Chapter 123

On New Year's Day of 1949, Beiping City was greeted amid gunfire. The northwest wind carried the smell of gunpowder, blowing on the face like a knife. Though the New Year was approaching, there wasn't even a candy melon seller on the street.

Li Ping'an's braised meat stall was still standing, though business had slowed considerably. Regular customers came and went in haste, their words coming out in white breath.

Aunt Zhang came running, wrapped in a cotton coat: "Boss Li, weigh half a jin of pork head meat!" In this bitter cold, the old man at home craves this bite.

Li Ping'an raised his knife and sliced the meat into paper-thin pieces: "You came just in time; any later and I'd have to pack up."

The knife paused on the cutting board. In the distance came the roar of an airplane, and the few people by the stall shrank their necks.

Ping Le ran back from school, ice crystals forming on her scarf: "Brother, the teacher said school's closed, and we should stock up on food..."

Li Ping'an stuffed a bag of freshly fried peanuts into her arms: "Don't worry, brother has a plan."

The little girl peeled peanut shells, lowering her voice: "Classmates say many officials have fled, and the airport is transporting goods every day!"

It got dark early; right after mid-afternoon, the streets were empty. Li Ping'an stood in the courtyard gazing skyward; red lights occasionally flared in the southeast, like fireworks for the New Year.

Brother, I'm scared. Ping Le clung to the doorframe; the kitchen had only half a sack of flour left, and the grain shops were all closed...

Li Ping'an rubbed her head: "Tomorrow, the flour bin will be full."

After his sister fell asleep, he slipped into the Spiritual Spring Space. It was still warm here, a world apart from the icy snow outside. In the corner lay baskets and crates he had gathered these past days; a rosewood chest had a crack, revealing the calligraphy and painting inside.

After the watch struck midnight, Li Ping'an changed into a thick cotton coat. With a slight thought, he floated out of the courtyard, leaving no footprints in the snow.

Over by Dongjiaomin Lane, it was lively. Several trucks were hauling crates to the American embassy, the handcarts making the packed snow creak. Li Ping'an lay on the consulate roof, his Divine Perception sweeping—inside were all porcelain, the oldest likely Song dynasty official kiln ware.

Move it! We must load the ship before dawn! Someone below urged in a hushed voice.

Li Ping'an flicked his fingertips, a few strands of finger wind striking the tires. Taking advantage of the chaos while changing the tire, his Divine Perception enveloped the whole vehicle. In the blink of an eye, only some straw lining remained in the cargo bed.

A foreigner burst out of the embassy, stamping his feet in anger: "Where's my blue-and-white porcelain? It was just on the truck!"

Such incidents occurred night after night. Today the eastern family lost Tang sancai; tomorrow the western family lost Ming-Qing paintings. Strangely, all the items vanished in transit, leaving no footprints at the scene.

On the day of the Little New Year, the twenty-third of the twelfth lunar month, the airport road was especially bustling. Five military trucks lined up like a long dragon, their canvas covers pressing the tires flat.

Li Ping'an lay on the Old Locust Tree by the road, his Divine Perception scanning the convoy. The first four trucks carried gold and silver ingots; the last truck held several large iron boxes, their hasps still sealed.

As the convoy reached a fork, it suddenly halted. The officer in the lead jeep jumped out, firing his gun into the air: "Ambush! Prepare..."

Before he could finish, the vehicle lights along the entire road went out simultaneously. In the darkness only cries were heard; when the backup lights came on, all the cargo beds were empty.

The officer slumped to the ground, clutching his head and muttering: "It's over... the commander's private treasury is completely gone..."

By then Li Ping'an was already three li away. His Divine Perception probed the last few iron boxes—each was filled with jade ornaments, and on top sat a Guanyin statue that glowed translucent throughout.

When he returned home at dawn, Ping Le was puttering in the kitchen: "Brother! How strange! The flour bin filled itself!"

Li Ping'an yawned as he entered: "Maybe you misremembered. Today is Little New Year; we'll eat dumplings."

The flour bag bore the red seal of Tianjin Yongfeng—that mill had closed last month.

Prices changed by the day. In the morning you could still buy a jin of white flour with your money; by afternoon it only bought half a jin of mixed flour. Ping Le clutched her New Year's money, worrying: "Brother, my copper coins are worth nothing..."

