Chapter 121

After the Awakening of Insects, Beiping was like a child not yet fully awake, willow branches drooping their heads, even the sparrows' chirps listless. In front of Li Ping'an's braised‑meat stall, the old regulars huddled together, their voices hushed lower than a mosquito's hum.

The old Feng who sold soybean juice came over to get his meal, his eyes darting: Have you heard? Things have changed beyond the passes!

Li Ping'an's cleaver paused on the chopping board: Your soybean juice is scorched, isn't it? You're just talking nonsense.

A flash of the blade, the soy‑braised beef fell into thin slices, translucent enough to see the grain. Yet the veins on the back of the hand gripping the knife throbbed, as if a tiny mouse were scurrying under the skin.

Auntie Zhang came to buy pig's head meat, her fingernails tapping a staccato on the board: Last night, over a dozen were taken away at the Xisi Archway.

Li Ping'an's hand was steady as he wrapped the meat, the oil paper folded precisely: Your nails need trimming, or you'll nick the meat.

Pinglu returned from school, the red ribbon at the end of her braid swapped for a black elastic. The little girl leaned against the stall doing her homework, licking the worn‑down pencil tip and continuing to write.

Brother, the teacher taught a new poem today. She suddenly lifted her head, "Why should the Qiang flute resent the willow…"

Li Ping'an clapped a hand over her mouth. Two men in bowler hats were walking past the stall, their leather shoes crunching on the snow.

After those two had walked away, he finally loosened his grip: From now on, when the school teaches a new poem, you can recite it at home.

Pinglu blinked her eyes: "Why?"

"Brother, I love the old tunes." Li Ping'an stuffed a piece of candy into her mouth, then went to buy some fennel; the Spice Mix was running low.

The little girl skipped away. Li Ping'an's gaze followed her back until he saw Lao Wang, the fried‑snacks vendor, give a slight shake of his head from this direction—a new Secret Sentry had been set up at the street corner.

That night, spring rain drizzled. Li Ping'an practiced his fists in the courtyard; the explosive power of the Eight Extremes Fist made the jujube trees tremble. Yushui within three feet of his body was deflected by his aura, not even wetting the hem of his clothes.

Brother, you're practicing with an umbrella? Pinglu leaned on the windowsill and laughed.

As he finished the form, he tapped his toe lightly; the rainwater on the ground gathered into a Tai Chi diagram: 'This is qi pervading the whole body.' Go to sleep; get up early tomorrow to open the stall.

The stall was set up earlier than usual. In the misty morning light, the Special Envoy's sedan glided silently over the street. Half the car window rolled down, and the eyes behind the gold‑rimmed glasses swept over the braised‑meat stall, like a Poison Snake's tongue flicking across.

At the peak of the lunchtime bustle, an incident occurred. Several young people resembling students were dragged out of the teahouse by plainclothes officers, their cotton robes torn to reveal the student uniforms underneath.

"It's unjust! We were just having a cup of tea…" a bespectacled man shouted, struggling.

The Special Envoy stepped out of the car, his leather shoes splashing in the mud: 'Do you need a uniform to drink tea?' He bent to pick up the fallen book; the four characters 'Popular Philosophy' stared back at him.

Pinglu shrank back behind her brother in fright. Li Ping'an pressed her head against his chest, his knife never stopping: 'Children shouldn't watch this.'

Where the blade passed, meat and bone separated, the cut surface smooth as a mirror.

The plainclothes officers were leading the people away when the Special Envoy suddenly turned toward the braised‑meat stall: 'Boss Li, I hear your braising broth is a family recipe?'

The spout of the Yixing clay pot pointed at the gurgling braising pot: 'Give me a bowl to taste.'

Li Ping'an ladled the broth with a steady hand, not a drop spilling: 'Watch out, it's hot.'

The Special Envoy blew on the hot liquid, took a sip, then suddenly spat it all onto the ground: 'The flavor's off. Did you add red yeast rice?'

The air froze in an instant. The plainclothes officers' hands went to their waists, and the customers in front of the stall retreated one after another.

Li Ping'an chuckled: 'You're joking. Red yeast rice is for making fermented bean curd in the south; we never use it in Beiping's braised dishes.'

The eyes behind the lenses narrowed to slits: 'Really? But I taste… a reddish note.'

Suddenly an explosion sounded in the distance! As people stared in alarm, Li Ping'an's wrist jerked and the ladle clinked against the pot's rim. The Special Envoy frowned toward the rising smoke: 'What's going on?'

It seemed to come from the direction of the Police Station… Before the plainclothes officer's words had finished, a second wave of explosions rang out!

In the chaos, the stall owner selling New Year prints bumped into the braised‑meat stand. At the moment their bodies touched, Li Ping'an found a paper wad slipped into his sleeve.

The Special Envoy's face turned ashen as he drove off. Li Ping'an unfolded the paper wad—it bore a sketch of a burning train.

That night, Beiping City was placed under martial law. The Patrol Squad's leather boots echoed all night, occasionally punctuated by gunshots. Pinglu curled up under the covers, trembling: 'Brother, I'm scared.'

Li Ping'an stood by the window, a silhouette: 'Let's go practice fists. The Tai Chi I taught you—once you reach the third form, you won't be afraid.'

