Chapter 348: Ghost Market Apparition: Master Duel

The aftershocks of the spy case gradually settled in the Steel Rolling Mill as stricter regulations and more watchful eyes, and Li Ping'an's life seemed to have returned to a certain tense normalcy.

By day he handled the Security Department's increasingly tedious paperwork and inspections, and at night he tried as much as possible to soak his tense nerves in the warm pool of family.

That night, after coaxing their two children to sleep, he watched the silhouette of his wife Lin Xueqing quietly leafing through a medical journal under the lamp, and only then did the string in Li Ping'an's heart that constantly surveyed external risks loosen a little.

He suddenly recalled that, during the day, an old collector at the plant had chatted casually, saying that recently on the East Suburb's "Ghost Market" one could occasionally find some decent old items at reasonable prices.

"Xueqing, I'm going out for a walk, I'll be back soon," he slipped on a half‑worn deep‑blue cotton coat and whispered to his wife.

Lin Xueqing lifted her head from the pages, her warm eyes meeting his, and nodded, "It's cool at night, be careful. Come back early." There was no extra questioning, only complete trust and concern.

That kind of tacit understanding was something they brought back from the life‑and‑death edge of the Korean battlefield and blended into the treasured basics of firewood, rice, oil and salt.

"Ah," Li Ping'an replied, slipped out the door, and his figure merged into the heavy night of the Siheyuan.

The so‑called "Ghost Market" was held on a deserted cargo‑yard space at the foot of the East City wall; it opened in the latter half of the night and dispersed before dawn, trading old goods and odds and ends that were inconvenient to circulate in daylight, with people from all three teachings and nine streams gathering, their auras mingling.

When Li Ping'an arrived, it was already midnight. The market was dimly lit, with oil‑lamp lanterns, carbide lamps, and even kerosene lamps casting flickering amber light that illuminated the dust‑covered, dazzling array of items on the stalls; the air was thick with the murky scent of old wood, rusted iron, dust, and the unique odor of a crowd gathered.

The bargaining voices were pressed down to a whisper, like the gurgling flow of an underground river.

Li Ping'an slowed his steps, his gaze sweeping over each stall. His Divine Perception spread like invisible mercury, silently extending to cover a radius of over one hundred and fifty meters around him.

This was not a deliberate probe, but an almost instinctive perception of a master‑level martial artist, where the clamor of voices, chaotic auras, and subtle fluctuations of objects flooded in, only to be automatically filtered and sorted by his powerful mind. In a place like this, maintaining a moderate alertness is necessary.

He stopped before a stall selling old furniture, eyeing a few reasonably intact crates. The stall owner was a wiry old man, dozing with his arms crossed.

Just as Li Ping'an reached to feel the mortise‑and‑tenon of a box, the edge of his Divine Perception suddenly caught a hint of abnormality.

It was an extremely subtle yet deliberately restrained and refined aura fluctuation, starkly different from the ordinary stall owners and customers hustling for a living or small profit.

The aura exuded competence and restraint, even a trace… of a military or special‑training imprint. What caught Li Ping'an's attention further was that the owner of this aura seemed to be paying far more than ordinary attention to a stall selling old newspapers and books in another corner of the market, though the person concealed it well, with only occasional glances.

Li Ping'an remained expressionless, straightened up, pretended to be dissatisfied with the box, shook his head, and slowly moved with the crowd toward the old newspaper‑book stall.

His Divine Perception locked firmly onto the source of the abnormal aura—a middle‑aged man in a plain black cotton jacket, wearing a felt hat, his build slightly stout, squatting at a stall selling old hardware, fiddling with a rust‑spotted gear, his eyes hawk‑like, using the motion as cover to repeatedly glance over the newspaper‑book stall.

The newspaper‑book stall owner was a gaunt old man with glasses, laboriously repairing a torn book by the light of a small oil lamp.

Besides old books and newspapers, the stall also held bits of paper, old envelopes, and faded photographs.