Li Ping'an pulled out a clay jar from the kang cavity: "Take this to buy candy melons."

Inside the jar were actually several silver dollars. Ping Le widened her eyes: "Brother, where did you get these..."

I earned them myself—could they have fallen from the sky? Li Ping'an turned to knead the dough: "Don't ask, just spend."

Sure enough, a candy melon vendor came to the lane entrance, pushing his cart and calling out. When Ping Le returned holding the candy melon, her face fell: "Old Liu the candy seller said he won't come tomorrow; he's heading home to avoid disaster."

That night Li Ping'an went out again. This time he specifically targeted convoys transporting grain out of the city. The next day Ping Le found the rice bin piled with Dongbei rice, and the oil bottle filled with Shandong peanut oil.

Brother... the little girl wanted to speak but hesitated, the kitchen...

Just eat your fill. Li Ping'an chopped cabbage; today we're making dumplings with pork and cabbage filling.

Halfway through rolling the dough, a sudden pounding on the door sounded. Several people wearing armbands burst in: "We're inspecting grain hoarding!"

Ping Le shrank back behind her brother in fright. Li Ping'an lifted the rolling pin and laughed: "Officer, take a look—does our place look like we're hoarding grain?"

Sure enough, the rice bin was down to its bottom, the flour sack limp. The leader lifted the pot lid—the pot was simmering wild vegetable congee.

Strange... he muttered as he walked away, neighbors saying they smelled meat...

Ping Le patted her chest, panting: "Brother, where did you hide the meat filling?"

Li Ping'an produced a water-soaked cloth bundle from the water vat: "Like a fish, it can dive."

Such days passed half a month. The city grew ever more chaotic, with daily rumors of plane crashes at the airport. One morning Ping Le came running back in a panic: "Brother! The New Year picture seller left a note!"

The paper was all creased, just one line: "Things are about to change; make preparations early."

On the twenty-eighth of the twelfth lunar month, the street suddenly fell silent. A booming cannonade came from the northwest, shaking the window paper into a clatter. Ping Le shrank into her brother's embrace, trembling: "Is that cannon fire?"

Li Ping'an listened intently for a moment: "It's cannon fire from outside the city."

He stood at the window, his Divine Perception spreading over the whole city. Countless images flooded his mind: university students packing books in their dorms, old shop owners hiding signs in cellars, and...

Suddenly he furrowed his brows.

In a certain alley, three black-clad men were picking the lock on Su Shifu's door.

Le'er, didn't Su Shifu just say he was returning to Tongzhou?

Ping Le nodded: "He said it was for his nephew's wedding..."

Before she could finish, her brother had vanished.

In the Su family courtyard, the black-clad men had just pried open a floor tile, revealing an iron box. Suddenly a gust struck from behind, and all three collapsed in unison.

Li Ping'an opened the iron box; inside lay half a volume of an ancient text, its pages worn. He gently stroked the pages, his Divine Perception sweeping the entire courtyard, and from a hidden compartment in the beam he found a scroll of ancient painting.

Finally he paused beneath the Old Locust Tree in the courtyard corner—beneath it lay the Su family's ancestral loom. After a moment's thought, he still used his Divine Perception to store it in the space.

On the way home Ping Le was still guarding the dumpling filling in a daze. Li Ping'an produced a cloth tiger as if by magic: "Su Shifu had someone bring this for you."

The cloth tiger was embroidered lifelike, its eyes set with glass beads that glittered in the lamplight.

It looked truly alive... Ping Le burst into laughter through tears: "Brother, when spring comes, let's go to Tongzhou to see Su Shifu?"

Li Ping'an gazed at the firelight to the northwest: "All right. Then I'll buy a pack donkey and carry you there."

In the latter half of the night snow began to fall. The snowflakes spun as they descended, as if to give this ancient city a new garment.

As Ping Le fell asleep to the sound of snow, she heard her brother humming a little tune in the courtyard. The melody was that of "The Drunken Concubine," but the lyrics had been altered:

The island's ice wheel first spun upward, and the Jade Tiger was seen; the Jade Tiger rose early in the east…

In the kitchen's noodle vat, the scent of fresh wheat quietly began to spread.