Chapter 11: Li Ping'an Secures a Good‑Citizen Certificate

The earthen bed in the East Wing Room of the front courtyard was uncomfortable, yet Li Ping'an slept soundly. Days of train jolts had made his heart uneasy, and last night's burnt‑knife dish left his bones feeling brittle. Even the Spatial Spiritual Spring from his transmigration couldn't help—so he simply lay flat and fell into a deep, muddled sleep.

Dawn just broke when the clattering street‑sweeping sounds from the alley rushed in. Li Ping'an lifted his eyelids, his eyes clear, the yesterday's fatigue gone. The recovery granted by the Spiritual Spring was truly no exaggeration.

He sprang up briskly, slipped on his faded, patched old cotton coat, grabbed the cracked Enamel Jar and a half‑worn towel, and pushed the door open.

A blast of coal‑dust‑laden cold wind whooshed against his face, chilling him to the bone. By the old well in the central courtyard, people were already gathered. Yi Zhonghai's wife, wrapped in a thick cotton coat, was laboriously turning the water wheel, creaking "creak‑creak". Beside her, the slumped youngster Jia Dongxu of the Jia family stood holding an empty bucket waiting for water.

Li Ping'an walked over, a tentative newcomer's smile forming on his face, his voice neither loud nor soft: "Auntie, good morning! Brother Dongxu, good morning! I'm Li Ping'an, newly moved into the front courtyard; my hometown suffered a disaster, so I came to rely on Uncle He. I'll be staying in this courtyard, please be kind to me!"

Yi Zhonghai's wife paused, lifted her eyelid to glance at him, expression blank, gave a "hm" as acknowledgment. Jia Dongxu didn't even raise his eyelid, staring blankly at the bottom of his own bucket.

Li Ping'an didn't mind, walked to the other side of the well platform, set the jar down, and began washing with the freshly drawn, ice‑cold well water, splashing loudly. The cold water jolted him, refreshing his mind completely. While scrubbing his face, his eyes scanned the central courtyard. Yi Zhonghai's house was closed, the Jia family's broken door was ajar, a vague silhouette could be seen inside—presumably the deity of Jia Zhangshi. He Daqing's house also had its door open; Uncle He, wearing a cotton coat, stood at the doorway stretching, his eye bags hanging like small water bags.

"Good morning, Uncle He!" Li Ping'an quickly wiped his face, greeting with a smile.

"Oh, Ping'an, you're up early." He Daqing yawned, glanced at the sky, "All set? Quickly have breakfast, then we'll head to the precinct to get that certificate properly."

"Got it, sir!" Li Ping'an answered crisply, then, as if recalling something, added sheepishly, "Uncle He, you haven't eaten yet, have you? How about… I treat you? I bought some noodle sticks yesterday, I can make a porridge."

He Daqing waved his hand, with the fastidiousness of old Beiping: "No, no! You just arrived, you can't keep eating my food! I have leftover steamed buns from yesterday, enough for a bite! Hurry up, those black‑skinned guys at the precinct, if we're late they'll give us a hard time!"

Li Ping'an didn't press the issue, nodded: "Alright! You eat first, I'll get ready, and be done in a flash!" He swiftly tidied up, returned to the front courtyard. Closing the door, he thought and produced two still‑warm white steamed buns from the space, ate them with the saved pickled vegetable dumplings, a few bites into his stomach. The noodle‑stick porridge? That was just to fool outsiders.

At the entrance of the Inner Fifth District Police Precinct, two Black Dogs brandishing Box Cannons stood. Their wide‑brimmed hats were askew, uniforms wrinkled like dried pickles, they held cigarettes, eyeing passersby like stray dogs. A whiff of cheap tobacco mixed with the precinct's characteristic sweaty, musty odor drifted out of the doorway.

He Daqing, familiar with the place, wore a slick smile and approached one of the black‑skinned men: "Squad Leader Wang, thanks for standing guard! Today I'm bringing my distant nephew to get a certificate!" As he spoke, his finger discreetly flicked, slipping a small pre‑prepared roll of paper wrapped with a few counterfeit notes into the man's pocket.

The black‑skinned Wang didn't even lift his eyelid, fiddled with the pocket's thickness, and snorted, "Hmm, go in! The third room on the left, find Zhang Tuozi! Be quick!"

"Thanks, Squad Leader Wang! Thank you!" He Daqing nodded, bowed, gave Li Ping'an a tug, and rushed inside.

Inside, the light was dim; behind a few broken tables sat several equally listless clerks. The air smelled of cheap ink and moldy old paper. He Daqing located the sharp‑eyed clerk Zhang, offered a forced smile and a cigarette, while Li Ping'an promptly handed over two one‑inch black‑and‑white photos and a filled‑out form (the form was muttered by He Daqing, but Li Ping'an scribbled it himself, the characters crooked, truly a "country bumpkin").

