wondering how many others shared Hong's exact thoughts. How many people were secretly planning to murder Xiao Yan?

Were there hidden mobs gathering in the dark, sharpening their tools, just waiting to tear those Lierens apart limb from limb?

Was this passionate Chinese man just bragging, or was he warning of a massive, bloody storm about to break?

What if it's worse...

He should report it.

Even though this was still much better than locals wanting to kill foreigners, and a Chinese civil conflict seemed to have nothing to do with him, David still felt a deep unease.

He could not stop thinking about Xiao Yan's aggressive eyes and his fit, highly attractive body.

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This felt very different from his physical experience last night, though he could not explain exactly why. It was probably a sense of distance.

Or maybe he was just being a complete fool.

Things easily gained always felt cheap.

Xiao Yan looked highly professional and entirely high above.

David simply could not imagine a man like that being stabbed to death with pitchforks by an angry mob or being tortured and humiliated. He could not picture it.

Wiping these messy thoughts from his mind, he needed to focus on his next move.

What can I do now?He thought to himself. Perhaps I should write a letter to Liang Fa?

David opened his travel bag and took out paper and a pen.

Before the ink even touched the page, a sudden thought stopped him.

Was it not Liang Fa who originally arranged his meeting with Hong Xiuquan?

Did that not make it highly likely for Liang Fa to belong to the same faction? Furthermore, the older man always kept his true thoughts hidden. He rarely spoke his mind, making him even harder to trust.

David used to be a gambler, but he absolutely refused to place a bet on something like this.

What was he blindly worrying about anyway?

He suddenly felt his own power was incredibly small.

If Xiao Yan really was an elite imperial warrior, how could he not know what this country and its people thought of him?

Would a man like that just sit still and let a local mob kill him so easily?

That man could survive in the world's most dangerous infected zones alone. Why was David wasting his time worrying about him?

He moved back to his bed and lay down. A heavy wave of shame washed over him.

He had accomplished absolutely nothing since arriving in China. He had not even tried. It was pathetic.

It's merely a report. Yet you couldn't do that?

These locals were hard to trust, but John Morrison might actually be different.

Sitting up again, David grabbed his pen to write Morrison a letter.

Then he stopped again.

Where does Morrison live right now?

How was he supposed to handle the postage fees and write the exact address?

Should his letter be in English or Chinese?

A foreign envelope would probably never make it out of this city, and he certainly could not write Chinese anyway.

He let out a long, tired sigh. Why was every single thing so difficult?

The safest option was to make the trip in person.

But would that be too dangerous?

He thought back to his recent journey. His road from Yangzhou to Huai'an had been completely quiet and safe, without any real trouble.

So, he only needed to return along that same route, pass through Yangzhou to reach an eastern port, and travel north along the coast. That could not be too hard, right?

Almost instantly, a massive pile of new risks and obstacles flooded his brain.

His heavy indecision flared up again, making him feel completely miserable. He struck his own thigh hard in deep frustration.

Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out three silver coins.

Heads, he muttered silently in his mind.

He shook the metal coins thoroughly in his closed hand and tossed them flat onto the wooden table.

The final result would decide if he was going to take this risk.