Chapter 19: Night Raid on Gold Mountain

The "shasha" sound on the whetstone echoed for about half a month in the dead silence. The glint of coldness in Li Ping'an's eyes, like the chill from the blade's edge, grew more menacing the more he sharpened. Storming Okamura's old den? That's like an old man hanging himself—complaining his life is too long. He needs a darker scheme.

Poison, dazing powder… This thought sprouted like a seed in his heart. Safe, swift, quiet. Reliable.

From that day on, in Beiping City, those small medicine shops with modest storefronts and half‑dead business often saw a listless carter. Li Ping'an pulled his cart, specifically targeting such areas.

"Shopkeeper, grab some croton beans." He shrank his neck, voice withered like frost‑hit eggplant: "Back home there's a rat problem; I need rat medicine."

"Boss, give me some cinnabar." He rubbed his hands, face full of deep grievance: "My rural mother believes in this; it calms shock and soothes the spirit."

"Master, prepare some dazing powder… uh no! It's… it's that… my stubborn donkey won't obey; the vet said to mix a calming agent so I can shoe it!" His eyes darted, his fabrication halting, sweat beading on his forehead.

The pharmacy owner gave him a sideways glance, sometimes cursing "Nonsense!", sometimes muttering "Calming medicine with cinnabar?" But seeing the shiny silver dollars, he still wrapped up the medicine. Li Ping'an changed spots each time, never hanging himself on one tree. By the way, he also scooped up many medicinal seeds: mandrake, aconite, Tianxianzi… dumping them all into the black soil of his space. This stuff needs slow, steady growth—self‑sufficient.

At night he returned to the east wing room, bolted the door. Slipping into his space, he became the most bona fide "herbalist". Bean‑sized oil lamp flames flickered (even in the space he needed light to work), medical texts spread open, various powders scattered across the floor. He covered his face with a rough‑cloth mask, carefully mixing mandrake pollen and Tianxianzi root powder according to the recipe, then stirring in finely ground cinnabar for color (purely to feign). A moment's inattention, he inhaled a trace, instantly the world spun, golden stars burst before his eyes; leaning against the icy wall he gasped for a long while before recovering.

"Not bad… the kick is strong!" Though still uneasy, he felt more confident about the dazing powder's "power". After pounding away, he finally produced several packets as fine as flour, melting on heat—"Divine Collapse"—wrapped tightly in oil paper.

He didn't neglect his martial arts either. Carefree Step in his space grew ever more ghostly, truly like a soul drifting at night. The force of Bajiquan sank deeper, each punch and kick thundering like muted thunder. The Eight‑Blade Sword Technique became ruthless without limit—blade flashes seemed to split the air. When idle, he pored over the seized medical texts and poison manuals, cramming knowledge as if preparing for an exam.

His ears weren't idle either. While pulling the cart he stayed alert, eyes scanning all directions. Half a month later, his mental map of Beiping's information network gained more fragments. Finally, while hauling a drunk collaborator lieutenant who talked nonsense with a tongue too tangled to straighten, he pried out golden‑sized intel: the hard currency Okamura the old dog had looted—gold, antique treasures, thick medical books—was not stored in the iron‑bucket‑like southern riverbank mansion! It was all hidden in a heavily guarded temporary warehouse beside West Station! Rumor said it would be moved in just a few days!

Li Ping'an's heart tightened. Relocate? Long nights bring many dreams! He must act before the dog does!

That night, Beiping City lay like an exhausted old ox, dead asleep. Snores in the courtyard shook the hills. Li Ping'an's little east wing room was pitch‑black.

In his space, he finally inventoried his gear: a set of tight, neat night‑clothes, several oil‑paper packets of "Divine Collapse", a blade polished to mirror‑like clarity—a Chrysanthemum Stamp warrior's sword—and the pile of assorted daggers and short knives he'd picked up, stashed in the corners of his space—tonight they'd all be put to use.

He ran the plan through his gut eight hundred times: target, West Station warehouse. Core—slip in with Carefree Step, mind‑eye as a searchlight! If can't dodge, retreat into the space to play dead. Core of the core—sneak in quietly, no gunfire! Drug the guards, empty the warehouse! Afterwards, leave the Japanese a pot of "messy stew", stir the water!

He drew a deep breath of cool air, donned the night‑clothes. Pushing open the rear window, he sprang out like a civet, toe touching the brick seam—already he was aloft like a great bird on the roof. Determining direction, he unfolded Carefree Step, his body merging into the impenetrable night, shooting toward West Station!

West Station was so desolate even birds wouldn't drop. The huge warehouse resembled a crouching iron beast, a few half‑dead searchlights swaying weakly. Barbed wire, sandbag stacks, patrol squads…… defenses were tight, exuding a lethal aura that warned strangers away.

Li Ping'an lay in a distant patch of dry grass, no different from a stone. His mind‑eye spread like an invisible net, slowly probing ahead. Shadows under the barbed wire, dead corners behind sandbags, the patrol's rigid routine…… the structure behind the warehouse's big iron door, guard positions, even the outlines of the mountain‑high crates inside, gradually became clear in his mind.

"Go!" In the gap as the patrol squad just crossed, Li Ping'an moved! Carefree Step pushed to the extreme, he became a low‑flying black smoke hugging the ground! Mind‑eye guided him precisely; he seemed to have heavenly eyes, deftly avoiding every light beam and patrol gaze, a few rabbit‑leaps brought him, ghost‑like, to the edge of the warehouse's massive iron door.

