Chapter 370: Leisurely Clouds, Wild Cranes

The thin mist of early morning has not yet cleared.

Li Ping'an pushes his bicycle, taking his son Li Yaozong to kindergarten.

The little fellow sits on the small bamboo seat at the back, wearing a cloth schoolbag hand‑stitched by his mother, chattering all the way.

"Dad, the teacher said we have to learn to sing today."

"Study hard."

"Dad, are you really not going to work at the factory anymore?"

"Not for now; I'm taking a break for a while."

"Then will you pick me up after school?"

"I will."

After dropping his son at the kindergarten gate and watching the tiny figure rush into the classroom, Li Ping'an finally turned his bike around.

He neither went home nor headed toward the Steel Rolling Mill.

Instead, he pedaled through a few Alleys that had not yet fully awakened, heading outward beyond the city gate.

The Yongding River winds beyond the city.

At this time of year, reeds grow thick along the banks and willow branches hang low.

The water isn't swift, shimmering with a glittering golden sheen in the morning light.

Li Ping'an chose a river bend far from the main road, relatively secluded.

A few large stones on the bank have been smoothed by the current.

He took from the rear seat a small folding stool, a homemade bamboo fishing rod, and a little tin can holding worms.

His movements were unhurried, exuding a genuine sense of relaxation.

He baited the hook and cast the line.

The line traced a slight arc in the air before disappearing into the river.

Sitting on the stool, his gaze rested on the gently trembling float, while his mind seemed to drift even farther away.

The sun rose higher, dispersing the morning mist.

Occasionally a fish would leap, splashing fine droplets.

In the distance, scattered farmers trudged by with hoes, and farther still the vague outline of the city wall.

Time here flows unusually slowly.

The float suddenly plunged down hard!

Li Ping'an's wrist twitched lightly, and the rod bent into a graceful curve.

A palm‑sized crucian carp was lifted onto the surface, its scales flashing silver in the sun.

He removed the fish and tossed it into the old fish basket soaking nearby.

A few more fish quickly filled the basket.

By mid‑morning the basket was gradually filling up.

Li Ping'an glanced at the sun and packed away his rod.

He lifted the basket and walked to a spot where the reeds grew denser, a hidden nook.

His fingers seemed to brush unintentionally over the ancient jade pendant that never left his waist.

The plumpest crucians in the basket, along with two sizable carp, vanished instantly.

Only three or four smaller ones remained, flailing futilely at the bottom of the basket.

He dunked the basket back into the shallow water at the river's edge, washed his hands in the flow, then mounted his bicycle and rode back to the city at a leisurely pace.

Passing a side‑goods shop, he even stopped, using the change and tickets he carried to buy a small piece of tofu.

At dusk, the Siheyuan filled with the aromas of meals from each household.

When Li Ping'an pushed his cart into the courtyard, Yan Bu Gui in the Front Courtyard was holding a tea jar, standing before his wilted Chrysanthemum Stamp pots, his eyes glancing at the bike's rear seat.

"Ping'an, you're back?" Yan Bu Gui pushed up his glasses, a familiar calculating smile spreading across his face, "Yo, you went fishing? How was the catch?"

Li Ping'an halted his steps.

"Just a few small ones, to make soup for the kid."

The basket's opening was small; Yan Bu Gui tiptoed to peer inside and indeed saw three or four crucians smaller than a palm.

A flash of disappointment flickered in his eyes, then quickly turned into a knowing "just as I thought."

"Heh, as long as you got something, that's fine. These days the river fish are clever, hard to catch."

Yan Bu Gui smacked his lips, "You call this… cultivating the mind, hmm, cultivating the mind."

Li Ping'an smiled, said nothing, and carried the basket toward the back courtyard.

Yan Bu Gui muttered behind him, "Still fishing? You've got big ambitions… Well, of course, without bait you can't hook a big fish." He didn't even know what "big fish" he meant.

Behind the Jia family's window in the Central Courtyard, Jia Zhangshi glanced sideways, pursing his lips, "A bereaved dog still has time to fish? Who knows where that fish came from!"

In the Back Courtyard, Liu Haizhong stood with his hands behind his back, pacing at his doorway; when he saw Li Ping'an's basket, he snorted and turned his face away.

Only Sha Zhu, washing vegetables by the communal washbasin, straightened his back, shouted hoarsely, "Brother Li Ping'an, caught fish? Tonight we'll have a feast!"

Li Ping'an nodded at him and entered Xi Kua Yuan.

Lin Xueqing had already brought Li Yaozong back, and Xiao Nuanqing babbled in the walker, chasing after his brother.

Seeing the fish in his father's hand, Li Yaozong shouted with joy and ran over.

"Dad, you're amazing! We get fish to eat!"

That night, the little kitchen filled with the fragrant aroma of fresh fish soup.

Li Ping'an wielded the knife himself, deftly scaling and gutting, then simmered the two small crucians with the tofu into a milky‑white broth.

He sprinkled a pinch of scallions and salt.

The simple dinner felt especially comforting thanks to this bowl of fish soup.

Li Yaozong drank until his belly was round and full.

Lin Xueqing gazed at her husband's calm profile, and the worry in her heart seemed to dissipate a little with the delicious soup.

The next day, Li Ping'an changed into a half-worn gray jacket and rode out.

