Chapter 390: Night Hunt: Venomous Fang

The night was as black as ink, spilling over the silent streets of Four Nine City.

Li Ping'an pushed his bicycle, the sound of the wheels rolling over the bluestone slabs echoed through the empty alley, clear to the point of being harsh.

He looked up at the sky.

Black clouds covered the moon, and the stars vanished.

It was a night suitable for a private conversation.

The gate guard at the military compound recognized him and, after a brief check, let him pass.

Zhou Zhengwei's small building still had its lights on, and a dim yellow glow seeped through the curtain cracks.

The one who opened the door was Chen Jianguo, the young guard.

"Li Chief, the Political Commissar is waiting for you."

Li Ping'an nodded and walked into the living room.

Zhou Zhengwei sat in his old seat, a small mountain of cigarette butts piled in the ashtray before him.

On the coffee table lay maps, documents, and photos, scattered messily like a post‑war battlefield.

"Arrived?" Zhou Zhengwei said without looking up, his finger moving across the map, "Sit."

Li Ping'an sat down, his gaze falling on the map.

It was a detailed street map of Four Nine City, marked with dense red and blue pencil symbols.

Red dots indicated the residences or Contact Points of captured personnel.

Blue dots marked suspected hideouts.

There were few blue dots, but they were scattered haphazardly, like beans tossed at random.

"Where might the Shopkeeper be?" Zhou Zhengwei finally looked up, bloodshot eyes, "We have thirty‑seven points, we searched thirty‑three. Four remain: two in the mountainous outskirts, two inside the city. Which do you think he'll choose?"

Li Ping'an did not rush to answer.

He examined the four remaining blue dots on the map carefully.

One was at the foot of Xishan, an abandoned brick kiln.

Another lay in the northern suburbs, an abandoned farm.

The other two were inside the city: one in the South of City Grand Courtyard area, and one in the East City Railway Dormitory.

"He won't leave the city," Li Ping'an's finger lingered on the South of City Grand Courtyard point, "The mountains are too harsh, the farm too conspicuous. He's accustomed to a comfortable life; he can't endure that hardship nor that solitude."

Zhou Zhengwei nodded.

"Just as I thought. But the South of City Grand Courtyard..." he forced a smile, "That block of houses is like a beehive, packed with over a thousand families. House to house, door to door, window to window. Hiding a person is too easy. Finding a person is too hard."

Li Ping'an stared at that point.

His mind raced through the Shopkeeper's information.

Zheng Bingkun, in his early fifties, was educated, had worked as a clerk for the puppet government, and later infiltrated the revolutionary ranks.

A man like that possessed a scholar's aloofness and a bureaucrat's cunning at his core.

His hideout needed to be both concealed and... respectable.

At the very least, it couldn't be too filthy or chaotic.

"What about the Railway Dormitory?" Li Ping'an asked.

"We've checked," Zhou Zhengwei said, pulling a report from the stack of files, "All residents there are railway workers and their families; management is strict. A fresh face would be reported to the neighborhood committee that same day. If the Shopkeeper were hiding there, he'd have been exposed long ago."

Only the South of City Grand Courtyard remained.

Li Ping'an stood and walked to the window.

In the night, the city's outline was vague and indistinct.

"I have an idea," he said, turning around, "A man like the Shopkeeper, even in misfortune, would be particular. He wouldn't cram with the true bottom tier. Within the Grand Courtyard, there are always relatively better houses—stand‑alone homes or secluded units, places rarely disturbed."

Zhou Zhengwei's eyes lit up.

"You mean..."

"Check the Housing Management Office records," Li Ping'an said, walking back to the coffee table, "In the Grand Courtyard, which houses are privately owned and which are public housing? Among the private owners, are there any with suspicious backgrounds or who have moved out recently? In the public housing, are there any long‑vacant units that suddenly have occupants."

His words awakened Zhou Zhengwei.

He slapped his thigh hard.

"Why didn't I think of that!"

He grabbed the Telephone and shook its handset.

"Connect to the Housing Management Bureau duty room... I'm looking for Lao Sun... Yes, now!"

During the pause before the connection, Zhou Zhengwei looked at Li Ping'an, his gaze complex.

"Ping'an, with a mind like yours, it's a pity you're not doing reconnaissance."

Li Ping'an smiled faintly and said nothing.

The Telephone connected.

Zhou Zhengwei spoke rapidly into the mic, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

He hung up the Telephone and let out a long sigh.

"Wait for the news. The Housing Management Bureau has files; the search will be quick."

The two sat down again.

Chen Jianguo brought over two cups of hot tea.

The tea aroma wafted, temporarily dispelling the room's smoky smell.

"One more thing," Zhou Zhengwei said, pulling a small notebook from the drawer, "This was seized from Deputy Director Zhao's home. It's a ledger, but written in code. The technical department deciphered part of it; it mentions several codenames."

He handed the notebook to Li Ping'an.

The pages were yellowed, the handwriting neat, using an old‑style accounting format.

But on closer inspection, those numbers and abbreviations really don't look like ordinary accounts.

"Here." Political Commissar Zhou pointed at one line, "'Seventh day, goods arrived, stored at Number Three. Lao Yan inspected.' Lao Yan should be a contact person under the Shopkeeper. Deputy Director Zhao said this man is in his fifties, his left leg is a bit limp, and he has a scar on his face."

Li Ping'an noted it.

Seventh day, Number Three, Lao Yan.

If this is a record from when the Shopkeeper's network was still operating, then "Number Three" is likely a warehouse or hideout.

And "Lao Yan" could be someone still active outside.

"I'll investigate." Li Ping'an closed the notebook, "These clues are stronger than looking for a needle in the ocean."

Political Commissar Zhou nodded.

"Be careful. Though the Shopkeeper fled, his subordinates may still have slipped through. These people are all fugitives."