At that moment, the stall owner apparently unintentionally shook a yellowed kraft envelope out of an old magazine; he picked it up, glanced at it, and seemed indifferent as he tossed it back into the pile of old papers. The motion was extremely natural.

But Li Ping'an's Divine Perception clearly "saw" that the stout man in black, at the instant the envelope appeared, his body tightened imperceptibly for a heartbeat, his aura rippled ever so briefly. Then he set down the gear, stood, and seemingly casually walked toward the newspaper‑book stall.

Something's wrong!

Li Ping'an almost instantly concluded. This was not a ordinary scavenging or transaction. The envelope might contain nothing, but this level of attention, this aura, this timing… immediately reminded him of the just‑concluded spy case, of possible loose ends or a new means of contact.

The Ghost Market truly is an excellent venue for passing small items or information.

He immediately decided to tail him. He contracted his own aura to the utmost, blending into the surrounding ambient noise like a genuinely aimless wanderer, keeping a distance of several meters, using stalls and the crowd as cover, hanging silently behind the man in black.

The man in black stopped before the newspaper‑book stall, picked up a few old books to leaf through, and whispered a few words with the stall owner, apparently bargaining.

In the end, he bought two old books and, "handily," also took the old magazine that contained the envelope, paid, and turned to leave.

Transaction completed? Li Ping'an's mind flipped rapidly, wondering whether to step forward now to apprehend, or continue tailing to discover his destination or contact point.

He chose to tail. The target was alone, and Li Ping'an was confident. The man in black left the Ghost Market, not heading to the main road but turning into a narrow, deep Alley, quickening his pace.

Li Ping'an followed silently, his Carefree Step unfolding, landing like cotton, leaving no trace on the snow, moving through the dim Alley like a phantom.

After following about two Alleys, a fork appeared ahead. The man in black suddenly halted, did not turn, and his voice resonated low in the silent Alley, bearing a metallic‑rubbing timbre: "Friend, I've been following you all the way, aren't you tired?"

Detected! Li Ping'an's pupils narrowed. The opponent's intuition was so sharp! He had already contracted his aura to the utmost, and his Carefree Step excelled at stealth, yet he was still noticed. This was no ordinary person.

Since he was discovered, there was no need to stay hidden. Li Ping'an stepped out of the shadows, stopped about seven or eight meters from the man, and calmly said, "It's so late, buying old books and avoiding the main road, deliberately choosing a dark Alley—looks like it's not just about saving money."

The man in black slowly turned, his eyes beneath the felt hat shining eerily in the dim light, like two cold stars.

He sized Li Ping'an up, then suddenly grinned, showing teeth yellowed by smoke, and said, "So you're a practitioner, and even have an official front? This physique, this killing aura, can't be hidden."

Li Ping'an gave no answer, merely asked calmly, "Is whatever's tucked in the book important?"

The man in black's smile faded, his gaze suddenly sharp as a blade, and he said, "If it weren't that important, I wouldn't be bothering you, 'comrade', with my presence."

Before he finished speaking, his entire demeanor shifted dramatically! The previously stout and ordinary presence vanished, replaced by a mountain‑like, perfectly condensed, overwhelming aura! His feet were unsteady, his hands hung naturally, yet his whole weight seemed fused with the earth, and a heavy, violent, drilling‑force punch radiated outward!

Form‑Intention Fist! And at a master‑level that has grasped its essence, refined to perfection! That concept of "eagle and bear vying in will, taking the method as a fist" surged toward him!

Li Ping'an felt a chill in his heart, realizing he had met a truly formidable opponent. He dared not linger; as his mind shifted, his surrounding aura changed as well.

His spine rippled like a dragon, his feet unsteady yet subtly aligned with Tai Chi yin‑yang, his hands naturally at his sides, a solid, mountain‑like yet fluid, harmonious aura emanated through his body, subtly confronting the opponent's violent, heavy fist.

The peaks, coils, and rests of Eight Extremes, the Peng, Lü, Ji, An of Tai Chi, the unpredictable agility of Carefree Step—these essential principles of fist theory flowed through his mind, merging into a furnace.

