Chapter 16: with translation of chapter title

The night wind scraped his face like a knife. He crouched low, moving with familiar ease through the spider‑web‑like Alley, his target fixed— the Qingzhu Courtyard whose lintel bore a carved Chrysanthemum Stamp! He rushed forward.

Arrived. The dead‑silent Alley was filled only with howling wind. He slipped like a gecko to the heavy black‑lacquered wooden door. A slender steel pin silently slipped into the keyhole, his wrist trembling ever so slightly as he probed. Time seemed frozen, only his heart beating steadily in his chest.

"Kada." A barely audible click.

The door opened a crack. A strong scent of alcohol mixed with an odd Eastern incense rushed out. Li Ping'an held his breath, slipped sideways in.

His foot just touched the courtyard's bluestone slab when the main hall door burst open with a "wham"! A figure blocked the doorway, dressed in a kimono‑style nightgown, eyes as sharp as knives, showing no hint of drunkenness— it was the same arrogant karate‑practicing Japanese Soldier from the daytime.

"Baka!" The Japanese Soldier's Mandarin was as clumsy as a lump of iron, his rage like a disturbed dream, his knife‑sharp gaze sweeping over Li Ping'an's attire. "Whose are you? What are you doing?" His hand instinctively reached for his waist—the place where deadly weapons are usually hidden.

Li Ping'an slowly straightened his waist; the eyes peeking over his mask shone eerily in the darkness, like two burning ice clumps. He mimicked the other's stiff tone, his words sounding as if dredged from an ice cave:

"For you," he paused, a wave of bone‑chilling murderous intent exploding, "go meet Yama, get to work!"

"Baka yarou!" The Japanese Soldier's hair stood on end, like a mad dog whose tail had been stepped on! He let out a strange roar, stamped the ground barefoot with a fierce kick, and barreled at him like a cannonball! A hand‑slash tore through the air with a shrill scream, slashing straight at Li Ping'an's neck! It was the same move he had used to flip the old cart‑puller in the daytime, only faster, harsher, deadly!

A gust slammed into his face; Li Ping'an's pupils contracted. A pro! This speed, this force, this murderous intent—none of those earlier greenhorn soldiers could match, a real tough nut!

"Come!" Li Ping'an shouted low in his heart, not retreating but advancing! He lowered his waist, seated like a horse, the Eight Extremities Fist "hard open, hard strike" stance instantly unfolded! His left arm, like an iron latch, rose boldly, and with a "bang" he met the hand‑slash head‑on! His sleeve ripped with a "shhh" sound, his forearm searing with sharp, numb pain! Simultaneously, his right fist clenched, a Crushing Fist like a Poison Snake emerging from its hole, his whole body twisting to generate power, striking straight into the Japanese Soldier's chest‑abdomen empty gate!

The Japanese Soldier's determined strike was met with a solid block; his wrist went numb, and even worse, the punch that hammered his solar plexus came crashing. Fast! Fierce! In the haste, he could only barely tuck his chest, yet the fist's edge still brutally scraped across his ribs!

"Ugh!" The Japanese Soldier grunted, pain and astonishment flashing across his face! Using the momentum, he spun violently, delivering a steel‑whip‑like roundhouse kick that whooshed toward Li Ping'an's temple!

Li Ping'an lowered his body and hunched his shoulders, the "Mountain‑clinging" stance narrowly evading the deadly leg wind; his right elbow, like a spear, flashed like lightning, striking the opponent's supporting knee! Attack its weak point!

The Japanese Soldier reacted quickly, retracting his leg; the two instantly created a slight distance. In the courtyard, the two black silhouettes leapt and fell like rabbits, the dull thuds of fists and feet, the swish of clothing filling the air. Li Ping'an employed the close‑range short strikes and body‑pressing of Eight Extremities Fist to the utmost, sticking like a piece of chewing gum. The Japanese Soldier's karate opened and closed wildly, slashing fiercely, his leg wind whooshing; each solid clash sent Li Ping'an's qi and blood roiling.

Truly risking his life! This was a world apart from the earlier chopping vegetables and melons! Sweat instantly drenched Li Ping'an's back; every block, dodge, and counter drained massive energy, straining his nerves. Yet his eyes grew brighter! Pressure can truly squeeze out oil! The opponent's techniques, habits, footwork became the best live textbook, which he greedily absorbed and dissected! The fist intent he had painstakingly trained for daily condensed at lightning speed in this life‑or‑death moment!

Dozens of exchanges flashed like lightning. Li Ping'an discerned the Japanese Soldier's patterns, and the opponent's aura wavered a bit.

"Time to wrap up!" A cold light burst from Li Ping'an's eyes! He deliberately turned, exposing half his chest as a feint.

The Japanese Soldier fell right into the trap, his eyes blazing fiercely! He gathered his whole strength, delivering a straight punch infused with karate's ferocity, like a cannonball bursting, bearing a terrible momentum, blasting straight at Li Ping'an's heart! If this punch landed, it could shatter a heart!

A hair's breadth from disaster! Li Ping'an's body, like a boneless loach, twisted and contracted sharply! The Japanese Soldier's killing punch whooshed past his chest, the punch wind lashing his flesh painfully! The massive force propelled the Japanese Soldier's body forward involuntarily!