Just then, the Telephone rang.

Political Commissar Zhou picked up.

As he listened, his expression changed.

"Alright, I understand. Send the address."

He hung up, looked at Li Ping'an, his eyes sharp.

"The Housing Management Bureau made a discovery. At No. 17 Big Locust Tree Alley, South of City, the former owner suddenly sold the house last month, the buyer's identity is unknown. Neighbors report hearing noises inside at night lately, but no one comes or goes during the day."

Li Ping'an stood up.

"I'll go take a look."

"Take people with you." Political Commissar Zhou also stood, "Chen Jianguo, take two people and go with Li Chief. Remember, if they are truly the Shopkeeper's men, capture them alive."

"Got it!"

Big Locust Tree Alley lies deep in the South of City.

It is so narrow that only two people can walk side by side; the ground is uneven and pitted, and the corners are piled with junk.

Number 17 is a secluded courtyard; the black‑lacquered wooden door is shut tight, its hinges rusted.

Li Ping'an raised his hand in a signal.

Chen Jianguo and two other soldiers quickly spread out, sealing the front and rear exits.

Li Ping'an pressed close to the door crack.

Inside there was a faint light and the sound of someone moving.

It was faint, but it couldn't escape his ears.

He stepped back two paces and gave Chen Jianguo a hand signal.

Chen Jianguo nodded, stepped forward, lifted his foot—

Bang!

The latch snapped, the wooden door swung open.

Li Ping'an was the first to rush in.

The courtyard was narrow; straight ahead were three main rooms.

The room on the left was lit.

A silhouette flickered on the window.

"Don't move!" Li Ping'an barked.

A panicked noise came from inside, as if something had been knocked over.

Li Ping'an broke through the door.

Inside was only a middle‑aged man, frantically stuffing something under the bed.

Seeing Li Ping'an, his face turned deathly pale, and he turned to dash for the window.

Chen Jianguo had already blocked the window from outside.

Surrounded from front and back, there was no escape.

The man spun wildly, shoving his hand into his mouth.

Li Ping'an's eyes were sharp and his hands quick; he lunged forward in a single step, his right hand clamping his jaw like iron tongs.

Click!

A faint sound of a joint dislocating.

The man's jaw was knocked loose, his mouth gaped open, unable to close.

Li Ping'an's left hand slipped into his mouth, his fingertip touching a false tooth.

He dug hard.

The false tooth fell into his palm, hiding a rice‑grain‑sized black pill.

Poison.

Despair flashed in the man's eyes.

Li Ping'an pinned him to the ground, his knee pressing against the man's lower back.

"Lao Yan?"

The man went rigid all over.

"Looks like it," Li Ping'an released his grip, but his force seeped into the man's meridians, sealing several major acupoints.

The man lay limp on the ground, unable to move, staring at Li Ping'an with eyes full of venomous resentment.

Chen Jianguo entered, handcuffing the man.

"Chief, we searched, there's no one else inside. But we found this."

He handed over an Oilcloth Bag.

Li Ping'an opened it.

Inside was a Handgun, twenty rounds of ammunition, and several forged letters of introduction.

The identity listed was "procurement officer," and the unit was an out‑of‑town mechanical factory.

"Planning to run away?" Li Ping'an looked at the man.

The man turned his face away, giving no answer.

Li Ping'an crouched down and stared at him.

"Where is the Shopkeeper? Where are the other three?"

The man remained silent.

Li Ping'an let out a sigh.

"Then don't blame me."

He extended his hand, his five fingers curved like hooks, and placed them on the man's shoulder blade.

The tendon‑splitting, bone‑misaligning technique.

It wasn't a lethal method, but the degree of pain far exceeded what an ordinary person could imagine.

The first finger came down.

The man's whole body shivered violently, and cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead.

He clenched his teeth, but with his jaw knocked loose he couldn't let out a full scream, only a hoarse "ho ho."

"Speak," Li Ping'an said calmly.

The man shook his head, his eyes stubborn.

The second finger came down.

This time it struck below the ribs.

The man's body curled up like a shrimp, his complexion turning from white to blue, his eyeballs bulging.

Sweat soaked his clothes.

"Shopkeeper… the Shopkeeper hasn't been unkind to me…" he rasped, forcing out a few words.

"So you want to die for him?" Li Ping'an asked, "Is it worth it?"

The man gave no answer, only shaking his head.

The third finger hovered in the air.

Li Ping'an looked at the man.

He was in his fifties, a scar across his face, his left leg slightly limp.

He was exactly the "Lao Yan" described by Deputy Director Zhao.

Someone like this, having followed the Shopkeeper for most of his life, has loyalty etched into his very bones.

Torture might not be effective.

Li Ping'an withdrew his hand.

"Take him back."

Chen Jianguo was startled.

"Not asking anymore?"

"Even if we ask, he won't speak," Li Ping'an stood up, "Hand him over to the Political Commissar and grind him slowly. This kind of old bone can't be forced open; we need another method."

He walked to the window and gazed at the pitch‑black night outside.

"Shopkeeper, where are you really?"

"And where are the other three subordinates hidden?"

This cat‑and‑mouse game seemed only just to have entered its most difficult stage.

Chen Jianguo dragged the man up and escorted him out of the house.

When the man passed Li Ping'an, he suddenly lifted his head, a strange smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Although his jaw still hung loose, Li Ping'an understood the meaning behind that smile.

It was a mockery.

As if saying: catching me is useless.

Li Ping'an's face remained expressionless.

He watched them disappear into Hu Tong Kou.

The night wind blew, carrying the chill of late autumn.

He clenched the poisonous pill in his palm.

The black pill glimmered with an eerie light in the moonlight.

This is only the beginning.

The real contest still lies ahead.