Wei Lai sighed.
He thought many things shouldn’t be said too absolutely — take himself: if he actually brought Cen Jin back with him, Milu would probably never let him hear the end of it.
— Didn’t you say you would never develop any relationship with a client beyond the one involving money?
No matter. He had a countermeasure ready: if Milu dared say it, he’d hit him. Say it once, take a beating once — knowing Milu, three rounds should be enough to make him see reason.
“Later — were they not actually safe? Were they killed?”
Cen Jin gave a small smile: “No. There were peacekeeping soldiers and international organization staff. It really was completely safe.”
That afternoon, Huka militants began drifting toward the school in small groups of twos and threes — like wolves that had caught a scent of blood. They carried blades in their hands, made strange calls, smashed beer bottles, but didn’t dare come close.
They practiced their blade-work along the fence as if performing a warning, or scraped their machetes repeatedly against the stone slabs, producing a piercing, grinding sound. At their closest, you could make out the mottled dried blood on the blade, and the blood still dripping from the tip.
The refugees huddled together in the school yard, shuddering as one. Some had blade wounds; the medical team came to bind them.
An injured person, too terrified to speak in complete sentences, managed to get out: “Someone handed out machetes… big crates opened up, and long blades poured out onto the ground. The announcement over the broadcast told the Huka people to come collect them, said: Kill the cockroaches. Kill everyone who shelters the cockroaches…“
Endless Huka people surged into the streets to collect their blades. They raised the machetes to the sky chanting inflammatory slogans, and in the sunlight, the countless blade-faces reflected a blinding, overlapping sea of light.
Wei Lai was shaken: “That must have been premeditated — the whole thing?”
How could the broadcasts and weapons be ready within hours if the plane had only gone down the night before?
Cen Jin said: “We found out later — the massacre had been in planning for three months. In those three months, the plan hadn’t gone without leaks. Reportedly, intelligence agencies in several Western countries had received word, and the United Nations had also caught some whisper of it — but they didn’t take it seriously.”
“Perhaps they thought Ka Long was always in turmoil and conflict — what could really come of it? It wouldn’t come to anything real. It’s also possible that at the time, everyone was more focused on the Kosovo situation, the Iraq situation — Ka Long was a small country with no gold, no diamonds, no oil, and no strategic interest, so no one was paying attention.”
No one had imagined that this time it would not only be real, but would be a top-down, military-led, mass-participation event that dragged all of Ka Long into a blood-soaked abyss.
“We were trapped in the school, communications coming in and out. Even when we managed to reach our superiors, the other end was in chaos too — because it had happened so suddenly, there was no precedent, they were all in emergency meetings, discussing, looking for solutions. Their only reply was: Wait. We’ll inform you when there’s news. Stay put. Do not act on your own initiative.“
So they had no choice but to reassure the refugees, over and over again:
— You are completely safe here.
— The army is coming soon. Don’t worry — the situation will stabilize.
The refugees were afraid to sleep. They sat in the school yard, wrapped in blankets, chopping the school’s desks and chairs into firewood, making fires and cooking.
That night, the fires in the yard never went out, casting their light over faces frozen in terror. From far away came the sound of loudspeakers and music — the festivities of those who were doing the killing.
This scene — impossible ever to forget.
Cen Jin leaned against the door frame and turned to a peacekeeping soldier on rotation break beside her: “Can I get a cigarette?”
That was when she started smoking.
Another day passed.
On the morning of the third day, a rumbling of engines came from the distance. Everyone held their breath. A refugee climbed up the flagpole and was the first to make out the markings on the vehicles. He shouted: “The United Nations! The United Nations convoy is here!”
After the depths of despair, the explosive joy of rescue — like the most magnificent celebration in the world. The yard erupted in noise. Some people were wiping tears. Some rushed over and threw their arms around the on-duty peacekeeping soldiers, or pulled them into dances. Still more pushed the vehicles blocking the school gate aside and ran toward the United Nations convoy as if welcoming family.
Wei Lai looked down. Cen Jin’s eyes were brimming and bright as water, and then they slowly closed — as if she didn’t want him to see. He pressed his face against hers; it was warm and damp.
He said softly: “The rescue came. That’s good news, isn’t it?”
She had thought it was good news too.
But that surge of euphoria slowly froze in the rescue officer’s uncomfortable eyes.
The rescue officer announced the evacuation orders: foreign nationals to be evacuated. Volunteers and staff to be evacuated. Peacekeeping soldiers to be evacuated.
No Kasi people could be taken. The Huka people had set up countless checkpoints in the streets and would board every vehicle, dragging out any Kasi person who tried to slip away.
Cen Jin was stunned.
She asked: “Why?”
She wasn’t the only one asking. Every staff member and peacekeeping soldier who had just come through two sleepless days and nights was asking. A soldier furiously threw down his weapon. A staff member was shouting that they couldn’t leave at a time like this.
Cen Jin said: “Many refugees were crying. Some went down on their knees, clutching at my legs, begging me to save them. I felt they were so pitiful — their own country wouldn’t protect them, and all they could do was place their hope in foreigners.”
The rescue officer was shouting: “These are orders! Go out into the streets and look — the Americans are evacuating their citizens, the French are evacuating their citizens, all the Western countries are pulling out! This morning, the Belgian peacekeeping force already left!”
Everyone fell silent at once.
Peacekeeping operations were usually conducted by multiple nations, but with different levels of contribution. The Belgian peacekeeping force was at that time the largest and most influential single contingent in Ka Long.
And they had already pulled out.
After a strange, dead silence, the evacuation began.
Those with evacuation clearance climbed into the vehicles one by one, unable to raise their eyes toward the refugees. Lips moved for a long time before a single word came out: “Sorry.” Then they got in the car. Some pulled the curtains down, as if that could allow them to forget what was beyond the window — the place that was about to become hell.
Wei Lai couldn’t make sense of it: “Why would they pull out?”
Cen Jin had only understood later. The Huka people had shot and killed eight Belgian peacekeeping soldiers.
“Killing peacekeeping soldiers is an extremely risky thing to do. It can bring about one of two outcomes: it enrages Western nations and brings in large reinforcements in retaliation; or it intimidates these nations into recognizing that the situation in Ka Long has gotten completely out of hand — that even peacekeeping soldiers aren’t safe.”
The news reached Belgium, and the country erupted. Media were asking with fury: Why should our bright young soldiers die in a foreign land? Most Belgians don’t even know which direction Ka Long is! This was a mistake from the start — why are we still not correcting it?
Unable to withstand the pressure, Belgium made the first move. The United States, France, and every other Western nation began organizing their own evacuations.
The Huka people had been clever. They had calculated that these Westerners would never sacrifice soldiers’ lives for a place with nothing to offer them.