Chapter 13

Li Ping'an kicked the bloody yellow tooth into the trash heap with one foot, picked up the overturned wooden bucket, turned and went back into the house. The latch fell with a click, and all the remaining chaos of chickens flying and dogs jumping, along with those peering eyes, were shut outside. He leaned against the door panel and let out a long breath of foul air.

The bucket can't be left outside. He stared at the brand-new wooden bucket in his hand, smirking coldly. In this courtyard, it's not just Jia Dongxu whose hands are dirty. Today it's the bucket; tomorrow who knows what it'll be. He carried the bucket to the corner of the wall and set it down firmly. The initial caution he felt upon arrival was completely honed into sharp vigilance.

With the doors and windows sealed tight, a shift of his mind placed him entirely within a space warm as spring. The breath of the spiritual spring washed over him, cleansing the dust clinging to him and the foul air of the courtyard.

Practice! Li Ping'an's eyes flashed with fire. His fists aren't hard enough; in this chaotic age, in this man-eating courtyard, he's just waiting to get knifed! The light agility of the Carefree Step is like wind, the fierce power of the Eight Extremes Fist is like a hammer—alternating relaxation and tension, expansion and contraction, they surge back and forth in the open space. Sweat quickly soaked his single layer, and his muscles emitted faint groans under the extreme stretch and burst.

He didn't know how long he had practiced—perhaps provoked by the courtyard's foul air, perhaps due to the double boost of the spiritual spring and his comprehension—when he sank his stance again and threw a punch into the void, a sudden change occurred!

It was no longer merely the sound of wind being split.

An invisible, bone-chillingly cold thought erupted before his fist! Like an unseen ice cone, it instantly pierced the air ahead! In the space, a few falling leaves split silently down the middle, their edges smooth as if cut by a blade.

Li Ping'an abruptly withdrew his fist, his pupils constricting. He stared at his slightly trembling fist, then at the drifting broken leaves, his heart pounding.

Fist intent?

This feeling was mysterious yet real—the fist hadn't arrived, but the intent had already come! Killing without form! This is certainly no ordinary technique; it's a true life-saving trump card! He suppressed his excitement, but his gaze grew deeper. Such a thing must not be revealed until a matter of life and death!

He drew a deep breath, suppressed the surging qi and blood, and walked over to the pile of medical texts. Learning is like rowing against the current—if you don't advance, you fall back. Martial arts must be ruthless; medicine must be precise. In this chaotic age, being able to heal also means being able to kill without leaving a trace. He sat cross-legged, picked up the Essential Prescriptions from the Golden Cabinet, and immersed his mind in the winding ancient texts and exquisite prescriptions.

As soon as Li Ping'an closed that door, the undercurrents of Courtyard 95 began to bubble even more vigorously.

In the west wing of the front courtyard, Yan Bu Gui took off his glasses, exhaled onto them, and carefully wiped them with the corner of his clothing. His wife, holding the sleeping Yan Jiecheng, lowered her voice: "Old man, that new kid… is really fierce! He dares to trample on the faces of Jia Zhangshi and Master Yi, and even… even crushed a brick!"

Yan Bu Gui put his glasses back on, his eyeballs shifting behind the lenses, his fingers unconsciously scraping the edge of the kang table, as if moving abacus beads: "Fierce? I think he's hiding his strength! A half-grown kid who fled here, without blinking, pulls out five silver dollars to rent a house. That bearing of his… tsk tsk, his hands aren't stained with blood, he lacks the guts, and he lacks the strength!" He paused, his voice lowered to a mosquito's hum: "From now on, walk around carefully. Keep those little schemes to yourself—this person, we can't afford to provoke."

In the central courtyard, the Yi family. Yi Zhonghai sat on the edge of the kang, his face ashen, a hand-rolled poor-quality cigarette in his hand, about to be pinched apart by him. His wife carefully handed him a cup of water: "Calm down… that kid is just a greenhorn, he doesn't know the rules of Four Nine City…"

"He doesn't know the rules!" Yi Zhonghai slammed the kang table, making the teacup jump high, "He's riding on my neck to take a dump! In front of everyone in the courtyard, he defied me, slandered me! And… he even demonstrated by crushing a brick!" His chest heaved, his eyes dark enough to wring water from, "A little brat dares to slap my face like this? Heaven has been overturned! If I don't press him into submission, who in this courtyard will still take me seriously?" He took a hard drag on the cigarette, choking on the smoke, but a fierce light flickered in the depths of his eyes, "Just wait! There will always be a way to make him know, this pot is made of iron!"

