Chapter 44: The Trial of Clay Figurine Zhang

Over the next two days, Li Ping'an lived as if walking on cotton; to outsiders he still looked like a frail sickly seedling that would topple in a breeze, but inside his heart bubbled like boiling water. Every time he went out for "fresh air" or to "fetch medicine," his gaze swept like a sieve, carefully scanning every corner of the overpass, especially the thin, dark‑skinned man who sold clay figurines.

That man, however, seemed to have completely forgotten the incident, continuing as usual to mold clay figurines in silence, greeting the occasional customer, his eyes dull and out of place with the surrounding noise. The plum blossom mark never appeared again.

"Could I have misunderstood?" Li Ping'an's heart pounded, as if he were carrying fifteen buckets, seven up and eight down. That sharp glance—was it an illusion? Or was the other party also observing, testing him?

He forced himself to stay calm. In moments like this, whoever shows fear first loses.

At noon on the third day, he loitered toward the overpass again. Before he even reached the clay figurine stall, he saw several rough youths with crooked caps and sideways glances surrounding it, shoving the dark, thin man while cursing filthily.

"…Damn it! Can't you understand plain talk about paying protection money?"

"This turf is under Leopard Lord's protection! Be smart about it!"

"If you don't cough up the cash, I'll smash your shoddy stall!"

The dark, thin man kept his head down, hands shielding the clay figurines on his stall, silent as a foul, hard stone.

Onlookers gathered around, but no one dared step forward. Leopard Lord's reputation still carried weight in this overpass district.

Li Ping'an halted. Should he intervene or not? Intervening might expose him; not intervening could mean this was a test from the Blood Plum, or he might watch a promising lead slip away.

In a flash, he made up his mind and took the gamble!

He sucked in a breath, then burst into violent coughing, wracking his chest, bent double as if trying to cough up his lungs, and staggered toward the gang of youths!

"Oh… cough cough cough… sorry… sorry… cough…" He seemed unable to stand from the coughing, flailing his arms and legs as he slammed into the back of one youth.

The youth staggered from the blow, nearly falling, and in shame and anger snapped back: "Damn! Where'd this tuberculosis ghost come from? You're asking to die!"

Li Ping'an, however, looked terrified, face ashen, fumbling to pat the youth's clothes, but his fingers "accidentally" flicked across the dagger sheath at the youth's waist, slipping a thread of imperceptible yin cold energy inside.

"Sorry… sir… cough cough… I… I didn't mean to…" His voice trembled, eyes wide with terror, looking even more pitiful than the dark, thin man.

The youth felt a numbness at his waist, like an ice needle prick, but paid it little mind, dismissing the sickly fellow's cold hand and shoving him away: "Get lost, get lost, get lost! You're bad luck—stay away from me!"

The other youths' attention was drawn as well, and they jeered while watching their companion berate the sickly seedling.

Just then, the ever‑silent dark, thin man suddenly moved.

He seemed to have lost his balance from the shoving, staggered on his feet, and his elbow "unintentionally" slammed hard into the ribs of another youth who was grinning.

The youth's laughter cut off abruptly; he sucked in a cold breath, his face instantly turning liver‑colored, clutching his ribs and bending over, unable to speak from the pain.

A sudden change! The remaining youths froze for a moment, then exploded in anger: "Damn! You dare to lay hands on us?!"

It looked like the conflict was about to escalate!

Suddenly, a shout came from afar: "The Police Station's people are coming!"

The youths' faces changed, they exchanged glances. Even with Leopard Lord's reputation, they didn't want to openly clash with the authorities. The leader glared fiercely at the dark, thin man and Li Ping'an, snarled, "Fine! You're on!" then helped his companion, who was gasping from pain, and they swore as they quickly slipped into the crowd.

A disturbance came and went swiftly.

Seeing that no real fight had broken out, the crowd of onlookers gradually dispersed.

Li Ping'an clutched his chest, still feigning coughs, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the dark, thin man silently straighten his stall, then swiftly thrust a freshly molded, lopsided little mud dog into his hand, pressing a finger quickly against his palm.

Li Ping'an's heart jumped; he gripped the mud dog, kept coughing, head down, and turned to leave slowly.

Only after walking far away and turning into a secluded alley did he open his palm.

The little mud dog was crudely made, but on the tip of its tail a small cross had been clearly etched with a fingernail.

Beside that cross mark clung a tiny, nearly invisible, dried plum blossom petal.

Cross… plum blossom…

Li Ping'an's heart pounded forcefully against his chest.

Location? Time?

He quickly recalled the terrain and landmarks near the overpass. Did the cross refer to Cross Street? Or some shop bearing a cross symbol? The plum blossom—was it a time? What hour does a plum blossom usually denote?