"Iron Mountain!" A suppressed low growl rolled from Li Ping'an's throat! He coiled his whole body's power into a rope, like a spring compressed to its limit, then exploded outward! Shoulders down, waist twisted, legs stamped! He became a moving Iron Mountain, bearing a crushing momentum, slamming hard into the Japanese Soldier's gaping opening created by his full‑force punch!

"Kacha!" The sound of bone cracking was startlingly crisp!

The Japanese Soldier's snarling face froze instantly, turning into extreme pain and horror! He felt as if a runaway locomotive had slammed into him! His chest collapsed, ribs shattered—he couldn't count how many—his internal organs were mashed as if by a giant hand! Blood spurted out of his mouth and nose with a "pfft"! His body, like a torn sack, was hurled into the air, crashing heavily against the rear doorframe, then slipping softly to the ground, limbs convulsing, only gasping breaths remaining.

Li Ping'an slowly eased out of his stance, his chest heaving violently, beads of sweat striking the cold bluestone slab from his chin. He stared at the dark‑red pool spreading rapidly on the ground, his gaze as cold as Siberian permafrost.

For a butcher drenched in compatriots' blood, crushing him is the finest offering.

No more delay. He slipped into the house. The interior was simply furnished, heavy with Eastern flavor. Several swords of varying styles hung on the wall, their scabbards glinting coldly in the dim light. In a corner stood a weapons rack holding short‑staff guards. Li Ping'an, unceremoniously, cleared his mind, and together with the Japanese Soldier's short knife still sheathed at his waist, every edged or pointed object in the house vanished instantly, transferred into his small storage.

In the corner, a particularly rustic scabbard caught his eye, housing a samurai sword. At the tip of the hilt, a small, intricately line‑drawn Chrysanthemum Stamp was engraved. Li Ping'an's mind sparked: a royal bestowal? Impressive! This Japanese Soldier has a notable background! Perfect—take your sword and act on behalf of Heaven!

Silently he slipped out of the blood‑scented haunted house, gently closing the door behind him. The night once again swallowed everything.

He kept moving, racing to the next stop—a Hardware Store run by Japanese Soldiers. He pried the lock and slipped in in one breath. Inside, a cold scent of machine oil and cast iron pervaded. On the shelves were wrenches of all sizes, pipe pliers, screwdrivers, steel saw blades, files, rolls of iron wire, assorted screws and nuts… neatly arranged. Against the wall stood several sturdy iron racks and a couple of half‑worn bookshelves. Li Ping'an transformed into a diligent little bee; with a thought, several complete toolboxes, large bundles of iron wire, barrels of lubricant, a heap of brand‑new vehicle parts, along with those iron racks and bookshelves, vanished in a whoosh into his small storage.

In the corner of his small storage, a tiny mountain of hardware goods instantly piled up.

Job done. Li Ping'an's figure melted back into Beiping's dense, impenetrable night, like a drop of water falling into the sea.

Returning to the cold little house in Nanluoguxiang, he latched the door bolt. He stripped off his soaked Night Cloak and, with the cool water splashing in the room, haphazardly splashed his face. The cold water made him shiver, and the lingering fatigue washed away.

He didn't rush to lie down. His gaze fell on the pile of newly acquired gear, especially the royal sword bearing the Chrysanthemum Stamp. He walked over and drew it out. The blade was slender, its curve exuding a sinister beauty; under the room's steady dim light, the edge glimmered with a line of ice‑cold, bone‑piercing brilliance.

He moved to the corner, where a dark‑green whetstone of unknown origin lay. Sitting cross‑legged, he fetched a small ceramic jar nearby, filled with clear water. He laid the blade flat, aligning the edge with the stone. Li Ping'an's gaze was terrifyingly focused, as if the whole world consisted solely of the sword in his hand.

His left hand steadily pressed the spine, his right hand's three fingers pinched the blade near the guard. He wetted it. Began grinding.

"Sha… sha… sha…"

A monotonous, rhythmic scraping sounded in the silent space. Water droplets rolled down the edge, carrying away fine metal powder. With each push and pull, the angle and pressure were held tight. Where the blade met the stone, a delicate white paste gradually spread.

He worked neither hurried nor slow, with an almost reverent focus. The icy blade pressed against his palm; the sensation was strange, the blade chilling to the bone, alive, exuding a yearning for hot blood.

"Sha… sha… sha…"

The grinding continued. Li Ping'an's heart settled as still as a deep pool. The day's trivialities, the Siheyuan's choking fumes, the peril of combat, the future's uncertainty… were all filtered out by this monotonous pure sound. His world contained only the increasingly cold, increasingly sharp blade in his hand.

The thin cold glint along the edge, under repeated honing, grew ever more concentrated and dazzling, as if alive, silently whirring in the gloom.

The night was bottomless deep. Outside the Siheyuan, the wind howled tighter, swirling dust and dead leaves, like countless wronged souls wailing.

The faint hiss of the blade slicing the air was the only battle hymn in this cold night. It waited, waiting for the next chance to gorge on enemy blood. A faint curve at Li Ping'an's mouth, once smoothed by daily life, subtly lifted in the unseen shadows—cold, sharp, just like the suddenly gleaming blade in his hand.