Chapter 31: Tavern Whispers

Being old and cooped up in the courtyard isn't a solution. Li Ping'an thought that even a fake illness required occasional fresh air, or else it would raise suspicion. Besides, he wanted to hear the rumors outside; staying curled up would soon make his ears go deaf.

That day, as darkness fell, he dragged his "sick body" and leisurely shuffled out of Nanluoguxiang, without a cart. The street was even more deserted than before, but patrols of Japanese Soldiers and Black Dogs were not fewer, their eyes like spotlights scanning every passerby.

He wandered and turned into a slightly busier side street. On the corner was a small tavern called "Fragrant Arrival," its doorway modest, the interior dimly lit, voices buzzing. Such a place was a mix of all sorts, with fragmented news. When he used to pull carts he sometimes stopped here to earn a living and eavesdrop on idle talk.

Pulling back the greasy curtain, a wave of mixed smell—poorly burnt knives, brine and sweat—hit him. The room was packed like a sardine can, several broken tables surrounded by people. There were short‑sleeved laborers, vendors in melon‑skin hats, and a few wandering men whose eyes flickered, clearly not good folk.

Li Ping'an tucked his neck in, drooped his eyelids, found the least conspicuous corner to sit, ordered a small pot of the cheapest Scattered Wine and a plate of fennel beans. His sickly, shabby appearance blended into the crowd instantly, drawing no attention.

He pricked up his ears, catching the surrounding clamor.

Most were cursing how hard life was, prices soaring, grievances filling the air, but their voices were low. Occasionally someone whispered mysteriously about "that lord," only to be glared at by others, a sign that walls had ears.

"…Heard? The night before, over at Xizhimen they imposed martial law again, searched all night!"

"Why?"

"Why else? They say they saw 'that lord's' shadow again!"

"Nonsense? Didn't they say he let that Eastern master beat him to death?"

"Beat? Ha! That's a being who can ascend to heaven and dive into earth! Maybe he's playing a feigned self‑sacrifice!"

"Lower your voice! Stop courting death!"

Li Ping'an chewed the hard fennel beans, sneering. "Feigned self‑sacrifice? That beating was real, no fake. But these people's rumors are getting wilder by the minute."

While listening, the tavern curtain was ripped open, a cold wind surged in. Three men in black silk shirts, waists bulging with obvious weapons, strode in, eyes like knives scanning the shop. The leader had a blade‑like face, eyes dark enough to drip water.

The noisy tavern fell half silent. Everyone lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact. With that look and bearing, they were either agents or gang bosses.

The owner quickly offered a smile and greeted: "Gentlemen, your private seats…"

Dao Tiao Lian ignored him, scanned the tavern, and finally fixed his gaze on Li Ping'an sitting alone in the corner.

Li Ping'an felt a jolt in his heart, but his face remained unchanged, still sipping the spicy Scattered Wine in small sips, a sickly look gripped by the alcohol.

Dao Tiao Lian, with two henchmen, walked straight over. His leather shoes thudded on the greasy floor, a muffled sound like stepping on someone's heart.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Dao Tiao Lian stopped at Li Ping'an's table, towering above, "Where are you from? What do you do?"

Li Ping'an lifted his head, a fearful yet humble smile, his voice as weak as a mosquito: "Old… old master… I'm just a cart‑puller… live near Nanluoguxiang…"

"Cart‑puller?" Dao Tiao Lian's eyes rasped like a file on his face, "Cart‑puller comes here to drink? Quite the connoisseur!"

"Cough… cough…" Li Ping'an coughed desperately, face flushed, "No… no work… body uncomfortable… just want a sip… chase the cold… just a pot of Scattered Wine… the cheapest kind…"

A henchman beside whispered to Dao Tiao Lian: "Boss, his behavior doesn't look acted, pure sickly vibe."

Dao Tiao Lian didn't loosen his mouth; he struck suddenly, fast as lightning, grabbing Li Ping'an's wrist! The move was clearly a cultivator's probing technique, trying to press his pulse point, testing if he could reflexively channel Qi to resist!

It was sudden! So fast it barely left time to blink!

In that flash, Li Ping'an's muscles instinctively tensed to counter! The dantian's Qi also tried to protect its master!

But in that 0.01 second, he forcibly suppressed all instinct! Only one thought remained: "Relax! Calm! Natural!"

He let that cold, rough hand seize his wrist; the hand was icy, limp, pulse shallow and chaotic, exactly like a chronically ill man's wrist, no hidden strength, even trembling slightly.

Dao Tiao Lian felt his pulse point, examined for seconds, brows furrowing tighter. The pulse was void, weak, intermittent, clearly rotten inside; not even martial arts—just barely breathing is a win.

He disgustedly flicked Li Ping'an's hand away, as if it were stained with excrement. Then he pulled a crumpled paper from his coat, unfolded it. It showed an abstract drawing of a figure wearing an Evil Ghost mask, sleek silhouette, with a few lines of text below.

"Have you seen this person?" Dao Tiao Lian asked coldly, his gaze no longer fixed on Li Ping'an but sweeping the other patrons.

Li Ping'an's heart hammered, but he forced his eyes wide, leaned close to the paper, stared for a while, then shook his head blankly: "No, never seen… looks like it came out of Yama's Hall… scary…"

Dao Tiao Lian hummed, evidently not expecting any answer from this sickly ghost. He folded the paper, scanned the silent diners once more, then turned with his men and left.

The tavern fell dead silent for a while, until the three footsteps vanished outside, then the suppressed hum returned, but the atmosphere was noticeably more frantic.

Li Ping'an slowly lowered his head, looking at the wrist that had been grabbed; it still seemed to retain the cold touch and a faint, minuscule numbness probed by internal force. His back was already soaked through with cold sweat.

Truly precarious!

That moment was truly a blade‑edge licking blood! A slower reaction, or a slight mis‑grasp of Tai Chi "Relax‑Calm," and now he'd probably be lying on the ground drinking blood!

These agents' methods of probing people are getting more vicious and cunning! They even directly feel the pulse!

He dared not stay longer, hurriedly drained the remaining wine, tossed a few copper coins, bowed his head, and slipped out of "Fragrant Arrival" with light steps.

Walking the desolate street, the cold wind made him shiver.

That wanted poster… though abstract, the Evil Ghost mask and figure were probably already spreading.

The empty‑space Musashi and the agency's net are tightening, methods becoming ever more low‑brow.

Just hiding, sooner or later they'll pull you out.

Must get better faster, faster… become unfindable to them!

He brushed the few cold copper coins in his pocket, his eyes gleamed like a thief in the night.

The Spiritual Spring and herbs in the void must be taken with strong medicine. Even if the process incurs some penalty, he must hurry to make his body harden again!

This hide‑and‑seek game, he's a bit sick of it.