Inside the Jia household, resentment raged. Jia Zhangshi clutched her swollen cheek, blood seeping from the corner of her mouth, her wailing turning into a poisonous snake's curse: "Jia Youcai! You spineless waste! Watching your wife get her teeth knocked out, you don't even dare to fart! Are you still a man? Huh? That little beast is right in the front courtyard—go on, go tear him apart for me!"

Jia Youcai crouched in the corner, clutching his head, muttering: "What's all the howling for? Didn't you see how hard he crushed that brick? Should I go? Should I go deliver vegetables? Even the Deaf Old Lady has spoken… can't you just settle down?"

"Settle down? I've lost a tooth, and you think we can just let it go? Dreaming!" Jia Zhangshi's triangular eyes flashed with venom, "Openly it won't work… secretly it won't either? This wild brat from out of town will always have a moment when he's alone, sneaking into an alley! Dongxu!" She whipped around toward her son cowering in the corner of the kang, "Keep your eyes locked on him! See when he leaves, which path he takes! I'll make him know how many eyes King Yama has!"

Jia Dongxu shuddered with fright, burying his head in his knees.

In the west wing of the central courtyard, He Daqing sat cross-legged on the kang, sipping a little wine alongside a plate of fried peanuts. His wife, while mending shoe soles, sighed: "You say that Ping'an kid… looks honest enough, but why is he so vicious in his strikes? Jia Zhangshi's tooth…"

"Fierce?" He Daqing set down his wine cup, wiped his mouth, his face showing a mix of lingering fear and inexplicable relief, "You didn't see that brick! It's solid blue stone—in his hand it's like pinching a flaky pastry! Crack—it shattered!" He lowered his voice, tinged with a martial-arts vibe, "I was originally afraid this newcomer would be devoured alive by the courtyard's old oilskins. Hey! Turns out he's a pig-playing-tiger type, a vicious character! His hands have definitely seen blood! Otherwise he wouldn't have that killer aura!" He smacked his lips, popped a peanut into his mouth, "Now that's settled—Jia Zhangshi's tough-as-nails meat has kicked against steel plate! Let's see if she still dares to bite anyone!"

In the rear courtyard's main hall, a bean-sized oil lamp flickered yellow. The Deaf Old Lady sat cross-legged on the luohan bed, her withered fingers turning a string of glossy, oiled prayer beads, emitting a faint "tick-tock". The room was so quiet one could hear the lamp wick's tiny crackles.

The old lady's cloudy eyes fixed on the dancing flame, as if piercing the wall to land on the tightly shut front courtyard door. After a long while, she slowly spoke, her voice hoarse like sandpaper, low enough to be barely heard:

"\"Climbing out of war and chaos, fleeing all the way to this Four Nine City… could she be a good sort? \" The prayer beads paused in her fingers for a moment, \"Her hands… are probably already stained… with human life…\""

She slowly lowered her eyelids, saying no more. Only that string of prayer beads continued its monotonous cycle in the gloom. Outside, the cold wind swirled, wailing as it swept past the eaves, like countless pairs of probing eyes whispering.

In the space, Li Ping'an slowly closed the medical text. He rotated his slightly sore neck, his eyes clear as a cold pool. The agility of the Carefree Step, the dominance of the Eight Extremes Fist, and that newly sprouted, bone-chilling fist intent flowed and merged within his body, forming a brand-new strength.

He walked to the edge of the spiritual spring, cupped a handful of clear, sweet spring water and drank it down. Coolness entered his throat, his limbs and bones suffused with a comfortable vigor. His mind swept over the supplies stored in the space: Gold Mountain Silver Mountain, rare medicinal herbs, yellowed classics, and that sword—taken from the Li Deng Secret Room—its blade steeped in icy chill.

Strength, growing silently and unseen.

He cocked his ear, as if he could hear beyond the courtyard walls—the heavy breathing of Beiping City in the night, and the repressed schemes and restless fangs within the courtyard.

The wind, swirling, grew stranger the harder it blew.

He curled the corner of his mouth into a cold arc. "Come on, let this demonic wind blow even fiercer. I want to see whether it's the depth of this courtyard's waters, or the hardness of my fists, the speed of my blade! In this great game of chess, the black and white pieces have only just been placed a few."