The door gap was narrow as a blade, but enough for Li Ping'an. His body went boneless, a twist and a shrink—"sizzle"—he slipped through! The whole process was swift, silent, uncanny; not even a dropped needle made a sound.

Inside the warehouse, high enough to gallop a horse, hung the smell of oil, dust, and rotting wood. A few hanging lamps half‑dead illuminated a small central patch. A dozen or so armed Japanese soldiers—some stiff at their posts, others dozing on crates. In a corner lay several laborers in work clothes, already deep asleep.

His mind‑eye acted like the most precise radar, scanning every nook to confirm the condition of every breather. Li Ping'an held his breath, fingertips gripping an oil‑paper packet. Like the slickest gecko, he slid silently along the shadows of the massive crates. Spotting a few key upwind spots, he flicked his finger; the oil‑paper packet landed steady on vents, beside the stove—places where heat would make it emit gas.

The colorless, tasteless powder, upon meeting heat, hissed and dissolved into the stagnant air. Time ticked; Li Ping'an crouched in the dark shadow of a large wooden crate, his heartbeat steady as a pendulum, patiently waiting for the drug to take effect.

It worked. A Japanese soldier slumped on a crate, snoring, suddenly his head drooped, snore cut off, his body went limp like a noodle and slid to the floor. Immediately, like toppling dominoes, the guard's eyes glazed, lids fluttered, his rifle clanged to the ground and he collapsed. In less than a cigarette's time, every breather in the warehouse was as if drained of strength, sprawled seven‑ways‑eight, sleeping deeper than a pig. Only ragged snores rose and fell.

Success!

Li Ping'an flashed out of the shadow, quick‑stepped to the warehouse center. Before this sight, even though he had a plan, his breath caught!

The warehouse was huge! Stacks of wooden crates stretched beyond sight, like silent burial mounds! His mind‑eye swept over: inside lay neat rows of gleaming gold bars, tightly wrapped bottles and jars with an ancient aura, copper ingots, and bundles of heavy, ink‑scented thread‑bound medical books—more than he'd imagined! All of this was the blood Okamura the old dog had sucked from China!

Hatred surged like a raging tide, yet now a wicked pleasure dominated! He hesitated no longer, eyes narrowing, mind‑eye flung wide like an invisible great net, enveloping the entire warehouse!

"Collect!"

With a silent command. His mind‑eye became an invisible giant hand, gripping every crate, every item! In the vast warehouse time seemed frozen. The mountain‑like wooden crates, the heavy iron boxes, the bound book bundles…… as if an unseen taotie had swallowed them whole, they vanished piece by piece in place!

The task took a full ten minutes! Li Ping'an's forehead veins bulged, the drain on his mind‑eye made his head buzz, a bit light‑headed. When the last bundle of ancient texts disappeared beneath his eyelids, the warehouse turned empty, save for the prone and supine "sleeping arhats" on the floor and the lingering sweet‑pungent medicinal scent in the air.

Gazing at the empty warehouse where one could drive a carriage, a strange exhilaration shot straight to his skull's crown! Success! Hell yes, we did it!

But it wasn't over. Li Ping'an's eyes instantly turned as cold as a Siberian ice lump. He walked to the "sleeping arhats" and drew from his space the prepared assorted tools—a refined small pick taken from a Japanese officer, a notched chopping blade scavenged from the black market, even a rust‑streaked firewood axe.

He crouched, blade rose and fell! Motions swift, precise, brutal—each strike aimed at the throat, guaranteed to kill. Deliberately using different implements, he left varied wounds on the different Japanese soldiers: clean cuts betraying a swift blade; torn flesh like a dull saw had raked; some necks nearly severed, a gruesome sight.

After tidying up, he produced several more packets of "Divine Collapse", crushed them and scattered the powder around the corpses and the warehouse vents. The potent medicinal smell instantly shot up the nose.

Gazing at this bloody, uncanny scene, Li Ping'an's mouth twitched into a grin as sharp as an ice shard. Enough chaos? Looks like several factions fighting over uneven loot? Like someone drugging others for black‑on‑black theft? Especially this pungent drug smell… enough for those Black Dogs and Japanese military police to gulp a pot! Let them investigate! Best to slap this stinking hat on the heads of those Reform‑Party schemers constantly plotting "indirect salvation"!

He searched inside and out, making sure not a trace of himself remained. Finally he glanced at the once‑loot‑filled, now corpse‑ and blood‑scented empty demon cave, turned, and melted once more into the night, slipping away.

He forced‑march back to Nanluoguxiang, climbed through the window, bolted the door. He stripped the night‑clothes stained with a faint blood odor, then, using cool water drawn from his space, scrubbed his face hard. The cold shock dispelled the last of his excitement.

He didn't go look at the newly piled "gold mountain" in his space. After half a day of tension, the strings relaxed; a huge drowsiness hit like a wave. He flung himself onto the hard bunk, pulling over the thin, hard quilt.

As soon as his head touched the pillow, a leaden snore began. Deep and even, like a cart‑driver exhausted after a day's heavy haul, it breathed a simple, untroubled peace.

Outside the window, Beiping City lay in utter stillness.

Li Ping'an's accounts were clear; waiting for dawn, the warehouse that could fit a carriage would reveal its secret……

All of Four Nine City was bound to explode!

All he needed was to pull the covers over his head and sleep a big sleep.

After grinding the blade for so long, he finally saw blood, and also saw "wealth". This sleep was exceptionally dead‑deep.