Chapter 28

The sky was overcast heavily, the dull grey clouds pressing down so hard one could barely breathe, as if a great snowstorm were held back and refused to fall. This morning in Beiping City, it was bitterly cold, the wind like little knives, slipping into collars and sleeves, bringing up dust and scraps of rotten paper from the ground, stinging the face.

Li Ping'an pulled his creaking, rattling broken cart, its wheels grinding over the frozen-hard road. He hunched slightly, the brim of his tattered felt cap pressed low, revealing only a bloodless mouth and chin. The pallor on his face was studied, coupled with a few weak, dry coughs, making him look exactly like a consumptive ghost who hasn't yet mastered his cultivation.

The atmosphere on the street was tense enough to frighten.

One after another, Japanese Soldiers and Black Dogs brandished gleaming bayonets, their eyes stared wide and round, like combs scraping the street. Curses, door-smashing, occasional short cries suddenly pierced the deathly silence. Outside several martial arts halls and bone-setting cupping clinics, crowds gathered tightly; anyone who looked a bit sturdy, as if trained, was seized without a word.

"What a pain, the inspections have gotten stricter…" Li Ping'an muttered to himself, his eyelids drooping, he wholeheartedly played the role of a cart driver wrung dry by life, numb to everything. He pulled his empty cart, keeping as close to the edge as possible, wishing he could turn invisible.

An old man selling roasted sweet potatoes was shoved by two Black Dogs into a stumble; his brazier nearly overturned, coals glowing red scattering across the ground. The old man trembled as he tried to pick them up, but a kick sent him sprawling.

Li Ping'an pulled his cart past, not moving his eyes at all, as if the scorching coals and the old man's pitiable state were merely a roadside stone. Yet his fingers gripping the cart handle unconsciously tightened a bit.

"Relax, natural… sink the qi to the dantian…" He silently recited the Tai Chi maxim he had just pondered, pressing down the hasty heartbeat born of suppressed anger and vigilance, letting his breath sink deeper and lengthen, his steps appearing more buoyant. He was no longer an "Evil Ghost", not even a sturdy cart driver; he was merely a speck of dust in this chaotic world, unworthy of a glance.

Rounding the front gate main street, there were slightly more people, yet it was even more chaotic. The inspection checkpoint formed a long line, moving slower than a snail, each person being examined over and over again.

Li Ping'an pulled his cart, listless and drooping, sticking to the rear of the line, yet his mind was clear. He noticed that among the plainclothes inspectors today were a few newcomers, their gaze as sharp as a hawk's; they didn't just check documents, they stared fixedly at a person's build, gait, calluses on the palms, even how they breathed.

"They're screening for martial artists…" He understood at once. That old fool Kong Benmuzang had suffered a loss, now he was furious, intending to use this crudest and cruelest method to ferret him out.

The line inched forward. The tension and fear in the air were so thick they could be wrung out like water.

Up ahead, a sturdy vegetable vendor carrying a pole, likely used to heavy labor year-round with broad shoulders and steady legs, caught the repeated gaze of a plainclothes officer with a hooked nose.

"Halt!" the hooked-nose officer barked, "What's your business?"

"Sir… sir, I… I sell vegetables…" the man stammered, his lips fumbling from nervousness.

"A vegetable seller? I'd say you look like you've trained." The hooked-nose officer circled him, then suddenly pinched the muscle on his arm. The man's flesh tensed.

"Hey! Still playing tough?" the hooked-nose officer gloated like he'd caught a rabbit, ready to shout for someone to tie him up.

The man's face went white: "Sir, you've wronged me! I just have arm strength, I haul a pole every day…"

Li Ping'an watched from behind, his heart skipping a beat. This fellow might truly have no training, but his build was exactly wrong for this juncture.

Just as the vendor seemed about to lose his produce, Li Ping'an suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth and coughed violently, bending double until his torso nearly folded, his face flushed from holding it in, his whole body swaying, nearly bumping into the hooked-nose officer.