The Alley was narrow, the light dim; the two were only a few meters apart, their auras clashing like a raging undercurrent.

"Form‑Intention, Guo Yunshen's lineage?" Li Ping'an suddenly spoke, exposing the root of the opponent's fist.

A flash of surprise crossed the man in black's eyes: "Sharp eyes! Eight Extremes as foundation, Tai Chi to soften the body, footwork bizarre…"

"Never thought that in Four Nine City there would be someone like you serving at the yamen. Unfortunately, our paths differ."

When the final "same" left his mouth, he moved! No words wasted; his form, like a drawn bow, released instantly! His foot struck the muddy ground, swift and silent, covering the seven‑ or eight‑meter gap in a flash!

His left hand guarded his heart, his right fist surged like a poisonous dragon from a cave, accompanied by a sharp whooshing sound, drilling straight into Li Ping'an's core! It was Form‑Intention Drilling Fist, lightning‑fast, force penetrating the marrow!

Li Ping'an neither dodged nor blocked; at the instant the opponent's fist met his body, his waist turned slightly, his right hand traced a small upward arc, not a hard block but a sticky contact, hooking onto the opponent's wrist, instantly releasing the Peng force of the Tai Chi Single Whip form.

Simultaneously, his Carefree Step slipped lightly, his figure like willow catkins in the wind, retreating half a step with the opponent's fierce momentum, separating at the slightest touch!

"Bang!" a muffled thud rang, not flesh striking flesh but the collision of two concentrated qi forces.

The man in black felt his supposedly indestructible Drilling Fist power as if it had struck a smooth rolling stone sphere; most of the force was deflected and dissipated, the remainder was lightly borne by the opponent, while the opponent's seemingly soft Peng force lingered, causing his wrist to tingle slightly.

"What a Tai Chi!" the man in black barked low, never pausing, his steps chaining, his fist forms shifting again! Pi, Beng, Pao, Heng… the Form‑Intention Five Elements Fist erupted in succession, fist shadows like mountains, power winds howling, enveloping the narrow Alley!

Each punch was immensely heavy, bearing the power to split stone tablets, yet also containing subtle variations and follow‑up techniques.

Li Ping'an was like a lone boat tossed by raging waves, yet also like an ancient pine rooted in solid rock. The Eight Extremes Fist's fierce, violent power sometimes erupted abruptly under the enveloping softness of Tai Chi, striking hard and meeting the opponent's hardness; at other times he employed only Tai Chi cloud‑hand, Lü, and Ji movements, diverting and deflecting the opponent's ferocious fist, using the opponent's force against him.

His Carefree Step on the ground was even more elusive, always evading lethal strikes at the hair‑thin margin, his figure flickering, making the opponent unable to grasp him.

He did not launch a full‑force assault; instead he mostly defended and waited, observing the opponent's patterns, while his Divine Perception remained firmly locked on the opponent's surrounding qi fluctuations.

In the blink of an eye, the two had exchanged more than ten moves. The floating dust on the Alley walls was churned by the fist wind, falling in clumps; the packed earth of the ground was pounded into shallow depressions.

The black-clad man grew more astonished as they fought—the opponent's fist techniques were broad yet refined, his force shifted smoothly, his body movements were uncannily unfathomable; truly, he had never seen such skill in his life.

Although my Xingyi Quan was fierce, it always seemed off by a hair's breadth, making it hard to truly injure the opponent; instead, I felt my strength continually dissipating, like a mud ox sinking into the sea.

After a prolonged disadvantage! The black-clad man's eyes flashed with a fierce gleam; he feigned an opening, hard‑blocked Li Ping'an's seemingly gentle Tai Chi push, borrowed the force to retreat violently, and simultaneously slipped his left hand into his bosom!

Li Ping'an's Divine Perception had long sensed the opponent's sudden gathering of breath and surge of killing intent; the instant he retreated, his Carefree Step moved like a ghost, gliding low to the ground, actually faster than the opponent's retreat.

