Chapter 4

The sun droops, hanging in the sky like a rotten salted egg yolk, casting the wasteland in a sheet of dead ash. Li Ping'an gave his parents, those two simple country folk, one last glance, turned, stepped forward, and plunged headlong into the boundless gray.

Road? Don't joke. The cracked earth gapes with countless mouths, the withered grass is sparse, and when the wind blows it sways like the hair of a dead man. All around is dead silent, not even a cricket chirps. Occasionally a distant wandering silhouette is spotted; Li Ping'an immediately tucks his neck, turns a corner, and keeps his distance. It's not cowardice, just avoiding trouble. In these times, the living are more vicious than stray dogs; they could be starving, red‑eyed refugees, or the thugs who beat people with clubs. His own body has just mustered a bit of strength, not worth getting himself dirty.

"Rich families rot with wine and meat, the road is littered with frozen corpses…" the line pops into his mind; he twitched his mouth, smiling uglier than crying. Future generations won't understand; this is not poetry, it's a living hell under one's eyelids. Along the road, from time to time a straw mat draped "road corpse" appears, or a heap of white bones gnawed to pieces; under the gray‑white daylight they prick the eyes and chill the heart. Despair is like a huge pot, pressing down so one can hardly breathe.

The closer he got to the county town, the more a hint of human scent mixed into the stench of death. The earthen city wall had collapsed halfway, looking like a toothless old man. At the foot of the city gate, a sparse line of people stood, each pale and gaunt. A few tax collectors dressed in yellow, slinging broken rifles, sucked on cigarettes and gave sideways glances, their eyes rolling like hungry wolves eyeing flesh.

"City entry tax! One big coin! Poor wretch, scram!" the crooked‑hat tax collector kicked a trembling old man who was trying to slip inside. The old man's half‑piece of darkened bran cake fell from his arms and was immediately snatched by a few green‑eyed hungry hands nearby, provoking a burst of tearing and wailing.

Li Ping'an watched with cold eyes, the little spark of malice in his heart flaring again. Old Jiang? Bah! He silently pulled out a few copper coins from the void, mimicking the man's gesture and handed them over. The tax collector weighed them, didn't even lift his eyelids, and snorted through his nose, "Get lost!"

Inside the city, the smell grew stronger. The stench of sweat mixed with urine, plus a sour rot of spoiled food, hit his nose directly. Ten or eight of the shops along the street were shut and locked, thick layers of dust coating the doors. The few that remained open were either pawnshops or rice stores— the price tags hanging at the rice shop's entrance bore numbers that could frighten a person to death.

Li Ping'an had no interest in the spectacle; his target was fixed: Lin's Cloth Shop. Relying on the original owner's vague memories and careful inquiries along the way, he finally located the place at a relatively orderly street corner.

His heart suddenly rose to his throat.

The shop door was tightly shut. Where a sign should have hung, only two bare iron hooks swayed in the wind. A thick layer of dust covered the steps. Beneath the door crack, not even a footprint was present.

A bucket of ice water was poured over him from head to sole.

Sister… Pingle…

Li Ping'an's fingers unconsciously clenched. In his mind, images flickered: a little girl with twin‑braided horns, her cheeks flushed red, clinging to him like a tag‑along, baby‑voiced calling "big brother" to beg for candy; at night she would have to hug his arm to sleep, her long dense lashes making her as obedient as a porcelain doll…

And now? Has she eaten? Is that boss named Lin a human or a ghost? Has she been beaten? Can she sleep at night? Could she… also be thinking of her parents, thinking of her brother?

A rush of sour air slammed into the bridge of his nose, tightening his throat. He forced himself to blink hard, holding the dampness back inside.

Can't act recklessly! He gulped a harsh breath of filthy air, suppressing the churning emotions, and his gaze swept to the gaunt old man dozing at the doorway of the nearby general store.

"Shopkeeper," Li Ping'an leaned in, keeping his voice as even as possible, "Excuse me, could you tell me where Lin's Cloth Shop moved to? When did it relocate?"

The old man lifted his eyelids, his cloudy eyes scanning up and down the rag‑clad, yet sharp‑eyed youngster before him, and said slowly, "Lin's? It became a yellow shop long ago! That was a few months ago! I heard the owner got a good connection and the whole family moved to Beiping City! With the war and chaos, doing business is hard…"

Beiping! Beiping again!

Li Ping'an let his mind sink a bit, then an invisible hand clenched him hard. Fortunately, it wasn't a bad omen. At least the person was still alive, heading for Beiping!

"Dear baby, where are you

I will definitely find you, my child

You are the only one in my life…"

A strange, gut‑wrenching tune mixed with lyrics suddenly surfaced in his heart, carrying a flesh‑rending force. Was it a remnant of the original owner? Or a song from a past life? He didn't care! The words were like a red‑hot branding iron, scorching the tip of his heart.

Not only the dying‑mouth prayers for his parents, but also the bond flowing in his very blood— that little girl called Li Pingle— is the only thought Li Ping'an can cling to in these cannibalistic years, the rope that keeps him from turning completely into a "wild wolf".

"Beiping…" he forced the two characters out between his teeth, his gaze honed again like a blade, "Just you wait and see."

Turning away from that dead‑weight door, Li Ping'an didn't rush out of the city. The fire in his heart needed a place to vent. His stomach also rumbled in rebellion; the corn cobs he was chewing in the void were nearly gone from his mouth.

He turned into a narrow alley where sewage flowed. A few emaciated children huddled against the wall, eyes fixed on him. Li Ping'an paused his steps, made no sound, his thoughts flickering. A few still‑steaming corn cobs silently fell into the broken bowls before the children. The kids stared in shock, then, like wolves on a kill, surged forward, gnawing the corn kernels and even the cobs with a crisp "crack!"