"Cough cough cough… retch…" he coughed so miserably he succeeded in drawing everyone's gaze.

The hooked-nose officer frowned in disgust, recoiling two steps as if avoiding a plague god, then snapped at the vegetable vendor with ill temper: "Scram, scram, scram! You're in the way!"

The man, feeling pardoned, hoisted his pole and vanished in a flash.

Li Ping'an coughed a few more times, then slowly straightened his waist, drew a deep breath, his face resuming its consumptive look, and gave a weak apologetic smile to the hooked-nose officer: "Yes, yes, sorry… sir… this broken body of mine… cough cough…"

The hooked-nose officer gave him an annoyed glance, hastily flipped through his good citizen certificate, saw how he'd collapse at a puff of wind, couldn't link him to any master capable of sparring with a grandmaster, and waved him off impatiently: "Get lost! Don't die here!"

"Ah, ah, thank you, sir…" Li Ping'an nodded and bowed, lifted his cart, and drifted past the checkpoint with light steps.

Having walked far away, he still felt the eagle-like gaze on his back clinging to him. A layer of cold sweat broke out on his upper back, yet his breathing and pace retained that feeble, listless demeanor.

"Smooth and continuous… lead the qi with intent…" He continued to silently recite, gradually dissolving the sudden tension and quick wit, his whole self returning to that numb, sluggish demeanor.

He pulled his cart, wandering aimlessly through alleys that were gradually gaining a hint of human presence yet felt ever more oppressive. His ears, however, prickled, scavenging the surrounding idle chatter.

"... Have you heard? Something big happened over on Chongwen Street last night!"

"How could you not have heard! They say… that master struck again!"

"Wasn't it said he took on many Japanese Soldiers and didn't even get a hair? Truly divine!"

"Tsk, they say he was badly injured, coughing up lots of blood…"

"Oh dear, that's not good… a worldwide manhunt, that's enough to make one's scalp tingle…"

Li Ping'an's heart sank. The news spread like wildfire—had someone seen his injury? Or was it a smoke screen released by the Japanese Soldiers?

As he pondered, he passed a tea stall where a few old men huddled in a corner, murmuring gossip in low voices, yet he caught an earful.

"... No kidding… my nephew works in the Command Headquarters as a cook; he said a more savage old Japanese Soldier had come from overseas, what's his name… Kong Ben… right, Kong Benmuzang! It was him who beat that master until he vomited blood last night!"

"What a pain… is this even tolerable?"

"I heard that old Japanese Soldier declared he'd dig three feet deep to drag anyone out… we'd better tighten our belts these days…"

Li Ping'an's hand on the cart was steady, but his heart churned. Kong Benmuzang… that name had etched itself into his lungs. This grudge was sealed forever.

By noon he still hadn't pulled a fare; everyone was rushing about, nobody had the mind to ride. He found a leeward wall, took out the hard-as-a-rock steamed bun from his bosom, and gnawed at it slowly with cool water, no different from the most destitute laborer.

His eyes, however, were not idle; he quietly scanned the surroundings. Near pharmacies, clinics, even stalls selling strength pills, there were shady figures watching. The Japanese Soldiers' net was cast wide and dense.

Yet his heart gradually grew steadier.

The "stillness" principle of Tai Chi really seemed to help. The more chaotic the warfare, the more a blade at one's throat demanded one hold one's breath. Brute force feels good, but only those who endure to the end win.

This Tai Chi practice was not just a new exterior; it also seemed to have subtly trained one's mindset.

Having finished the steamed bun, he brushed off the crumbs, lifted his cart, and merged once more into the ashen streets.

Crouching, watching, waiting.

Just like the cloud hands in Tai Chi, he watched as slow circles were traced, exerting no force, actually constantly feeling for power and seeking the right moment, waiting for the next person to exert strength.

What this chaotic age hides is not only lethal skills, but also a way of life that preserves one's life.