Zhang Tuozi drooped his eyelids, tapped the form intermittently, dragging out a long sentence: "Guarantor… He Daqing? No. 95 Nanluoguxiang? Distant nephew? Hometown disaster… hmm…" He lifted his eyelid, his cloudy eyes flicked a few times over Li Ping'an's tattered cotton coat, then settled on He Daqing's face, "Old He, these days a guarantor isn't a casual role. If something goes wrong, you won't be able to walk away!"

"Yes, yes, yes! Clerk Zhang, you're wise!" He Daqing bowed even lower, his smile a Chrysanthemum Stamp, "My nephew is as honest as a sealed gourd, just came to Four Nine City for a bite to eat! Won't trouble the Government! Please take good care of him, please!" He glanced toward Li Ping'an.

Li Ping'an, understanding the cue, forced a perfectly timed mix of nervousness and a hint of pain onto his face, slowly reached into the inner pocket of his tattered cotton coat (actually a spatial pocket), pulled out a gleaming silver dollar, gently placed it on the table edge, and pushed it forward. "Chief Zhang… you're inconvenienced… buy a pack of cigarettes to smooth things over…" his voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz.

The silver dollar glinted mischievously in the dim light. Zhang Tuozi finally lifted his eyelid a bit, his finger "accidentally" covered it, brushed lightly, and slipped it into the drawer. His bureaucratic façade softened: "Hmm… the paperwork is in order… alright, wait! Come back in two days for the certificate! Next!"

Bursting out of the precinct's suffocating doorway into the fresh, biting air, Li Ping'an felt the oppressive cloud in his chest lift. He Daqing also exhaled, wiped an imaginary sweat, "All good! These black‑skinned guys will accept this!" He patted Li Ping'an's shoulder, "Kid, you've got some sense!"

Li Ping'an quickly produced another silver dollar, slipped it into He Daqing's hand, his face full of gratitude: "Uncle He, today everything's thanks to you! Running here and there, keep this money, cut some meat to satisfy your hunger! A little token from your nephew!"

He Daqing grasped the heavy silver dollar, his smile blooming, his words feigning politeness: "Ah, look at you! Getting too familiar, huh? As they say, distant kin isn't as good as close neighbors…" Before finishing, the dollar was already slipped into his pocket. "Alright, the certificate's set! What's the next step? Really thinking about pulling a cart?"

"Hmm!" Li Ping'an nodded heavily, his face showing a naive boldness, "Uncle He, you're right, need to find a food‑making path! I'm thinking pulling a cart, it's tough but with quick legs, getting familiar with Four Nine City is respectable! Run a few times, I can earn enough meals! Do you know any reputable carriage shop?"

He Daqing, pleased, leaned in: "A reputable route? These days it's hard to find a respectable place! But the 'Fast Leg Carriage' in South City has a decent storefront, the carts are half‑new. I know a manager there, surname Sun, who once bought on credit at our restaurant and gave us a modest favor. Come! I'll take you to meet him."

The Fast Leg Carriage's façade was sizable, set on a relatively bustling street. At the entrance, dozens of rickshaws were haphazardly parked; the drivers wore patched‑up uniforms, some squatted against walls gnawing cold buns, others leaned on their carts dozing, all looking yellow‑skinned and gaunt, faces numb from life's blows. The air carried a sour sweat smell mixed with cheap engine oil and foot odor. Above the gate, beside a faded blue‑sky white‑sun flag, a glaring plaster‑band flag stuck out, looking…

He Daqing led Li Ping'an to the manager named Sun. Manager Sun was a wiry middle‑aged man, his eyes darting slickly, exuding a merchant's slickness. He held a cigarette, gave Li Ping'an a sideways glance at his attire: "Pull a cart? With that slight frame? Can you even move a cart? This job relies entirely on legs for a living!"

"Manager Sun, don't be fooled by his thinness; he's a country kid with raw strength!" He Daqing quickly offered a cigarette, smiling, "My distant nephew, his hometown suffered disaster, he's got no options, just wants a bite to eat. What do you think… give him a chance?"

Sun took a drag, leisurely exhaling a smoke ring: "Alright, judging by Old He's face. But the ugly part comes first. Want to pull a cart? Two ways: One, rent a cart from the company, pay a daily 'cart share'; rain, wind, headaches, you can't miss a single day! If the cart breaks you must pay full price! Two, buy a new cart yourself, affiliate it under our company, pay a monthly 'affiliation fee', we'll put a plate on it, you just pay the monthly share. Also…" He elongated his tone, eyes glancing at a few street ruffians across the street wearing crooked hats and smoking, "Around here, the 'offering money' can't be avoided, otherwise… heh, not just the job, even the wheels will be kicked away!"

