Chapter 35

It was broad daylight, Beiping City woke up. Li Ping'an blended into the crowd, still hunched over, coughing now and then, acting the part convincingly.

But inside, he had already become a different person.

A fresh surge of power coursed through his limbs, like a dark river, cold and heavy. With each breath his lung capacity increased markedly, and he could clearly hear the distant rumble of wheels over stones.

He pulled out the hard wood he had just picked up from his pocket. A blackwood waist tablet, carved with a fearsome ghost head, bore the two small characters 'Rakshasa' below. It felt icy cold and still smelled of that person's sweat.

"Rakshasa?" Li Ping'an muttered, "The name's intimidating, but the skill level needs work." The thought flashed and passed. He focused slightly, and the tablet blinked into his personal space, leaving no trace. This thing is hot to handle; he can't keep it on him.

His stomach growled in protest. After a night of tossing, fighting, and body-tempering, he was starving to the point his chest stuck to his back. He needed to fill his belly.

Turning the corner, a wave of heat mixed with the scent of wheat came over him. The breakfast stall's freshly steamed buns were plump and white, exuding inviting steam.

"Boss, two please." Li Ping'an produced some copper coins, his voice still hoarse.

"Got it!" The boss swiftly wrapped them up and handed them over, then glanced at his face and jumped, "Sir, your complexion is awful—are you seriously ill? You'd better take care of yourself."

"Old complaint, I'll tough it out." Li Ping'an took the bun and bit off a large mouthful. The wheaten fragrance was clean and sweet; as he swallowed, his stomach instantly felt eased, dispelling some chill. He stood at the stall, chewing slowly, appearing weak but his eyes weren't idle, scanning the whole street.

A few swarthy pseudo-police sauntered past, not giving him a look. The rickshaw driver panted as he ran by. Everything was normal; no one had discovered what happened in that dead-end alley yet.

But Li Ping'an knew the calm was temporary; having injured someone, the other side would surely seek revenge. Greater trouble still lay ahead.

He needed to know the opponent's next move; passive endurance wasn't his style.

Money moves mountains. Those silver dollars and gold bars in his space were ready to be used. Teahouse? Ghost market? Such places teemed with mixed crowds and were well-informed.

He was pondering when a piercing whistle suddenly sounded in the distance!

Everyone on the street froze, then panic set in; the shopkeeper's hand trembled and he almost tipped over the cage drawer.

"W‑what now?"

Li Ping'an's heart tightened: "That was fast!"

A squad of Japanese Soldiers, led by a Chinese collaborator translator, clanged over and rushed straight into that dead‑end alley!

"Exposed? So quickly?"

Li Ping'an immediately lowered his head, using the early‑morning stall's awning as cover. His heartbeat quickened a beat, but his breathing stayed steady. After tempering his body, even fear could be suppressed.

He heard Japanese Soldiers shouting "wa‑la‑wa‑la," the collaborator yelling and cursing, then a scream echoed from the dead‑end alley.

"Baka! A dead man!"

"Seal this place! No one is allowed to leave!"

The street erupted instantly; people tried to run but were forced back by bayonets. The early‑morning stall owner turned pale and kept chanting Amitabha.

Li Ping'an blended into the crowd, feigning fear while still clutching half a bun. His mind raced, figuring out how to get out. A forced break‑in was certainly impossible.

Soon, Japanese Soldiers and Black Dogs began sweeping people, checking each civilian permit one by one. The atmosphere was taut like a string.

When it was Li Ping'an's turn, a fat Black Dog stared at his sickly look, irritable: "What are you? Where do you live? What did you see?"

Li Ping'an coughed violently, his lungs feeling like they would burst, and stammered: "Sir… sir… I'm just a sickly fellow… buying something to eat… I live in Nanluoguxiang… I was just busy coughing, didn't see anything…" He shakily fumbled for his civilian permit, his hand trembling like a sieve.

The Black Dog stepped back disgustedly, as if fearing infection, glanced at the permit, then waved his hand like swatting flies: "Get out, get out, get out! Damn unlucky!"

"Thank… thank you, sir…" Li Ping'an bowed his back and slipped away quickly.

He stepped out of the encirclement, still hearing the clamor behind him. He merged into the flow of another street, his steps quietly quickening, his sickly expression gradually fading, his gaze steady.

What just happened was truly shocking. But an even bigger shock surely lay ahead. The Japanese Soldiers' swift reaction shows that the Luocha Gate is no ordinary matter.

The small courtyard can't be returned to. Yan Bu Gui's mouth didn't keep the gate closed, and the people inside the courtyard couldn't withstand interrogation.

Need to find a place to hide and think about the next move. The ghost market only opens at night, and now…

He spotted an old tea house by the street, its façade very worn. Such a place, frequented by all walks of life, is perfect for gathering rumors.

He pulled aside the heavy door curtain, and a wave of scent—tea froth, sweat, and pipe‑oil—hit him. Inside, the tea house was noisy, patrons whispering about what had just happened on the street.

Li Ping'an took the most secluded corner, ordered the cheapest jasmine tea. The tea was bland, but his ears were perked, catching the surrounding chatter.

"Did you hear? The Luocha Gate people had someone killed!"

"Is it true? Who's so fierce?"

"That Alley over there, dead to the bone, I heard they even took off the arms…"

"Tsk… these days, there are so many ruthless people…"

"Keep it down! Trying to die? Didn't you see the Imperial Army got alarmed…"

"I think Four Nine City is about to erupt again…"

Fragmented talk slipped into Li Ping'an's ears, gradually forming a picture. "Luocha Gate"… seems like a local gang, colluding with the Japanese Soldiers, dealing in dirty work. The one who died was probably a minor leader.

The muttering of two people at the neighboring table caught his attention. They wore short jackets, looking like the street's thugs.

A thin, scar‑lined man whispered: "... the cargo at the dock, third watch tonight, the Luocha Gate people will escort the ship; I hear they're all hard‑handed..."

The other, a pock‑faced man sneered: "Hard‑handed? Even hard can't beat a gun? Leopard Lord has stocked enough gear over there, just waiting to send them to be fed to the fish!"

"Shh! Keep it down! Are you courting death?"

Li Ping'an's hand holding the tea cup paused.

"Dock? Cargo? Luocha Gate? Black on black?"

A glint flashed in his eyes. This might… be an opportunity? Causing trouble for Luocha Gate could perhaps bring some profit.

"Chaos, the more the better. Muddy water makes it easier to catch fish."

He set down the tea cup, a few copper coins silently clinking onto the greasy tabletop. He stood, pulled his hat brim low, and slipped back into the outside crowd.

Target: the dock.

The sun rose higher, shrinking his shadow into a lump. In the air, the faint iron‑rust smell seemed to grow heavier.