Just as the opponent's left hand pulled a dark, tube‑like object from his bosom, Li Ping'an's right hand, fingers together like a sword, gathered the Eight Extremes Fist's 'inch force' and Tai Chi's 'penetrating force' at the fingertips, which, like a poisonous snake flicking its tongue, struck precisely the left wrist pulse point.

"Crack!" a faint bone‑breaking sound rang out.

"Ugh!" the black‑clad man grunted, his left hand instantly went numb and limp, and the black tube slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground.

He reacted quickly, throwing a reckless right punch at Li Ping'an's face, trying to force him back.

Li Ping'an had long anticipated this move; the right hand that had struck the wrist followed through downward, turning fingers into palm, and a soft, feather‑like Tai Chi 'press' force landed on the forearm of the incoming right punch—not a hard block, but a downward‑and‑sideward press and lead.

At the same time, his left foot slipped silently between the opponent's legs, his body gliding like a fish into the opponent's center, and his left shoulder pressed against the opponent's chest.

Eight Extremes Fist—close‑quarters striking!

"Boom!" a deeper muffled sound. The black‑clad man felt an indescribable huge force transmit from the point of contact; within its fierce violence lay layer upon layer of shaking, penetrating power. Even with a firm stance, he was shaken by this collision, his blood surging, his steps staggering as he retreated three or four steps, his back hitting the alley wall with a "Thud!" and dust flying.

Just as he tried to struggle, Li Ping'an's shadow clung to him; his right hand slightly opened, neither claw nor palm, covering several vital points on his chest, the emanating force making his skin feel pin‑prick pain, so he dared not move.

Any slight movement on his part would instantly unleash that contained fierce force, capable of severing his heart vessels.

The outcome was decided.

Li Ping'an did not strike the killing blow immediately; he merely stared coldly, his left hand swiftly retrieving the old magazine and envelope from the opponent's bosom, glanced at them—the envelope was empty.

But the magazine's inner pages bore faint pencil marks, like some kind of code or mark. He put the items away.

The black‑clad man leaned against the earthen wall, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, his gaze complex as he looked at Li Ping'an—shocked, unwilling, yet with a hint of relieved indifference.

"I never imagined… Four Nine City truly hides dragons and crouching tigers. Falling into your hands is no disgrace." He said, panting.

"Who sent you? What does this mark mean? Where is your hideout?" Li Ping'an asked in a low voice, his fingertip energy faintly ebbing and flowing.

The black‑clad man closed his eyes, gave a grim smile: 'You should know the rules of the jianghu—kill or cut, give me a quick end. No need to ask anything else.' Having said that, he suddenly clenched his teeth!

Li Ping'an sensed something wrong and immediately reached to dislocate his jaw, but it was already too late. The black‑clad man's body convulsed violently, his face turned bluish‑black, black blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and his gaze quickly scattered.

He had poisoned himself to death! He actually concealed lethal poison in his teeth!

Li Ping'an withdrew his hand, brows furrowed. Looking at the limp corpse, he felt no joy of victory, only a deeper solemnity.

An organization capable of casually dispatching master‑level assassins, acting so covertly and ruthlessly, certainly seeks nothing trivial.

The case of Goat Tail Alley is probably just the tip of the iceberg. This empty envelope and the marks in the magazine are new clues, and also the fuse of a new storm.

He quickly examined the corpse—apart from that blowdart and a few small coins, there was nothing else. No identification, nothing that could reveal his origin. It was cleaned up neatly.

In the distance came a few dog barks; the sky already showed a hint of fish‑belly white. The ghost market should be dispersing.

Li Ping'an lingered no longer; he dragged the corpse to a deeper pile of debris in the alley for temporary cover, picked up the old magazine, and with a flash vanished into the deepest darkness before dawn.

He must immediately report the situation and this magazine to Group Leader Sun. Beneath the undercurrents of Four Nine City, a greater shadow seems to be slowly writhing.

And this time, he had personally touched the icy edge of that shadow.