Chapter 15

The rickshaw's broken wheel rolled over the blue stone slabs of Nanluoguxiang, clack, clack, sounding so noisy that Li Ping'an himself found it irritating. Just as he set the rickshaw down at his hut's door, the shoulder strap not yet taken off neatly, the next door's door with faded spring couplets creaked open, and Yan Bu Gui's gaunt face poked out, just like an old scheming cat stuck in the door frame.

"Yo ho! Li Ping'an!" Yan Bu Gui's small eyes, like searchlights, swept over that half-new half-old rickshaw from head to toe several times, a sour tone floating over: "You bought a rickshaw? Not bad, kid! This must have emptied your savings, right? Really taken up this rickshaw business?" Those three words "rickshaw" in his mouth sounded twisted, grating on the ears, full of contempt.

Li Ping'an knew the situation in his heart, but his face immediately put on the bitter look typical of refugees, his waist slumped halfway, his voice listless: "Oh my Yan teacher, don't pick on me! I, Li Ping'an, a refugee, living hand to mouth, can't afford this precious thing even by grinding bones for oil! It's rented! From the rickshaw company!" He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping as if carrying a two-hundred-jin load: "The monthly rent is damn expensive! When it's windy or rainy and I can't stay out, I still have to pay! But what can I do? We have no person, no money, barely know a few characters; besides selling this strength, what else can we do? We can't just sit at home waiting to starve to death like cured meat!"

This remark was like a chunk of ice, puff! smashing into Yan Bu Gui's little spark of jealousy, with a sizzle it went out. Yan teacher's face lost that scrutinizing look, replaced by a sense of "that's more like it" superiority; he nodded in a pretentious way: "Hmm, that's the way it is, nobody's got it easy, nobody's got it easy."

Before his words had even settled, the other doors of the siheyuan, as if by agreement, creaked and clanged together. Jia Zhangshi's chubby face squeezed out from the door crack, her triangular eyes darting around, all full of the excitement of watching a show; Yi Zhonghai held a large enamel jar, looking mature and steady; Liu Haizhong stuck out his belly and also sauntered out.

Just now Yan Bu Gui's remark "You bought a rickshaw?" was like a stone thrown into the siheyuan's muddy water, splashing rings of envy, jealousy, and hatred. But as soon as they heard it was "rented", that complex look on everyone's faces vanished with a swish, replaced by relief, tinged with undisguised contempt.

Jia Zhangshi pursed her lips, her voice sharp enough to pierce window paper: "Hmph! I told you! A refugee begging for food—how could he rise in one step? Born to pull carts and haul heavy loads! Lowly bones! Doomed!"

Yi Zhonghai cleared his throat, adopting an official tone: "Ping'an, as long as you have work to do, that's fine—steady and honest, you won't go hungry."

Liu Haizhong stood with hands behind his back, belly protruding: "Hmm, self-reliance, commendable spirit." His eyes, however, flicked to the cart, meaning just two words: makeshift.

Li Ping'an just took it as farting, his face still the weary, resigned look life had beaten into him, muttering "yes, yes, yes". Inside he sneered: a bunch of frogs in a well, this cart of mine is powered by the strength to tread on the threshold of Yama's hall—you lot don't know squat!

Watching that bunch of people retreat to their own doorways, clutching their pitiful sense of superiority, Li Ping'an then huffed and puffed as he pushed the rickshaw into his pigeon-hole-like hut. This precious contraption can't be left outside overnight. The people in this courtyard, envious and dark-hearted, might not have clean hands.

Once the door was shut, it cut off the outside foul air. He ladled a scoop of cool water, symbolically tossing two lumps of broken coal slag into the half-dead stove, then set the water pot on it—this is the daily mandatory face Engineering. Not lighting a fire to cook? In this place full of sharp-tongued people, within three days they'd start spreading the rumor that "Li Ping'an can do magic tricks". That thin wisp of steam is just a smoke screen to fool ghosts.

With a thought, he stepped into that cramped little world. The rich aroma of braised beef shot straight up his nose, while white rice steamed with enticing heat. Outdoors, he'd have to hide even to eat a steamed bun, let alone meat—how could a refugee have meat every meal? That would be like blowing a trumpet shouting "I've got problems, come investigate!" This tiny space is the only place in this man-eating world where he can catch his breath and fill his belly.

Having eaten and drunk his fill, his body warmed and his strength returned. Li Ping'an glanced around. The things he'd hastily hauled in were piled up like a small hill, messy and annoying. "Time to tidy up," he thought. "For tonight's 'work', I'll need to bring back a few sturdy shelves and racks. I also have to make a trip to the hardware store for wrenches, pliers, lubricant—got to stock up." His gaze fell on the rickshaw in the corner: "This cart needs to be taken apart, cleaned inside and out; from now on, when I need to run, it'll be my legs." Thinking of running, he again thought of "supplies": "I also need to get some fruit—eating just meat would cause heat. I also need to figure out how to bring in a few live chickens, ducks, fish, and rabbits, keep them alive, a steady trickle..."

His thoughts turned to his sister, a sharp pang gripping his chest. The little girl's figure flickered before his eyes—where was she now? Was she starving, front pressed to back, or freezing, shivering? Was anyone bullying her? In this world… Li Ping'an clenched his fists till his nails dug into his flesh. That anxiety and longing, like icy vines, wound tight so he could barely breathe.

"Cloth… the Lin family runs a cloth business!" A sudden ding flashed in his mind, like striking a match: "In Beiping, they'll most likely still be in their old trade! Just keep an eye on those bigger cloth shops, silk stores… there's an opportunity!" This thought was like a lifeline, temporarily easing the fire of anxiety in his heart. The goal became clearer.

Annoyed, restless, he needed to vent. He drew a deep breath, and in this absolutely safe nook, he assumed the stance of Baji Quan. Sinking the shoulders, dropping the elbows, waist and horse united, the fist wind made a huh-huh sound, no longer the initial stiffness; each punch carried a sinking force, joints giving a light ga-ba. Sweat trickled down his temples, that warmth dispelling some of the chill in his heart.

After lowering his fists, his gaze swept over the few chillingly cold samurai swords in the corner. He casually picked one up, hefted it—icy and dead heavy. In his mind flashed the memory from a past life of the Po Feng Eight Blades—simple, direct, brutal! Chop, hack, slice, thrust—every move aimed at taking a life!

"That's it!" Li Ping'an's eyes hardened, he flipped his wrist, and the long sword swished through the stagnant air, letting out a piercing whistle! A vertical split like opening a mountain, a horizontal slash like cutting a river! The motion was clean, with no wasted motion, the blade's light weaving an icy net. Where the edge passed, one could almost hear the Little Devils' necks crack with a crisp sound! The faster he practiced, the sword followed the man, the man followed the sword, man and sword became one, leaving only the purest killing intent.

Sweat soaked through the lining of his night cloak. He glanced at the old watch he'd picked up in the corner; its hands quietly crept past twelve.

Beiping lay asleep. Only the north wind swirled in the alleys, howling ooh-ooh.

Having changed into a tight night cloak, Li Ping'an merged with the darkness. He gently pushed open the rear window of his hut, slipped out like a civet cat, his toes touching the icy cracks in the wall bricks, and he was already like a leaf drifting up onto the high wall. Snores rose and fell in the siheyuan; no one knew that the "lowly" rickshaw puller had become the night's soul‑reaper.