Chapter 32: Midnight House Search

The night was as dark as spilled ink, even the mice were too lazy to move. Li Ping'an curled up on the icy kang, yet his eyelids kept bouncing like they were dancing. Outside was terrifyingly quiet, but he constantly felt a chill at the back of his neck, as if something were watching him.

Sure enough, around the third watch, a chaotic clatter of footsteps mixed with dog barks came from afar, closing in on Nanluoguxiang! Immediately followed by door‑smashing, Japanese soldiers' curses, and women and children's cries, tearing the night apart like a thunderclap.

Open the door! The Imperial Army is conducting a house search!

Li Ping'an bolted upright, his heart lodged at his throat. This commotion was far more ferocious than the previous ones! He arched his back to the window, pried the paper lattice with his fingernails and peered outside.

The torchlight illuminated the front courtyard blindingly. Over a dozen Japanese soldiers and Black Dogs brandished rifles, crashing through several doors like wolves. Yan Bu Gui's house light was the first to flare; the old man, draped in his robes, bowed and stepped out, but before he could speak he was shoved aside, nearly falling into the vat used for drying cabbages in the yard.

Chief! I'm a good citizen! A very good citizen! Yan Bu Gui's voice cracked.

Amid the chaos, Li Ping'an's eye twitched sharply. He saw a glaring figure—a knife‑faced spy! Mixed among the Japanese troops, his snake‑like eyes swept house to house, fixed on the elders.

What chilled his spine even more was that beside the knife‑faced man stood a short‑necked man in a tattered long robe, his head drooping, but his profile… Li Ping'an could recognize even in death! It was the father he had rescued a few days earlier in the alley, whose child had stolen a cake. He had been frozen in terror on the ground, and Li Ping'an had glanced at him.

How did he get involved with the spy? Was he captured? Or…

A cold, sharp thought struck his mind: identification!

The Japanese were casting a wide net, sweeping through every possible suspect nearby, even those with the slightest connection! This father was probably trapped, unable to bear the fear, and the strange incident in the alley that day was erased! Although he didn't see Li Ping'an's face clearly, a sick rickshaw driver in this area at that hour was enough to define a small circle!

The knife‑faced man, evidently linked to the tavern's pulse‑checking suspicion, led men straight here!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The door‑smashing hit the door panel of his East Wing Room!

Open the door! Get out quickly!

Li Ping'an's scalp tingled, blood surged to his head. A flash of thought struck: fight head‑on? There were over a dozen guns outside—certain death! Jump the window? The back yard was also blocked! Enter the hidden space? That's a trump card that must never be revealed!

In an instant, he conceived a plan.

He lunged to the kang, grabbed the half‑jug of cold water, and without hesitation poured it over his head! The spring‑night water made him shiver, his face turning ashen. He then frantically ruffled his hair and clothes, smeared some kang ash on his face and mouth corner, and from a cracked tile jar in the corner retrieved a small paper packet, stuffing the pre‑prepared herbal powder that could ignite a person in a short time into his mouth, swallowing it with saliva.

The medicine was a formula he derived from the Spatial Poison Scripture, originally intended for use when facing severe punishment to simulate a terminal illness, but he never expected to use it here.

After completing these steps, he mustered his remaining strength and forced out a weak, sob‑tinged voice: Come… it's coming… who is it…

He staggered, almost crawling, to shift the door latch.

The door was ripped open, cold wind and a murderous aura surged in. Torchlight was so bright he could barely open his eyes. Several Japanese soldiers and Black Dogs poured in, with the knife‑faced man and the short‑necked man blocking the rear.

The room was so cramped one could not turn around; a nauseating, moldy sickly smell mixed with cold water vapor hit the face, making everyone who entered wrinkle their noses.

The knife‑faced man barked coldly.

The Japanese soldiers began thrusting bayonets wildly, overturning broken bedding, low tables, and cracked tile jars in the corners, exposing only ash and a few pieces of coal slag—finding nothing else.

The knife‑faced man ignored his subordinates, his snake‑like eyes fixed dead on Li Ping'an, who was slumped against the door, drenched, his face pale as paper, a smear of ash at his mouth.

He shoved the short‑necked man forward: Look up! Look closely! Was it him in the alley that day?!

The man was terrified, his legs trembling so he could not stand, he raised his head shakily and glanced at Li Ping'an.

Li Ping'an also, at the right moment and with great difficulty, lifted his eyelids; his gaze was scattered and hazy, full of pain and fear, and his throat emitted a wheezing, bellows‑like gasp.

Their eyes met.

The man looked at Li Ping'an's pitiful state, which seemed to have more breath than a corpse, especially his drenched hair and clothes, the icy feel seeming to reach across space; compared with the memory of the rickshaw driver who, though sickly, could still stand and speak, even with a hint of eerie vigor, his impression instantly became blurred and distorted.

He hesitated, his eyes darting away, unwilling to bite down.

Is it? Nonsense! The knife‑faced man shouted impatiently, urging.

It… and yet… not… the man stammered, almost wetting his pants, saying that day… it wasn't that… not so wet… nor so frightening…

Damn it! The knife‑faced man cursed, furious at that answer. He shoved the man aside, walked up to Li Ping'an himself, struck sharply again, and grabbed his wrist!

This time, Li Ping'an did not hesitate, tightening his whole body's looseness and stillness to the limit, even subtly employing the newly grasped Tai Chi soft force, gently reversing the flow of his meridians.

The knife‑faced man's fingers pressed his pulse point. He felt the pulse pattern was even more chaotic and weaker than at the tavern, erratic, with skin icy and wet, trembling continuously. Clearly it was a heavy wind‑cold invasion, a high fever that confused him, a pulse that could kick at any moment—worse than before!

At that moment, Li Ping'an's body jerked sharply, a gurgling sound came from his throat, his head tilted, and he seemed about to faint and collapse, sliding onto the ground like soft mud.

A nearby Japanese soldier leapt away in disgust.

The knife‑faced man's hand on his pulse point loosened. He stared at Li Ping'an, sprawled on the ground, unconscious, his whole body icy and wet, his brows twisted into a dead knot.

Lord Tai… this… this sight is truly unbearable… a small Black Dog leader stepped forward, covering his nose and whispering, "Don't actually die here… how unlucky…"

The knife‑faced man stared dead at Li Ping'an on the ground, his gaze shifting. His intuition told him something was still off, but this pitiful state, this pulse, and the hesitant identification by the useless man, all overt evidence pointed to him being a rickshaw driver on the brink of death.

Outside, a sudden clamor erupted, as if the neighboring courtyard's search had uncovered some trouble.

The knife‑faced man finally waved his hand with disgust, like shooing flies: "Move on! Next house!"

The group retreated with a rustle, violently slamming the door shut.

The room fell into dead silence, leaving only the puddle of icy water on the floor and the seemingly lifeless Li Ping'an.

An entire incense stick's worth of time passed, until the footsteps and curses outside finally faded away, and the whole Siheyuan sank back into a bone‑chilling silence.

Li Ping'an on the ground finally opened his eyes very slowly and cautiously.

In those eyes, there was no illness or pain, only the icy chill of a post‑catastrophe survival and a fury pressed to the limit.

He slowly sat up, wiped the cold water and ash from his face, feeling the genuine heat and exhaustion the herbal powder induced within his body.

The crisis, for now, subsides.

But that knife‑faced man, and Kong Ben Musashi… their suspicions have already been planted.

He leaned on the icy wall to stand, looking at the wreckage inside the house.

He could not afford to waste any more time.

He must act faster, more poisonous.

He licked his cracked lips, his gaze in the darkness shining with a sickening intensity.