Li Ping'an sneered inwardly. Buying a cart himself? Paying affiliation fees? Then having the black‑skinned thugs skim both ends? That's not pulling a cart, it's being a death‑messenger for the King of Hell!

His face showed a mix of difficulty and fear, rubbing his hands: "Sun… Manager Sun, this… you have to pay even if you rent a cart for a day without work? Buying one yourself… how many silver dollars would that cost? And… the offering money?" He looked like a terrified country bumpkin.

Sun scoffed: "No money? Then just honestly rent a cart! One day's cart share starts at five copper coins! After you pull enough, we'll discuss numbers! Offering money? That's 'Brother Biao of West City's' rule, one silver dollar per month! Miss a payment, we'll take your legs!" His tone was grim, not a bluff.

Li Ping'an's mental abacus clanged. Buying a cart? Easy, his space held piles of Gold Mountain Silver Mountain. Affiliation fees? A drizzle. But paying protection money to street ruffians? Ridiculous! He was here to be a driver, not a scapegoat! A cultivated martial artist being extorted by a few alley thugs? That'd make people laugh their back teeth off!

Now isn't the time to flip tables. What he lacks is a shell that lets him run rampant through the whole city.

"Manager Sun, thank you for the guidance! This… the money to buy a cart isn't small, I need to go back and think… scrape together…" Li Ping'an pretended difficulty, scratching his head.

Sun waved impatiently: "Hurry up! What are you dawdling for?"

Leaving the stifling, smoky area of the carriage shop, He Daqing shook his head: "See? This bowl of rice is hard to swallow! Layers of skinning! Ping'an, why don't you weigh it again?"

"Uncle He, I'll think it over." Li Ping'an replied vaguely, his mind clear. Pulling a cart is his best cover for now! As for the 'offering money'… hum, let's see who's lucky enough to collect it!

"Alright, I'll head off first; the restaurant has some work later this afternoon." He Daqing, mind on the silver dollar in his pocket, hurried away.

"Hey! Uncle He, you're busy! I'll wander around a bit, get to know the streets!" Li Ping'an was eager for him to leave.

After seeing He Daqing off, Li Ping'an stood on the chaotic Beiping street, inhaling deeply. The cold wind carried coal smoke, dust, the scent of fried dough sticks, and the restless energy of turbulent times. He squinted, his gaze cutting like a knife around him.

Pulling a cart? No, he was imprinting the city with his soles! Using his eyes as carving knives!

He set his legs moving, without a set path, darting through the alleys around Nanluoguxiang. Blue‑gray bricks, weathered gate towers, a vendor shouting to sell candied hawthorn, an old man drying under the wall, children chasing broken iron rings, a wife bustling with a vegetable basket… all rushed into his sight at once.

He wasn't fast, but his steps were steady. His mind, like a high‑power engine, greedily devoured the surroundings: what's the name of this alley? Where does it lead? Which courtyard is next to it? Which corner has a barber's stall? Which nook could hide a person? Which is a dead end? Which spot has a wooden guard post where Japanese Soldiers were posted? Where do the Black Dogs patrol…

His extraordinary memory, combined with the Spiritual Spring‑enhanced eyesight, sorted all these miscellaneous details into clear categories in his mind, automatically assembling a living, real‑time map! It was far more powerful than the broken navigation of his past life. That's what true "immersive" scouting is.

He pretended to be a clueless newcomer looking for work, glancing around, occasionally stopping at a snack stall to bite a cheap roasted sweet potato. No one paid attention; this seemingly naive boy was using his two eyes as scanners, engraving the city's very bones into his mind.

The sun had shifted west, the wind grew harsher. Li Ping'an finished the last bite of roasted sweet potato, brushed ash from his hands. The nearby streets and alleys of Nanluoguxiang, the side alleys, were already clear in his mind; he even remembered which brick was loose.

He checked his bearings, lifted his leg toward the lane. It was time to "go home".

Under the crooked old locust tree at the lane's mouth, he habitually lifted his eyes to scan Courtyard No. 95. The gate was ajar; in the open space, Jia Zhangshi stood with hands on hips, pointing at a protruding large water bucket, while her son Jia Dongxu strained, hauling water into the courtyard. Jia Zhangshi's sharp Sanjiao Yan eyes slyly glanced at the East Wing Room doorway of the front courtyard—Li Ping'an's brand‑new large water bucket he had just bought.

Li Ping'an didn't halt; the naive "country boy" look vanished in an instant, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. Trouble always came knocking on his own door. He raised his hand and pushed open the squeaking, black‑painted gate of Courtyard No. 95.