Chapter 106: Night Hero's Shadow

Li Ping'an tucked the ledger and walked toward the teahouse, when a sudden chill ran down the back of his neck—a gut instinct honed by years of hard knocks. He pretended to squat to tie his shoes, and his eyes caught two men in top hats at the street corner pretending to read a newspaper.

Really clingy. He muttered, turned his head, and slipped into the adjacent Small Alley.

The Alley twisted and turned, with laundry lines sagging with every household's clothes. Li Ping'an grabbed a coarse cotton jacket and slipped it over, then turned his hat inside out and fastened it on his head. Passing a fish stall, he accidentally kicked over a basket of live fish, and the street instantly turned into chaos.

My fish! Pay up! The fishmonger seized the two who were following and wouldn't let go.

Li Ping'an seized the chance to dart into the teahouse's back door; Lao Zhao was already waiting at his usual spot.

Just now you arrive? Lao Zhao pushed a bowl of tea, his face looking so grim.

Li Ping'an slapped the ledger onto the table: "We've been tailed by a dog." This thing is hot to the touch, take it away quickly.

Lao Zhao opened the ledger, his eyes widening: "Good fellows! You bunch of rotters!" He suddenly lowered his voice, "Was it you who did the warehouse thing last night?"

Li Ping'an nearly spat out his tea: "I went last night to settle scores with the Japanese Soldiers, and on the way I grabbed this book. If I had that ability, I'd have taken the bank's money outright and still been pulling a cart in hardship. I only heard about the warehouse incident this morning from the neighbors; I thought it was your handiwork."

The two stared each other down. Lao Zhao frowned: "Strange, strange, which kind of hero did the deed?"

Whatever deity it was, it was done beautifully. Li Ping'an drained his tea to the bottom, and said, "Don't keep meeting at the teahouse; let's change locations."

Lao Zhao nodded: "There's a baked‑cake shop near East Side Gate, the owner is one of us." He tucked the ledger away, his face solemn, "This thing will be enough for those bastards to have a pot."

Li Ping'an stood, stretched lazily: "Let's go, still have to pull a cart to make a living."

Leaving the teahouse, the sun was just right. He squinted at the sky, but his heart felt heavy. The waters of Four Nine City run deeper than he imagined.

That evening, Lao Zhao delivered the ledger to a secret base. Under an oil lamp, several middle‑aged men examined the ledger, their faces growing darker.

Unbelievable! The bespectacled middle‑aged man slammed the table: "You scum! The Japanese Soldiers are gone, yet you still betray the country!"

Lao Zhao whispered: "Leader, we must act fast. In case the wind…"

The bespectacled man pondered briefly: "Night‑Owl Unit, mobilize. Remember, be swift, like the work of a flying thief."

Late at night, several black silhouettes slipped silently into the Police Station Director's house. These people were agile, scaling walls and leaping over fences as if walking on flat ground.

In the study, Director Wang was nodding and bowing at the Telephone: "Your Majesty, rest assured, we will act as soon as possible… yes, yes, yes…"

Before he could finish, a sudden pain shot through the back of his neck, and his body went limp, collapsing to the ground.

The shadows quickly rummaged, pulling out a large stash of gold bars and letters from a hidden compartment. The leader gave a hand signal, and the group slipped away silently like the Buddha's arrival.

The next morning at dawn, Director Wang was found at home, bound like a rice dumpling, a stinky sock stuffed in his mouth. On the wall, in cinnabar, eight bold characters read: "Traitorous for glory, Heaven's justice cannot tolerate."

Even more shocking, those gold bars and letters were stacked at the Government's main gate, drawing crowds of townsfolk to watch the spectacle.

Delightful! Truly delightful! The old man who sells bean juice chatted with Li Ping'an, saying he heard that the Mr. Wang was so scared he wet his pants!

Li Ping'an smiled, handing over money: "Here's an extra baked‑cake for you, old man."