The little girl mimicked a wild horse's mane on the heated brick bed, her breathing gradually steadying. Moonlight revealed outside the window—several black shadows moving across the opposite roof, the leader gesturing like a Night Owl spreading its wings.

The next day the stall didn't open. Li Ping'an locked the doors and windows, then pulled an oilcloth bag from the bottom of the water barrel. Inside lay half a copy of the Kangxi Dictionary, with secret formulae for medicines tucked between its pages.

Pinglu peered over curiously: "Brother, are you looking up a character?"

"Reviewing the old to know the new." Li Ping'an dipped his brush in tea and wrote; the paper showed a scorch mark: 'Goods trucks are suspended; switch to canal transport.'

The characters faded quickly. He lifted his gaze to the sun: 'Le'er, go to Su Shifu's place and borrow an embroidery pattern.'

Pinglu pouted: "You said we shouldn't go out much lately…"

He walked through the alleys. Li Ping'an slipped a handful of peanuts into her pocket, and whenever he saw someone wearing a bowler hat, he'd say he was going to borrow an embroidery needle.

Once the little girl had left, Li Ping'an slipped into the inner room. A faint thought stirred, and the Browning in the Spiritual Spring Space glowed with a dark light. He made a disassembly gesture in mid‑air, the motion so swift it left an afterimage.

His fingertip suddenly pointed toward the window— the locust branches swayed without wind. Moments later, Old Wang the fried‑snacks vendor scrambled over the wall: 'Old Li, the route's cut off!'

Canal transport is still viable. Li Ping'an continued his empty‑hand wiping motions; see you at the dock at midnight.

Lao Wang's eyes widened: 'You're crazy? The dock's crawling with agents now!'

A clear knock echoed from the void: 'That's why we have to go.'

When Pinglu returned, she saw her brother spreading the Spice Mix in the courtyard. Star anise and fennel lay on a bamboo rack, arranged in a strange Bagua pattern.

Su Shifu said he hasn't been teaching new patterns lately. The little girl fiddled with the borrowed embroidery spool, and she told me to give this to you.

Inside the embroidery spool's interlayer lay threads, the red and yellow strands twisted into a cord. Li Ping'an flicked the tip, and the thread end revealed a tiny paper scroll: 'Special Envoy suspects canal transport.'

As the sun slanted westward, the Special Envoy was fuming in the teahouse. The Yixing clay pot crashed to the floor: 'In one night three strongholds have been taken! Are you all good‑for‑nothings?'

The plainclothes squad leader stammered: 'Their skill is too great; our men couldn't get a clear look…'

Then seize whoever you can make out! The Special Envoy flung open his collar, ordering every laborer on the dock to be screened! Especially——

He suddenly froze, the lenses glinting coldly: 'That braised‑meat vendor—did he set up his stall today?'

Night fell, and Li Ping'an taught Pinglu push‑hands. Her wrists sank and rose, actually carrying a hint of Tai Chi's flavor.

Brother, a new teacher came to school today. She suddenly said, 'Let's learn to sing "Su Wu Herding Sheep."'

Li Ping'an's gestures didn't cease: 'The old tune, quite nice.'

But when the teacher reached the line 'Cherishing the Han state,' someone outside the window snapped a photo…

His vigor suddenly dissipated! Snow at the base of the courtyard wall fluttered down. Li Ping'an lowered his posture, musing: 'Starting tomorrow, I'll take you to school.'

At the midnight watch, Pinglu was already fast asleep. Li Ping'an tucked her covers in, his form melting into the night like mist.

Gunfire faintly came from the direction of the dock. Ping Le frowned in his dream, tightly hugging that peach-blossom overgarment.

When the sky was about to brighten, Li Ping'an returned soaked in steam. His fingertips smelled of iron rust, and his cuff tore a slit.

When the brine soup on the stove boiled again, the newspaper boy's voice pierced the morning fog: Extra! Dock night battle! Suspected communists hijacked a ship!

Ping Le jumped awake and ran out: 'Brother, you went out in the middle of the night?'

Went to buy new Spice Mix. Li Ping'an stirred the soup ladle; today's broth is good, I'll make you a bowl of noodles.

As the noodles were brought to the table, the Special Envoy's carriage passed by the gate. It moved very slowly, its windows pitch black like ink.

Ping Le suddenly pointed outside the window: 'Brother! Red cloth strips are hung on the locust tree!'

Someone's bedsheet must have blown away while drying. Li Ping'an didn't even lift his head.

The chopsticks gently stirred the noodle soup; steam blurred his brows and eyes. At the bottom of the broth lay a tiny iron fragment, a trace where a bullet grazed.

Spring rain fell again, washing away the dark red on the blue stone slab road. When the fried snack seller Lao Wang came to buy braised food, he tossed a shelled peanut into the cash box.

The peanut shell split open, revealing a small rolled-up strip of plastic inside.

Li Ping'an lifted his gaze to the sky. Dark clouds pressed over the city, and Yanzi flew low.

The weather's about to change. He muttered to himself, a flash of blade light on his hand, and the pig bone snapped in response.

The cross-section of the broken bone was bright red, like a plum blossom blooming in the spring rain.