Chapter 122

Before the Grain Rain, Beiping was as stuffy as a steamer. In front of the Special Envoy's mansion, carriages and horses kept coming, black‑clad agents went in and out, and leather shoes clacked on the blue‑brick ground.

Li Ping'an's Braised Meat stall kept running as usual, but the work on the cutting board had slowed. He squinted toward the mansion, the tip of his knife drawing circles on the board.

Brother! Pingle tugged his sleeve, the meat is sliced too thin, almost transparent!

He came to his senses and saw a piece of marinated beef sliced thin enough to serve as a lampshade. The waiting regular customer clicked his tongue: "Boss Li's knife work rivals the sliced‑duck master at Quanjude."

As the setting sun sank, Lao Wang, who sold roasted snacks, came to buy Braised Meat. The moment the paper parcel was handed over, his fingertip tapped hurriedly on the board: "Tonight at midnight, big cleaning."

Li Ping'an's hand searching for change was very steady: "It's hot now, time to spray and sweep."

After closing the stall, he took Pingle to the bathhouse. In the misty steam, a little girl chattered about school anecdotes and about Su Shifu's newly taught double‑sided embroidery.

Li Ping'an splashed hot water over himself, droplets sliding down his chest. In the hazy steam, a few old scars on his back were faintly visible.

Brother, why is there a mark on your back? Pingle asked suddenly.

It was from a cat scratch when I was a child. He sank into the pool, the water not reaching his chin, urging him to scrub quickly before the water got cold.

On the way home, the streetlights just lit up. Pingle held up a newly bought pinwheel, then suddenly pointed toward the mansion: "Brother, look! So many crows over there!"

In the dusk, flocks of black crows circled the mansion roof, their cries hoarse. Passersby walked around, and the vendor selling candied hawthorn muttered low: "Crows gathering on the roof is not a good omen..."

That night the rain poured heavily. Li Ping'an tended to his sister as she fell asleep, sitting by the window listening to rain strike the eaves. At midnight the bell rang three more times, and he suddenly stood up.

The moment the oil lamp was blown out, his figure merged into the night like ink in water. With a slight mental shift, the Night Cloak in the Spiritual Spring Space glowed with a cold light, automatically conforming to his form as he donned it.

The rain curtain became the best cover. The Special Envoy's mansion wall was three zhang high; he tiptoed lightly on the slick blue bricks, like a night hawk scaling the wall.

The study was still lit. The Special Envoy was venting at the Telephone: "…must be done before dawn…" The voice suddenly cut off, and he turned warily toward the window: "Who?"

Outside the window, only the sound of rain striking the banana leaves.

When the steward brought in ginseng soup, the Special Envoy massaged his temples: "Strange, just now I thought I saw a figure…"

"You've been too tired these days." The steward set down the tray, "Finish the ginseng soup and rest early."

As the steam of the ginseng soup curled, a faint fragrance drifted in from outside. The Special Envoy yawned: "Indeed, time to sleep…"

When the steward left, he didn't notice the curtain behind the study's treasure alcove gently swaying.

At the second watch, the mansion was completely silent. Only the study lamp remained on, its light through the paper window casting the silhouette of someone slumped over a desk.

A black shadow slipped through the doorway like a wraith. The Special Envoy lay on the desk, confidential documents spread before him, a steel pen still gripped between his fingers.

Li Ping'an's gaze swept over the list on the documents, pupils narrowing. The third name on it turned out to be the vendor who sold New Year pictures.

He gathered his qi at his fingertips, about to act—

Suddenly! The Special Envoy snapped his head up, eyes behind gold‑threaded glasses shining like snow: "I've been waiting for you!"

The four walls of the study thundered open, seven or eight gun barrels aimed simultaneously! Li Ping'an laughed, his figure dissipating like smoke, merely a afterimage.

The real him had long ago been hanging upside down from the beam, silver needles flashing at his fingertips. The agents hadn't reacted before their wrists went numb and their pistols clanged to the ground.

The Special Envoy's hand reaching for his gun was restrained. Li Ping'an pressed against his back, voice as light as a lover's whisper: "Do you know why I chose today?"

The eyes behind the lenses showed panic for the first time: "You… what are you…?"

Grain Rain is the time to eliminate pests. Warm breath puffed at his ear: "Remember the bowl of Braised Soup you spilled? Angelica, Chuanxiong, and Western Golden Flower… are all excellent herbs for invigorating blood and dispelling stasis."

The Special Envoy suddenly convulsed, his fingers clawing at his chest. Li Ping'an helped him sit back in the chair, thoughtfully arranging him into a slumped, desk‑resting posture.

Oh right. He pulled an embroidered handkerchief from his sleeve, the one Pingle had embroidered—a magpie on plum blossoms—returning the item to its original owner.

When the embroidered handkerchief was slipped into the Special Envoy's palm, his fingertips brushed a few acupoints. Now anyone looking would think he was clutching the handkerchief as if suffering a sudden heart attack—clearly evidence seized in a recent raid, yet he kept it hidden on his person. He pulled those agents into the Spiritual Spring Space, using them as fertilizer, then restored the items to their original state and erased the traces.