At this moment, two policemen came to the stall for breakfast, sighing: "Well, now the Director's fallen, we also get to watch the drama."

Another whispered: "I heard that last night Deputy Director Sun Kezhang's house was also hit by thieves, and the wall also had characters…"

Li Ping'an felt clear‑headed. This technique, this efficiency, is clearly the work of a professional team. It seems Old Zhao and his men moved quickly.

That afternoon while pulling his cart, he passed the Government's gate on purpose. Sure enough, a crowd gathered, pointing at the pile of gold bars.

Serves him right! Let him be a traitor! I heard he also helped the Japanese Soldiers traffic antiques… Pah! Shameless!

Listening to the townspeople's chatter, Li Ping'an's mouth curved into a smile. In this world, there is still some fairness.

In the evening, after bringing the cart home, Ping Le, mysteriously, grabbed him: "Brother, haven't you heard? The Police Station Director has been punished!"

Li Ping'an patted her head: "Good and evil will eventually be repaid. How was today's fist training?"

Ping Le immediately struck a pose, but slipped, nearly falling on her bottom. Li Ping'an quickly steadied her, and the siblings laughed together.

At night, Li Ping'an stared at the moon through the window, his heart uneasy. This affair has become too big; he fears a backlash.

As expected, the next day the streets were filled with police, conducting especially strict checks. Li Ping'an, pulling his cart, was stopped several times.

"Where's the ID?" a plain‑faced police officer glared at him.

Li Ping'an produced his documents: "Sir, I'm just a cart‑puller."

The police examined him from head to toe: "We heard you went to Zhoufu a few days ago?"

Li Ping'an felt a knot in his heart, but forced a smile: "I went to see my sister, haven't seen her in four years…"

At that moment, another veteran police officer stepped in to defuse: "Alright, Old Liu, he's an old neighborhood resident. Let him go."

As they walked away, the officer whispered: "Ping'an, be careful lately. The new Deputy Director is from Nanjing, his hands are dirty."

Li Ping'an thanked him, his heart growing heavier. This turmoil seems only just beginning.

That night Lao Zhao sent word, arranging a meeting at the baked‑cake shop. The shop was tiny, the owner a simple‑hearted middle‑aged man, but his eyes shone terrifyingly.

This was Lao Chen, one of their own. Lao Zhao introduced: a Deputy Director named Dai, from Nanjing, specializing in investigating the Communist Party.

Lao Chen handed over a baked‑cake: "Taste it, fresh out of the oven." He lowered his voice further: "That Deputy Director Dai brought a spy unit, specializing in assassinations."

Li Ping'an chewed the baked‑cake, brow furrowed: "Will the ledger issue blow up too much?"

【49】 Lao Zhao sneered: "That's the point! Let it blow up! Let the common folk see what those pretentious people really are!"

Lao Zhao sneered: "We need to make it big! Let the common folk see what those sanctimonious people really are!"

Just then, outside the door, hurried footsteps sounded. Lao Chen's face changed, he pushed aside a flour bag on the back wall: "Quick, go!"

The three had just slipped into the secret passage when the front door was kicked open. Footsteps circled the room, then faded away.

In the passage, Lao Zhao gasped: "That was close! Those dogs have such keen noses!"

Li Ping'an stared at Lao Chen: "Your secret passage is quite professionally built."

Lao Chen smiled faintly, said nothing. Under the oil lamp, that scar was especially glaring.

Back home, Ping Le was already asleep, a warm bowl of porridge left on the table. Li Ping'an drank the porridge, feeling warm inside, yet his heart remained heavy.

This struggle is far more complex than he imagined. Yet seeing his sister's peaceful sleeping face, he knew he had no retreat.

Moonlight like water poured over the Old Locust Tree in the courtyard. Li Ping'an gently caressed the dagger in his chest, his eyes gradually hardening.

Since he chose this path, he must keep walking. For Ping Le, for countless children like her.

Night wind blew, leaves rustling, as if echoing his resolve.