He didn't go to the Yongding River; instead, he weaved through streets and alleys to a relatively quiet antique market in the southern part of the city.

It lacked the grandeur of Liuli Factory, mostly consisting of street stalls selling old porcelain, copper coins, wooden ware, and damaged books and paintings whose authenticity was hard to tell.

The air was filled with dust, old wood, and a faint hint of mold.

There were few shoppers, and the stall owners were mostly lethargic, either leaning against walls to nap or huddled together playing a crude game of chess.

Li Ping'an pushed his cart, walking slowly.

His gaze swept over each stall.

His divine perception quietly unfurled, like the most precise detector, sensing the subtle residual aura fluctuations on those seemingly ordinary old objects.

Useful items were extremely scarce.

Most were ordinary civilian goods from the past few decades, some even being newly made fakes meant to look old.

But he was very patient.

At a stall selling old newspapers and magazines, he stopped, crouched down, and flipped through the yellowed pages and curled edges of old magazines and scattered sheets.

The stall owner was a thin old man who glanced at him and said nothing.

Li Ping'an browsed for a while, spent a few cents, and bought a damaged mechanical periodical from the Republican era.

At another small stall selling miscellaneous items, he took a liking to an old brass cigarette box with a simple clasp, its cloud pattern somewhat worn.

The price was low, so he bought it.

He spent the whole morning slowly strolling along this street.

Occasionally he bought some insignificant little items.

Like a truly idle person just passing the time.

Days passed just like that.

Sometimes he went fishing by the Yongding River and always managed to 'luckily' catch enough fresh fish for the family to eat for one or two meals.

Sometimes he went to the antique market to stroll around and occasionally brought back some old items that were worthless but interesting.

He avoided all roads near the Steel Rolling Mill.

It seemed as if he had truly cast all the turmoil of that place behind him.

The people in the siheyuan also gradually became accustomed, moving from initial surprise, gossip, and schadenfreude to accepting it as normal.

Only their looks at Li Ping'an varied.

Yan Bu Gui would, whenever he saw him, indirectly ask about his fishing haul or probe for any new developments from 'above,' but each time returned disappointed.

Liu Haizhong now walked with a straighter back, as if Li Ping'an's downfall had truly made him the decisive authority in the courtyard.

Yi Zhonghai appeared more often in the central courtyard, mediating trivial squabbles, his words always carrying the sense that 'now we old brothers have to hold the courtyard together.'

Jia Zhangshi still occasionally snapped cold remarks, but seeing Li Ping'an's lack of reaction, she also found it boring.

Only Sha Zhu, upon returning from work one day, ran into Li Ping'an in the courtyard fussing over a small purple-clay pot he'd picked up at the antique market, chipped at the rim.

He came over to have a look and scratched his head.

"Brother Ping'an, you really like this stuff? What's the point of these broken things?"

Li Ping'an picked up the small pot, held it to the light to examine the old tea stains inside, and smiled.

"Nothing much, just that it looks a bit old, and I'm pondering how people used to live back then."

Sha Zhu sort of understood, but he felt that since Brother Ping'an liked it, there must be some sense to it.

"That's true; it's better than some people who spend all day scheming how to mess with others."

He said this with his voice not low, his eyes glancing toward the front courtyard.

Yan Bu Gui, who was watering flowers in the front courtyard, trembled slightly and quickly lowered his head.

In the west wing courtyard, life was peaceful.

Li Ping'an taught his son to recognize more characters, and occasionally gave him some basic breathing exercises.

He also spent more time accompanying his daughter as she learned to walk.

Xiao Nuanqing could already totter a few steps without falling; each time she lunged into her father's arms, it brought a burst of happy laughter.

Lin Xueqing watched her husband's face grow increasingly calm, and her initial worries gradually settled.

Only in the stillness of night would she occasionally catch, from her husband's tranquil gaze at the night sky, a faint, hardly perceptible sharpness.

That was not despondency; it was more like a state of dormancy.

A kind of waiting.

She knew her husband was never someone who could be easily knocked down.

Fishing, scavenging, and child-rearing.

These seemingly idle life fragments are like a calm bobber on the river's surface.

Whether a big fish is hooked below?

Only the person holding the rod knows for sure.

Li Ping'an tossed another item he'd picked up at the antique market—a late Qing jade button with a faint fluctuation of spiritual power—into the space of his jade pendant.

Beside the tiny spiritual spring in that space, a pile of unassuming but aged items had already accumulated.

Moreover, a pool of living water housed many fat fish and shrimp caught from the Yongding River.

He sat in the courtyard, watching the sunset gild the old tiles of the siheyuan with gold.

His son was practicing boxing, his daughter learning to walk, and his wife busy in the kitchen.

Everything looks so peaceful and beautiful.

But he knows.

The Shopkeeper won't let him stay this idle forever.

The undercurrents in the City Bureau and the power struggles inside the Steel Rolling Mill will not cease.

What he is withdrawing from now is only the overt chessboard.

The real contest may be raging fiercely on a level he cannot see.

And what he needs to do.

Is to let the line stretch longer during this leisure.

Lay the bait more cleverly.

Wait.

Wait for a suitable moment.

Or wait for the opponent to make a fatal mistake.

Where the fishing line hangs, the water remains calm.

Within the dust of the old street, hidden mysteries lie.

This seemingly leisurely summer time may be the strangest calm at the eye of the storm.