Li Ping'an didn't even lift his eyelids, walking straight through. Robbing the rich to aid the poor? He wasn't that high‑minded. It was merely an eyesore, a convenient act. What mattered now was to earn some "funds", and at the same time loosen the cramped chest of his heart.

Who to target? The goal was crystal clear— those traitors and Japanese Soldiers who defecate on the necks of the destitute! These scum are fat and greasy, robbing them is hardly a loss.

The county town was a speck of a place; the den of snakes and rats yielded precise intel with a single inquiry. The muttered curses of an old man at the tea stall, the numb mumblings of a beggar by the wall, even the idle bragging of tax collectors—all became Li Ping'an's "information network". He moved like a shadow‑slithering loach through the filthy alleys, ears perked, missing no useful word.

"Liu Erye on East Street… tsk tsk, a big shot right before the deputy of the Imperial Collaboration Army's Wang unit! He's a real trembler!"

"Sun the Fatty of the South Gate Rice Shop… his heart is black and oozes pus! The rice price is so terrible even King Yama shakes his head!"

"Gou Bapi in West City… leveraging his brother‑in‑law's position in the Maintenance Association… he extorts money so people are driven to suicide!"

Each nickname, each rotten affair, was recorded clearly in his mental ledger. The faint smirk at his mouth was so cold it could form ice shards.

Finally, night fell completely black. Scattered lights flickered in the county town— the broken lanterns hanging at the entrance of the big smoking house and the casino, their dim yellow glow trembling like ghost fire. The night watchman's gong sounded weak and lifeless, making the night feel even more oppressive.

Li Ping'an, like a wisp of shadow, silently pressed himself against the base of the tall courtyard wall of Gou Bapi's house in West City. Inside the wall, a phonograph crooned a soft, lilting tune, interspersed with a woman's giggling laughter and a man's muffled shouting.

"Ha, life's pretty comfortable," Li Ping'an's gaze was icy. His thought spread like an invisible spiderweb, "Swish"—within twenty meters, every filament became visible! The gatekeeper snored, clutching his gun; a maid carried a tray of snacks through the corridor. In the main hall, a bald man with a fat belly, his face oily, was embracing a woman whose makeup was smeared like a monkey's rear, counting stacks of colorful tickets by oil‑lamp light and glittering silver coins! He muttered, "…poor bones… can't repay… the house and land all belong to me… hehe…"

Li Ping'an curled his lip. His thought flickered, like the most deft fingertip, and with a "Clack!" he gently lifted the latch of the carved wooden window in the main hall. His body, light as a goose feather, drifted in through the window and landed without a single sound.

The couple inside the house remained oblivious. Gou Bapi spat as he counted money, the woman clinging to him with a forced smile.

Li Ping'an's shadow, ghost‑like, loomed behind them. No words, not even a hint of murderous aura. He struck like lightning; two fingers pinched together like an iron tip, piercing precisely into the backs of their necks!

"Uh…" both bodies froze at once, not even a groan escaped, their limbs collapsing like soft noodles, consciousness gone.

Li Ping'an didn't even lift his eyelids at the two scoundrels, his gaze fixed straight on the pile of money on the table and the open, heavy little wooden box beside it. Inside the box, bright yellow Goldfish Stamps were neatly stacked! Nearby were also several jade plaques and silver bracelets.

"Yo, that's a hefty fortune," he said unceremoniously, his thought sweeping over. The money on the table, the gold bars in the box, the jade and silver items—all vanished in the blink of an eye as if wiped by an invisible giant hand, all disappearing into the far corners of the spatial little room.

He surveyed the room scented with perfume and copper odor, his gaze unmoved. He walked to the bedside, tore off the thick new cotton quilt and took it with him—his sister would need it in winter. He also opened a cabinet, pulling out several packs of unopened foreign gunpowder and a small jar of snow‑white salt—hard currency.

Having finished, he, like when he arrived, drifted out the window like a ghostly shadow, merging into the ink‑black night.

Gou Bapi's house? Just an appetizer.

That night, Li Ping'an became the busiest "mover" in the county town's shadows. His figure slipped silently among the deep mansions of traitors and Japanese Soldiers. His thought was a universal key, a night‑vision device, a transport forklift. The freshly honed bright‑energy body made him lighter than a civet cat and swifter than a leopard. Those who usually barked orders found their lairs plundered in his dreams.

Goldfish Stamps, silver coins, legal tender (even mosquito legs count as meat), jewelry, bags of white flour, even a few gleaming short guns and a box of bright yellow bullets… in the corners of the spatial little room, the loot piled up like a small mountain.

At dawn, Li Ping'an crouched on the highest roof of the county town, staring down at the dirty, numb little city still stuck in a black‑sweet countryside. He shifted his thought, and the grain bags marked "Gou Ji" and "Sun Ji" in the void popped up at the mouths of the most dilapidated poor alleys like dumplings, plopping down with a "pop‑pop".

After finishing, he patted his rear, feeling no nostalgia. His figure rose and fell a few times, leaping over the city wall like a civet cat, heading north, greeting the freshly risen daylight, sprinting wildly. The little city behind him would soon explode like a pot in the midst of the traitors' pig‑slaughtering howls and the poor residents' unexpected joy. And he, Li Ping'an, was merely a wicked wind sweeping through this chaotic age, carrying the "road fees" he had looted and a belly full of thoughts, racing north.

Beiping, girl, wait for your brother to come and tug your ear!