Then it struck him: in old night‑watch or certain trades, flower names were used as covert codes for the hours! Plum blossom… seemed to signify around midnight, the zi hour.

And a landmark bearing a cross… he recalled that west of the overpass there was indeed an abandoned little chapel, its doorway sporting a rusted cross!

Midnight, the Cross Chapel!

That's the time and place!

The other party had finally responded! And choosing a deserted spot at midnight fit the convention of clandestine meetings.

Li Ping'an drew a deep breath, carefully stowing the mud dog. Amid his excitement, his vigilance rose to the peak. This could still be a trap, but he had no retreat.

Night fell as expected.

Li Ping'an waited until the household's snores rose, then, like a ghost, silently slipped out the window. He didn't use the front door, for plainclothes sentries might be posted there.

At zi hour, Beiping City lay dead silent. The curfew‑streets were empty, save for the occasional sweep of a patrol squad's flashlight beams across the night sky, like the eyes of a beast picking its prey.

Li Ping'an merged into the heavy night, moving like a leopard cat across roofs and alleys, avoiding all main patrol routes. After tempering his body, he was light and coordinated, landing soundlessly, his perception of the environment heightened to the extreme.

The abandoned little chapel soon came into view, standing alone amidst broken walls and ruins, its black cross askew in the faint moonlight, resembling a massive tombstone.

The surroundings were eerily still.

Li Ping'an did not approach right away. He crouched behind a broken wall, like a lurking leopard, engaging all his senses to scrutinize every inch of the surrounding space.

The wind's moan over the ruins, the distant faint barking of dogs, even his own heartbeat… were all amplified.

Nothing abnormal. At least not on the surface.

He waited patiently until the appointed stroke of midnight.

Just then, the chapel's rotted wooden door emitted an extremely faint creak, as if stirred by the wind.

A black shadow, like a ink droplet blending into the night, slipped out soundlessly and took its stand beneath the cross's shadow.

It was precisely the dark, thin man who sold clay figurines.

He, too, scanned the surroundings warily, evidently checking whether it was safe.

Li Ping'an hesitated no longer. He drew a breath, rose slowly from behind the wall, but did not walk straight over; instead, he mirrored the other's stance, placing himself at the edge where moonlight and shadow met, so the man could faintly see him yet not make out his full form.

This was a gesture of caution.

The dark, thin man noticed him, his body visibly tensing, but he made no move, merely watching in silence.

The air seemed to solidify. The two stood off at a distance of several tens of steps in the dead silence of the ruins, only their eyes clashing silently in the darkness.

Finally, the dark, thin man seemed to have made up his mind; he raised his hand and made an extremely simple gesture—clenching his right fist, he lightly tapped his left chest three times.

Li Ping'an's heartbeat skipped a beat. This gesture… he seemed to have seen a vague record of it in some disordered notes somewhere, like an extremely ancient sign meaning 'Fellow Path' or 'call for help'.

He could not be entirely sure, but at this moment he had to respond.

He slowly raised his hand, not fully imitating the other, but with his right index finger he drew a simple cross in the air, then lowered the fingertip and tapped lightly.

This is a more general sign, indicating 'contact' or 'response', made tentatively.

Seeing this motion, the dark, thin man's tense body seemed to relax a fraction; he stepped forward half a step ever so slightly, signifying his acceptance of this contact.

But he still said nothing, merely pulling from his bosom a small thing wrapped in oilcloth and placing it gently on the broken bricks at his feet; then he stepped back a few paces, once again merging into the church's dark doorway and vanished.

Throughout the whole process, not a word was spoken.

Li Ping'an did not step forward immediately. He waited a moment longer, confirming there was no abnormality, then like a ghost he darted to the broken bricks, snatched up the oilcloth small pack, without looking stuffed it into his bosom, and without hesitation turned and fled at top speed.

Only after getting far from the church area and returning to the relatively safe lane did he lean against the wall, slightly ease his breathing, and take out the oilcloth bag.

He opened it.

Inside there was no letter, only three items: a withered plum twig, a small lump of coarse black gunpowder, and a rusted bullet casing engraved with indistinct numbers.

Li Ping'an stared at these three things, his brows knitting tightly.

This was neither an invitation nor an order.

This was more like a… test. Or perhaps a… qualification verification.

Blood Plum, true to its name. Utmost caution.

They needed to ascertain just how much weight this mysterious person who suddenly appeared, claiming to possess 'hard currency', actually carried—whether he was sincere in cooperation or merely a Japanese bait.

And this plum twig, gunpowder, and bullet casing are the questions they set.

Li Ping'an pinched that cold bullet casing, yet the corner of his mouth slowly curled into a cold arc.

Well, this game is getting more and more interesting.