Outside, the rain grew heavier. Li Ping'an, like a Night Owl, swooped out of the mansion; in the rain a foreman shouted hoarsely: "Dry weather makes things flammable—be careful with fire—"

The next morning, the area in front of the Braised Meat stall was packed with people seeking information.

"Did you hear? The Special Envoy disappeared last night!"

"They say it was a sudden heart condition, and he was still clutching his beloved embroidered handkerchief!"

Li Ping'an's hand slicing meat was steady: "What a pity, so young."

Pingle suddenly tugged his sleeve: "Brother, why is Su Shifu's embroidered handkerchief with the Special Envoy?"

"Probably evidence from the investigation." A flash of blade, a pork bone snapped in response. "What do you want to eat tonight? I'll make you braised noodles."

The agents were in chaos. Inside the mansion a stretcher covered with a white sheet was carried out, but from Nanjing no new recruits arrived. Rumor had it that the higher‑ups were all scared stiff, nobody daring to take this hot‑potato.

Lao Wang, who sold Braised Meat, was the first taken away. A few unfamiliar faces came to Li Ping'an's stall; while rummaging through the Spice Mix basket, Pingle trembled in fear.

"Little sister, don't be afraid." The lead plainclothes officer smiled coldly, "Your brother was at home last night, right?"

Pingle nodded vigorously, "Yes! My brother told me all night about Sun Wukong's three battles with the White Bone Demon!"

The plainclothes officer suddenly drew a knife, slashing at Li Ping'an's face! The blade halted just before his nose, the wielder's wrist clamped by two chopsticks.

"Be careful, officer." Li Ping'an smiled, "The knife is fast, don't hurt anyone."

The plainclothes officer struggled, his face flushed and neck thickened, his wrist feeling as if bound by iron pliers. Finally, he sheathed the knife with a sigh: "Good skill!"

"Practice makes perfect." Li Ping'an handed over a packet of braised liver, "Would you like a taste? It's on me."

After the plainclothes officers left, Pingle slumped onto a small stool: "Brother… could they…"

The water boiled, time to add the noodles. Li Ping'an stirred the braised broth in the pot, "Have you ever eaten braised noodles? The broth should be rich, the noodles firm."

At dusk, Lao Wang, who sold roasted snacks, was released back, looking thinner by a layer. When he came to buy braised dishes, he tossed an oversized peanut into the money box.

Inside the peanut shell was a note: "The list is secure, the passage reactivated."

When the rain fell again, Li Ping'an closed the stall early. He took Pingle to the Guanghe Building to watch a play; on stage they were singing "Wild Boar Forest."

"Brother, Lin Chong is so wronged." Pingle wiped away tears.

"Every grievance has a source, every debt a creditor." He slipped a honey‑date into his sister's mouth, "Watch the play, watch the play, don't whine."

When the performance ended, among the crowd a man wearing a felt hat brushed past them. Pingle suddenly felt something in his palm; looking down, it was a cartridge case, still warm.

Huh? This is…

A child was playing with a firecracker. Li Ping'an naturally slipped the shell into his pocket, then asked ahead, "There's a vendor selling donkey rolls, want some?"

In the deep quiet of night, Li Ping'an took out the cartridge case. His fingertip twitched, unscrewing it, revealing a tiny film inside. Holding it to the light, it was a photo of a new pass, the seal bright red as blood.

Outside the window, a crow suddenly cried. He blew out the lamp, and saw someone on the opposite roof striking a match to smoke, the firelight flickered on and off three times.

Pinglu murmured in her dream as she turned over: "Brother... candied hawthorn..."

He tucked the blanket corner for his sister, his fingertips lightly tapped three times on the windowsill. In the distance, the cigarette ember's light suddenly went out, and the night returned to stillness.

At dawn, the city gradually had new stirrings. The students were back on the streets, and Old Zhao the candy seller had returned too, only his candy figurines had changed shape to obedient little rabbits.

Pinglu was finally able to embroider again. She sat in the courtyard stitching a new pillowcase, her stitches fine and close, embroidering: "Year after year, peace."

Li Ping'an was practicing a new brine recipe. Star anise, cassia bark, and cloves were rolling in the pot, when suddenly a dash of perilla was added.

The aroma drifted over the courtyard wall; a passing agent sniffed twice: "Huh? This smell..."

He ultimately didn't stop his steps, holding the newly bought cricket cage, humming "The Drunken Concubine" as he walked away.

When the locust blossoms had all fallen, Li Ping'an discovered a packet of newly roasted melon seeds in a tree hollow. He peeled open the shells and pieced together four characters:

Wind stilled, dust fragrant.

He raised his head to gaze at the sky. Azure as if washed clean, there was no trace of wind or rain.

Only Pinglu noticed that her brother, while cutting meat, had started humming a little tune again. The melody was Martial Family Slope, but the lyrics had changed to:

One horse leaves the Liangzhou border—blue are the mountains, green the waters, a flower-filled world—

Where the blade passed, meat slices fluttered like petals. In the distance came the newsboy's cries, faintly audible as if... good news from beyond the pass?